Ah yes. Here we are again. Me contemplating another text from popular culture as I sip a cool vodka manberry in front of my fireplace, underneath the taxidermy boar head that I mounted this afternoon minutes after I took its life in an arm wrestle.
Tonight I will be reviewing the renowned vampire porn francise Twilight. That’s right. Twilight. Yes. I am a man. And I don’t care if you’re not ok with it.
Ok, I’m going to go on with the review, but I can’t just let this slide. That’s right. somebody has to put a stop to this masculine ridiculousness. And that someone is me. Let’s face it, things perceived as “feminine” are often a lot better than those perceived as “masculine.” There. I said it. The drinks for one. Vodka Cranberry, anyone? That’s right. Every hand in the room just went up. They tasty. The songs. The dances. The clothes. Hmm maybe that’s a bit far.
You know what? No it’s not. Yeah. I’m going to wear a dress tomorrow. I swear it. Mark my words.
Probably not, but that would make a statement, huh? HUH? Yeah. It would.
Anyway, back to the review. Yeah everything about this francise sucks. Hackneyed pun absolutely unintended. I don’t see any humour in this situation. I just spent two weeks of my life immersing myself in this bullshit and what do I have to show for it? HUH? That’s right, nothing.
Anyway, point is, yes you can like feminine things if you are a man. But don’t bother with this whole situation here.
Righto boiz. Here it is. Another review for ya. And this time it’s a song. What song would such a manly man choose, you may ask? Something by AC/DC? Bruce Springsteen? Parkway Drive? Well if you just stop asking and let me finish, then perhaps you will learn. Anyway, trust me, it’s an artist better than all of those three.
That’s right. Ariana Grande.
This young Mariah Carey-esque songstress has come out with another dance fuelled pop explosion: “Break Free.” This is a song I can see myself listening to in any number of manly situations: when I’m pumping iron at the gym. When I’m hunting boar with the boiz. When I’m making sensual, yet effective love. When I’m at the bar with the fellas watching footy. When I’m mowing the lawn. When I’m grooming my beard. When I’m milking squids for their delicious ink. The soaring vocals over the choice house beat courtesy of my main man Zedd ensures that I’m going to have a good time.
Just like men can drink whatever they want, they should be able to listen to what they want as well. And if what I want to listen to Ariana Grande before I listen to Metallica, well so be it.
Grab life by the manberries.
Ah. Welcome. This week we will be reviewing the blockbuster musical Wicked.
What? Just because I’m a man I can’t review a musical about 2 witches who learn about themselves and the true meaning of right and wrong?
Jesus Christ. This is just like the whole Vodka Cranberry situation. You mean because I have a penis I can’t see a god damn musical? Huh? HUH? HOW DARE YOU. THAT IS SICK.
I am lost for words. This is the 21st century. The time where there is more social acceptance for different minorities than ever before. I mean sure, there is a long way to go for many of these groups. But I still deserve a little respect. Shame on you. Shame on society. Same on you again.
Anyway, Wicked was good. Costumes were nice.