How twerking is the climatic point for the downfall of humanity
I think by now we’ve all heard just enough about twerking… A verb, a noun, a phenomenon really, to this devolved generation. A whole new level of ratchet. But if it’s not “twerk”, it’s “bubble butt”, “pop that p*ssy b*tch”, or “to the windoooowwwwss”… How did we get here? More importantly, what’s next? Stop hating on Hannah Montana for wildin’ out or Juicy J for his ‘scholarship’ offering. The real issue here is that mainstream music is counterproductive. One might even describe it as ‘shit’. Twenty minutes in the studio to drop a beat, write a catchy hook with a minimal syllable count to mirror the intelligence of targeted listeners, and within no time, we have a radio banger. Maybe even a Grammy nomination. Somewhere in between, Jacob the Jeweler gets a call - 2 Chainzzz!
Endorsements, indecent exposure, lethargic(ism). Tracks with thought-provoking lyrics such as “she got a big booty so I call her big booty.” And you know what? We still turn the track up and jam to it. Many of us are guilty of enjoying this mindlessly simplistic music and loving it like McDonalds. Integrating these catchy phrases into our daily speech and vocabulary: “no new friends”, “I love bad b*tches”, and “U.O.E.N.O." There’s nothing wrong with having a good time and that music can make you feel good! Just as long as you’re not paying too much attention to the words or thinking at all really.
That moment where sobriety kicks in (or was there the whole time) and you look around the club and imagine it as a social jungle of animalistic behaviours: impulse, urge, survival. The wild, where twerking, amongst other things – thrives:
-->The girl whose dress became a tank top (Antelope) -->The guy who is preying on her like Scar from the Lion King (Lion) -->Disintegrating high heel functionality (Ostrich) -->Egotistical male, freshly groomed, getting rowdy at the watering hole looking for any excuse to exalt his built up aggression (Baboon)
Then after absorbing all of this, the music hits you. You listen… “Yeah, I love dem strippers… (x4)”
And you’re like SMH. What is this place? Who are these people? Why am I here? What the fu** is that b*tch doing on that wall over there?!
That right there… That’s what saves you. It’s the feeling of shame and disappointment followed by consciously recognizing guilty pleasures that keeps us somewhat hopeful for humanity.
Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s tiresome to carry the burden of social responsibility. Now go on with yo’ bad self.
Can’t put me in a box. Nizer