Not to get the spanners out and re-open an old and under-utilized rumour mill, but well, anyone else remember those Will Smith gay rumours? Scientology...sham marriage...Hollywood rent boys...all that onscreen Fresh Prince Of Bel Air chemistry with Carleton?! Boy oh boy.
Girls Aint Nothin But Trouble, in retrospect, provides a whole lotta bubble to that squeak.
I mean, for starters, Fresh - you always were close with yo’homeboy Jazz, aint nothing wrong with that, but when you release a song publicly attempting to start a heterosexual coup against the female race through rhymes with said homeboy, you gotta start to worry.
For starters, this ‘Exotic Elaine’ you speak of - any broad with an alliterative double barrel name featuring a precursor adjective of a slightly saucy nature, is not one to be trusted. Particularly when homegirl looks of the same genetic ilk as RuPaul, dresses like a streetwalker and wears a weave that Marie Antoinette would have deemed overkill.
And Fresh, everyone knows, if you’re paying a ho to hang out with you she’s basically into casual prostitution, and if you’re flashing the dollar about then it’s within a mutual consensus that you want some smart price loving, and she wants to buy a tuna steak for her dinner tomorrow night. So whats all this about you freaking out when bitch finally starts getting aptly ‘fresh’ with you?
“She started grabbin all over me, kissin’ and huggin’ - So I shoved her away, I said, ‘You better stop buggin’”
Wait - what? Seriously - FRESH - let’s get real here. This is your argument as to why straight men everywhere should ‘remember (your) rhyme and get the hell away’ from girls? Christ. If you don’t want a slot machine to pay out, then don’t ply it with your pennies - IDIOT. And as for her/he screaming ‘rape’ on you at the end of the whole thing, well, that kind of a story might hold up in the patriarchal fun house of the law courts, but it sure don’t fly within the rhymes of a pop video. No. Sir.
Another lesson we can learn from Girls Aint Nothin But Trouble, is that one should never trust a broad who interrupts a crucial Mike (who??) Tyson fight / casual tequila binge to drag you back to her demonic, satin sheeted, Backdraft homage of a bedroom for no good dirty deeds (girl, you cookin a BBQ in the bathroom, or what? Crack open a window fo’Chrissake).
In the very unlikely scenario that a fine honey hunts you down at one of your more pitiful, lonely, drunken moments and offers you no-strings sex on tap, it’s probably only because she’s got her no-good hulk of a beau due home at any second, and she’s lookin for either A) a lameo, dreadful threeway B) an extra hand to get E4 to work on freeview or C) to get grave biblical vengeance on said beau for that RuPaul looking weave she found in the backseat of her Toyota last night.
Either way, you don’t want in. Just look at the Fresh Prince! Look at him! Outside in the snow in his goddamn knickers.
Should you find yourself in a similar situation, we highly recommend taking the cowards way out a la Fresh Prince. No-body likes a hero. Just look at R-Kelly - hiding in a closet with a baretta hoping to either shoot, stealthily hide or opera your way out of a scenario does nothing but escalate the situation.
Although, admittedly, hiding in a closet does work wonders for some situations huh Fresh?
Whatever, anyway - the main lessons to be learnt from Girl’s Aint Nothin’ But Trouble? Wearing La Cox Sportif for a date will encourage your girl to hide inside her house for three hours till you go-the-fuck-away (and don’t stand on the step and wait for her - even TV licensing officers have more self-respect than that).
Do decorate your bedroom walls with crudely painted pictures of Betty Boop, Felix the Cat, and the lyrics to your latest rhyme. It’s totally rad and will NEVER look dated.
And finally, don’t over-compensate for a hidden homosexual agenda. The fine honeys hate it.
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