I’ve started this post about three times, only to delete it out of fear that I’m coming across too pervvy. Maybe it’s just impossible to talk about attractive teenage girls without looking like a creeper. So just accept my apologies up front and rest assured that the only things I want to see these young girls bang are their drums and keyboard.

I’m talking about the band Smoosh. Kat and Alex first introduced me to the band in 2005 after seeing them open for Mates of State. At the ages of 10 and 12, the pair of sisters recorded a great album. Sure, part of it is grading them on a curve after taking into account their ages, but I also genuinely enjoy their music and talent. Though I was first attracted to the juvenile whimsy on "Rad," I am even more impressed with how their sound has matured over the years.

When they played on my computer’s shuffle today, I wondered just how much they matured age-wise. So, yeah, I looked up their ages. And, yeah, I learned that the keyboardist is finally 18, which, yeah, is the age of consent in most states. But I wasn’t looking specifically for that reason. Besides, I like the drummer better anyway.

If you’re not familiar with them, they’re a lot like Hanson: a young band that writes its own songs and is comprised of siblings with long blond hair. The Smoosh girls could actually be plucked into a Hanson family photo, and no one would be the wiser. Remember when “MMMBop” first debuted on MTV and everyone went into 7th grade the next day talking about the Hanson girls? The girl part was sort of a joke, because we knew that one or two of them were actually boys with long hair, but we legitimately thought that the little one was a girl, so the joke ended up being on us. It’s like that. Except that the Smoosh girls are really girls. At least I think. I don’t know for sure, I haven’t like checked-checked because, again, I’m not a perv.

In 2007, I had the opportunity to see Smoosh play live at Kohoutek, and it was great. I think the girls were a bit shell-shocked by the fact that hundreds of college kids were dancing and boozing just feet away from them while showering them with love. The keyboardist was just old enough to impulsively act cool and disinterested by it all, but the drummer just had a huge smile plastered on her face the whole time, adoring the unprecedented adoration.

Anyway, Smoosh is amazing and if you weren’t previously familiar with the band, you should definitely check out their music.


A Soaring Employee

I'm having a difficult time understanding why I'm underemployed. I am a great employee: In just one day I singlehandedly prevented a PR gaffe, criminal charges, and ecoterrorism for the state of Connecticut.

When I interned for Hartford's Chamber of Commerce many years ago, one of my projects was to keep the other interns in the area happy. A lot of business students would work in the city for the summer, realize there was nothing to do, and vow never to come back. Our goal was to find ways to entertain them so that they would seek full time employment in Hartford after they graduated.

This assignment was particularly challenging because there is, in fact, nothing to do in Hartford. One activity we planned was a sporting event, except that Connecticut doesn't have any professional sports teams, so we sent them to a minor league baseball game. Contain your excitement, please.

My boss wanted to turn the event into a photo op in order to generate publicity, so she dreamed up a scheme in which we'd procure hundreds of helium balloons and have the interns simultaneously release them into the air from the stands as some sort of grand symbol of Hartford elevating to higher levels.

I was opposed to the idea. First, it was another example of misunderstanding what twenty-somethings consider fun (just buy them beer, they'd appreciate it more than a balloon). Second, it struck me as horribly irresponsible from an environmental standpoint. Why not just tie soda can rings to each balloon's string so that we could maximize the litter and animal fatalities?

Consequently, I lied to my boss that I was unable to find a party store that could supply that many balloons at such short notice. She put someone else on the task who successfully arranged it almost immediately. Frustrated, I tried to think of another way to thwart this eco-attack. Surely this sort of thing should be against the law.

And so I consulted state legislation. Much to my elation, there was a law preventing such a thing.

Connecticut General Statutes > Title 26 > Chapter 490 > § 26-25c - Release of lighter-than-air balloons restricted. Penalty
(a) No person, nonprofit organization, firm or corporation, including the state and its political subdivisions, shall knowingly release, organize the release of or intentionally cause to be released into the atmosphere within a twenty-four-hour period ten or more helium or other lighter-than-air gas balloons in the state.

Although I was sabotaging my boss' wishes, I came out the hero that day. After I shared the law with her, she was extremely thankful that I helped them avoid a snafu. She had already contacted the media, so the headlines would have read something like "Government employees break law, hurt environment." Not quite the press she was hoping for.

Okay, now someone tell me how to effectively reflect this experience on my resume.


Live-Blogging My Death

You know what the most boring topic of conversation is? People's dreams. Not their aspirations - though yawn to that, too - but their nighttime imaginations. We're all guilty of sharing our "amazing" dreams with people who are inevitably not entertained. Often, the listener starts (day)dreaming himself about something else because the dream he's being told is so irrelevant. Granted, it's intense and important to the person who had the dream, but you know what? It's fiction. Who has time for fiction? There's too much reality going on in my world for me to care about you flying into space with your high school math teacher, thankyouverymuch. (Exception: If you tell me you had a sex dream involving me, I will actually pay attention and ask follow-up questions.)

In an effort to show I am as much a hypocrite as anyone, I'm going to share my dream from last night, but I promise it's brief and ultimately shows my dedication to you, dear readers.

In real life, my street is lined with seventy-foot palm trees, which are cool in a "wow, I live in California" way, but also terrify me because they sway a lot in the wind and I am convinced that they are going to fall over and kill me. This fear was the source of my dream: one of the palm trees uprooted in a storm and came crashing through my roof, landing on me lying in bed. Pinned and suffering under the weight of the tree, I wasn't able to reach my phone, but I could reach my laptop. As I grew weaker, I blogged my last will and testament, as well as some parting thoughts.

Evidently, I'm committed to blogging even in my final moments of life. Y'all better Digg the shit out of my post the day I live-blog my death, ya hear?



On Thursday, I went hydrobiking in Long Beach. What's hydrobiking, you ask? Well I didn't know either until I showed up. I have a tendency to agree to do things that sound funny. This video will show you the gist:

And that's exactly how I rode it. Minus a lifejacket, since I'm a risk-taker. Considering that I just told you I went hydrobiking, you probably already knew that.

But truthfully, hydrobiking is kinda pointless. You know all of those times you've said, "I really like cycling, and I really like being on the ocean, but I never have enough time for both!"? No? Of course you haven't. Granted, it's a decent workout since you have to pedal hard to fight the water resistance, but if the point of exercise is ultimately to look good and feel good about yourself, riding on this dorky contraption immediately fails you on both counts.

Plus, it was a wasted opportunity. If I could do it all over again, I would have tried harder to make friends with the people who were on legitimate, large, motorized boats because... well because who doesn't benefit when they have a friend with a boat? People say smoking is a dumb, expensive habit. False! Owning a boat is a dumb, expensive habit. But I would like to have a friend with a boat addiction so that I can sneak a drag periodically. On the other hand, if you own a hydrobike, let's not be friends.

I tease hydrobiking, but I still had a reasonably fun time. If nothing else, it offered an authentic cycling experience. By which I mean that the seat did a number on my genitals - just like a real bike seat! It's three days later and my taint is still raw. They can construct a bicycle that floats on water, yet they can't redesign a seat to be crotch-friendly.


A Job Interview

I just got back from a job interview. It went well! If by well, I mean comically.

I've been on this kick where I've been missing teaching lately, mainly because I'm a glutton for punishment. I thought one way to reconcile this yearning would be to teach adults learning English. As I see it, teaching mature people who are choosing to be in the classroom means less cursing, fewer death threats.

After throwing my resume at everyone I could, I finally heard back from a man who ran an ESL school. From both a brief email and phone conversation, it became clear that his own English wasn't too good. I joked to my friends that the one guy who expressed an interest in hiring me was also the one guy who couldn't actually read my resume.

I arrived at the office today at the same time as another guy. The boss greeted the other guy warmly and said, "Who are you?" to me. I told him I was here for an interview and he said, "Oh no, I over-book! I already did so many, I forgot any more." He promised the other guy that he would get back to him in 10 minutes and pulled me into a room for an interview.

He quickly asked me a couple of basic questions about my experience, then said, "So tell me about Taiwan." I froze, trying to think of what I knew about Taiwan other than that they manufacture a lot of crap. I guessed he wanted to know about my familiarity with Asian culture. "Well, it's an island nation by China..." I started. "No, no, what you do when you in Taiwan?" "I've never been to Taiwan," I said. He points to the part of my resume that mentions my internship at the Mark Twain House. I had to explain that it was Mark Twain the author, not Taiwan the country, and that effectively ended the main interest he had in me. My jest became a reality: he actually had brought me in because he couldn't read my resume properly.

Never mind my experience with ESL students, my Masters degree, my charming tie that's decorated like a pencil (it's cute and education-themed!) I even wore my glasses that I only wear to drive in order to look "smarter." I've been told multiple times that I interview well, and I worked every angle I could before he dismissed me, so I'm not saying that it's entirely out of the realm of possibility that I'll get a callback, but like whatever. I'm not going to make fun of a guy for not speaking proper English, but when you head a school that is designed to do just that, you're opening yourself up for criticism like a fat doctor or an illiterate librarian.

Underemployment for life! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go read some Mark Taiwan.


What's the Matter Here?

What does it say about me that one of my favorite songs ever (as verified by my ITunes most played list) is about child abuse?

I mean, I'd like to think that I'm drawn to the Natalie Merchant's chilling vocals on "What's the Matter Here?" more than the lyrics about witnessing child abuse and remaining silent, but there's got to be something deeper.

I blame my Dad. To be clear, he didn't beat me, but his favorite musical artists are Natalie Merchant, Sarah McLachlan, and Melissa Etheridge, which I'm sure has played a large role in me becoming the lesbian that I am today.

While growing up, the song's lyrics were relatively meaningless, it took a more important meaning in recent years. When I received my teacher certification, I became a mandated reporter, which meant I had a legal obligation to report any reasonable suspicions of child abuse. It's a responsibility I didn't feel mature enough to bear, but one of my coworkers assured me that it was uncommon and only arose once in her seventeen years of teaching. But with my luck, it took me only two months of teaching before I had to call Child Protective Services. As much as I didn't want to make the call, I knew I should; having been sworn to an oath helped make the decision clear. Afraid, the kid lied to the officials to cover things up, then lashed out on me for breaking his confidence. Things only got worse, and somehow I ended up feeling like the asshole for trying to be a responsible adult.

No lie, it's a huge relief to know I don't have to meddle in such affairs anymore. I'd like to think that if I encountered a situation where a child is being abused that I'd still intervene, but it's definitely easier to know I could not be legally prosecuted for minding my own business. But I'll probably keep humming this tune regardless.


Teddy Tennis

This might be the most important art I have hanging in my house.

No wonder so many artists suffer from depression: their work pales in comparison.


Favorite Cities to Say

Somehow "Montpelier" came up in conversation, and Michael Michael matter-of-factly said, "Oh, that's on my list of Favorite Cities to Say." While it might not be uncommon for people to have a list of Favorite Cities to Visit, having a pre-existing selection based simply on euphony is, at the very least, amusingly strange. I'm not making fun, mind you, as this strangeness is probably one of the strongest reasons we are friends. Besides, it inspired me to make a list of my own.
Favorite U.S. Cities to Say:
1. Minneapolis
2. Montpelier
3. Albuquerque
4. Wichita
5. Rancho Cucamonga
6. Toledo
7. Tallahassee
8. Boise
9. Cincinnati
10. Milwaukee

How fortunate it must be to live in one of these locations: you would regularly get to have as much fun as possible with your lips short of motor-boating.
What are your favorite cities to say?



I was watching an old episode of Celebrity Apprentice wherein Holly Robinson Peete is working with a kid from the Make-A-Wish foundation. As adults are wont to do, she asked him the standard "What do you want to be when you grow up?" question. To the kid's credit, while his face read "Idiot, I have a terminal disease," he only said, "I haven't thought of that yet." I hope it wasn't his wish to meet a quasi-celebrity!

Subsequent research about Make-A-Wish taught me that the child doesn't necessarily have to be dying to receive a wish, suffering from a light-threatening illness is sufficient. I think Make-A-Wish's policy is a good one; can you imagine a cancer-stricken kid who miraculously survives only to find himself obligated to pay for his day of fishing with Tom Brady?

So maybe Ms. Peete's career question was not as inappropriate as I initially believed. My research also led me to learn that there is an even bigger misconception about Make-A-Wish: it's going bankrupt. Evidently, people don't understand satire to the extent that Snopes had to refute rumors started by this hilarious Onion video:

Is it too much to wish for a less gullible society?


Authority Is So Much More Frightening as a Child

When I was four, my dad took me to the mall to do some last minute Christmas shopping for my mother. While he browsed through the women's clothing that, no matter how carefully he selected, she would inevitably exchange, I amused myself by crawling under the racks to hide.

Concealed behind pants, I immediately popped out and ran back to my dad's side once the store made an announcement to please proceed to the register as they would be closing in ten minutes. He continued looking at an assortment of puffy sweaters, so I agitatedly tugged at him to finish. He said he would finish up soon, yet I began to panic since his pace suggested he would not wrap it up before the store closed in TEN MINUTES.

Despite my prodding, he continued examining the clothing long enough for a more urgent FIVE MINUTE warning to be delivered. By this point, all of the other shoppers had either exited or were paying at the register. FIVE MINUTES, I repeated anxiously, which my dad again dismissed. Already on the verge of tears, I then spotted them starting to pull down the caged door to close for the night, prompting me to start bawling.

"No, no! Don't lock us in!" I screamed. A concerned employee came to my side. Amidst my tears, I explained that we had five minutes to get out of the store, but my dad wasn't even hurrying, and now we were going to be stuck there. I honestly believed that we would be locked in the mall overnight. The woman patted my head and laughed, promising they wouldn't be trapping us.

Finally we went to the register where my dad purchased some questionable holiday sweaters. "Do you need a gift receipt?" I may have only been four and dumb enough to think a store would imprison a kid overnight, but even I knew that that was going to be necessary.


Cleavage Shots

"One of the funniest things on [the internet] is how girls post photos of themselves where their cleavage supposedly isn’t the focal point, but it obviously is.

You know where it’s like oh hey this is me and my new (insert new thing)! Or this is me making a funny face!

What? My boobs are hanging out of my shirt? Oh gosh, thanks for pointing that out. I totally didn’t notice that when I chose the photo from the 7 I just took."
Those are some wise words, DBizzle, but shhh. The deal is that you pretend not to notice, and then we pretend not to look. In the meantime, NEVER STOP BEING YOU, LADIES.

On an entirely unrelated note, I keep meaning to show y'all a photo of my old sneakers.
Well, there you go. Damn that Michael Cera/Paulie Bleeker costume was problematic.


20 Questions: The 2010 MTV VMAs

Okay, you win, MTV. Last year, I heard about the shocking events that unfolded during your Video Music Awards for days, so this time I felt peer pressured to watch your broadcast. While I certainly won’t argue with the terrific “Bad Romance” sweeping the night, I’m still a bit confused by some of the events. To address my lingering queries, let’s play a game of 20 Questions:

1. After releasing a dove from her crotch, why did Chelsea Handler miss the opportunity to make a joke about a bird in the hand being worth two in her bush?

2. Did Lady Gaga have to prove her lack of a penis before being awarded Best Female video?

3. If I make a “30 Seconds to Orgasm” joke, does that make me more of a tool than Jared Leto?

4. Did Kim Kardashian agree to introduce Justin Bieber because she secretly enjoys receiving death threats from preteens or simply because they agreed to film her from the front?

5. Is “Eminem had to fly to New York to do a show tonight” code for “Eminem is doing coke out of Paris Hilton’s snatch with Lindsay Lohan backstage?”

6. How does Chelsea Handler make being unfunny look so effortless?

7. Does MTV consider it community service when they allow an actually talented indie artist like Florence & the Machine to play a full song or do they just assume people might mistake her outrageous costumes and choreography for Lady Gaga?

8. That “Tick Tock” she keeps hearing is her fifteen minutes - will Ke$ha have to remove the dollar sign from her name when she is broke by next year?

9. Which is more pathetic: interrupting a teenager’s acceptance speech or writing a self-righteous song about said incident that labels the perpetrator an “innocent?”

10. Do you think Kanye’s inner-monologue is going something like, “But wouldn’t it be just a little bit funny if I ran up there again?”

11. If I promise to tweet about the VMAs, will MTV finally shut up about it?

12. Do the stars of True Blood realize they’re missing their own show’s finale to quickly ramble off the technical awards deemed too boring to be given substantial airtime?

13. Is it too much to ask for a hairdryer to fall from the rafters while the cast of Jersey Shore is in the hot tub?

14. Though both are very true, will anyone ever introduce Sofia Vergara without mentioning that she’s beautiful and Columbian?

15. Has Sway intentionally not checked his mail for the past five years knowing full well that there’s a pink slip from MTV waiting for him?

16. Is that guy singing with B.O.B. emulating Janelle Monae’s haircut on purpose?

17. Isn’t having a category in which kids can vote for the winner the same thing as just handing Justin Bieber an award from the get-go?

18. What’s the point of having Linkin Park play a song if it doesn’t lead to an appearance by Antoine “Obviously, we have a rapist in Linkin Park” Dodson?

19. Who told Cher she could turn back time in that outfit?

20. Did Kanye ask to have the set of V recreated for his toast to douchebags, assholes, scumbags, and jerkoffs?


The Face of Obesity

I had 1.69 lbs. of ground beef just past its "best if used by" date and decided to make myself a giant hamburger. McDonalds sells Pound-and-a-Halfers, right?

Sure, it may seem like a submission for This Is Why You're Fat, but I skipped the bun (ew, carbs) and added some bagged salad, so it's practically healthy.

I intended to make a smily face with the ketchup, but made a last minute switch when I realized it would be more appropriate to draw the facial expression of someone undergoing cardiac arrest.

Once I've been admitted to a hospital midway through my meal, I promise to post my room number so you can send get well cards.

At least I finally have an appropriate writing sample for the next time I see an application to become a food blogger.


Our Neighbors in Africa

A local public school liberry recently discarded this book. Despite the word "neighbor" in the title, which suggests that they might portray Africans as Americans' equals, I figured it would be worth scooping up in order to find the inevitable racism.

Initially, the bigotry is pretty minimal, with just periodic bits of a condescending tone:

"There are cows in Africa, but most boys and girls do not drink milk because their parents do not know that drinking milk is important for good health" (21).

But then that condescension grows...

"At playtime African children like to play tag or hide-and-seek or singing games. And of course they like to play in mud" (28). Of course!

The book does not reference a single famous African person, but does mention two kindly white gentleman, David Livingstone and Albert Schweitzer, who traveled to Africa to save lives with their medical knowhow. You see, Africa's take on medicine is through witch doctors, as these two pages explain:

In addition to the witch doctor section, there is also a part about slavery. Considering the book editorializes sporadically throughout, the slavery portion is a questionable place to start taking a just-the-facts approach. Particularly in a children's book, a condemnation of slavery, or perhaps anything slightly more critical than "Many people became rich selling slaves" (34) would have been appropriate.

At least the book ends on a high note. The last page reads, "While most Africans are illiterate, poor, disease-ridden, and superstitious, there are highly educated Africans." See, it's not offensive because they acknowledge that there are some exceptions!

I suppose it's a good thing that kids don't read anymore.


Labor Day BBQ


I'm intoxicated and just got back from Wes's bomb barbeque. He made swell shish kabobs, and the people, half friends, half strangers, were great, too.

Except for one crazy dude. He tried to tell me that "even crackheads are good at something" before going into detail about witnessing some guy he knew getting beheaded. So I was all, "What is that song on the I-Pod?", excused myself, and avoided him as best I could all night.

It was the first night I had an actual conversation with Katie. And then I ruined it when she asked me if I had any corn. I responded, "No, I haven't yet, but I definitely will. I love corn... as my poop could tell you." Like, I barely know the girl, and I mentioned my corn-filled bowel movements. Fortunately, she found it hysterical, which means we'll be cool, but I don't think I'll incorporate it into my pick-up line arsenal.

Katie asked where I was from, and I said Connecticut, and she said one of her other friends from Connecticut would be coming to the party late because she was currently at a pie eating contest and that she would be bringing the left-over pies for us all to eat. I found this gross because I immediately envisioned the half-eaten pies that people had mashed their faces in before stopping to vomit, but Katie corrected that they would probably be the extra pies that people hadn't had a chance to touch.

So this girl arrived late with pies and then cut herself a slice. I introduced myself and said, "Wow, you're gonna have a piece of pie after the contest?"
"Yeah, I'm hungry," she said.
"Really?! Did you win?" I asked.
"No, I didn't win," she lamented. Soon after I saw her get a second piece.
"I'm impressed, another piece?" I asked.
"Yeah..." she said.
"How much pie have you eaten today?" I asked.
"This is just my second piece," she said defensively.
"No, but in the contest?" I asked again.
"I didn't get to eat the pie, only the judges," she said.

Only after that did we clear up that she had participated in a pie-MAKING contest, not a pie-EATING contest! Katie had passed along bad information, and now I made this stranger feel self-concious and obese as I harassed her over the amount of pie she ate.

We laughed about it afterwards and made nice, but like DAMN I sure know how to embarrass myself.


A Night at the Wax Museum

Recently, I was invited to crash a rooftop party at the wax museum. Though I don't normally "do" Hollywood, it was fun to snack, mingle, booze, and dance amongst all my favorite (life-size replicas of) stars!

Here's the thing, though: I am TOO DUMB to handle a wax museum. When you go to a wax museum, you should expect to see fake famous people, right? My mind couldn't quite grasp this concept, however, leading to three moments of stupidity:

1. There were some minor celebrities in attendance since this event followed a film premiere, but 100 yards away, I saw a man sitting and posing with a never-ending line of people for photos. "There must be a real big celebrity here!" I said to my friends, who in turn pointed out it was just a figure of Ryan Seacrest. To my credit, wax-Ryan Seacrest did not look much like real-Ryan Seacrest.

2. A woman with her back turned to me had stopped smack in the middle of a walkway. I tried to get around her, but still managed to bump into her, so I turned to her and apologized with an "Excuse me." At this point, I realized she was just a wax-Shakira. I felt like an idiot, though Shakira seemed pretty indifferent.

3. I waited a while for a guy who was in position to take a photograph of wax-George Clooney so I wouldn't pass through his shot. It was taking him forever to take the damn thing, however, so I finally just made a long loop around him, only then to discover that the photographer was also wax. He wasn't famous, just a wax paparazzi to enhance the celebrity mood. Throughout the night, I passed by him twice more, each time hesitating so as not to ruin his shot before remembering that he wasn't real.

Ah, but there's a plus side to being stupid: a lot of fun can be had at a wax museum when you're simpleminded. I danced with Beyonce - this occurring shortly before I met the REAL Beyonce (impersonator).

Then I decided I wanted photographic evidence of how I was responsible for corrupting Britney Spears. After feeding her some beer, an inebriated old man came up and told me to not be shy and give Britney a proper feel. In my head, I was thinking about what a creep he was, but he was so insistent that, in order to humor him, I finally touched one boob as he touched the other. I must admit, considering that they were artificial, they're probably close to what the real Britney's boobs feel like. He then instructed me not to reach underneath her dress, however, because "she's still a lady."

Now that the man had empowered me - to be a perv - I went over and patted the esteemed chests of power couple Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. From that vantage, I spotted wax-Jennifer Aniston in the opposite corner with her arms crossed and staring bitterly at the duo. Madame Tussauds clearly has a funny sense of humor, but damn, Jen can't catch a break. Whereas I've never cared previously, I found myself feeling legitimately sorry for Jennifer Aniston. It's settled: the wax museum was turning me into an imbecile. Maybe I'll return again one day when I'm wiser.


The 25 Most Overtly Sexual R. Kelly Songs

Every musician needs a muse, and R. Kelly’s muse is sex. For someone whose life has been plagued with sex scandals, R. Kelly doesn’t shy away from the subject in his songs. Sure, he’ll release the occasional song like “Heaven, I Need a Hug” to appear sympathetic after beating charges for allegedly creating pornography with a minor, but then he’ll follow it up with a single about banging whatever youn thing walks by him in a club. You know, just demonstrating his innocence!

I’ve long had a theory that 75% of Kelly’s songs are in no small way about sex, so I decided to conduct some research to put it to the test. Even I was surprised by the results; it’s to the extent that I’m shocked his hit single wasn’t called “I Believe I Can Fuck.” I’d like to share my findings with you, as I present The 25 Most Overtly Sexual R. Kelly Songs:

SONG: Your Body’s Callin’
YEAR: 1994
ROMANTIC LINE: “And now that you’ve come around to seein’ it my way, you won’t regret it, baby, and you surely won’t forget it, baby.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Statutory rape.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “These hands have been longing to touch you, baby.” (Personifying a body part is unsurprising, considering Kelly is one big personified penis.)
OF NOTE: Kelly recorded a remix of this song with Aaliyah, his alleged child bride.

SONG: Sex in the Kitchen
YEAR: 2005
ROMANTIC LINE: “I want sex in the kitchen over by the stove. I want to put you on the counter by the buttered rolls. Hands on the table, on your tippy toes, we’ll be makin’ love like the restaurant was closed.”
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Girl, I’m ready to toss your salad!”
OF NOTE: Tired of objectifying video hos and club whores, Kelly focuses his hormones on homemakers.

SONG: You Remind Me of Something
YEAR: 1995
ROMANTIC LINE: “I wanna get to know you, lady, and hip me up on how to get inside you.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Doing it in the backseat.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “You remind me of my Jeep – I want to ride it. Something like my sound – I want to pump it.”
OF NOTE: What Kelly means to say is that you remind him of sex. As does everything.

SONG: The Zoo
YEAR: 2007
ROMANTIC LINE: “Makin’ love like we was just two heated animals, baby, come and lay with me in my jungle.”
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “I got you so wet, it’s like a rain forest. Like Jurassic Park except I’m your sex-a-saurus, baby.”
OF NOTE: Some parents bring their kids to the zoo to teach them about the birds and the bees; Kelly wouldn’t mind providing some private tutoring.

SONG: Echo
YEAR: 2009
ROMANTIC LINE: “Now when we finally get to round 10, we not gonna stop, we’ll start again. And when you need a break, I’ll let you up, I’ll let you breathe, wash your face, get something to eat, then come back to the bedroom.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Holding your partner sexually hostage.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Now I'm working it up and down like a roller coaster ride: sex in the evening, sex all night.”
OF NOTE: Kelly must have blown all his money on strippers, because this video is hilariously low-budget. Also, he seems to have mistaken yodeling for some sort of sensual mating call.

SONG: Sex Planet
YEAR: 2007
ROMANTIC LINE: “Girl, I promise this will be painless, painless. We’ll take a trip to planet Uranus.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: A raunchy study-break from astronomy.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Gonna get you so excited once I taste your Milky Way.”
OF NOTE: All of Kelly’s sex metaphors here are truly out of this world.

SONG: Half on a Baby
YEAR: 1998
ROMANTIC LINE: “Now tell me what the deal is, are you ready to bump? It’s gonna take a lifetime to give you all of this love. So baby open up and get ready to receive a miracle of love: gettin’ down with me.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Willing to feign a paternal instinct in order to avoid having to wear a condom.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Like a hotel room, I’m checkin’ in to you. I’m diggin’ like a shovel all the things you do.”
OF NOTE: He’s willing to go Dutch on creating a kid, but don’t expect that deal to carry through when it comes time for child support.

SONG: Rock Star
YEAR: 2007
ROMANTIC LINE: “Call me Scotty, ‘cause, girl, I’m ‘bout to beam up. Once I get ya, get ya, gon’ come on out of them D-cups.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Cashing in on the perks of being a celebrity.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Strokin’ it (expletive), strokin’ it (expletive) while you got your legs up, makin’ ya, makin’ ya sound like ya got the hiccups.”
OF NOTE: Ludacris and Kid Rock collaborate on this song as well. It’s an important, previously unexplored narrative about how famous musicians can get laid whenever they want.

SONG: Bump N’ Grind
YEAR: 1994
ROMANTIC LINE: “I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Justifying your philandering.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: As this was one of his first songs, Kelly had yet to discover the true poet in himself.
OF NOTE: It’s not immoral if it involves Kelly getting off!

SONG: Greatest Sex
YEAR: 2000
ROMANTIC LINE: “Baby, your love stays constantly on my mind. This is the best sex I’ve ever had.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Using romantic gestures to get laid.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Like a voyage when the storm begins to roar, there’s no telling what this night could have in store.”
OF NOTE: All of the girls he complimented in his other songs should be jealous because this one was the greatest sex.

SONG: Pregnant
YEAR: 2009
ROMANTIC LINE: “Girl, you make me wanna get you pregnant. Lay your body down and get you pregnant. Knock you up, pregnant.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Spending your tax refund on an abortion.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Raise your hand if you want me to fulfill your fantasies: I can have you co-starrin’ in one of my movies.” (Surely this is figurative because he’s not in movies… unless he’s referring to another sex tape, in which case: g’ew!)
OF NOTE: This chick is so hot, even though he doesn’t want a commitment, he wants a souvenir.

SONG: Slow Wind
YEAR: 2005
ROMANTIC LINE: “Girl, the time has come to show and prove. I’ve seen enough, I wanna feel the truth.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Courting pussy from another culture.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Lead me to your secret jungle, babe.”
OF NOTE: Kelly is singing to a slow-moving Jamaican queen. He should call her “Your Highness in every sense of the word.

SONG: Number One
YEAR: 2009
ROMANTIC LINE: “It’s okay if you want to brag: the sex so good, go and pat yourself on the back.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Spending a weekend together.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Havin’ sex with you is like makin’ hits. Girl, we got egos, they can’t tell us that we ain’t the shit, no.”
OF NOTE: Kelly duets with Keri Hilson in attempt to prove his songs are more than masturbatory fantasies.

SONG: Sex Me
YEAR: 1993
ROMANTIC LINE: “Any unexpected positions, anything unexpected, bring it on, yeah. Any secret fantasies, anything secret, I’ll fulfill as long as you sex me.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Establishing your debatable heterosexuality from the onset of your career.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Let me kiss you in the right place, so I can see “Sex me baby!” written on your face.”
OF NOTE: This song is Kelly’s first single. Clearly, he set an important tone right from the start.

SONG: Bangin’ the Headboard
YEAR: 2009
ROMANTIC LINE: “Girl, we’ll be bangin’, bangin’, bangin’, b-b-bangin’ the headboard.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Allowing the neighbors to hear everything.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Like us both in a room at my domain about to blow up and hit like a hurricane.”
OF NOTE: Kelly should invest in WD-40 to combat his squeaky bed.

SONG: Skin
YEAR: 2008
ROMANTIC LINE: “Girl, I’ll be flipping your body, so I hope you’re acrobatic.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Pressuring someone who wouldn’t put out on the first date.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “I would be your toy, play with me like Lego.”
OF NOTE: Kelly claims he’s been patient in waiting to have sex with her, but fuck that, it’s time to fuck!

SONG: Honey Love
YEAR: 1992
ROMANTIC LINE: “Turn the lights down. Don’t be scared. Touch me. I know what you want and, uh, tonight is your night for the rest of your life, so just lay back and relax and listen.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Taking someone’s virginity.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Just like a lollipop, you’re so sweet, hey. And your body’s like a lemon drop, sure tastes good to me.”
OF NOTE: Kelly agrees to take you to the mall, provided sex will occur later.

SONG: Be My #2
YEAR: 2010
ROMANTIC LINE: “Be my #2, girl, you’re so fine, so fine. Be my #2, but you will never be my #1.”
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “I could never be your husband, but that don’t mean you still don’t rock my world.”
OF NOTE: To conclude the song, Kelly threatens to slap all the “hatin’ motherfuckers” who don’t accept his infidelity.

SONG: (Sex) Love Is What We Makin’
YEAR: 2005
ROMANTIC LINE: “Sex in the morning, sex in the evening, sex in the noon day even when we sleeping. I want sex on all the holidays and every single weekend. Baby, it’s okay, because love is what we making.”
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “We’ll take our time ‘cause, girl, we got our whole life. Your sex is incredible, it’s goin’ on the 12th night.” (I’d at least like to hope it’s hyperbole.)
OF NOTE: Kelly’s eagerness to have sex with you even when you’re sleeping sounds a little like rape.

SONG: Snake
YEAR: 2003
ROMANTIC LINE: “Spotted you shakin’ it fast, earthquaking that ass in denim.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: A lot of tongue action.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Like two gorillas in a jungle makin’ love.”
OF NOTE: The video’s cultural insensitivity demonstrates that while Kelly might have studied a broad, he’s never studied abroad.

SONG: Touchin’
YEAR: 2005
ROMANTIC LINE: “Raindrops falling, love angels calling – something tells me this could be the greatest sex in history. All these nights, girl, I vow to make you cry when I go down.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Having sex. Noticing a pattern yet?
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Like a summer breeze, bursting trees, loving the way you pleasin’ me.”
OF NOTE: Any two people practically have an obligation to fornicate once they find themselves alone, posits Kelly.

SONG: Sex Weed
YEAR: 2005
ROMANTIC LINE: “Girl, you got that sex weed, I just want to hit it all the time, sex so good that it gets me high.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Indulging in vices.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Girl, it’s like a dime bag dro, the way you movin’ that cush real slow.”
OF NOTE: Sex is a drug, and Kelly is addicted.

SONG: Pull Your Hair
YEAR: 2005
ROMANTIC LINE: “As a kid man, I used to play tug of war. Now I grab chicks by the hair and play rug of war.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Covering the bed in pieces of hair extensions.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “I sweat weaves out, you should call me Richard Simmons.”
OF NOTE: You can ask Kelly not to mess up your hairdo during intercourse, but he’s not going to listen.

SONG: All I Really Want
YEAR: 2000
ROMANTIC LINE: “In the middle of the night, best believe I’m going in. So hold your pillow tight, ‘cause I wanna do it again and again.”
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “Make your body feel like heaven, baby.”
OF NOTE: Like in many of his songs, Kelly lets you know you won’t be getting any sleep anytime soon.

SONG: Ignition (Remix)
YEAR: 2003
ROMANTIC LINE: “I’m about to take my key and stick it in the ignition.”
WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: Being too drunk to give a fuck about anything other than fucking.
FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: “You must be a football coach the way you got me playing the field.”
OF NOTE: Though hotel management won’t let you loiter in the lobby past 4am, you are still permitted to “take it to your room and freak somebody.”

There you have it, twenty-five hyper-sexualized R. Kelly songs. It didn’t have to stop at twenty-five, I was just kind of worn out, because unlike Kelly, some people need a rest. For example, I didn’t even get to “I Like the Crotch on You.” But I don’t need to finish his oeuvre to know that Robert Kelly is the king of singing about his dick while using awful similes. He may not be classified as a sex offender, but he’s definitely proven his sex addict status. I wouldn’t recommend compiling a mix CD with these tracks because they’re quickly redundant and anyone you tried to seduce with the music would label you a pervert and make a hasty exit before getting past foreplay. It’s like, we get it R. Kelly: You like sex, you’re really good at it, and everything we’ve heard about your prowess is true… except for those illegal things. And the peeing thing. (Please write a song about the peeing thing.)