June’s Most Average Moments

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June was so excruciating in shameful celebrity behavior and shameful endorsement via media bating that we invented a new drinking game. Well, it’s not so much a game as it is, a combination of bad beverages and bad habits inspired by Eddie Vedder.

We mix Mariah Carey’s Butterfly soda with two fingers of Earl Stevens’ Mangoscoto (yup, that’s E-40’s wine) in a crusty Converse collected from Shea Stadium’s lost and found, a la Eddie Vedder drinking from a fan’s shoe. What can we say, the man is an inspiration. (Sidenote: if any of the parties involved, Mariah, Earl, or Converse want to sponsor our next event, we’ve got the bar menu laid out.)

As for those rare sober moments? We spent those wishing we had a supply of airtight, soundproofed boxes to stuff this crap in like it’s the metal band, Unfathomable Ruination. Oh, that satisfaction we’d get sealing that sucker closed, tossing the key down a storm drain, and whistling while we walk away.

Kidchella: Native American culture ain’t safe.

Kimye just can’t do anything simple, can they? Rather than celebrate the first birthday of daughter North West with a vanilla cake and a candle, Kimye threw a pint-sized music festival, aptly called Kidchella. The party featured a ferris wheel, complimentary bracelets, performances by cousins Kendall and Kylie Jenner, fringed Yeezus shirts, and more adults in bohemian attire than was really acceptable. And since music festival requirement #164 is “some sort of cultural appropriation”, Khloe Kardashian wore a Native American headdress and posed by a teepee. The perfect party for a child too young to remember it.

“How does it feeeel… feels like a buttload of $”- Bob Dylan

Sure, you could ARGUE that Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone” is the greatest song ever written, but let’s be honest; the GSOAT (Greatest Song of All Time) title comes down to one thing and one thing only: how much cold hard cash a draft of its lyrics can fetch at auction. (Note how “fetch” is most commonly used to describe either what dogs do to slobbery chew-toys or what useless memorabilia does to the money of people with more of it than they know what to do with.) Anyway, some poor collector shelled out over two mil for Bobby D’s draft to the classic Highway 61 Revisited single, giving “LARS” the official GSOAT title…for now.

Lana Del Ray vs Frances Bean

Taking the side of neither party, it’s tempting not to look at the short-lived feud between Lana del Rey and Frances Bean Cobain over a comment del Rey made in The Guardian in which she said, “I wish I was dead already,” as anything other than a shining example of how media engagement between public figures only serves to cloud real discourse on serious matters like early death and suicide. Lana del Rey’s almost Taylor Swiftian approach to the cultivation of her persona can’t possibly be called out for speaking in the voice of one her many caricatures, right? It’s times like these we look at Crying Kurt Statue and think: same.

If no one in a supposed beef calls foul, why do we hear it?

Probably because punchy content farmers catch wind of a slightly critical (and already slightly spun) comment and defenestrate context like it was a bucket of water. Sensationalist writers completely overlooked the “Nothing against her” portion when linking to Billboard Magazine’s June cover story with Iggy Azalea. Iggy was quoted as saying she didn’t think that Lorde was an “appropriate” choice to fill in at the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame tribute to Nirvana. Why pray tell? Because Iggy thinks that a “peer” should be tapped to honor deceased friend. St. Vincent’s Annie Clark should be the one calling this a beef because she was only 11 years old when Kurt died.

Robin Thicke: if she doesn’t want it, stalk her.

One would hope that after Robin Thicke released one of the most controversial songs in recent history, he might lay low, maybe release a collection of Michael Buble covers, something completely inoffensive. But of course, the man whose hit had the world assuming that women always “want it” has done something equally creepy. In February, Thicke and his wife, Paula Patton divorced after almost a decade together. His newest album, Paula, is an explicitly forceful attempt at reconciliation; song titles include “Lock the Door”, “Whatever I Want”, and the single/thesis “Get Her Back”. Thicke’s stalker-ish message romanticizes threatening obsession and sends a negative message to young men about romance.

Enabling misogynist scum for pageviews

The carnal and base-obsessed media hubs continue to propagate the lecherous cult of Terry Richardson making them no better than an en vogue starlets or the POTUS. Whether it’s the high-brow of New York Magazine, mid-brow of Grantland, or the low-brow of the Post, everyone seems to agree that hipster misogyny is dying, but won’t let it die until they’ve exploited it for pageviews.  Like “keep on fucking that chicken”, they keep on reinforcing a foul, mainstage zeitgeist of self-abasement-’til-you-make-it mentality that feeds the phallocentric in-statement and institutionalization of oppressive and patriarchal governed pop. Plus, he’s not even hot, right?

Neil Young’s Twitter loves porn

June was also an important month for notable social media hacks, as the month contained the complete usurpation of Neil Young’s Twitter account. Short story shorter, some guy hacked it and thought it would be funny to change the account’s username to “SLUT FOR THE D” and pump the account with porn and explicit tweets. PornHub was retweeted, dirty pictures were posted, anal sex tweets were tweeted (“Anal is so good. Try it!”). And just like the droopy failure of the hashtag #neilslayed, the “jokes” were equally as effete (or flaccid, if we’re keeping the theme). The account was then promptly restored to the people that tweet for Neil Young, and we rested easy as we browsed PornHub of our own volition instead of Neil’s.

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