Last week I wrote about one brave young anti-capitalist who was endeavoring to take down the system that enabled wealthy men with pot bellies to have jacuzzi (jacuzzii?) built by people wholly disenfranchised the capitalist system by annoying the living mcNuggets out of McDonald’s workers (a.k.a minimum wage workers oppressed by capitalism).
Like the courageous soldier who took the most “epic” political stance ever by eloquently writing “Fuck Capitalism. Yeah-I said it”, I too would like to take a innovative, articulate, and never before seen in the wide world stance, and then pontificate about it without mercy on my shitty, little read blog.
Are you ready?
Orgasms are important. Yeah–I said it. And you know what? It feels good!
Now, I’m not going to follow my mcGandhi and try to prove this point by going around giving McDonald’s worker’s orgasms. Power to the people in that respect, I suppose.
While I have long felt that orgasms were important, it is not until recently that I have felt the need to speak out. Like many great revolutionaries before me, this is long something that I have felt inside me, or wherever you feel it, and was content to bring this up at the occasional family dinner, but never have felt it my duty to make it my “cause orgasme”. Each great revolutionary has had their moment of awakening when they have realized that they must take a stand: Gandhi was thrown off a train in South Africa for being Indian. Malcolm X had his prison education. Arnold Schwarzenegger had the moment in “Commando” when his daughter was kidnapped and he had to come out of retirement to hunt down his former special ops teammate, Bennett.
My “Arnold log” moment is having to listen the endless, howling, fake orgasms of my neighbor. Before she was known as “Fake orgasm neighbor” she was known as “nasty neighbor” given her in-hallway unpleasantness. Then her boyfriend returned, and we realized why she was so unpleasant: she fakes each and every orgasm.
I’m not saying I know a lot about orgasms (it’s like my mother using a computer-I know how to turn it on, and get the programs up and running, but if one “warning” screen comes on, I’m immediately at a complete loss), but I do know that they tend not to last 45 minutes and have the sound of a surprised howler monkey.
I could bang on the wall. I could go over and sit her down and talk about the importance of good communication, because by lying she’s just encouraging bad technique (or whatever the hell is going on), and leaving her neighbors subject to sounds that-unless you’re one to enjoy torturing cats-is quite trying to listen to. I have chosen a less direct strategy: blasting bedroom music with telling headlines. This is strategic as 1) it means that I listen to good music instead of her yodels and 2) maybe a groovy soundtrack with a distinct rhythm is what they need to to stop faking orgasms.
Several titles to this playlist have been suggested “Music of the Night” (a veiled Phantom of the Opera reference, as in her orgasm is a phantom…a reference I didn’t get). “(You make me want to) Shout” and “Howl” (if it were a playlist of all spoken poetry) were also suggested.
Here are some songs from “the love cats” playlist:
To honor the fact that the 45 minute “fakegasm” means she really isn’t getting enough.
Written after a night spent in a hotel with particularly thin walls
Chorus says it all.
Any suggestions for the playlist?