Posts Tagged ‘Bow Chicka Wow Wow’

“Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.”- The ever so socially enlightened Lindsay Lohan as Cady Heron in 2004’s cinematic masterpiece Mean Girls(No, really it was a good movie. I own it).

Thanks to those pre-packaged mass produced Halloween costume abominations with names such as “Midnight Coffin Bride” (granny’s parlor curtains revamped for the ho stroll) “Lady of Darkness” (made from the finest garbage bag- esque gut hugging stretch metallic fabric the low low price of $79.99) and “Love Bite Vampire” (for that Old West budget brothel feel) drunken frat boys flock to alternative dance clubs in droves searching for those “crazy ass Elvira looking bitches”. Cause that one time in college Brandy and Alicia dressed up like gothic fairies at the annual “Shitfaced on Samhain” kegger which led to a black lipstick, saliva and STD swap fueled by a Natty Ice haze. Following the “November 1st Walk of Shame” and the leaked Facebook photo fiasco the sorostitutes weren’t down with the idea of repeat performance, which lead to many a disappointed dudebro.

And so the Alpha Delta d-bags enlisted their three collective remaining brain cells to work. They put on their thinking caps, popped their collars and huffed and puffed until they produced a thought. The general consensus amongst the group was that they must venture to the mythical Goth club where Halloween was celebrated 52 times a year on a reoccurring weekend basis. A magical wonderland where all the men wear eyeliner which leads one to conclude that they must not exhibit interest in pursuing the fairer se x. This leaves the women who are all lesbian vampires by nature ripe for the plucking. Goth broads enjoy random sexual encounters with anything on two legs and a pulse. Why else would they wear stripper heels, corsets and latex? Pick a girl, any girl. Since all the boys in the joint are clearly gay, the babes will be floored by the swagger of a smooth talkin’ ladies man like you without exception. Just say “Nice fangs” while clearly looking at her cleavage, ask her if she likes Rob Zombie and she’s as good as yours. Then it’s off to your pad for a private afterhours party. A little bit of blindfolds, a smidgen of light spanking and some candlewax. While you’re at it ask her to bring a friend. It won’t offend her. A cheap compliment and a bottle of Miller High Life was all it took to turn your life into a “Bondage Lite” 2:00 AM Skinemax movie.

Who knew that we existed solely for the purpose of fulfilling the fantasies of some hair gel abusing, pink polo wearing, Steve Stifler quoting Neanderthal dickhead?

To be completely fair, frat assholes suck, but are by no means the only parties out there guilty of invading our territory and assuming we’re easy like Sunday morning. Here at Lethal Love we believe that diversity is important and want to spotlight tools from20all walks of life such as but not limited to:

-Poor man’s Kanye West “rap producers” who (according to themselves) are on the verge of releasing the next drug-dealer-turned-champagne-popping-zillionaire’s multi platinum record. They actually expect you to overlook the fact that just last week you saw them camped out in front of the local Exxon trying to sell some homemade CD-Rs for 3 bucks a pop out of a duffel bag much to the annoyance of suburban soccer Moms. But at this moment he’s trying to convince you that he’s straight up ballin’. Conveniently, his rapper protégé is shooting a video somewhere in No Man’s Land, Queens and they could really use a booty like yours. Baby, he’s gonna make you a star!

- Aging swingers with George Hamilton-esque tans trying to recruit you for a threesome. Don’t you know that all alternative chicks are bi by default? And look at that hot bitch wife of his. You’re still not sure what’s hotter, the polyester French Maid outfit leftover from Halloween or the Tijuana boob job.

- Wealthy sexually repressed Orthodox Jews from Brooklyn. They would invade NYC fetish parties in droves and solicit the female attendees. We’ve got the money honey and you’re clearl y a walking Alt.com personal ad. Talk about taking the term “commodity fetish” literally. Cause that’s all you are, don’t you know?

I can’t speak for you, but being trapped in business casual hell on a Monday through Friday basis, I fantasize about freeing my purple Bio Threat Nuclear Fallout mini from the confines of my closet on Saturday nights. I look forward to trading in my sensible white three quarter sleeve button up shirt for a corset that will turn my cleavage into a shelf on which I rest my beer. Neither of the aforementioned club outfits posses the magical ability of suddenly transforming me from office lady to The Great Fornicatrix. And hey, just because a girl opts to rock select pieces from a line called 4-Way Gang Bang it doesn’t mean that she wants her night to end in one!

Alas even Stevie Wonder can see that attiring oneself in stripper sized apparel which resembles something dug up in The Pussycat Dolls garage sale tends to set up certain expectations in the opposite sex. Low cut, tight, shiny and see through ensembles generally project an aura of sexual availability. Whether you like it or not. So for every hot non creepy guy you chat up at a party over a bowl of spiked punch, expect five or six slime balls who will attempt to bed you with every single tired one liner in the book.

After all, nobody said that being constantly hit on was all harmless flirting and complimentary cocktails. Sometimes you hear shit so sleazy it’s hard not to feel like there isn’t enough soap in the world to wash all the ick out. And your next free drink might just be called the Rohypnol Sunset.

So are we to blame for the caveman behavior?

Partially. Provocative clothing PROVOKES a reaction alright. Men perceive your prominently displayed goods as an invitation to a party in your pants they’re dying to RSVP to. Until portable mind control rays that allow you to choose the specimens which you’d love to inspire lust in while being left alone by the general population of pervs are invented, there’s little you can do about it. Or is there?

There’s no law that says you can’t fuck with them.
Frankly, a little bit of shock therapy is just what the doctor ordered for these textbook case scumbags. You think you can mock us “crazy freaks” in the street when your douche posse/girlfriend is around AND then try to fuck us when you think no one’s watching?

Hold onto your Burning Angel videos, pal, cause you’ve got another thing coming.

The madness begins next week.

<3

Vanity Kills

So you ‘ve entertained the idea of being a subservient synthetic humanoid whose existence possibly sets back the women’s movement a gazillion years due to playing into unrealistic expectations of perfection that can never be attained by any living female…

And you’ve decided that it’s a most excellent idea indeed…

I mean why would the eyes of your other half ever wander again if they’ve already got a Stepford Wife at home…?

It’s probably not realistic idea to want to be a full time Betty Homemaker Sex Droid Extraordinaire. I mean I like the idea of saying fuck you to my office to pursue my dream of being a bizarre hybrid of June Cleaver and Morticia Addams , but since I am not married to an Arab oil heir…nor would I want to be(Coming Soon to Lethal Love: “Creative Ways To Slut Up a Hijab Without Getting Stoned in Public”), my significant other and I both have to work. Unless you’re living the sweet goth Paris Hilton trust fund life(and if you are please go gay and marry me now), you’re probably in a similar situation, so I will be the last person to advise you to quit your job in order to cook steaks and give blow jobs for a living. Thus some creative usage of your time management skills will be in order.

(For the sake of making my life easier I will assume all relationships to be heterosexual, but feel free to tweak my advice to fit your current arrangement. The 2004 remake of “The Stepford Wives” was updated to reflect the dating attitudes of the current times and featured a gay couple. )

Stepford Program Initiated…

Where?

A Stepford Wife’s home is her castle, that’s all there is to it. The irresistibly hot housewife scenario will probably lack authenticity if you attempt to execute it outside the parameters of your dwelling. You’ll definitely need to utilize your living space for this one. If you live with your parents(or his parents for that matter) you’ll most likely want to stop reading right about here. If you pull off the Stepford Wife act correctly, the remains of your dinner are likely to become airborne and scatter in all directions as you get busy on the kitchen table. You probably don’t want your parents walking in to witness any of that. I don’t want to be held personally responsible for you not being to look your Dad in the eye until the day you move out.

When?

Choose a day when you’re both off work, due to the fact despite your best efforts you are still a human girl after all. You’re not actually becoming a real life replica of the ultimate robot woman; you’re making believe that you are one for a day. I for one cannot expect you to make your house shine from top to bottom, cook a gourmet meal and then have the energy to be a fuck goddess after dealing with douchebags at work all day. Scheduling your transformation into the ideal synthetic spouse without clueing your other half in will require some time spent on prep work, so make sure to send him on an adventure while you get your Stepford on. Unless your job makes you work all sorts of wonky hours, a Saturday or Sunday would be optimal. How the hell do you get him out of the house, you ask? For starters, don’t send him to run any bogus errands, because chances are that it will actually make him more reluctant to leave. It’s his day off; the last thing on his mind is more work. Nudge him in the general direction of something fun. Didn’t he entertain the idea of recording an industrial version of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”? Ship him off to his friend’s basement recording studio for a day filled with butchering godawful 80’s pop hits. He’ll have so much fun babbling “You know its thriller thriller night/
You’re fighting for your life inside of killer thriller tonight” into a vocoder for 6 hours straight that he’ll probably forget to come home. Which should give you plenty of time to play with.

Now What?

Time to turn your place of residence into a postcard perfect 1950’s happy home. This means cleaning it. Don’t look at me like that. You can’t possibly fool anyone into thinking that you’re the epitome of domestic goddess excellence when you have rats and roaches living the high life in your kitchen and your bathroom makes the can at the bar down the street look like the powder room at the Four Seasons. So get down on your knees(not for anything fun this time) and start scrubbing. At the very least vaccum, take out the trash, do the dishes that have been piling up in your sink for a solid week now and remove any visible stains. An aesthetically pleasing habitat compliments an aesthetically pleasing woman.

Devour the delights

I once saw a T-shirt that read “The way to a man’s heart is through his rib cage”. The T-shirt which was most likely of Hot Topic origin was an obvious gothic cheesification of the old “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” cliché. There’s truth to be found in that banality. The Stepfordesque android princess is the mistress of her culinary domain and should surprise her clueless other half(who in his time of absence managed to work his way through a 6 pack of something alcoholic and has decided to syncretize the rivet stomp with the moonwalk)with something delicious upon his return. Especially if she’s not known for her love of cooking on a day to day basis. If that’s the case then something as simple as making one of those instant “just add milk and eggs” cakes out of a box is guaranteed to make his jaw hit the floor. If you’re NOT the Peggy Bundy type and don’t use your oven as a storage space for your winter clothes and actually utilize it for it’s intended purpose, y’know…cooking, try going the extra mile by preparing a meal that you’d typically only fix for his birthday or your anniversary. Naturally, he’s not going to be gone forever, so you probably will not have the time to make crown rack of lamb and a seven layer chocolate torte from scratch. In other words, don’t kill yourself over it. Effort is always appreciated, death from exhaustion isn’t. In case you forgot what I said earlier: You are not a real robot!

If you are to chefs what Kevorkian is to doctors and fear that your kitchen experiments will be nothing more than a series of epic failures, spare yourself the embarrassment and your lover the imminent stomach doom by ordering out. For Christ’s sake, stay away from pizza and lo mein though. Just because you managed to survive on that stuff through all 4 years of college, doesn’t mean that it’s acceptable to serve it to someone who you’re planning to seduce. A Stepford Wife should know better than that! Keep it classy in the kitchen, save the trashiness for the bedroom.

Now that your kitchen is chock full of yummy smells, it’s time to make YOU look as tasty as the delicious morsel s that you just finished slaving over(or paid someone else to).

It would be unfair if the food got all the action.

;)

Hold onto your cleavage baring sweetheart necklines, ladies.

Next week we get our slut on, Stepford style.

I’d tell you now, but I’m a tease. My boyfriend says I’m easy, but the truth is that I don’t like to give it up all in one shot. So spend the week practicing sweeping that floor in 3 inch heels with a 100 megawatt smile on your face. If I was feeling extra sadistic I’d tell you to wear a corset while you’re at it. If being the world’s most fuckable automaton was easy everyone would be doing it.

<3

Vanity Kills

I will open this week’s installment of “Lethal Love” with a simple question: Who wouldn’t want to have carnal knowledge of a robot?

Just so we’re on the same page, I definitely have anthropomorphic automatons on the mind, so we will not be discussing creative uses of Roomba vacuums today. Let’s stick to pleasure models and love droids with distinct homosapiens like features. Although I did have a friend who professed his die hard preference for toasters over flesh and blood women. Maybe he was onto something there, but I digress.

What’s not to yearn for?

The quintessential fantasy machine is fashioned to be the epitome of perfection. Desirable physical qualities, factory manufactured without the flaws that taint us as humans. Robots do not nag. Robots don’t get jealous when their boyfriends ogle Suicide Girls. Robots don’t gut the contents of their closet 2 hours before their favorite old school goth band’s once in a lifetime reunion show, try on every outfit in every possible combination just to decide that they resemble a water buffalo in everything they own and decide to stay home in the end forsaking a $50 ticket in the process.

If robots weren’t perceived as objects of desire by males and females alike:

-Chicks wouldn’t attempt to emulate Daryl Hannah’s signature raccoon mask Pris makeup.

-Purveyors of cybergoth clothing would go out of business.

-Names like “Droid Dolly 2000”, “xFetishBotx”, “Erotique Robotique” or any combination of the words “robot/bot”, “android/droid”, “doll”, “girl”, “toy”, “slave”, etc. wouldn’t be yet another ubiquitous subcultural MySpace cliché.

-Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis” posters wouldn’t be a staple in every rivet boy’s apartment.

Pris of “Blade Runner” and Maria of” Metropolis” fame are popular icons within the subcultural realm. This does not make them the only eroticized gynoids in town. The vastly underrated Stepford Wives deserve a place in the fetish world due to their naturally submissive qualities and the constant desire to please.

Why the Stepford wife?

At the present time the goth/industrial scenes are intertwined within the realm of fetish more than ever. It is not uncommon to see more and more fetish entertainers being invited to perform alongside popular industrial/goth acts. Due to the overlapping of the scenes, audiences who usually wouldn’t seek out amusements of the fleshly and decadent variety are being given involuntary crash courses in the arts of the perverse, the peculiar and the taboo. Conversely this leads to oversaturation of traditional fetish imagery. Girls in slave collars and full body latex catsuits being spanked onstage by corseted scarlet lipped dommes are becoming as commonplace as people drunkenly bumping and grinding to “This Shit Will Fuck You Up” at the end of the night. Thanks to the mingling of the scenes goth nights are almost expected to have some element of S&M injected into the atmosphere. This usually manifests itself by constant exposure to “The Usual Suspects of Fetish”. You know the TYPICAL scenarios: the latex nun beating the horny lesbian schoolgirl on the butt with a ruler, the evil nurse in a short PVC dress abusing an unruly patient and let’s not forget my personal favorite, Ilsa Club Slut of the SS. Classics are fine by me, but it can be pretty fun to stay ahead of the clichés. Overexposure to repetitive themes leads to gradual loss of interest in the subject matter. Chances are that replaying the same interrogation scene for the 10^th time probably won’t be as exciting as the first, despite the fact that your custom made latex KGB agent outfit is the hottest thing in the Western Hemisphere. Seeing it worn for the umpteenth time will make its’ charm wear off eventually. Perhaps it’s time to take the art of submission back to something simpler and dare I say more seemingly innocent.

I am not a believer in “Less is more”, but I am a believer in “Keep them guessing” which is exactly the point of temporarily shelving the collars and leather bras in favor of feminine simplicity. Sometimes what the eyes can’t see holds more mystique than putting it all out there. Once again allow me to reiterate that I am indeed a fan of scarlet woman approved adornments, alas, strategic concealing of some of your naughtier bits and not making them readily available 100% of the time is guaranteed to spice things up. It will bring out the natural conqueror instinct in even the most jaded of males and something tells me that you’ll like the results :) Especially if he’s used to you all tarted up in dresses so short and tight that you’re the only one that is actually hip to the fact that you’re indeed wearing a dress. The unexpected illusion of innocence will only entice your significant other to throw you down on a bed and violate you. After all you’re not programmed to say no J Your manufacturer didn’t code the “NO” command into your brain. If this is starting to read like a typical male fantasy then perhaps the gears have started turning in that pretty Stepford head of yours…

Whether you like or hate Anton Lavey, “The Satanic Witch”, penned by the Black Pope himself and originally published in 1971, made an excellent point. The book gave an example of a young couple visiting a gentlemen’s club. The stage is filled to the brim with women in various states of undress. The wife half of the above mentioned couple is quietly watching the dancers on stage, while herself being dressed in a fairly modest fashion. Suddenly one of her garters comes unfastened. A stocking slips off her thigh and slides down her leg. She bends over to fix it thus drawing attention to the fact that it slipped in the first place. The attention of the other men present in the establishment shifts from the ladies peeling off their garments to the inconspicuously dressed girl who accidentally let them peek at that what was meant to be hidden from view. A quick glance at the forbidden fruit, camouflaged by faux demureness provided a stark contrast to the suggestive dancing and nudity of women who displayed their flesh on parade. The sexiness came from a strange and unexpected place, that’s what made it so damn appealing.

Definitely not advocating modesty or conformity, more like playful retro campiness . The Stepford Wife angle is meant to add a fun robotic twist to the ye olde virgin/whore dichotomy.

She wears thigh highs under a sundress topped off apron with scalloped edges…

She bakes better cakes than Marta Stewart(or is a smart bitch that orders one and then conveniently takes the credit for it) and fucks better than Jenna Jameson.

Your man ain’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth and ask where the sudden change came from nor sit there and ponder if it will ever last. He’ll just enjoy the moment.

You my friend, will need a convenient excuse for work, because after the Stepford treatment you’ll be walking like a cowboy for a solid week J

Coming next week: Your one stop guide to becoming Betty Homemaker Sex Droid Extraordinaire.

<3

Vanity Kills