Posts Tagged ‘tools’

“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