On the surface, one might look at this picture of a smizing vagina and think of the importance of self-maintenance and/or fornication. But given I prefer juggling as opposed to deep sea diving, my eyes immediately zoomed towards the font versus…whatever people into that brand of genitalia look for. And that’s when I started to hear Mario’s heart crying out for me.
Once you actually listen to the song, it starts screaming in your ear.
Case in point: Mario’s new single, “Killa,” kicks off with the line, “Cum stains on the couch.”
For future reference, if you ever needed a quote to succinctly breakdown how desperate way too many contemporary male R&B singers have gotten to score a hit, cite “cum stains on the couch.”
Maybe I’m a neat freak, but as fun as fucking on the couch sounds in theory, reminding me of the stains I have to clean up is not a turn on. This is especially true when you recall that you often eat on that thing. So if a wing just so happens to slide off your plate, you might win some but you just lost one. You can’t even kiss that and point it to God as a way to excuse eating it anyway. Nope. You would need an exorcism and three bottles of Lysol.
Dammit, man. Now I’ve lost my appetite and sex drive. Well, for at least 15 minutes anyway. Wrong is wrong, though.
Funny enough, this morning I body rolled to
Pissy’s R. Kelly’s “Your Body’s Callin’ (His & Her Remix).” We have reached the point now where tracks from the 12 Play era can be considered subtle.
Nice try, coochie crooner, but that’s not it (say that in the voice Salt used on “Whatta Man”).
As gifted a singer as Mario is, people stopped wanting to braid his hair ages ago. He managed to mangle a few fans back his way with “Let Me Love You,” but not for long as evidenced by his very good Go album largely ignored. He floundered as a result of his lack pop and lock, not being Trey Songz, and not meeting David Guetta’s direct deposit request by the deadline.
It’s sad that a singer of his skill did fall off, but uh, bruh, have you turned on the radio lately? “Adorn” is doing mighty well. Miguel’s first album sold 11,000 the first week but went on to sell about 400,000. That’s fairly solid. And then there’s Frank Ocean and The Weeknd — singing like their mountain climbing (more so The Weekend than Frank), but it’s helping renew interest in the genre.
But instead of taking their lead and offering maybe a “Climax” like song, Mario has instead opted to croon to coochies with the hopes they respective owners will use their check cards on his products again. It’s not a new idea and it’s not a guarantee for success. Ask Lloyd. Granted, Miguel has that God-awful “Pussy Is Mine” on his otherwise exceptional sophomore offering, but many are laughing at him.
You don’t have to do this, man, unless you really, really enjoy singing about pussy that directly. Either way, clean your couch. Filthy ass.