It's Valentine's Day, and you've lucked out: You have someone with whom to spend that most polarizing night. No ice-cream binges, no wanking and weeping this year.
But you won't know if it's really true love until you find out if that special someone has a sense of humor. You've got to be willing to throw away all the schmaltz for a good laugh. Who would you rather spend your life with: someone who loves red roses or someone who loves Mr. Show? This Valentine's Day is a perfect time to check out your lover's chuckle-factor.
Below are some of the least sexy songs about sex ever written, songs so gross in intent or lyrical content that a healthy person couldn't possibly get it on while listening to any of them.
A playlist with all of these songs would be a giggle, sure, but let's go more subtle than that. This year, put together a CD for after that V-Day dinner, when you're giddy with wine and your mate is giving you a wink and a nod. Make it a good luvva-luvva mix, full of songs that work. About halfway through the mix (use your own judgment and knowledge of stamina to figure that out), slip one of these songs into the mix.
One of three things will happen:
1) Your chosen one will realize what's playing, get up in a huff and complain that you ruined Valentine's Day. Dump 'em.
2) The two of you will collapse into laughter, bringing you even closer together. Hey, this might work out after all!
3) He or she will actually become more excited. This is a clear sign of mental illness, and you've found out before you got to that "whose head is in the freezer?" stage. Consider yourself lucky.
And now, the songs.
"Strokin'" by Clarence Carter: An almost too-obvious choice, Clarence Carter's novelty hit "Strokin'" makes physical contact with a human being uncomfortable, as if your body was covered with a thin layer of pig manure. It's as sexy as your grandparents' love life.
Lyrical saltpeter: The whole thing, but "if my stuff ain't tight enough, you can stick it up my... woo!" is particularly deflating.
"Feelin' on Yo Booty" by R. Kelly: A song so twisted and wrong it could only come from Ween or R. Kelly. The truly scary part is that R. Kelly believes that this ode to squeezing a big butt on the dance floor is really, really romantic. R. Kelly is creep-y.
Lyrical saltpeter: Kelly goes straight for the throat right out of the gate, with the chorus starting the song: "As I walk you to the dance floor/We begin to dance slow/Put your arms around me/I'm feelin' on your booty." But stay tuned for the end of the song, when Kelly gets cooking with squeals of "your booo-OOOO-ooty," like a werewolf howling at the moon. Which he is.
"Ding-Dong Song" by Günther & the Sunshine Girls: Could someone explain the Swedish, please? Are they totally deranged sexual perverts, or are they comic geniuses? Because one way or another, the mustachioed and mulleted Swede Günther hit the European dance charts with this Europop love song based on a three-year-old's vocabulary.
Lyrical saltpeter: Within the first ten seconds of the song, Günther grunts: "Ooh, you touch my tra-la-la/Aah, my ding-ding-dong." It's kind of brilliant, really, but about as arousing as a tax form.
"I Wanna Sex You Up" by Color Me Badd: Do you? Thanks! Pardon me while I call the police. Like bleached-out Boyz II Men, Color Me Badd swept the charts with this song, deftly cribbing the melody from the vastly superior "Strawberry Letter 23" by Shuggie Otis. It's the only good part of the song.
Lyrical saltpeter: "We can do it 'til we both wake up." Say what? What's in this drink? Police!
"Gimmie That Nutt" by Eazy-E: This song is so mind-bogglingly offensive that it could have only come from Eazy-E. Now, we're not saying that this father of seven from six different women objectified the weaker sex. For who truly knows what happens in the mind of another? Eazy-E could have loved and cherished the women in his life and just been a little weak at expressing it. Or he could get his jollies penning pornographic raps. He's dead; you make the call.
Lyrical saltpeter: This might not be a family paper, but we've still got our standards. -- Jordan Harper
Hungry for Cocker
Hi, I'm Oprah Winfrey's longtime boyfriend, Stedman Graham. Many of you have probably wondered how I am able to cling to the title "longtime boyfriend" without having to become "the husband." Well, I'm here to tell you: I owe it all to Joe Cocker.
Cocker and I are roughly the same age, although I look much younger. I chalk that up to my Sergeant Fitzsimmons moustache and prescient use of exfoliating scrub as a small boy. I tell all my friends I was actually at Woodstock when Joe Cocker gave his iconic performance of the Beatles' "With a Little Help from My Friends." Wow, was I blown away -- even though I wasn't really there. Such is the manipulative approach I've applied to my entire life.
Case in point: Oprah. I met her at a Windy City Wendy's shortly after The Color Purple ended its theatrical run. She was down in the dumps and eating lots of chili con queso when I came up to her and said, "Oprah, cheer up. Everything's gonna be okay." Then I asked her out for lunch. We went to Harry Caray's. It was lovely.
When you see Oprah on her talk show now, she looks fabulous. But she's still overweight on the inside, which allows me to control her. Every time she threatens to kick me to the curb because I won't put a ring on our finger, I say, "Tut-tut, baby, remember Wendy's." Then she cries. Then we mash.
Because I saw what Oprah could be, because I had the foresight, I can now go on Larry King Live pretty much whenever I damn well please. This is where I draw the parallel with Cocker. Little do many people know that he's never actually written a song. He just puts out album upon album of cover songs -- some good, some bad. His latest album, Heart & Soul, is very, very bad. But that won't stop people like Oprah from lapping it up, because Cocker was there at that Wendy's in her time of pain, right alongside El Sted. Except he was on Muzak, and I was actually at the table with Oprah.
This is why I am Oprah's longtime boyfriend, and Joe Cocker is not. If Cocker had been at the Chicago Wendy's to comfort Oprah and I was singing "Tiny Dancer" on Muzak -- which I do beautifully, incidentally -- things might have worked out differently. Thanks, Joe. -- As told to Mike Seely