Over the weekend, we were allowed a snapshot into DJ Khaled’s bedroom. Sadly, the conversation that followed left us rather unsatisfied.
Over the weekend, DJ Khaled decided to tell everyone that he’s against giving oral sex. The primary reason was that he believed there are “different rules for men”. Suffice to say, the Internet lost all of its shit, and much time and energy was donated to pointing out all the many ways he was wrong, and how he’s now a massive prick alongside being a massive tool.
The conversation, which was totally worth having, climaxed on Sunday, and was then prodded for round two by the below tweet.
Ahem.. *clears throat*
as a man, I take great pride in mastering ALL performances. This is probably a little TMI.. I will now quietly excuse myself from this fun thread
— Dwayne Johnson (@TheRock) May 6, 2018
Now, we’d all love to be the object between The Rock and a hard place, but him full-stopping this conversation, bringing it to re-climax, has me reaching for my pants and thumbing for the nearest Uber. I feel not the euphoric post-coital rush, but rather that we all witnessed and participated in something we shouldn’t have. I feel the need for a hot shower, cold ice cream and lukewarm denial of the evening.
It just feels blergh.
I mean, why are we discussing this? You could argue that it’s about equality, about not letting people who feel like Khaled get away with it, but I believe that all the angry words, smart GIFS and clicked tongues will not knock him off his perch, and I certainly don’t think that he’ll now suddenly change course. Even if he did, I don’t want to know about it. I don’t want Khaled to drop a follow-up op-ed articulating how good it is, because, fuck, then we’d have to discuss it all over again.
The only true victim here is DJ Khaled’s wife, who…well, she would have been long aware of his rule and married him regardless. But still, it’s really none of our business.
DJ Khaled’s nonsense, like all inflammatory instances of stupidity, enabled some good critical tweets, but there’s something else going on here. A collective tacky raising of the hands. Sex, as anyone who has had it will tell you, whether we like to admit it or not, is an act of social conquest. This holds true for everyone. Acts are discussed, moments are rehashed and heralded. Throughout all the genders. Hey dude/gurl/whatever, let me tell you about this date last night.
What Khaled did, was give us an opportunity to explain how good we’re at that particular act he had no interest in. Stay with me here, but, by castigating Khaled, we’re very subtly mentioning that not only that we’re better lovers than him, we’re hoping for the opportunity to prove it. Everyone loves having their downstairs furniture moved, here I’ll show you. I’ll show you I’m not Khaled. Ffs.
It’s tacky as fuck, and shows we haven’t really come that far from the hormonal teens we used to be; we’re either discussing what we have done, or what we hope to do. There are no points to be scored or honour to be won in this conversation. The only true victim here is DJ Khaled’s wife, who…well, she would have been long aware of his rule and married him regardless. But still, it’s really none of our business. So yes, while we all smell-el-el-el-elllll what the Rock is cooking, I certainly hope we can’t actually smell it, because, no.
I feel that we all witnessed and participated in something we shouldn’t have. I feel the need for a hot shower, cold ice cream and lukewarm denial of the evening.
Fortunately, we won the argument. Everyone knows where we stand on the matter of one fat man’s performance when the lights go down, aided and abetted by Hollywood’s most buff/cashed up dude. Oh, joy. This discussion, sorry to say it, has been as good as Khaled is in bed.
But, I suppose, it’s how we get better at it. With very pointed pointers. We’re all trying to bust our discourse nut here, but let us make sure our partners in conversational crime are worth our furious fingering. Feel me?