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its all about love. thats all this shit is really about. thats why we drive the cars we do, stock the refriderators with things other than condiments and leftover thai food, thats why we put the shoes on our feet to walk out the door with. that really is sort of the whole impetus behind boners, anyway. men are not unlike the penises of which they serve: we just want to be in a warm place and have a lot of attention paid to us.
fuck. bring it on. all the quirks that make them all the cuter. rabbit teeth? sure. laugh lines? even better. snorts when she laughs? put a fucking spoon in me because i am done, folks. that shit is the lifeblood of the western woman - quirky awesome shit - and i’m fairly sure its what got Obama elected. that and he can beatbox.
which isn’t to say that the appreciation of that means that i’m too twee to not want to fill you out like an application later. i mean SERIOUSLY. that quirky shit that you thought made you look ugly makes men go into this weird Mountain Man thing. its what makes us grow beards and wear plaid but not in that shitty bike messenger way. i speak as a card carrying member of the counter culture but let me say this: fucking hipsters ruined everything from Pavement to plaid (you know… the kind of dude that thinks that “irony” is just a description for the way canned beer tastes). i’m talking like “LET ME MOVE THAT COUCH ENTIRELY WITH MY WEINER” kind of rad get-it-done dude that we should all strive to be. sure, we did it with our boner. but really: we did it out of love.
a boner is a celebration - sure - but its the signal to something: a psychosomatic representation of essentially, deep down, something primal, and i like to think, something like love.
I <3 Boner Party.
