He was a troubled rebellious lad with a bad reputation and a way with words who is probably good at tying ropes, she was a run down borderline suicidal slice of potential heaven with the perfect lips for the playing on the skin flute. She was spoiled. He spoils. They fuck. She’s happy for the five minutes they got together. He’s a liar who means well. They will eventually explode into madness together. Match made in heaven.
That is the basic synopsis for almost every Lana Del Rey Mysterio song minus cocaine and without mentioning the daddy kink or Old Hollywood fetish. Kind of.
Which makes me raise the following question like Lana’s voice raises my weiner.. why are we (men) attracted to the things we know are ultimately bad for us?
I talk to girls that always bitch about their love for the toxic that ends up hurting them yet they keep going at it over and over.
But what about the guys that indulge these bitches and get their heart ruined from excessive fucking and bad breakups?
I hope those girls don’t read this.. (I hope they do because they can’t do shit about me using them as an idea xoxo)
Anyway, men have a lust for the wicked just like the chicas do. We like thinking we can take the crazy broad and change her and bring order into her world and be the big sexy hero of her life. Fucking superhero fantasy.
It’s like all those guys Lana dated before she started eating at Burger King. All allegedly cool and tough and dangerous until she realized deep down they were sweet and the illusion was killed. Doot doot dooot.
Almost as if she realized they were trying to do her good and that inner whore devil decision making side said cut it out you fuck. Can’t get that redemption arc yet.
That’s how you get a song like In My Feelings where Lana cries while masturbating and calls her ex lover a loser.
Is the poor boy really a loser? Maybe a retard, sure. Did he really think he can taste the nectar of the Pepsi Pussy and leave unharmed by drama?
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like Lana because she knows better but can’t do better. Fucked over by her own nature. Sad, sad, sad.
Deep down she loves the drama. And we love drama. No men is complete without being in love with a crazy cunt. It’s what makes us REAL MEN. A badge of honor. And a girl can’t live without the drama. You know this. Excitement beats boredom. And a Lana type chick is the perfect partner for a tango in a Hell of this making.
The Lanas of the world are like the mythical sirens. So beautiful yet deadly. You wanna listen, touch, kiss at the expense of your life and sanity.
Is it worth it?
If I make “her” cry, I wanna use her tears as lube and hold her close. And then lie and be a fake and act Macho after falling in love so she never realizes that power she has over me. Then order sushi and read poetry or shoot rifles. And then fuck each other silly again. Me in my black suit. Her with the necklace and heels. Mm.
Hey man, God bless Lana Del Rey. Making good music, bringing weird girls into my life.
The Priestess of the Sad Girls. Queen of Coney Island. Motivator of Dirty Old Men.
Such grace. Such cinematic quality to each track. Art that will inspire even a monk to stimulation.
It takes a smart man to recognize her genius. She embodies the feminine spectrum to perfection.
I love her and God knows how much I like her fans.
By like her fans I mean I wanna impregnate those ladies after every conversation we end up having.
Is there a point to this?
This isn’t really about Lana Del Rey but it sure fits right?