Now check this out: How do you rationalize the appearance of an song entitled "I'm Bringing Sexyback"? I mean, wha . . . what, what is that? Is that guy kidding? (What, I gotta kiss you again? Okay.) Really, look, all kidding aside, folks. Let's think about the world of pop, just for a moment. Some of you already have those cute little shirts on that say "emo sucks," right? That's not all that sucks. 'Course Warner Brothers sucks, but besides Warner Brothers there are other things about this business that really suck. One of 'em is the way in which the subject of LOVE is dealt with in the lyrics of various 'serious pop artists,' the intensive-care contingent of the pop world. These people, these people are FUCKED UP, I mean, they're really FUCKED UP. Because see, love isn't the way they're telling you about it, you know, they're telling you wrong. I'm gonna tell you right, you see.
Now all of the ladies in the audience, you get to have fantasy time. This is female fantasy hour. Okay? You're a teen-age girl, right? You have abducted the succulent popstar of your choice, right? You have taken the aforementioned popstar, who is really cute and Aryan and eats a lot of crumpets, back to your teen-age room. That's right, spindle twice. You have taken this turkey back to your room, you have laid on your teen-age bed, you have put your teen-age legs up in the air, you have actually taken your own teen-age pants off. You have the teen-age red bulb on, right next to the bed. The curtains are drawn, it's dark, it's midnight. You put on a Beyonce record, you're really relaxing. Tears come to your eyes, you are sensitive, you are in love. The popstar of your choice takes off his pants and climbs on top of you, and the next thing you know you hear this little voice in your ear and it says:
"I'M BRINGING SEXYBACK!"