One of the somewhat relevant turning points in my life after I adopted the crimson pill was to change my music listening habits. I had spent most of my teenage years amidst the pop music cesspool, with Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga as “favs,” and it came to pass that I would reject these vapid, often degenerate artists. As a replacement for the snarling grate on my ears I chose to listen to country music in my Ford’s radio-only layout, largely due to the marginally more healthy messages contained in that genre, at least compared to the slow dance of Classical and the cancerous alternative that is rap. I especially enjoyed the short-lived “Bro Country” music of several years past which cut away all the gayish hesitations to show women the way they should be: rocking Daisy Dukes and Stetsons while grinding on your yam bag in he Honky Tonk as a prelude to some tight love-making in the body of a jacked-up Chevy.
Fantasy? Sure, but it’s a damn good one.
The “Bro Country” movement even went so far as to spawn an angry backlash by singers Maddie and Tae, who admittedly have more grace and charm in their delivery of a political message than Meghan Trainor. What still prevailed was a masculine-focused genre topped by just enough sweetness to be endearing, while remaining distant from the Hitler Youth cut-sporting, skinny jeans-compressing faggots in the pop market.
Unfortunately the rather low bar to entry into the Country field has caused on influx of mediocre pop hermaphrodites with their degenerate crossover music. Sam Hunt and Michael Ray are examples, as well as Brett Young. The latter has little about himself that is distinctly Country aside from his voice, and he has managed to produce what can only be seen as the most pathetic, female-supplicating, beta pacifier of musicianship known to man: the song “Sleep Without You.”
The very first line accentuates the simpering theme of the entire piece:
Never thought I would be like this
Wide awake waitin’ on a goodnight kiss
I probably take a more positive view on romance than the jaded fellows in the manosphere community, but any man loafing around begging to be kissed is at the lowest end of the respect food chain. It’s probably true that men like Young are trying to please females exclusively with their songs, but a celebrity has options normal men do not. All these pieces achieve is the further suppression of beta upstarts under the goober financial provider model.
The song continues:
But as long as the night ends with you in a yellow cab shootin’ me a text sayin’
Comin’ home soon
As long as I can bet on ya crawlin’ into bed after slippin’ out ya high heel shoes
That’s right ladies, your boyfriend should be perfectly fine with you staying out clubbing and dancing with other men until 2AM while he chews on a teddy bear’s fabric in your Queen-size. Maybe if you are especially kind you can thank him for the money he gave you to party and assure him nothing happened; well, except for that forty-five minutes in the club bathroom you can’t remember. Kisses and cuddles fix everything.
Given the proclivities native to club girls nowadays, Brett might as well rewrite the first verse as:
Never thought I would be like this
Wide awake waitin’ while you suck his dick
In all seriousness, what sort of dude with a proper pair would allow his live-in wife or girlfriend to go out clubbing without him? Today’s sex ratios in nightlife discos are so skewed with men you’d be lucky if the gal in question is NOT in fact engaging in dance floor gangbangs to the glorious rhythm of “Tom’s Diner.”
I get that Young’s song is just a clever way to swamp the growing market of single whores who complain about the lacking supply of “good men” to emotionally support them while picking up the regular Crips member for a fellate-au-fish session, but these women listen, and so do subservient males.
Question is, do you?