Double Flee A

get over it

Janet Jackson's top came off rather better than it was supposed to at halftime last night, introducing something realistic into the rehashed mtv-anthems of days past: embarrassment.

We've all been there, Janet. Granted, most of us weren't rewarming a fifteen-year old song at the super bowl while being felt up by someone who could be our son when it happened, but we too have felt silly. Ok, and most people don't have their nipples pierced with a shuriken, either. And we aren't related to you-know-who, but still!! I think instead of alienating people with that risky PR move, you've become one of us. Us being rich, nose-job-getting, armor-plated nipple ninja negroes from the outer industrial pop music zones. Yeah, you can pretty much break bread with us any time you want to swing by. I'll invite the local council of this "rhythm nation", and all us "black cats" will dance the night away like real "bad boys". Wait, bad boys was Gloria Estefan and the miami sound machine. Oh well.

More proof that information is absorbed in inverse proportion to its predictability. When Justin Timberlake dances around, it's tedious. When Christina Aguilera exercises her sphincter on MTV, we mimic it, and yawn. But seeing a boob slip at the super bowl, we notice.

posted by dale @ 11:15 PM