I once attempted to listen to it on a packed train, little realising that the earphone jack had come loose, meaning I blasted it out while standing uncomfortably close to — and making occasional eye contact with — a stranger. We have now been married for five years and enjoy an intensely satisfying sex life. Think of him, all teenage and randy, as he dreamt of getting teenage kicks right through the night. The two is a pair of balls and the one is a foof… I think. Talk about Netflix and chill.
Ever the canny marketer, Madonna was sure to make the most of its saucy overtones. Long live her Madgesty. Pretty racy for , eh? Rumour had it that the BBC blacklisted the song because of its rude lyrics, though this has been disputed.
Come to think of it, that could have been written by my pet hamster Maurice, because that little guy just loves to be fussed over. The production here is crisp as fuck, Kim never sounded more badass and the lyrics are thrillingly rude: Hard to imagine how dangerous and dizzying those jagged power chords must have sounded back then: A pop genius, a really cool dude, an inspiration to millions.
But what better way to remember George Michael than shagging yourself — and ideally someone else — silly while he sasses away in the background? God bless those randy pirates. Kelis, Milkshake The booming production alone — courtesy of The Neptunes — is enough to get you in a froth, even without those suggestive lyrics.
Talk about a one-track mind! Get fucked, the patriarchy. And that is what makes Mariah Carey our queen. It came to Miguel in a dream, as he was on a plane to meet his partner after some time apart. After recording the song, vocalist Patti Labelle said: This lush slow-jam falls into the latter category, as Anderson — whose moniker was once breezy Lovejoy — vows to get down with the object of his affection.
And smoke a blunt. Gotta keep your priorities straight. The chorus, though, is beautifully simple. No, it is the greatest song of all time. Peaches is a badass bitch who knows how to get shit done and you should listen to every word she says.
You will be wrong, but you will be happy. It is this, in which she dizzies you with a whirling synth line and then pounces to devour you whole, like a female spider eating its mate after gross, sticky spider sex.
To which I say: Still furious at the notion that you cook bread though. Here vocalist Karen O revels in the thought of sharing bodyheat with her man in the cold night. But afterwards you will feel that you need a hot shower and a good, hard think about yourself.
Still, great guy, Maurice. He has access to — at best — a private jet and — at worst — a luxurious tour bus, the kind with proper beds and everything. Look it up and meet me on the M4. A slowjam sandwich, if you will. The offer is catchy, yes, but not legally binding. Please excuse me as I take a series of cold showers.