I've got it all figured out.



Tuesday, September 14, 2010

The Last Air Bator.

Have you heard of Air Sex?



It’s like air guitar but with less whammy damage and more hairy banjo. Or for those not up on their 80s heavy metal magazine phrases/masturbation euphemisms, it’s like playing air guitar but instead of an invisible guitar you’re having sex with an invisible partner. (Huh, see I thought that WAS masturbation. What do they call it when the routine has masterbating in it? Airbating? Is that what the audience does while watching?) Air Sex is a delicate combination of the gross and the retarded.



They actually have competitions for this! There’s one coming up in Brooklyn. Wasn’t there a time when Brooklyn was full of guys in bandanas and jean jackets that looked like meaner versions of Tony Danza?


Aye Oh, Oh aye!

Yeah well now Brooklyn is full of this.



Way to go world.

Now maybe I could find watching an Air Sex competition amusing if I was in the right frame of mind (drunk). It kind of reminds me of those college hypnotists that would trick willing (drunk) audience members to think that they were strippers or having sex.



But at least those people have the excuse of being hypnotized. What is the excuse for willingly getting up in front of people and having jheepy imaginary sex? Maybe they see themselves as actors. Kind of like how porn starts see themselves as actors.



So here’s a brain teaser. Who is the better actor? The Air Sexer who has to make the audience believe that they’re actually having sex with someone? Or the porn actor who has to make people believe that she’s actually enjoying the 40th piece of greasy porn guy garbage that’s been thrust in her face that day?


Ok, for this scene you think he’s attractive and you want to have sex with him. Action!

Or worse yet there’s probably people that do this and think it’s art. (It is taking place in Willamsburg after all.) You can get away with all kinds of creepy horrible shit when you call it art. Like Andrea Serrano’s Piss Christ.



Or 2Live Crew’s, As Nasty As They Wanna Be.



Case in point for Air Sex is this quote from Chris Trew in the Brooklyn Paper article linked earlier:

If you’re having sex with a goat then I wanna see you stroking its horns. I want that goat to be turned on.
So not only do these weidos have Air Sex with imaginary people, they also have Air Sex with animals? Good god! Why stop there? Why not become an Air Pedophile? Or Air Jeffrey Domer . Jeez, right now Marcel Marceau us spinning in his invisible coffin.



But fear not Marcel, you can hold your head high when you’re walking into the wind because you’re not to blame for this abomination. If anyone I blame Elvis. Air Sex as an art form is at best interpretive dance and if Elvis the Pelvis hadn’t wiggled his hips at some state fair back in 1954 we wouldn’t be subjected to any of this.



The way girls dance these days with all the grinding and butt shaking, it practically is Air Sex. It’s only a matter of time before they add the Air Sex hot dog toothbrush to their repertoire.



In fact if you go to an Air Sex competition, you’re basically watching an episode of So You Think You Can Dance from five seasons into the future. And if you think that’s bad wait till the makers of Rock Band make a game out of it and your teenage son is telling you what colour of dildo controller he wants for Christmas.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

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