12th October 2007
Close-reading was a massive literary innovation when it came out because it allowed people to study and teach literature in a new way. Before that, students were made to read classic novels mostly to get an idea of the times, a historic perspective, and other such things. The literary work itself was not the primary focus. Everything changed with close-reading, as a mere short story was enough to fill entire seminaries and have dozens of articles written about it. That, as you can imagine, leads us to Paris Hilton and her poetry. Let’s get right to it. The song is called Nothing in this World and this is how it goes:
Da-da, Da-da, Da,
Da-da, Da-da, Da-da, Da
Well, so far, so good. When I first heard the song on TV, I did hope that this would be as far as she went, lyrically speaking. I can tolerate that. This stanza forces you to focus on the sound of the human voice rather than what the words mean, since here they mean nothing. I’m just kidding of course: I’m professionally trained in exegesis and I can make the worst crap sound like it’s very interesting, but don’t get fooled: interesting, it is not.
So I was thinking to myself when you passed me by
“Here’s what I like”
And you were with somebody else but you can’t deny
That’s me in your eye
Before I go any further, be sure to know that I don’t have any energy to waste on editing those lines, which I take straight from the Internet; so you get them as is. Ok now, so what can I say about that stanza. Some dude passes by the narrator and he’s just what she likes. Then, as a result of this, I suppose, the guy automatically falls in love with her, because, remember, she’s Paris Hilton, and it’s commonly accepted that any guy would fall in love with her.
Do you know
What it’s like
When it’s wrong
But it feels so right?
I can sort of imagine I do, but in the given context here, I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about. Let me sum up: a dude passes by, there’s eye-contact, and... and that’s the situation that’s wrong but feels so right? Ok, why not. The only other thing I can summon up from my mind about this paragraph is that this is probably what little Catholics feel like when they first masturbate.
Nothing in this world can stop us tonight
I can do what she can do so much better
Nothing in this world can turn out the light
I’m gonna make you feel alright tonight
Da-da, Da-da, Da-da, Da, Tonight
Da-da, Da-da, Da-da, Da, Tonight
Now that’s quite an ellipse. We moved from two people, one of whom was already coupled, eye-contacting somewhere, to this. At this point, not a single word was really uttered, it’s all in her head, and apparently she doesn’t really need the other guy to participate. She can do what the other does, oh so much better. What are we talking about here? Since the narrator doesn’t know that other girl from Adam nor Eve, what are we talking about? Anything? What is it that you’ve seen Paris Hilton do? Sucking cocks. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s good at it, but she’s definitely better at using her mouth that way than when she expresses ideas with it. So, in short, Paris can suck cock better than your girlfriend, so nothing in this world can stop her, it’s the power of blowjobs.
“Nothing in this world can turn out the light,” this is what I hate about lyrics most often. What light? The light of your 5-minute-old crush? If you’re going for metaphors, make some sense. But see, “turn out the light”, that’s like lamps. Nothing in this world can turn out the light... Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t relate to this line much.
“I’m gonna make you feel alright tonight,” well here we go. Tonight? Jesus, that’s fast! Within 4 seconds of seeing that dude, she’s already about to fight the whole world to be with him, or rather, to stay with him, since they’re obviously an item at this yet early stage; within 7 seconds, she knows his girlfriend can’t suck cock as well as she does, and within half a minute, he’s her evening fuck-buddy. I won’t even try to see how she plans to make him feel alright, but I’m thinking oral sex has to do with it.
Then there’s the da da stuff, and I will not suppose it has anything to do with the Dadaists. But, to be honest, it could, because as far as senseless nonsensical nonsense is concerned, Paris could join the club. Moving on.
Baby, you and I, we got what will never be
You know I’m right
So tell me what you’re waiting for when you’re here with me?
Most guys would die
Now he’s “baby”; I tell you things go fast with Paris. This first line there is just... almost too much. “We got what will never be,” uh? What is that? What is it that will never be and how do you get it? I’m thinking “a sane relationship” but that doesn’t take away the paradox of owning something that will never be, and, consequently, that isn’t.
And that third line is a killer. Let’s assume I’m the guy there, for simplicity’s sake. What I’m waiting for? When I’m with Paris Hilton? Well, I’m waiting for the fucking camera, baby. You don’t suck cock so well, so I want this thing to bring me some dough at least.
“Most guys would die,” of what? You think you’re so hot that most guys would die just to touch you? Is that it? Or are you insinuating that most guys would have sex with you, and thus, they’d get a terrible STD, and then they would die. Correct? [I owe this joke to a friend of mine; I don’t own the copyrights of that one, so thank you Carla.]
You should know
What it’s like
When it hurts
‘Cause it feels so right
“What it’s like when it hurts ‘cause it feels so right,” well that’s an interesting line. Something that hurts because it feels so right. I can understand something that feels so right because it hurts, that is, if there’s a little SM leather-person in you, but something that hurts precisely because it feels right... I’m stumped. You got to be evil to feel that way about something that feels right. Imagine, you’re eating chocolate, it feels right, and then you hurt. Imagine, you’re having an orgasm, it feels so right, and then you hurt. Imagine, you’re skiing on the white slopes of your favourite mountain, it feels so right, and then you hurt? I’m sorry but I don’t get this. Or maybe this is some sort of happiness I’m yet to experience; the happiness that literally hurts. I think this perhaps is a cocaine-related figure of speech, though, like when you take too much of it and you hurt but you’re still enjoying the coke trip quite a bunch. I’ll put this stanza down to cocaine abuse.
I gotta tell you somethin’
It’s somethin’ that you just might like
No, it’s not the same thing
Yeah, you’ll learn I’m not too shy
You and I, we can do this thing tonight
I’m baffled. First of all, no one knows what the “thing” she has to tell is, we can only conjecture. Paris Hilton being mostly known for... sucking cock... well oral sex is the first thing that comes to mind. She adds that it’s something that “you just might like”. Emphasis on “might”; given the tone, I think this is ironic. Unless Paris thinks the guy isn’t into oral sex. Then she says that “no, it’s not the same thing,” not the same thing as what? As oral sex? Is she reading minds? And then she goes “yeah, you’ll learn I’m not too shy,” and I wonder where that comes from. Notice it’s like the dude is actually talking with her, but we don’t hear what he says. As to learning you’re not too shy, I think we all know that. And she ends the song on saying that dude and her can do this “thing” tonight. I’m thinking some super complex kama-sutra position. What “thing” for fuck’s sake? A kiss? Bad use of obscurity, Paris.
“I gotta tell you something,” she said, looking down in obvious embarrassment.
“Yes? What is it baby?” he replied, feeling the beginnings of a hardon.
“It’s something that you just might like...” she continued. Her eyes rose to his.
“...” he couldn’t speak, he was wordless, and the blood pumped faster into his member.
Then she moved closer to him and said, “Yeah, you’ll learn that I’m not too shy,” and he almost faltered.
“You and I, we can do this thing tonight,” she concluded, firmly holding his gaze. He pondered for a second, and his expression changed.
“Er, excuse me but... What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I said, what the fuck are you talking about? What is this thing you and I can do tonight? What is it?” he said in growing anger.
“Uhhh.... I don’t know?”
“Paris?!?! What are you talking about! You don’t know what you mean when you talk about that thing? Is that right?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand much of anything of what’s going on right now. Words, ideas, that’s not really my thing. Could you stop asking me questions please?”
“No, I’m sorry too, but this is nonsense, and nonsense isn’t sexy,” he uttered and got up from the bed where they were sitting. He then meant to leave, but as he opened the door, Paris called to him.
“Dude! Whatever your name is, and it’s not like I care, come back here, you know that most guys would die, so don’t miss out on this unique occasion.”
“No, Paris, I’m not a horny pack of meat for you to use at your heart’s desire.”
“Could it be that I’ve been wrong about guys for so long?”
“If it were only that.”
“Oh, what did you say?”
“Well, anyway, here’s the camera, and that’s hot.”
“I’m not filming anything.”
“I want you to.”
“That’s hardly enough to convince me.”
“I’ll snort railroads of cocaine on your hard cock.”
“That’s better, but that’s still not good enough. Give it up, you won’t convince me.”
At that point Paris got mad and shouted incomprehensible babble where bits of actual meaning could be picked out. From those bits, our nameless hero gathered that Paris was in withdrawal from both cocaine and ego-worshipping. Forthwith, he mustered all the pictures of her he had in his shameful collection, proceeded to grind them down to a thin powder, and made Paris inhale herself right up to complete bliss. For 20 minutes she remained calm and seemingly high, but then she awoke. And uttered those fateful words:
“I need to fuck.”
Considering the vaginal venture a tad too dangerous for his own health, our nameless hero immediately walked over to his wall, where a giant Paris Hilton poster was hanging. He took it off the wall, rolled it, added a sock to one of the extremities, and I let you imagine the rest of this narcissistic sex scene with the simple help of that hint: Paris Hilton is indeed full of herself.