Important Life Lessons (from 90’s music videos) – Part 2

Posted on 17 March 2010
By Amy Roberts
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CYCLE SLUTS FROM HELL – I Wish You Were A Beer

Fuck, we’ve all been there. The precious shrapnel the dole considerately threw on the floor for you just 2 days ago has already perished mysteriously from your wallet, you’re stuck in some hipster club at 3am and there aint nothing left for another goddamn bevvie.

And then what’s this?! That fucking tattooed, plaid on plaid, latfh.com reject you’ve been giving the glad eye to all night in the hope of obtaining one last charity ale, has decided to fucking bolt it? Now!?

Hey, fuggedaboudit!

What Cycle Sluts From Hell fail to realise is that they’re not really doin themselves many favours in the ‘hey, buy me a drink, lover’ department. Sure, leather crotch-hoisting catsuits might go rad with that badass, chain gang look you’re going for, but at the end of the day most of the poser boys you’re singing to are big time adorable sissies at heart and TERRIFIED of sexually aggressive madams such as yourselves.

Also, it might help if you weren’t stood directly in front of the bloody dance floor smoke machine all night. You may as well rub vaseline on a camera lens, take a self-portrait and upload it onto a dating profile on Hipsters-need-loving-too.com. No-ones gonna want to approach such a visually ambiguous so-and-so at that time in the morning, lest they wake up next to Kerry Katona on a comedown.

Plus, you know what ladies, there’s nothing wrong with being nice. The whole passive-aggressive foreplay thing died out sometime swiftly after Fatal Attraction happened. It’s okay to be attracted to posers – for the most part they can be pretty fucking hot. You know, if an ironic mustache and boys in bands are your bag, like, so jog on from your aggression and stop telling the poor bastard to shut up – I doubt the poor bloke’s even had a chance to get a word in yet, the way you’ve all been goin on.

But we totally get it. There’s been many an arduous, embittered gathering of early morning ill-advised flirtations when we’ve mistakenly locked lips with a bloke in a Folk Implosion t-shirt and an upturned ‘Suicidal’ trucker cap when really all we need is one more bloody beer. You know, like those times when you gorge on 3 bars worth of Dairy Milk when what you actually need is a large glass of water. Or is that just us? Anyway, the point is, we’ve been there sisters, we’ve been had, we’ve been done, we’ve been used and abandoned in our hours of need too! But you don’t bloody well see us going round in a leather studded bathing suit and head banging our mullet perms about the place in protest.

So what can we learn from Cycle Sluts From Hell? If you aint got even a half decent face, no-one’s gonna bloody well waste time trying to look at it – in fact video directors will probably persuade you that dark lighting and heavily shadowed visages are what all the bands are doing these days, posers have feelings too and Christ alive, don’t overdo it on the make-up. We can’t tell if you’re a Cycle Slut or that evil red-hooded gnome from Don’t Look Now. Sinister. Even Marilyn Manson has his boundaries, and they stop well before yours. And you know it’s a dark Cycle Slut day in Hell when you’re taking lessons off Marilyn soft-lad Manson.

Fuggedaboudit.