Baybee baby bebe, we love gettin’ shreddy. We especially love gettin’ shreddy when it has to do with cool rockin’ daddys. You a cool rockin’ daddy? Eh, I don’t know. We a cool rockin’ daddys? Duh.
COOL ROCKING DADDIES
Man, you know what really, really shreds? The fact that I haven’t done one of these in like two months/the fact that my quarter is finally over? Yes. Yes, that does, but on the real-real, but what about this fresh ass colby-jack hitting the streets: Dad. What is Dad? It’s this crazy-ass aesthetic concept that involves a re-conceptualization of the individual’s transition into adulthood in America. On top of that, it pays special attention to the tension between the individual ego and its contrast with objective reality, like when your Dad is being a Cool Rocking Daddy, and for some reason he doesn’t give a shit what the bebes think.
Perhaps, in America, all this crap about being an individual with feelings in need of expression just alienated everyone from everyone through self-critical conditioning and all interpersonal relationships where laundered through selective consumption of commodities alluding to individual cases of emotional hedonism; so now debutants drink PBR & wear leather jackets on their Bad Boy Weekend til they is busted like The Shining bathtub lady. That’s a fact, Jack?
And maybe, the power of association laundered through the social meanings ascribed to commodities such as music, clothes, trends, personalities, word-views, beers, and attitudes become the framework for JamesDean2010@endlesshighsCOOl.com . But everyone is so bad on Daddy’s dime, that the Dad perspective needs to be investigated. How can Daddy be rocking so cool when we all feel the pain of his refusal to concede to the social monolith ascribed to his surroundings?
Ben Steine’s Money sheds light on the Dad aesthetic perspective: “ You see me on the street, you want a piece of my money, you try to tell me what to do, but we’re the proud and the few, it’s my money.” It is my money Ben Steine, and I’m not scared to constructively use it however the fuck I see fit, and for the most part, it can’t be taken away. Perhaps, a social setting grounded in consumption of power by association has taken for granted the value of production, or in the case of the individual: creation? Like a Tiny God? Just like a Tiny God, not to be confused with a Little Hilter. Cuz we were all told how special we were right? Or how we weren’t? Take that weird ass social dichotomy into the individualized 21st century, now that’s entertainment. Now destroy that dichotomy through detournment! Now drop the bougie ass monocle of negation, and you’re a Dad, a Cool Rocking Daddy, embarrassing the hell out of all your bebes.
We all know the Bad Man eats McDonalds, but we have trouble communicating it with dignity. We all know that songs can be a list of everything bad in America like it was a secret. We all know you get what you pay for. To the Cool Rocking Daddy, dignity is found in the absurd contrast between desire and an objective reality trying to reflexively capitalize off of as well as create avenues of consumption to make our weenies tingle like a pool jet. The Cool Rocking Daddy switched out the transition into the “human garbage disposable” socially ascribed meaning of adulthood in America for the human-love-Muzzy-caveman punching his head cuz it can’t understand the Monolith from 2001: Space Odyssey. The Cool Rocking Daddy caters to no social club because he built his clubhouse called a cave, and it’s not the bad Plato one, it’s the primordial one, the one with glowing eyes in it mouth.
“YOU THINK WE GOT SOMETHING TO PROVE, WELL LET ME HIT YOU WITH THIS GROOVE,”