I feel like if you crop this photo, from our new photo spread "Bottoms Out", you end up with a totally different vibe:
The Greatest Summer Jam Since 1980, Round 2
Hello, internet. It’s us, your friends at Noisey. We decided to determine the greatest summer jam since 1980, tournament style. After a Round One that was tabulated by our resident goofball Luke Winkie, we decided to open the tournament up to voting from a panel of elite Internet Explorers and mage-level Netscape Navigators so that we might bring a sense of professionalism and objectivity to such a precise and scientific quest.
Because what is a “summer jam,” anyways? Is it a song that dominated the summer it was released in? Is it a song that only sounds good when it’s over 85 degrees out? Verily, nay. The summer jam is an ineffable beast; a riddle wrapped inside of an enigma wrapped inside a hook so obvious and dumb that whoever wrote them invariably deserves a MacArthur Genius Grant. It’s nostalgic but somehow casts an eye towards a better future. It’s not necessarily sexual, but when deployed correctly, the summer jam makes everyone within earshot a minimum of 10% sexier.
Some housekeeping before we get to the winners: Last round, people on the internet complained that lots of these songs didn’t come out in the summer, and that the songs we picked from the 80’s were arbitrary and that we left out actual genuine summer jams from the era. To these notions, we scoff. The summer jam is about living in the now; it doesn’t matter when a summer jam was released as long as it truly and unequivocally jams in the summer. In the galaxy of the summer jam, the past only exists to mine from so that your summer of now may shine brighter. Destroy your idols. Fuck Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer.” The Ataris’ version is better, anyways.
All your favorite Noisey writers wrote about their favorite summer jams. (Mine’s “Big Pimpin’”.)
In Praise of the Posterior, by Stoya
On Tuesday I was in Las Vegas again, and my trip had me thinking about butts.
I spent the wee hours of the morning writhing in pain while trying to avoid disturbing my partner’s sleep. Sometimes my body decides to stage a full-on menstrual revolt replete with cramps and some migraine-like symptoms—which I guess kinda make sense if you believe that migraines can be triggered by hormonal cycles. I chalk it up to God hating me because I’m a pornographer. (That last sentence was a joke. Mostly.) Like many women, my periods suck and aren’t on a perfect cycle. It could be worse, but I still envy women who always know when their three magically pain-free days of moderate bleeding are going to happen. I turned on the television to distract myself from my internal grumble-rant and stumbled upon this survival reality show called Naked and Afraid.
Every episode pairs a man and a woman who have above-average survival experience or knowledge. They meet each other for the first time in whatever area they’re going to be living in for the next 21 days. They are each allowed a single personal item; usually a knife, pot, or thing to start fire with. Oh, and they don’t have any clothes. No underwear, no shoes. Buck-ass naked. I wondered if I was watching the Playboy channel, but then the Discovery logo popped up. The first episode I saw took place in Tanzania with a pair named Kellie and EJ.
Tell me about the toughest shoot where you had to find a super obscure and specific kind of model.
I would have to say “Birthday Song” with Kanye and 2 Chainz was the craziest. They wanted exotic big-booty girls, but at the same time we had to have clowns and all types of different people like midgets. I had to go above and beyond for that.
Was it hard to get the right midgets? Was Yeezy really particular on what kind of midgets he wanted?
The director was the one really into the midgets. Kanye was more focused on the big-booty girls.
Was Kanye like inspecting the booties on set to get the most robust asses in the video?
Nah. Because I’ve been doing this for so long, a lot of the artists trust me and know that I’m always bringing new faces to the table. They know I have a big arsenal of females they’re able to pick and choose from.
Can you give any advice to young girls out here trying to be video girls? Like what would you say to a 16-year-old girl who says she wants to be a video girl?
I would tell them to not make it the focal point at that age. She can take it up as a hobby. If you are going to do it, try to take being a video girl to the next level and become a big model or actress, which involves making more money. Being in music videos is for when you’re young and you want have fun and get your face out there and establish a brand.
Watching Your Baseball Team Get Blown Out Is Like Anal Sex
As I watched the Cleveland Indians’ wholesale slaughter of the Houston Astros last week (the final score was 19-6), an odd feeling crept over me. It was horrible to watch a baseball team get absolutely creamed like that, but it was also oddly familiar, and not just because the Astros are terrible. The mixture of pleasure and pain that unfolded over nine innings—it started out scary, but ended up being kind of fun—was pretty much like anal sex. Actually, baseball blowouts—be they the 1897 Chicago Colts’ 36-7 record-setting victory over Louisville, the 30-3 destruction of the Baltimore Orioles by the 2007 Texas Rangers, this season’s 15-0 shellacking of the Nationals by the Reds—are exactly like anal sex. Here’s an inning-by-inning recap:
THE FIRST INNING: BACKDOOR PRESSURE
The initial runs that appear on the scoreboard serve as a quiet harbinger of what’s to come, much like the none-too-subtle pressure of a wiener knocking on your tightly clenched rosebud. This game won’t really be so bad, you tell yourself. Then another walk, wild pitch, ground-rule double, and you surreptitiously clasp your cheeks in expectation. But I never do anal!
THE SECOND INNING: PENETRATION
Much like the moment when your lover spits on your asshole, the appearance of an additional three or four runs in the second officially heralds that anal is occurring, and then—yup, that’s a dick in your asshole. Any hope of a comeback is shattered, and no amount of praying for run support will make that sweet pucker of yours any less penetrated. The flesh of your loins quivers, bases loaded, no outs.
Meet the Girls Who Are Terrorizing Juggalos with Their Perfect Asses
Passed Out Juggalos is a crew of girls in their underpants who terrorize the sleepy Faygo people at the Gathering of the Juggalos. When I first came across them I became aroused, then intrigued. I used to subscribe to the popular opinion that all Juggalos are extras from Deliverance, but these half-naked girls made me want to know more. I wanted to hear all about the POJ straight from their smirky, potty-mouthed faces, so I stalked these mad bitches all over the country. I discovered that most of them live in Sacramento. One is in Louisville. I’m now officially a weird and obsessive person with a collection of human heads, probably. There are five POJ regulars, making them kind of like the Spice Girls, if the Spice Girls were into paralytic clowns. The three I spoke to are: Killette (OCD germaphobe), Neveah (has a taint piercing), and Ryan (got a guy’s name).
VICE: I get the impression that you girls might be strippers.
Killette: I’m the only one who isn’t. The other girls are though, yeah.
Nevaeh: I’m a stripper. It makes sense, I guess!
Do any Juggalos ever come into your club, Nevaeh?
Nevaeh: It has happened, but not very often. I’ve never been recognized on the street from POJ. I think it’s because my… face doesn’t really show a lot in the pictures. I do have some fans because of my pictures. Yeah. That’s what I’ve heard. “This guy’s just in love with you, that guy thinks you’re awesome…” I’m apparently a Twitter star because of my X-rated pictures. That’s enough for me. I really don’t care if people like point me out and say, “Oh shit, there’s the girl who shows her snatch all over POJ!” It’s whatever.