by Ross Sharp

“I’ve got an idea.”

“Pitch me.”

“An album-length, All-Star Hard-Core Pop-Porn music video, sixty, seventy minutes, like a real film, first of its kind, it’s not pushing the envelope, it’s blowing the envelope up, it’s reinventing the envelope, it’s putting the envelope the fuck out of business.

Supergroup Pop-Porn. All original songs. Guests. Miley can suck a spanner, Rihanna can hump a fucking bedknob – splits, clits, and fingerfuckin’ gynaecologists – and then The Pizza Guys arrive …

… Rappers, Rockers, and Rapin’ Cherrypoppers talkin’ and stalkin’ “bitches” and “ho’s” and stickin’ it to anything that walks, want it or not.

Bangs in beats per minute, a Dance Party Suck ‘n’ Fuckfest that will have anyone sees it dancin’ holes in the floor and then shagging the shit out of the fucking underfelt.

It’s the music video that blows, but in a good way. It’s a film for the clit-scratching, crotch-grabbing Gen Z of Contemporary Pop-Rock Royalty. Watch Justin Bieber slammin’ himself some beaver … Can you imagine the money? The controversy? The money? The fucking money?! Imagine the fucking money!”

“Is it a statement?”

“A “statement”?! You want a “statement”?! These acts don’t just want to “own” their sexuality, they want to show it, Up Close & Personal, Out There and Up Yours, flaps all up in your face! It’s a statement of Pride, it’s a statement of Sexual Evolution, of Intellectual Surety, of Emotional Transcendence, of Childhood, Adulthood, Pleasure, Pain. A Life Story, a Story of Life, Everyday Life, Normal Life. Life!

It’s a story that needs to be told.

What do you think?”

“Yes. Yes. Let us tell this story. This story of life and of sexuality. Of empowerment. Of pride. Of the freedom to fuck, and be known to fuck, and shown to fuck!”

“It’s a fucking revolution in song!”

“It’s not pornography. It’s art, mate. It’s fucking art!”