Five Pieces of Life Advice from Lana del Rey
Lana del Rey confuses me. Where did she come from? How did she get so popular so quickly? Why does she remind me of Daisy Buchanan if Daisy had spent at least six months in Stepford? Why do her lyrics make me so uncomfortable? What are all the things she wants to do? Why did she ever pen the line “my pussy tastes like Pepsi-Cola”? Why did I listen to a loop of that lyric for twenty minutes alone in my room two Saturdays ago? Why do I put on Born to Die whenever I need guidance in my life? Why do I feel compelled to share this advice with others? Why won’t my friends talk to me anymore?
Put your Pabst Blue Ribbon on ice. Nobody likes a warm beer, especially if it’s PBR. The subtle aromas and nuanced bouquet of America’s premier beer are ruined completely if the cans lose their chill. Plus, it has been rumored that if you stand in front of a mirror and whisper “Pabst Blue Ribbon on iiiiiice” three times, LDR herself will appear and make over-the-shoulder doe eyes at you until you die.
Do a lot of cocaine. Drugs are really cool. Lana del Rey does a lot of them. She’s also really into guys who do them. LDR especially likes when you do so much cocaine that it literally turns your heart into cocaine.
Don’t play your video games. She even put her favorite perfume on.
Kiss her on her open mouth in the pouring rain. On Born to Die, LDR makes no less than three references to kissing her on her open mouth. She is remarkably specific about this, so it’s clear this is important to her—and by extension to all girls, as Lana is the epitome of femininity. Do not kiss her on her closed mouth. Do not kiss her on the neck. Do not kiss her anywhere other than in the pouring rain. Do not leave without kissing her, on her open mouth, in the pouring rain.
Keep your genitals clean. As previously mentioned, Lana del Rey’s pussy allegedly tastes like Pepsi-Cola. This is probably a bad thing, and could be potentially lethal if she does not visit a gynecologist in the near future. Perhaps she is just playing a character in order to demonstrate the importance of genital hygiene. Perhaps she is crying out for help. Perhaps I am crying out for help. Help.
—Matt Watson is the current and future blog exec, the incoming comp director, and an aspiring corpse. His spirit animal is Paula Deen riding a bald eagle made of butter.