Why Chicks Can’t Rock

Written by George Tabb on . Posted in Posts.


Chicks can’t
rock. Well, most of them, anyway. But you tell that to anything
that’s got a vagina and it will most likely call you "sexist."
Or beat you up, as has been my experience.


But no matter.
The truth is the truth. Women do not belong in rock. It’s very nice to
think that they do, as well as politically correct. And it can sure get you
sensitive-guy points if you say that some girl you saw play was really good.
But, alas, it’s bullshit.


Chicks in bands
belong in rock ’n’ roll about as much as salt belongs on an open wound.
Women should stay on the sidelines taking pictures or, better yet, giving blowjobs.
Isn’t that what it’s all about?



 


Okay.
So maybe some girls can rock. But the odds are about the same as getting
hit by a bus. Maybe one in 10,000.


For the most
part, women do not belong behind guitars or, God forbid, a drum set. And while
there are many reasons why this is true, the main one is a woman simply does
not possess a penis.


And you must
have a penis to rock.


Rock hard.


Let’s
start from the beginning.


Of human life,
that is.


We are all
born with either a penis or vagina. Or, in some rare cases, both. But for this
argument, let’s just stick with the nuts and bolts. Once we are born, our
parents begin to raise us according to our sex. Boys learn to play with guns
while girls learn to play with dolls. Unless the child is unlucky enough to
be born in Northern California, where he and she both get the dolls.


Anyway, while
this may seem like an oversimplification, it is, for the most part, true. Males
around the world play more violently with one another from early on, while females
learn to get along, having tea parties and playing dress-up.


The reasons
for this are mostly genetic. It is inherent in the male of the human species
to be "wild" and "savage," while females have always been
more civilized.


Which explains
why women should be the political heads of the world. But that’s another
story.


Anyhow, civility
and rock do not mix well. Just look at the English. They act proper, have tea
and biscuits, dress in nice suits, but play dress-up with girly underwear in
secret. No wonder the Beatles and Rolling Stones moved here. Who wants to live
in a pussy country, especially one that has major dental problems?


On the other
hand, Australia, which is mostly outback, has crocodiles, guys with spears and
5-foot rodents hopping around. This makes for some real kick-ass rock ’n’
roll. Like AC/DC and the Hard-Ons. Because of its lack of civilization.
It seems the more wild the country, and in this case, the continent, the more
rock can grow and prosper.


But let’s
go back to the penis.


All men are
born with one. And all men learn to play with it at a very early age. By the
time we are one or two years old, we have learned that holding it is more comforting
than anything our parents could ever do for us.


By the time
we are five or six, we’ve learned that playing with it makes it hard, and,
by 14 or 15, that it can perform some pretty cool tricks. Well, in my case,
I was 17, but it would have been earlier if my dad had only explained to me
that when you "rub yourself" you do it up and down, not side to side
as I believed.


Playing with
your penis is very important, and even more so for future rockers. See, the
man gets used to having a hard stiff thing in his hands from an early age. The
harder and stiffer the better. He also learns how to grip this tool and, eventually,
how to use it to pleasure himself, as well as perhaps other members of his Boy
Scout troop.


Eventually,
when the male finally does pick up a guitar, it’s pretty damn familiar.
Sure there are strings on the damn thing, but the principle is the same. Slide
your palm and fingers up and down really quickly, and you feel good.


On the other
hand, what do females do? They learn that if they make dainty little circles
with their pointer or middle finger, they feel good. There’s a big difference
between tiny little circles and big long strokes.


This brings
us to the small-penis principle. Simply stated, the smaller the prick, the weaker
the lick. Which makes sense. If a guy is used to wanking on his tiny little
pecker, of course he’s not going to be able to adjust to a big, hard guitar
neck. Duh.


But getting
back to females, they don’t know how to wank at all. They don’t know
long and spastic wrist and arm movements. Instead, they know sweet little tickles
that make them feel oh-so-good.


Then there’s
the whole orgasm thing. Men, unlike women, really know how to blow their loads.
Let’s take an AC/DC song for example. Like "Let There Be Rock"
or "Whole Lotta Rosie." Angus, the guitarist, certainly knows his
rhythm. The songs have a steady beat you can wank to, and they both build up
with crazy guitar leads to one hell of a climax.


One.


Not two.


Not three.


And not zero.


One.


Women, for
the most part, don’t understand this. They are used to the whole multiple-orgasm
thing, or none at all; therefore their songs are all over the place and are
usually unintelligible. They don’t know that blowing one big one is much
better than having lots of mini-ones.


And yes, I’ve
heard all about that tantric crap where men can have many orgasms, or ones that
last for minutes, even hours. You know what I say? Who cares? Do I want more
sex after I blow my big one? Fuck no. I want a beer and drugs. As does any self-respecting
guitarist who just finished a great song.


Another reason
chicks can’t rock is because of their hands. They are naturally smaller
than most men’s, and have difficulty reaching around the entire neck. That’s
why girls usually play 3/4 scale guitars, and have to use both hands when giving
a blowjob.


But what’s
probably most telling about females and rock is their sound. When a woman is
in a band with other men, she is most likely going to sound better than a woman
who is in a band with all other women.


Why is this?
Let’s examine it.


We’ll
start with the all-chick bands, which, 99.5 percent of the time, suck. The reason
for this is that besides not being able to handle the stiff neck of a guitar,
women make horrible choices in amps and the sounds they choose to get from them.
Most women go for Fender amps, or some other brand that’s not Marshall.
Why? The fuck if I know. Maybe an amp that’s too big and black scares them?
But what I do know is that most of the time their guitars sound weak, jangly,
hollow and too high-pitched, like their voices. They also wouldn’t know
how to use a distortion box if it was a tampon. And their choices in guitars,
oy.


Men, real ones
that is, know that big and black is the way to go, and a heavy
guitar like a Les Paul or Explorer, or even a Peavey, rocks. And distortion
is king. But just the right amount. Enough so that your balls shake, rattle
and roll, but not so much to make all the guitar notes begin to sound the same.
Much like a female rattling on and on about how her day was.


Drums. Chicks
can’t rock on those either. For the most part, the reasons are the same
as the guitar. They don’t know how to grip the sticks, beat them hard,
keep a wanking rhythm or how to get a good sound. Plus, their breasts get in
the way.


But another
reason chicks can’t drum is because they have too many brain cells.
Drummers, for the most part, are morons. And that’s what makes them so
great. The dumber they are, the harder they hit those skins. The more a drummer
drools and smells like an animal, the more likely he is to be a savage
behind that kit. Women just aren’t like that. They smell nice, hardly drool,
and still know how to think.


Vocals. There
is not much to discuss here because, alas, this is an area where a large number
of chicks can rock. Maybe even 5 percent. You don’t need a penis to have
a good voice and be able to scream, you just need the right amount of drugs,
booze and anger.


And that anger
is very important. Rock ’n’ roll is all about rage, baby. Sure it
can make you feel all warm and fuzzy, like my friend Mike Doughty likes to think.
Then again, he plays through a Fender.


But it’s
the rage that makes rock rock. That feeling of wanting to break everything
in sight, then fuck the hell out of whoever you’re with. But not before
doing all those drugs and drinking all that booze. And women simply do not have
this rage. Probably because it is testosterone-driven, and they, well, do not
have balls.



 


All this
said, there are some exceptions to the rules.

Usually, dykes can rock. They may not have penises, but they sure wish they
had one. And that makes them grip that guitar all the harder, and makes their
fingers play with agility and speed and an actual sort of envy.


Then there
are the "loose" girls. The ones who love to fuck. They, too can, for
the most part, rock. It may be due to the fact that they know how to let loose,
but I bet it’s got something to do with their expert ability, through experience,
in handling a penis. But sadly they are few and far between.


And then there
are the others, rare diamonds in the rough–women who rock for neither of
the above reasons, for reasons unknown to mankind. They just rock. They are
natural wonders. Born without the proper tools, they have learned to overcome
their handicap and play with the best of them.


You rare women
who can and do rock, I salute you.



 


 


Out for
a while,
but I
just got it, is the Ramones Anthology on Warner Archives/Rhino. And it
made me have the same dream last night.


I was at a
Ramones gig, there were only a few people in the audience, and for some reason,
Dee Dee, C.J., Tommy, Marky and Richie weren’t there. Which meant Johnny
and Joey needed a bass player and drummer.


The next thing
I knew, on stage with two of my biggest heroes was my band. Stevie and
Michael. From Furious George. And they got to play all the hits.


And here’s
the kicker: they played them well.


And while I
should have felt jealousy, anger, betrayal and very small, instead, I felt pride.
And very, very happy.


There were
Johnny and Joey back together again–even though they were playing with
my band, it was them. Together. Kicking out the jams. The songs that
changed my life.


And when I
listen to the Ramones Anthology, I feel the same way. Proud. And very,
very happy.


Here on two
discs is a collection of what someone considers to be the Ramones’ greatest
hits. But, as with all greatest hits albums, it’s very subjective. For
example, where the hell is "It’s a Long Way Back to Germany,"
"Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World," "Questioningly,"
"I’m Against It" or even "I Don’t Wanna Walk Around
with You"? Nevermind "Chainsaw," "Havana Affair," "All’s
Quiet on the Eastern Front" and "I’m Not Jesus."


But then again,
you get "Blitzkrieg Bop," "I Just Want to Have Something to Do,"
"Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue," "Garden of Serenity" and
54 other hits. So I’m not complaining.


The CDs come
with a booklet. Just from looking at the cover of this thing you know it’s
the shit. A picture of Joey, Dee Dee, Johnny and Tommy holding up letters they
must have stolen from a venue somewhere they played, spelling out the word "Ramones."
Punk fucking rock.


Inside the
book is lots of text about the Ramones’ history. Stuff most of us Pinheads
already know, but it’s fun to read about anyway. And there are tons of
photos. Great ones. Ones of Johnny being the fucking rock star that he is. Pictures
of him carrying his guitar in a shopping bag back in the early days. Pictures
of Joey, sometimes with hot chicks clinging to him. Chicks like Debbie Harry
and Tina Weymouth. Also there are plenty of pictures of Dee Dee, back in his
heyday. Hey, the guy was so good-looking I’d even think about fucking him.
But saying that pisses him off, so I take it back.


But the real
treat is the pictures of the boys with other bands and celebs. Like the Ramones
with Iggy and the Ramones with the Clash (and let me tell you, they all look
like kids!). But my favorite picture is the one with Johnny and Dee Dee in a
tour bus in Europe, taken by Danny Fields. Dee Dee seems to be reading a book,
and Johnny is just glaring at the camera. With that Johnny glare.


And that’s
the glare I saw last night in my dream when Mini-Me and Michael, my band,
played with Johnny and Joey. In the dream, Johnny glares at me as he’s
playing this wild lead riff (proof it’s a dream), then invites me to play
because, as he puts it, "I’m tired." So I take his white Mosrite,
look over at Stevie and Michael, tell them we’re doing "Blitzkrieg
Bop" and count out "One-Two-Tree-Fough!"


And we play,
and as we do, all the Ramones, including C.J. and the drummers, smile at me.
And I feel warm. And happy.


Until I realize
I have a vagina, and the guitar turns to rubber, and folds over. Flaccid.


I guess that’s
why they call me Pussy.

..