We Need to Have a Talk About All the Naked Photos: Your T*tty Shots
I'm going to put on my beard, clear aviator readers and a striped sweater, make us a pot of tea and pull over the beanbags. Let's rap, kids.
When it comes to nudie pics, the conversation starts at home. This is our home; let's start the conversation, in a mature, rational manner. So, iPhone pics of your donger and Justin Beaver: where do you stand?
There exist two realms of possibility when it comes to leaked naked photos: 1) you are a famewhore, desperately seeking attention, hoping no one notices the proximity in time between release of said photos and release of upcoming movie, or 2) you are dumb as fuck and should not be allowed around technology.
In the past week's time, we've had them both. Hoorah and huzzah! But this conversation is not one of nipples and buttholes. This is a conversation about confidence. Namely, ensuring some of you have less of it.
Do not mistake me. I am all about confidence. I want everyone to have a healthy, appropriate self-image, with enough instances of fat and ugly sad days that you are forced to stay funny. You know, for balance. But it is a special level of confidence that comes with nude photos. And that level is what we call "delusion."
A commonplace headspace among celebrities, delusion here is the thinking that you are so important and interesting that no one will disperse these photos once they're sent, or that no one will go straight to Star Magazine after you blow a load in their mouth, because you're such an awesome, famous lover that this act alone was their gift and no monetary amount could possibly match it.
That is the wonder of the celebrity mind. I am special, so bad things will not happen to me. Why, yes, I will steal this necklace and beat up a Betty Ford employee, thank you.
For the famous people of the world, I didn't want to have to be the one to tell you this, but here we go. You are not that special. You are not that important. You are not that attractive. A picture of your snizz region or your pants lobster is hilarious and the recipient will most certainly show his or her friends and then his or her tabloid of choice. And you are not special enough, important enough or pretty enough to prevent that.
Someday, I will be an excellent mother.
But if you, gentle famous person, cannot grasp this concept of an appropriate level of self-worth, then you at least need to be intelligent. And this also tends to prove frustratingly difficult for you people. Because, for the most part, you're also all so fucking stupid it makes me tired.
Twitter. There's a DM function and a post function. With the mildest literacy, you too can avoid sending pictures of your admittedly impressive pants bulge or terrible music-ed titties to your tens of thousands of followers. Yes, sometimes technology is hard when you're in a hurry. I myself became very nervous that I'd accidentally sent out a very urgent press release seven hours too early last week, and who hasn't hit Reply All at some point or another? It happens.
But it shouldn't happen when the photo you are attempting to post is of your bits. That's the lesson. When it comes to your nethers, there is ALWAYS time to be careful.
I joked before about teaching these lessons to my kids one day. Here's the thing. I wasn't joking. I didn't really think I'd need to, and lord knows my parents didn't ever have to have this talk with me, but fucking Christ, really, am I going to honestly have to tell my daughters "are you fucking kidding me with the titty pics? Just show the guy in real life, because the evidence leaves when your top goes back on. Don't take a fucking photo. Don't be such a stupid bitch"? Because I'd really rather avoid that.
But if I have to, I will. And if I have to have this conversation with every celebrity, politician or Pajiba commenter (*two-finger point at my eyes, two-finger point at your eyes*), I will.
Keep it in your pants, kids. And if you can't, at least have the good sense to not leave a trail of proof.
Around the Web
Like Our Facebook Page And an Angel Does the Paul Rudd Dance
← Nicholas Hoult, Cut It Out With The Pseudo-Thumbsucking, I Don't Need Anymore Reminders That You Were Once That Cherubic Kid From About A Boy | Tentacles on the Brain Keep Me from Falling Asleep: The Top Ten Creepiest Creatures of Science Fiction →
blog comments powered by Disqus