Hi guys. I hope you’re well. I’m sorry but I need to cut right to the chase. Ludacris wants to do lots of sexual things with you, and I don’t think all of them are okay. We need to talk about “What’s Your Fantasy?”
Don’t get me wrong. Mr. Luda seems like a lovely man. He’s handsome and he helped out Paul Walker when Vin Diesel bailed on him and he was stuck with Tyrese. I have no qualms with him, I just find some of his expectations unreasonable.
Things start off pretty normally. He talks of licking from head to toe—an experience that would be a little weird when you’re licking the back of lady’s knee, but still a nice sentiment. He wants to make love in various locations and make your fantasies come true! I hope my eventual daughter finds such a generous lover (I’m never having kids)!
Things take a turn IMMEDIATELY, though:
“I wanna get you in the Georgia Dome on the 50 yard line/While the Dirty Birds kick for t’ree”
Now, let me ignore how little time is saved by omitting the “h” from “three.” People who are just trying to recreationally cross fields maybe can evade authorities for 30 or so seconds before finally being taken into custody. If I’m being extremely generous, that leaves you a 15 second run to midfield, a quick drop of the pants, and maybe two or three solid strokes before you are violently arrested. If there are any women you know who fantasize about such a brief encounter, give them my number. (I’m kidding, I’m good at lovemaking and my contact info is below this article.)
The weird requests don’t stop there. A DJ booth? I guess that’s okay if you know the DJ and don’t mind doing it to a Taylor Swift techno remix. On the beach in black sand? Sand is even hard to shake out of a backpack; I can’t imagine the shower gymnastics required to clean up after that. The White House? Ambitious, but I don’t think that’s a viable option post-Clinton administration.
There are really only two more “fantasies” that are profoundly problematic. Firstly: “We can do it on stage at the Ludacris concert/ Cause you know it got sold out!” This bothers me as a consumer. I just don’t think this is the type of showmanship Ludacris fans are after. “Oh you saw Luda?! Did he perform ‘Stand Up?'” “No, he just kinda banged this chick for a while. It was weird. I think she faked an orgasm.”
The last, and scariest one, is as follows: “Smack a little booty up with my belt/Scream ‘help!’ Play my game!” I don’t know. This seems scary. I expect better from the man who taught my mother what racism was in Crash. No more rape fantasies, Mr. ‘Cris. You start rapping about Groupons for couples massages and I think you’ll have a lot more luck.