I rather famously don’t believe in sluts. I’m not sure that comedian and actor Bo Burnham does either, but he certainly did go through a phase in which he liked to shock audiences with transgressive language. I extracted and excerpted this (he called it a love poem, and I think I believe him, but you easily might not, and that would be a defensible stance) from a spoken word performance he did on Comedy Central back in 2013, presently available on Youtube. It’s hard for my rapidly-aging ears to make out all of his intricate rapid-fire patter on the recording, but AI-assisted transcription is getting super-good these days.

I Fuck Sluts

Sluts! Sluts! Sluts! I fuck sluts.

Sluts get fucked when I fuck sluts, no ifs, ands, and/or buts. I fuck sluts. I fuck sluts.

Nice girls are nice, but no good for nut-sucking. They’ll need a serene night to greenlight a buttfucking, but that’ll be easy with sleazy old slutfucking. Boo to the nice girls. Praise be to slutfucking. I have a list, a list, yes a list of all the sluts I’ve missed. I’ve never fucked or sucked these sluts, and thus my nuts are fucking pissed.

So when I fuck the lucky slut, my nut removes her from the list. Another dumb cum-bucket struck from my nut-sucking, suck-it-slut, slut-fucking bucket list.

Sluts can be white, black, brown, pink, or almond. They can be skinny with big tits, or be skinny with small ones. Sluts can be perky, preppy, or posh, with their brains and their clothes all shrunk from the wash.

But other sluts are pretty and funny and smart. These sluts can lift all your thoughts from your dick to your heart. They can talk about science, music, or art. They can put you together, or they can pull you apart, but don’t trust these sluts. Don’t you dare! They’ll force you to trust them and love them and care. And then they’ll be gone, and then you’ll be aware of that hole in your heart that that dumb slut left there.

[In a tone of sarcastic over-explaining:] “So, you see, he was lashing out with sexist language because he had his heart broken…”

In 2013, Bo himself was only 23 years old. The viewpoint-narrator in this poem (and with this language I am explicitly disclaiming the old mistake of finding the author’s opinions in the words of his characters) sounds at least that young to me. It’s right at the top of the poem. “Boo to the nice girls” my hairy ass. There are nicer girls to be met!

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