Okay, look. I understand that the song “It’s Raining Men” is really campy and kinda gay. And ordinarily there is nothing I enjoy more than something that is campy and gay. My life is filled with things that are campy and gay, and I delight in them! Camp is delightful. And the gay, too, it is delightful!
So what’s the problem here? I mean who doesn’t like rain? And men? I considerably enjoy both of those things. And sometimes, Rain IS a man! (In the form of a Korean pop star!) And that, too, is enjoyable in its own way:
Those abs! That vest! Clearly, CLEARLY, rain and men are both wonderful, wonderful things.
So it may come as a surprise when I say that the song “It’s Raining Men,” while it does indeed invoke certain things I like (such as people and dreary weather), is still a fundamentally disturbing piece. There are some things that just don’t go together, and precipitation and potential-sexual-partners is one such worrisome combination.
Don’t you agree? For example: the fantasy of kissing someone in the rain becomes a little more squicky when one interprets its meaning as kissing someone WHO IS MADE OUT OF RAIN and who at one point DESCENDED FROM THE SKY IN THE FORM OF LITTLE DROPLETS AND/OR AS A FULLY FORMED PERSON. I mean, I have my kinks and all, but that is not one of them.
Plus wouldn’t everyone just be crushed by the raining men, anyway? Fun fact: you will probably not be able to hook up with someone if you are squished flat by his falling on you from the sky, boosted by the acceleration of Earth’s gravity and all.
Therefore, I, for one, am not “gonna go out to run and let myself get / absolutely soaking wet” in man-rain (ew) should the opportunity imminently arise as this song so dreadfully portends.
I will say this only once: You will hear no gleeful hallelujahs and amens from this blogger when the song in question begins to play. So be warned: FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY IT’S GONNA START RAINING MEN. Get your umbrellas out, folks. This ain’t a drill.