『Polyandry? License to Stupidity』のカバーアート

Polyandry? License to Stupidity

Polyandry? License to Stupidity

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 Boys, it’s Papa 4 Da Boys, your six-string slayer of stupidity, scrapin’ by with a busted guitar and a gut full of “are you serious?” I’m talkin’ to you—young bucks out there, tryna be men in a world that’s half clown convention, half group therapy gone wrong. Grab a chair, maybe a cold one if you’re old enough, and let’s carve up today’s woke garbage fire. It’s 3:40 PM, August 12, 2025, and the latest idiocy is “ethical polyamory”—yeah, the idea that love’s a free-for-all buffet. Spoiler: it’s dumber than a bag of hammers, and nature’s laughin’ its ass off. Let’s riff, boys. So, what’s the woke issue of the day? Brace yourselves, ‘cause it’s a real brain-melter: “ethical polyamory.” That’s right, the glitterati with too many feelings and not enough day jobs are back, tellin’ us monogamy’s basically slavery. They’re out here pushin’ the idea that jugglin’ five partners, two side pieces, and a “throuple” on weekends is the “evolved” way to live. They’re callin’ it “relationship anarchy,” which sounds like a bumper sticker for people who think schedules are fascism. The pitch? Love whoever, whenever, no rules, just vibes—like a rom-com written by a Roomba on acid. And they’re leanin’ on the DSM-5, wavin’ it like a hall pass, sayin’, “Hey, mental health says it’s cool!” Yeah, and my guitar says I’m Jimi Hendrix, but that don’t make it true. Let’s unpack this circus, young men. These polyamory prophets are out here actin’ like monogamy’s some dusty relic, like it’s a horse and buggy in a Tesla world. They’re screamin’ that one partner’s “oppressive,” probably ‘cause it’s hard to ghost someone when you’ve got a mortgage together. They’ll hit you with buzzwords—“deconstruct love,” “smash the binary,” “jealousy’s just internalized patriarchy.” Jealousy? Nah, that’s your brain sayin’, “Hey, maybe don’t share your girlfriend like she’s a Netflix login.” These folks? They’d rather rewrite human nature than admit their “love everybody” plan’s a recipe for crying in a group chat at 3 AM. It’s like they saw The Bachelor, thought, “Not chaotic enough,” and cranked the Nonsensical to 11. Like Papa’s cacklin’ at a bad open-mic set. Here’s the kicker: they’re sellin’ this as “freedom.” Freedom? Tryin’ to keep six partners happy sounds like a full-time job with no benefits and a side of herpes. Nature’s got a better script, boys. Men and women, pairin’ up, buildin’ a life—that’s the setup that’s kept us goin’ since we were chuckin’ spears at woolly rhinos. Biology ain’t subtle: one man, one woman, trust, commitment, maybe some kids who don’t hate you. That’s the jam. Polyamory’s like tryin’ to play a symphony with a kazoo orchestra—sounds wild, but it’s just noise. And don’t get me started on the health angle. Clinics are seein’ STD spikes in cities where this “free love” stuff’s trendy. Coincidence? Sure, and I’m the next American Idol. Now, my young kings, let’s get real. You’re out there, tryna carve out your place as men. The world’s screamin’ that you gotta “redefine” love, make it a free-for-all to prove you’re “open-minded.” Bull. Be proud of wantin’ somethin’ solid—one woman, one bond, built on blood, sweat, and loyalty. That’s not old-school; it’s badass. If someone’s wrestling with their head, feelin’ trapped or confused, get ‘em a therapist, not a cheerleader for chaos. True friends are for helpin’ folks, not rubber-stampin’ every whim. Nature’s crystal clear—men and women, built to fit, built to last. You don’t need to juggle lovers to prove you’re free; you’re free when you’re strong, focused, and true to what’s real. The irony’s thicker than my calluses, boys. These “anarchists” are preachin’ liberation while shacklin’ you to drama so tangled it’d make a soap opera blush. They’ll shame you for wantin’ a steady relationship, like you’re some knuckle-dragger for believin’ in “one and done.” Meanwhile, every dude I know who’s tried this poly nonsense ends up with a therapist or a restraining order. Nature’s laughin’, and so am I. The sex act ain’t just a good time—it’s where life begins. When a man and woman come together, their bodies sync up like a perfect chord. Oxytocin floods the system—call it the “bonding hormone,” ‘cause it glues you to each other. It spikes during sex, especially in committed pairs, makin’ you feel safe, close, like you’re two halves of a whole. Add vasopressin in men, and you’re wired to protect, to stick around. That’s biology sayin’, “This is your person, no one else.” Polyamory? Threesomes? That’s like tryin’ to play a symphony with a broken string—messy and off-key. Now, the world’s out here ...
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