Pop music is no stranger to songs that piss people off. From crappy beats, to crappy lyrics, we've heard it all, most of the time against our will while shopping in a Kmart. Last summer, one song in particular began enraging and re-traumatizing rape survivors, but that didn't stop it from going all the way to the Grammys. The song was performed by Alan Thicke's son, Robin, and given the unfortunate title Blurred Lines -- something that rape apologists say in an effort to avoid dealing with the pervasive problem of rape, so that they may continue their day, doing whatever it is that people who don't believe rape happens do.
With no real job, but somehow real money in the bank, I felt I had no choice but to team up with fellow Onion contributor Lane Moore, and go VIP to see Robin Thicke perform and meet him backstage at Madison Square Garden. We confronted Robin Thicke, in character, and told him about real-life rapes through those characters. The result was him being extremely nice and extremely Ken-doll-like. We filmed it on spy hats, but the spy hats crapped out right before the meet and greet. My father, who worked at Lockheed Martin, would be so disappointed in my surveillance fail.
We had posters, wigs, and attitude. When we walked in a radio show, The Todd Show in the Morning, took photos of us because we were mistaken for superfans.
We made a video about our epic exploits. If everything goes well, our next target is going to be Terry Richardson. This is the debut of my new project tackling rape culture with comedy: Feminist Buzzkill.