If nothing else, pop music can reveal the values and tastes of a generation. The lyrics are simple, the message is bare. You don’t have to think long and hard to understand the song’s message. Pop songs give us valuable clues about what people of a certain generation believe and feel. And there’s no room to hide what you really mean – it’s all there for the ear to hear. In polite speech, people hide their true intents. Indeed, if you spoke as honestly as songs do, people would think you were alternately a psychopath, a sap, a rapist, degenerate a coward. But in a song, carte blanche.

There’s a growing chorus of men critical of Western women. They’re dismissed as misogynists, balding rapists with tiny members living in their mothers’ basements. Their sin – they transgress the 11th commandment as Marc Rudov calls it: Thou Shalt Not Criticise A Female. Let us accept these scholarly denunciations, and instead watch the American woman hoist with her own petard. Her own honest account is more damning than a male observer’s could ever be.

In relationships, there are two extremes of women. The first is one who commits to a man, whom she loves and cherishes, but she refuses to copulate with him – this is the prude. The logical opposite of the prude is the woman who shows no great love or respect for a man, but surrenders her body nonetheless. This woman is the slut. Both are dysfunctional; their relationships are mired in discord and end in failure.

The healthy woman avoids both these fates, by surrendering herself to a man, but only to the one who has her affection and reverence.

In Lady Gaga’s new song (embedded at the top of the page), the central refrain is:

Do what you want
What you want with my body

In the chorus, she adds:

You can’t have my heart, and
You won’t use my mind but
Do what you want (with my body)

You can sleep with me, but you can’t have my heart or my mind. I won’t love you and I won’t revere you. But when it comes to my body, use me as you like. In real terms, I will lick your asshole but don’t dare ask me to cook you breakfast the morning after.

This is the anthem of the slut. She has declared submission to a man forbidden. He will never have her heart. Her heart and mind are elsewhere. Where exactly, it’s not clear. She refuses to take a man as her master. But it’s not because she loves freedom. She wouldn’t know what to do with it.

She already has a master; man has been made superfluous. Her career, her friends, her FOMO YOLO ethos… there just isn’t any room left in her life for feminine submission and dedication. All he has left to offer is a tumescent shaft and costly treats. His value is in the orgasms he incites, the gifts he offers, as R. Kelly sings:

I could be the drink in your cup
I could be the green in your blunt
Your pusher man
Yeah I got what you want

There’s her dream of having the kitchen with granite countertops, the Range Rover to tote the kids to soccer practice, and the palatial wedding of course – the man is a mere enabler. Naturally, the man is reduced to an accessory and a status item, much like her purse. This has long been a temptation to which women are drawn, none more so in America where materialism abounds. But it was restrained and shamed, by communal shame and material scarcity. Those shackles are gone now, and the Western woman is as brazen and vulgar as ever.

And the Western man only knows how to obey, to man up and be her personal house negro, in the words of Malcolm X. The Western man loves this woman more than he loves himself… when the woman’s heart is all but closed to him.

The greatest master of them all is the man she let into her heart – and he never left. She is the ‘Alpha Widow,’ and he is the ‘The Great White Buffalo.’ She never recovered from his rejection of her. Had she married her first love, this would all be a quaint, abstract fear. But she’s a career woman who will marry not a day before age 27… and she broke her heart already at 17. A decade or so is time plenty to leave her brittle and senseless in time for her husband. Every man after the first chips away at her ability to love. For a man to accept her and commit to her now is to admit that he is inferior to the man who rejected her, to whom she was once committed. Perhaps even she is put off by a man lowly enough to commit to her.

Lest she love and be scorned once more, she hardens her heart:

Sometimes I’m scared I suppose
If you ever let me go
I would fall apart
If you break my heart
So just take my body
And don’t stop the party

She sings from experience – the last time she let a man have her mind, he eventually dumped her. So now she steels herself – ‘Just fuck me, I won’t love you because I don’t want to risk breaking my heart over you.’ And besides, that would just get in the way of her ‘partying.’ She parties to ward off the numb void that is her life. The road to her heart is closed; best aim for her vagina then. Gaga has spoken.

With any luck, Gaga will impel American women to new heights of whoredom.

Read More: Modern Woman In Wanting To Be For Herself, Has Destroyed Herself