Awesome title, right? I came across a mash-up of the lyrics of the song “Check it Out” by Nicki Minaj and Will.I.Am combined with Valerie Solanas’ “S.C.U.M. Manifestio”, a piece of post-feminist literature from 1968. The mash-up is written by Raymond Cummings and can be viewed here. For my purposes, I will also post the article below:
Post-Feminist/Consumerist Theory in Action: Nicki Minaj, Will.I.Am, and Valerie Solanas by Raymond Cummings
The Harajuku Barbie’s “Check It Out” vs. The S.C.U.M. Mainfesto.
Longtime frenemies Nicki Minaj and Valerie Solanas are shopping for sunglasses at a Yves St Laurant outlet store; Will.I.Am, a nosy assistant manager, is tripping his nuts off. The store’s PA system is playing elevator music so subtle and soft that it barely exists.
Minaj (checking her manicure): I’m getting money in abundance!
Valerie Solanas (gently slipping on a pair of 2297/S frames): There is no human reason for money or for anyone to work more than two or three hours a week at the very most.
Nicki Minaj (caressing huge roll of hundreds): Man, I can’t even count all of these hundreds! Duffle bag every time I go to SunTrust.
Solanas (checking her make-up in a complementary mirror): Obviously this will not do.
Minaj (fed up): Get up off my collar!
Solanas: (fuming) In short, contempt is the order of the day.
Minaj: You a chihuahua. I’m a rottweiler. Money in the bank, we be getting’ top dollar.
Solanas (hands on hips, narrowing eyes): SCUM will keep on destroying, looting, fucking-up and killing until the money-work system no longer exists and automation is completely instituted or until enough women co-operate with SCUM to make violence unnecessary to achieve these goals, that is, until enough women either unwork or quit work, start looting, leave men and refuse to obey all laws inappropriate to a truly civilized society.
Minaj (sticking out her tongue): I don’t sympathize, cause you a simple bitch; I just pop up on these hoes, on some pimple shit.
Will.I.Am. (winking at Solanas, looking her over, chattering into a portable Autotune filter): This club is heating, this party’s blazing. I can’t believe it, this beat is banging! I’m feeling it noooo-ow!
Solanas (staring daggers at Will): To call a man an animal is to flatter him; he’s a machine, a walking dildo. It’s often said that men use women. Use them for what? Surely not pleasure.
Will (faltering, backpedaling, stuttering): Check it out. Check it out? Check it out! Check it out…
Minaj (turning on Will): Fuck my nemesis?
Solanas (cackling maniacally): Eaten up with guilt, shame, fears, and insecurities and obtaining, if he’s lucky, a barely perceptible physical feeling, the male is, nonetheless, obsessed with screwing; he’ll swim through a river of snot, wade nostril-deep through a mile of vomit, if he thinks there’ll be a friendly pussy awaiting him. He’ll screw a woman he despises, any snaggle-toothed hag, and furthermore, pay for the opportunity. Why?
Minaj (giving Will a small shove): I’m a big baller, you a little smaller; step up to my level, you need to grow a little taller!
Solanas (stepping forward, balling her hand into a claw): In actual fact, the female function is to explore, discover, invent, solve problems, crack jokes, make music — all with love. In other words, create a magic world.
Will (has soiled his M.C. Hammer parachute pants): I can’t believe it!
Panicked, Will flees, vanishing into the store‘s stockroom. Minaj and Solanas watch him go, then return to their browsing.
Minaj (rolling eyes, executing a genuine In Living Color ‘round-the-world‘ snap): Just for emphasis.
Solanas (shaking her head): Life in a society made by and for creatures who, when they are not grim and depressing are utter bores, can only be, when not grim and depressing, an utter bore.
The women take their leave, decamping for Victoria’s Secret.
Minaj (looking back wistfully): I ain’t coming back, this time.
Solanas (retrieving a Blackberry from her Prada handbag): Rational men want to be squashed, stepped on, crushed and crunched, treated as the curs, the filth that they are, have their repulsiveness confirmed.
Minaj (nodding slowly, bares teeth at oblivious fashionistas, whispers): Haters, you can kill yourself. I’m a fucking savage. Dun-dun.
Solanas (grinning broadly, twirling a lock of hair around a finger, blowing butterfly kisses to a passing George Clooney look-alike): The blueprints for it are already in existence, and its construction will take only a few weeks with millions of people working on it.
end scene.
This mash-up brings to light many of pertinent topics that circle around my thinking about Minaj. I will give some background on Solanas first (of which I am by no means an expert). Solanas was a radical feminist figure in the 1960′s and 70′s. She wrote a play called Up Your Ass, which Andy Warhol was possibly going to publish. After disputes with Warhol, Solanas shot him. After that she wrote SCUM Manifesto, SCUM debatably an acronym for “Society for Cutting Up Men”. The manifesto calls for a male genocide and the creation of an all female society.
I love how this scene ends, with Solanas and Minaj on the street, disguised as flirty, hot chicks, hiding evil take-over plans behind their sweet grins. It seems as though Solanas is a controversial figure who is perceived in many different ways. Some say she was crazy and unstable. Some respect her writings and continue to advocate for them. Some say it was all satire. Some believe she really meant it to be realized. One article I read said she did whatever she could to get attention. I start to think about how all of this could apply to Minaj.
More generally, Minaj makes me think about what it means to live in a post-feminist society, or what a post-feminist society even is. Is she owning her sexuality and exploiting it? Is that even important anymore? In this fictive scenario, is Minaj a member of the Society for Cutting Up Men or is she just about getting money? Can she be both?
Links
Other examples of mash-ups by this author:
An Archaeology of “Power”: Kanye, Jay-Z, and Foucault
Kings of Leon’s “Radioactive” vs. Ramon Navarro’s ”description of WWII-era waterboarding.”
“Hold My Hand” by Michael Jackson and Akon vs. ”Stinky Stuff (Hold My Hand)” by Kimya Dawson.
