Pharrell Williams had decisively become the "it" dude of summer 2013. His face, sleek and Sphinx-like, was plastered on the covers of all the respectable magazines, and his voice was inescapable provided that you owned a car, or a computer, or ears. It was well-deserved, too; the sudden jump in fame was a good thing for the mocha-skinned man. He was being recognized for his talent. It was great. Good. Super.
Robin Thicke bitterly side-eyed the television to his left; Ryan Seacrest's irritatingly amiable voice was talking about The Daft Punks or whatever and Rob was on the verge of smashing something (talk about gettin' blasted).
"The latest smash hit comes right on the heels of another Pharrell-featured track-'Get Lucky' has been on everybody's radar-"
"Turn that shit off!" snarled Robbie at his nondescript, unnamed wife.
Paula Whatsherface flinched at his tone and obeyed meekly.
"Good girl," praised Robin, proceeding to down a beer and flex his muscles. He had a sudden urge to play football and shove gays into lockers, to demonstrate his masculinity.
But the woman had other plans in mind. She approached him gently, prodding him with a, "Honey?"
"Oh God. What?" he groaned. Women! he thought in despair, and in his mind's eye Bill O'Reilly and Daniel Tosh and other raging misogynists high-fived him. Nailed it, he smirked in satisfaction.
"I know-I know how you feel about 'Get Lucky'," started the woman, adjusting the shackles on her ankles that chained her to the kitchen, "but Pharrell is your friend and you... you should be happy about his success-"
"Silence, succubus!" he spat out venomously. "What would you, a double X-er, understand about the power of fraternity? My adoration for Pharrell runs deep in my veins! We are blood brothers! We shared blood!" Robin's eyes were wild with terror and Paula shrieked. Undeterred, he raged on: "BLOOD! Our bond is thick(e)... There is nothing binding me to you like I am bound to him!"
Trembling, his wife held up a hand. The engagement and wedding rings he had given to her years ago glinted in the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen. Robin understood her intention at once and laughed at her naivety... did she honestly think a holy ceremony that linked them for eternity meant anything to him? So typical of a female.
"That means nothing," he screeched in falsetto, rising up like a bristling hedgehog and rushing to her. He grabbed her fingers roughly and tore the rings off before throwing them across the room like a child throwing a tantrum. Paula wept silently, her fragile shoulders shaking underneath the weight of the patriarchy.
"Bros before hoes," Robin hissed in finality, storming out of the house like a beautiful, muscular tornado.