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NSFW: This Vine of a Guy's Dick Falling Out to 'Work' Should Be the Official Video for 'Work'

There might already be two videos for Rihanna's new single, but neither compare to this.
February 23, 2016, 3:44pm

Don't know if you saw, but the "Work" double-video came out yesterday. It's great: Rihanna, an angel we don't deserve, winding around in a clammy dancehall while a track-suited Drake flouts every dress code convention in living history and does that "frowning and waving his hand like he just smelled the work microwave" dance move he does. Then another one, where Drake just sits on a sofa and admires the art going on in front of him, and Rihanna just walks backwards a bit and sings.

Great, great stuff. There are no two humans alive I would rather watch have sex with each other than these two people. Well done to the two directors, Director X and Tim Erem. You really did well. You really gave it a go.

That said, I'm happy to announce that the "Work" double-video released yesterday is now null and void, and this Vine of a man popping his dick and bollocks out the front of his suit is now the official video to Rihanna's comeback single:

@joelgolby I found this edit which is now my everything pic.twitter.com/EV1fhYbGiO
— ıllıllı jim ıllıllı (@jimgroome) February 23, 2016

Play it on a loop 70, maybe 80 times. Wallow in it. Really get up inside the crevices of this Vine. There are raw human emotions on display, here. It is a six-second, three-act play. There is humility and redemption. There is joy and there is pain. This Vine of a man popping his dick and bollocks out the front of his suit has everything.

We've all been embarrassed in our lifetimes, haven't we? I'll start: the time I was most embarrassed was at school, on a break-time. Knowledge you will need to be aware of: I was an extremely fat boy and looked sort of like one of those 40-year-old mums you see on couponing shows. Our school let the sixth formers out at breaks and lunchtime to go to the nearby shops, or smoke on a low wall next to the main road out by our school. So consider: an entire wall cluttered with cool kids, smoking away, and me, waddling to the zebra crossing looking, for all the world, like I had two rough sons called Jaysen and a special room in my house for all the discounted toilet paper I had accumulated.

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So I get about halfway across this zebra crossing, and I see there is a lorry coming, at quite some pace, from the opposite direction. Something inside my brain snapped at this point: my left striding leg went forward, to get to the other side of the road before the lorry killed me; my rear right leg turned to go backwards, toward the safety of the smoking cool kids. Panic in my eyes. Nervous sweating. A moment of sheer madness. Something went wrong and I malfunctioned. I did the splits.

Consider the lorry driver, who stopped in very good time, and what he saw: he saw an extremely fat, scared-looking boy do the splits in the middle of the road in front of him for absolutely no reason at all.

The man was laughing so much he couldn't drive. There was a traffic tailback behind him for many minutes afterwards. Every single cool kid at the school saw me try to ease myself back up to my feet using only my arms, exerting myself so hard my trousers slipped down and exposed my butt crack.

So we've all been embarrassed. But have we been as embarrassed as the man who accidentally popped his dick and bollocks out of the front of his suit? I don't know:

@joelgolby I found this edit which is now my everything pic.twitter.com/EV1fhYbGiO
— ıllıllı jim ıllıllı (@jimgroome) February 23, 2016

The thing is: "Work" is a banger. It is very hard, especially after a couple of drinks, not to get a little carried away with "Work". You think: 'Yes, I think I am capable of twerking.' You go: maybe it's time I dropped it to the flo'. "Work" gives you a kind of gilded confidence that only the biggest pop songs can imbue: it makes you feel bulletproof, it makes you feel free. It makes you think that maybe you should do a medically-inadvisable dance move while not wearing pants. It makes you do something that pops your trousers apart so hard it sounds like someone quickly opening a crisp packet.

Because my major concern when I first saw that Vine of a dude popping his dick and balls out of the front of his suit was: did this dude just bust through his pants and his trousers with one crotch-pop? How much power can this man's groin generate? Fucking hell. But then I watched again, again, another time, once more: unless they are obliterated to atoms at the exact second the man drops it to "Work", there are no underwears present in this moment. It is just suit material being strained to the point of destruction.

Which, I guess, is the bittersweet core at the centre of this embarrassment pudding. The man approaches the booty pop with a very pure innocence – that this sweet, brief second of his life will not ruin it irreparably, that this moment will not define him as a man, will not be a highpoint of his life's embarrassment, a single splayed hand in front of his torso and a look to camera – and leaves it changed. Over the course of six seconds, we see one man's life as he knows it end, and another one begin in its place. At the exact moment his dick and balls flop out, he is reborn.

Before:

After:

And then there is the reaction. Embarrassment is a curious feeling – it makes us flush, makes us sear, for some reason it is the most lasting emotion. Sadness and despair we can move past; happiness we can cling onto for as long as we can. But embarrassment cuts deep. Embarrassment we can recall some 10, 20 years later, and feel it just as strongly as we did the day we first held it. No other feeling endures or amplifies quite like it. It is the bolognese sauce of emotions. It tastes better the second time you heat it up.

Kudos, then, to the man with his dick and balls out, in the two to three seconds after his dick and balls pop out. This is when the shock happens: the initial "my dick and balls have popped out" amazement. As he reverses out of the squat, he isn't thinking, 'How in the fuck am I meant to get home without everyone seeing my dicky and ballsack?', but instead instinctively goes to cover his newly-ruined crotch, mouth a silent scream. It's a very pure moment – like a baby being born and screaming for the first time, or a pig being shot.

And, finally, he looks down back at his crotch, for confirmation: yes, he just did his trousers so hard his dick and balls are hanging out. Yes, that was captured on camera. No: no blood. Yes: this night has just gone irreparably sour.

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We have to learn from other people: the mistakes they make, the adversities they overcome, the triumphs they achieve. When someone pops their dick and balls out the front of their suit while dancing to "Work", we need to ask ourselves what we can learn from this, how we can use this to grow.

Lesson one: do not attempt to drop it low unless you have an ironclad crotch seam in place. Lesson two: underwear isn't that bad, you know. Lesson three: visible embarrassment is an instinct that saves us from the abyss. Moments like this – when your dick and balls spill out your trousers on Vine – can define a person. But when we process that shock we start to become someone else: stronger, hardened, bulletproof in a way that can't be synthesised.

We've all, one way or another, popped our dick and bollocks out of our trousers. We've all overcome it. You can be stronger now, "Work" suit trouser dick and bollock man. We all can.

@joelgolby

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