We Are Hot Chicks Wednesday: Cat Scratch Fever

I'm going to start today's installment with a disclaimer. Don't skim it. Just hang tight.



On occasion, women do things other than barely cover their nips and hoo-has -- like sing a crazy ditty, or surprise you with a form of sexy you didn't know existed, or tell you her product isn't for white people -- that will arouse men more so than the usual T & A. When I say arouse, I don't necessarily mean give him the means to deliver the pump fake just before threading the tire swing with oval-shaped leather baring Roger Goodell's name. Wait. Scratch that. Yes I do. Women are totally responsible for digging it when you air out the long ball. That's why they dig it. That's the kind of thing women are into: shit they, in some skewed way, had a hand in orchestrating.



That being said, we're not going to ogle bodacious ta-tas and lovely lady lumps today. Okay. We might just a little. If it's not enough for you though, you can always get your fix here or here. (Ed: Note that those links are in fact SFW, however, where your hot little hand navigates you from there may very well not be.)



What we are going to examine today is a little collection of women that have, be it recently or not, influenced modern music. Let's begin, shall we?



Liz Phair





Miss Fuck-and-Run re-defined the phrase "cut to the chase." As an adolescent who seldom never had impure thoughts, I can honestly say that Ms. Lizzie had a heavy hand in my corruption. When Exile from Guyville came out, all of the other bullshit women had sang about up until that point, mattered no more. Gone were the days of twisting the meaning of the most innocent lyrics into something that ultimately translated into a possible deciphering of the desire for penetration.






Liz was like, "Huh-uh. I like cock. I'm here to tell you I get my healthy dose of it, but I still think dudes are 'tards and I don't have the time to put up with their shenanigans. That's what I'ma sing about. Oh. I also play guitar better than that slack-ass, coked-up Keith Richards. So take that, bitches. And guys."







Sheryl Crow






Around the same time Liz Phair came on the scene (I said around. Back off), us music/babe-diggin' dudes were blessed with the album Tuesday Night Music Club. Yeah. I owned it. Wanna fight about it? She could sing and be sexy in that more traditional, delicate way we're accustomed to, thus, a perfect counterpart to Phair.







She also did really cool things like let Eric Clapton and Lance Armstrong nail her, which to us sophisticated male creatures means, "Sweet. She bangs." Plus she knocked out a pretty badass halftime-show performance of "Soak up the Sun" during one of the NFL's 2002 playoff games, which, if I remember correctly, was in Pittsburgh. Suffice it to say she looked chilly and hot at the same time. She-zam!







Ladybug









Digable Planets were fucking incredible. Every year or so, I hear rumors of them putting out another album that actually has new material on it. But they don't. They have joined some music circuit festivals here and there, but for the most part, they remain under the radar.








Nevertheless, Ladybug was the butter in Doodlebug's roux, the milk in Butterfly's bechamel. She had style, flow rhythm and tits. That's a hip-hop recipe any novice chef can dig on.








Ladybug's voice was like the fan you need to fall asleep to, the jerk in the shower to set your day straight. She made dudes like Snoop and Dre be like, "Damn, I gotta press some new wax that's hot and smooth like hers." The original female flymaster of hip hop, however, does not have any pictures of her in a bathing suit, or underwear, or nothing, circulating CyberSpace, much to my chagrin.






Janet Jackson









Michael's sister has had more successful sculptings done to her body than most furniture, and most dudes (myself included) don't even care. She just continues to look good.

Sure. We all saw her 40-year-old nipple on prime time. Big deal. She still look good.

She can bring her 40-year-old booty to my Super Bowl party any time she wants. Trouble is, I never have Super Bowl parties. Super Bowl parties blow. I'd rather just get hammered at the bar on the couch with my hand wedged in the wasteline of my pants and relax.








Wait. What I just described is a party. Nevermind. It's cool, Janet, Miss Jackson if you're nasty. Come on over. Hell, bring Dick in a Box if you must. Yeah. That's how I roll.










Gwen Stefani





I don't care what y'all say. She can, on occasion, look goofy. She can also look hot as hell.




Like in this picture, where she looks like she's begging to be the official House of Georges logo (with some non-incriminating help from PhotoShop, of course).









No Doubt her latest hit adds to her sexiness.




That shit just drives me B. A-N-A...well, you get it.





Let's move on before I include any more horribly unfunny jokes.





Lauryn Hill





The Fugees were hot. Wyclef, not so much. Lauryn Hill? You'd better believe it.





Aside from the utter awesomeness that Blunted on Reality and The Score represented, Miss Hill's solo effort, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, knocked the world out faster than Bernard Ackah did Johnnie Morton.




That album easily landed itself on the Top 100 of All-Time, wherever that is. Her voice is sexy, the beats incredible, the issues the lyrics tackle worldly, and it was all packaged by, well, a nice little package.




The HoG hopes beyond its blunted reality that it hasn't seen the last of Miss Hill.




Hell, we haven't even seen her topless yet. Drum roll, please.







Lil' Kim











I know. We seen her titty, too. But we were just talkin' about hot sisters with stellar singing careers. Were we not?







Last time I checked, wasn't nothin' little about Kim. At least not up yonder in the treasure chest.



Holler.







Fergie





Sometimes the lone female Black Eyed Pea doesn't look that great.





Like, you know, when she pisses herself on stage, tries to deny it, and eventually admits it.





Sounds a little like some of the guys that work under the shield, as one of our favorite bloaches likes to say.





Bottom line: rockin' pipes, stellar outfit to sing for, and a pretty damn fine piece of meast, all said.





With the right assortment of non-urine-tainted rubs and oils, Fergie makes any tailgating package complete.





Especially those early season games where kickoff weather would allow for her to come to the park dressed like this.





Alright, guys. No hits below the belt. Well, unless you feel like it.





Kylie Minogue










I'm such a fan of this package, I'm gonna hit you precious readers up with two versions of it and a YouTube clip.



No two-hit wonder has ever excited the species of men like little miss re-make.



What I love about her is that she flaunts that unadulterated bag of sex God graced her with like Noah's packin' the ark tomorrow and leaving everyone but his damn self behind.



That, and the "dude" that runs my fantasy baseball league has the same first name as her. What cruel parents he must have. I reckon that's the kind of karma you get for cheering for a shitbag team like the Yankees. Anyway.



Yes. It's true. I can't get you out of my head either, Miss Minogue. Nor that wicked car you drive. Nor that bitchin' collection of clothes you call a wardrobe.

I wouldn't care if no new piece of music were ever written again.

Not as long as Miss Minogue kept re-making previously unsexy numbers into porn soundtrack candidates.

Her grill looks a bit goofy from time to time, but hey. Her ass more than makes up for it. As does her mid-section.

And the wardrobe again.

La, la, la. La, la, la, la, la, yo.









That does it for this week, boys and occasional girl. If it wasn't extreme enough for you, feel free to remember Madonna here in this NSFW piece of photography. I'm pretty sure she wrote some music at some point, too.