PRE-POST NOTE: MRG here. This here is the third installment of MAN, I FEEL LIKE A WOMAN, coming to you a smidge late because of various WordPress/life issues. DON’T BE MAD. This is a gem, mined, cut, and polished by LHB’s dear college pal and my on-again, off-again Facebook-official accomplice in complicated love, JRE. It’s complicated. But crazy adulterous composer heartthrob sex isn’t, so read on! Plus JRE fucking used Photoshop and made ORIGINAL graphics for your viewing pleasure, making us look shitty, so go fucking enjoy those, or whatever. JK LOVE YOU BOO.
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WELCOME TO THE NEXT EPISODE OF DUDE WEEK!!! We started you off telling you how togas are GREAT for easy access, and then we told you about how DUDES RULE AT BEING GAY, and now I’m going to tell you all about how MOUTHWATERINGLY STRAIGHT WE CAN BE (warning: each word will take you to a different region of THE RAINBOW OF LUST… the foil to the BeyonceBow).
Despite the latter half of the title, F**K Bach–this post is about FRANZ LISZT (1811-1886)–a WELL off HUNGarian composer of the 19th century, and the very burning image of straightness. Well. It’s a toss-up between Liszt and Chick-Fil-A, but you get the point. As Dude Week should go, this is a feel-good tale, a man’s man‘s tale, the tale of a man who could chop(in) wood with his bare hand(els), soothe women with his piano fingerings, and cry strips of crispy bacon to feed the orphans.
In his prime, Liszt was on every honey’s bone-list. It went too far. Yes, in today’s world we all know about Bieber-Fever or Jonathan-Taylor-Thomas-Typhoid, but things take on a new flavor when women are willing to wear the sex-icon-in-question’s cigar stump as a locket (for a review of sex icons, see Figure 1). The man had so many demands for locks of hair that he had to shave a dog for proxy hair. I would do strange things for the attention of JTT, but that kind of sh*t will get you imprisoned these days. Suffice it to say, Liszt’s tunes could de-pants a lass or lad in under 5 measures. This is probably why snap pants became a necessary invention. People’s reactions went to the extreme of appearing sickly and feverish. A lady-physician of the day described its root as a combination of:
“…magnetism, galvanism, electricity, of the contagion of the close hall filled with countless wax lights and several hundred perfumed and prespiring human beings, of historical epilepsy, of the phenomenon of tickling, of musical cantherides, and other scabrous things, which, I believe have reference to the mysteries of the bona dea.”
Serious Hogwartz sh*t.
But he had humble beginnings. His early life was essentially the same as Eminem’s, but in Paris. And Liszt had some much weirder sh*t going on. For instance, he joined hipster Christian sects that rejected marriage as a crime against women, and never had a serious, long-term slampiece who wasn’t married. He was sort of the Robin Hood of monogamous sex. The weirdest thing was that the husbands dealt with this for YEARS. One woman he was with for 7 years, and the other–Princess von Sayn-Wittgenstein (we’ll get to her in a minute)–for 14!!! Husbands were way chiller back then. If people were that dispassionate today, quality programming like the Maury show would suddenly disappear. I’m no economist, but I’m sure that would only serve to tear a whole through the last safe haven of America’s economy. Enter the GOPocalypse. Anyways! So Liszt was having sex with EVERYBODY. He was rolling around Paris with his baguette, teaching allll the honeys how to tickle the ivories (amongst other things), and he eventually picked up the 7-year-romance-husband-lady (Marie d’Agout). This was from 1833 to 1841. Liszt wasn’t that popular yet, so Marie was like the Brittany Murphy for our Eminem analogy. But unlike BM, Marie couldn’t deal with the rigors of her man touring, getting all famous. So they decided not to do LDR. As soon as Liszt dropped the baggage, he blew up. This is when the Lisztomania described above came into play.
Refer to Figure 2. At 1847, where it says “Meets Princess von Sayn-Wittgenstein” on the Hisztogram, that’s when Liszt started boning the 14-year-romance-husband-lady. She was married to a Russian military officer, but even he couldn’t touch Liszt because of the whole cigar-necklace aura that surrounded him. Liszt really got into Wittgenstein, forgot his bachelor resolve, and tried to marry her. This did not work, however, for two reasons:
1) Her husband cock-blocked their annulment
2) the Princess found out that Liszt had been having an affair with a former mistress of PRINCE Wittgenstein, and, further, that he had been cheating on the Prince’s ex-mistress with the singer, Emilie Genast!!! THREE LAYERS OF AFFAIRS—-INCEPTION.
So, the Princess was a little skeezed out, and stopped putting out. Liszt understood. But they did stay in touch with Liszt, continually urging him to take up abstinence to get back into divine favor. They clearly weren’t right for each other. Liszt loved sex. By this point, however, Liszt was an old man, not getting any, and probably serving as a loving home for many sexually transmitted infections. So he just kind of taught music and watched SVU re-runs until he kicked the bucket.
So passes a great man. Let me conclude with some wise man-words from Zephram Cochrane: “Don’t try to be a great man, just be a man, and let history make it’s own judgements.” History judged Liszt as f**king awesome. He was really popular and boned a lot of people. It’s kind of like the Bachelor. Liszt was the original Bachelor. They should make a staged-prequel for next season. No! But anyways, JUST BE A MAN. And remember–THE POWER IS YOURS!
JRE, signing off from the inside of a J. Roget bottle.