The Weeknd sings about sex a lot, and it almost always sounds like a miserable experience. Who wants that? Do you? If yes, please ask yourself why. Actually, I’m going to stop you right there and assume that it’s because you are lost. Luckily, I found you—and I’m here to tell you something: Do not do that. Do not fuck the Weeknd.

(I guess I’m talking mostly to his girlfriend Bella Hadid, but also to the anonymous women of his lyrics. Furthermore, I do think this an important thing for all humans to keep in mind during your travels, as you never know when you’ll encounter the Weeknd or how horny he’ll be when you do.)

The Canadian singer/songwriter whose birth name is Abel Tesfaye provides several reasons why you should never put your vagina (or mouth or butthole or smooshed together breasts or, hell, penis [just to be safe and cover all bases]) anywhere near him on his groaningly titled new album, Beauty Behind the Madness, which came out this week. On record, his persona is generally disaffected yet perpetually whiny. He sums himself up like this in “Tell Your Friends”: “I’m that nigga with the hair / Singing ‘bout popping pills, fucking bitches, living life so trill.” Cool. Have your panties spontaneously dropped yet?

At times, the Weeknd’s lyrics appear to warn people away from the more vulnerable parts of his person—namely his heart, cock, and balls. A sampling of lines:

  • “This boy wasn’t mean’t for lovin’”
  • “Every woman that loved me, oh yeah I seemed to push them away”
  • “I’m better off when I’m alone”
  • “They told me not to fall in love, that shit is pointless / Yeah, that shit is pointless / They told me not to fall in love, that shit is pointless / Yeah, that shit is pointless / They told me not to fall in love, that shit is pointless / Yeah, that shit is pointless / They told me not to fall in love, that shit is pointless / Yeah, that shit is pointless”
  • “I usually love sleeping all alone / This time around bring your friend with you / But we ain’t really going to sleep at all”
  • “If I had her, you can have her, man it don’t matter”
  • “I’m a prisoner to my addiction I’m addicted to a life that’s so empty and so cold”

There is so much cock out there that is unburdened (or relatively so). Go find one of those cocks. They’re available on virtually any street corner. There are plenty of guys who don’t wield their dick like two-pronged forks, piercing you with it and then turning you over to serve to their friends. There are guys who, even if they aren’t looking for love or don’t believe in it, per se, have the good sense to shut the fuck up about it and just fuck. You don’t need the Weeknd’s dick. You don’t need the Weeknd.

I understand why you may still be tempted after listening to his music, though: The Weeknd often sings about how well his dick works. “Who’s gonna fuck you like me?” he wonders in “Shameless.” My knee-jerk response to this question is: no one worth fucking. And yet his bravado is intriguing. He just fucked two women and he’s ready for more? “Give me head all night, cum four times”?! That sounds like a great 25-year-old dick. I get it, the promise of that kind of dick is tantalizing.

SNAP OUT OF IT. Don’t get dickmatized by his words, which we can’t even be sure are true anyway. (Though if you know for a fact they are true, do drop me a line.) Elsewhere on Beauty Behind the Madness, the Weeknd gives several more reasons to stay away from him that aren’t as immediately apparent as the line of lyrical red flags above. They include:

His music makes sex sound pathological.

Songs like “Often” and the Top 10 hit “The Hills” are ostensibly sex jams because they are about fucking and slow in tempo with a modern R&B backdrop. Historically, sex music is meant to be used as an aural aphrodisiac or another layer of comfort for when you are between the sheets. In contrast, the Weeknd’s sex music is calculated to make you feel uncomfortable—it is cold and mechanical while he wails at you. “The Hills” contains sampled shrieks. It’s like he’s saying, “Fucking me is a horror show but you’ll do it anyway.” Do not do it anyway.

He has...that voice.

The Weeknd has been compared to Michael Jackson with increasing frequency, thanks to Tesfaye’s high-pitched voice (as well as the spring in the step of his No. 1 single, “Can’t Feel My Face”). Vocally, the Toronto singer does about a tenth of what MJ did and half as well. His chirp flutters gymnastically in the same few ways over and over again, ultimately resulting in emotive monotony. On the rare occasions that he really pushes and attempts a crescendo, he sounds like he’s crying (see the end of the otherwise solid “Acquainted”). If he cries when he climaxes during song, can you imagine what he does when he climaxes during sex? I can’t and I don’t want to, which is why I will not be having sex with the Weeknd. Let’s all not, and never think about him crying during sex again.

He has a huge drug problem.

“When I’m fucked up, that’s the real me / When I’m fucked up, that’s the real me, babe,” sings the guy who is higher than his hair in “The Hills.” Now, plenty of guys worth fucking are on drugs. Sometimes guys are worth fucking especially because they are on drugs. Sometimes you want to use and be used, and like Shock G said, a fair exchange ain’t no robbery.

The Weeknd’s problem isn’t the using (of people or drugs), per se, but the side effects—the entire second verse of “Tell Your Friends” sounds like an egocentric coke rant, one that no amount of coke you’ve done yourself could keep you from screaming in your head “SHUT UP ALREADY MY TURN TO TALK” the entire time he’s rambling Drake-ishly about how life is changing, man, and wow, man, just wow:

Last year I did all the politicin’
This year I’m all focused on the vision
I think these hoes deserve another fixing
I’m talking about the ones from the beginning
Don’t believe the rumors bitch, I’m still a user
I’m still rocking camo and still roll with shooters
I’m a villain in my city, I just made another killing
I’mma spend it all on bitches
And everybody fuckin’, everybody fucking
Pussy on the house, everybody fucking
And I miss my city man it’s been a minute
M.I.A. a habit, Cali was the mission
Cruise through the west-end in my new Benz
I’m just tryna live life through a new lens
Driving by the streets I used to walk through
When I had no crib I guess you call that shit a miracle

None of this is remotely interesting (not even in terms of syntax) unless you are as invested in the Weeknd as he is in himself. Do not invest.

He’ll shrink you and then perpetuate your problems by continuing to fuck you anyway.

From “Shameless”:

I don’t wanna hurt you but you live for the pain
I’m not tryna say it but it’s what you became
You want me to fix you but it’s never enough
That’s why you always call me cause you’re scared to be loved

Do not give this man access to your emotions.

He just fucked two bitches ‘fore he saw you and you gon’ have to do it at his tempo.

From “The Hills”:

I just fucked two bitches ‘fore I saw you / And you gon’ have to do it at my tempo

Find your own tempo, do not rely on his. (It’s boring.)

He is a total cheeseball, when you get down to it.

His lyrics are peppered with used-to-death terminology like “basic” and “friend zone.” He seems to think, “Girl I’m so glad we’re acquainted,” is an adequate way of showing appreciation (suggested reply: “Gee, thanks. You have nice hands.”). When he goes totally soft and switches into full-on love mode it’s via trite musical methods like lite-rock (“As You Are”) and hair metal balladry (“Angel,” which is, unfortunately for everyone, not an Aerosmith cover). Don’t chew his bullshit.

You’d be entering into a hazardous cycle.

The profiles accompanying this album cycle underline the Weeknd’s flagrant desire to be a massive pop star (especially after the commercial failure of 2012’s even more groaningly titled Kiss Land). They also suggest that he has very little of consequence to say. On Beauty’s “Often,” the Weeknd indicates that women want to sleep with him because of his fame: “Infatuated by the fame status / She wanna ride inside the G-Class grey ‘matic.”

See how that works? The more fame the Weeknd obtains, the more women will want to sleep with him, the more dull anecdotes he has for his music. That cycle will continue and its center will be empty the entire time. It’s very much like the Weeknd’s drug use providing material that he can moan about in his music. It only behooves him to continue his behavior while spreading tales of developmental inertia.

Break the cycle. Do not fuck the Weekend. That shit is pointless.

[Gif by Jim Cooke]