We start out on urban street somewhere, with some construction guy’s ass on prominent display, so I’m already thinking that I clicked on the wrong button somewhere. Then the cameraman manages to find Kelis, and here she comes strutting along with her long legs and an impressive hairdo that could probably orbit the sun if things work out just right. At first she’s walking kind of slow, in that “I know I look cute but I really don’t have a destination” kind of way, but then she spies a diner called Tasty’s Yard, and suddenly she’s running up to the entrance like they’re offering a free bikini wax with complimentary champagne.
Once inside, she bursts into song, so she already feels a very special connection to this place. (Don’t miss the cowhide cowbell hanging on the door, announcing arrivals. It’s a fine piece of prop-work and I hope somebody got an award for that.) The diner is a bit cramped, with booths on one side and tables-at-a-counter on the other, but judging by the high-volume occupancy, they must be serving some tasty meat that will satisfy you in every way, and Kelis and her hair made a wise choice in selecting this establishment.
I guess Kelis is a very confident young gal, because she walks right up to the counter, briefly humps it, and then spies a triple-layer milkshake which she simply must have . She plucks the cherry off of the concoction, and then she does things to it with her mouth that one can normally only see in movies that you order at cheap motels where they don’t ask questions. (One of the diners, a matronly mother with control issues, covers the eyes of her son so he can’t see any more of the cherry plucking, so she’s probably one of those who deny that sex actually happens despite having squirted out a kid of her own.)
Kelis, because she likes attention, then takes the cherry and expertly hurls it across the diner so that it lands in the milkshake of a startled man at one of the tables, right next to his own cherry. He looks at her for an explanation. She and her hair say nothing, but the nice gold pendant on her neck lights up briefly, right on the beat. (Did Kelis just receive an email from her home planet?) I guess we’ll never know, because Kelis decides to ignore the man she bumped cherries with and starts using her pinky finger to seductively toy with the whip cream on her shake and resumes her intimate relationship with the counter.
While Kelis and her painted-on jeans undulate, we get shots of one of the short-order cooks becoming aroused and banging on the “order up!” bell they have in places like this where they don’t take reservations and there are no refunds. The cook shoves a hot plate onto the pickup counter, and then wipes something sticky and red off his shirt while he smirks. This action can be interpreted in a number of ways, but before we can fully discuss the implications we cut to the waitresses in the diner who have suddenly decided to sit on the counter stools and do a line dance involving breasts and tongues.
The girls seem to be quite proud of their choreography, appearing to have worked very hard on the exact moments when they should thrust their appropriate body parts, but we’re distracted by their tiny aprons, which seem to be made out of pages from those order pads that waitresses use when they really don’t care what you want and just scribble whatever. Kelis takes one look at that mess and knows she can do better, so she takes off her jacket so we can see that her blouse is made of something even tinier than the aprons.
Very quick scene where one of the waitresses does a twirl routine in front of some milk bottles. No explanation is given, we really don’t care, and the actress involved is now selling used cars in Poughkeepsie.
Back to Kelis, who is now emoting more of the lyrics and apparently unable to keep from juggling her jugs like a woodpecker on crack. (We get a reaction shot from a couple of diners, where the female is not impressed that her husband is watching the juggling. Well honey, if you don’t like the wandering eye of your man, maybe you better come up with a cheerleading routine for your boudoir and quit whining about whether or not the damn trash gets to the curb on time. Sayin.)
Then Kelis becomes invested in a particular male patron who insists on wearing his ball cap backwards, a couture choice that should immediately mark the dude as someone incapable of fidelity and amicable divorce proceedings. But Kelis doesn’t care, and she finds a place at the end of the counter that doesn’t have spilled coffee and pie crumbs all over it, and she proceeds to flop on her back and do naughty aerobics that one will never see on Sesame Street.
Meanwhile, we start getting shots of random guys from the neighborhood racing to the diner in order to review Miss Kelis and her cherry-plucking ways. (Not sure how the word got out so quickly. Maybe she has a GPS transponder in her hoo-hoo, and the signal is strengthened whenever she’s near fried foods and dairy beverages.) Whatever sent out the bat signal, the boys are definitely in the yard now, even lining up at the windows to peek inside and dream about pouring some sugar on she.
Kelis decides to sit at one of the booths and finish the milkshake that her tongue only partially violated back in the day, and she and her hair go at it with a gusto. She energetically sucks at the straw while a busload of boys enter The Yard and look around for Kelis. She identifies herself and her needs by doing more interesting things with her barely-clad chest and gripping things around her to keep her libido from imploding.
Out of nowhere, Kelis decides that she really needs to head into the tiny kitchen and assist one of the chefs with his dough-making responsibilities. (He’s really not the cutest thing on the menu, but odd things can spark your interest when the smell of yeast is in the air.) Kelis fiddles around with a few of the props, then opens one of the ovens that can apparently only be opened if you bend over and show buttcrack. Then she hauls some baked bread out of the oven and shoves it at Not-Hot and immediately loses interest in him, heading back out into the diner proper, which takes about two steps.
Kelis and the waitresses decide to do another line dance, this one involving a lot of hair-touching and more of the bending over for no apparent reason. (Someone has turned the lights down really low for this part, apparently trying to set the mood, although I really don’t know what that mood would be, never having been in a diner where the chicken-fried steak got my hormones racing.) We zip outside to see that now we have droves of dudes rolling up on motorcycles, coming to check out the word on the street about some diner where something unclear is happening with milkshakes and cherries and a blue plate special.
Whilst the other waitresses continue to cavort erotically with serving trays and attention-deprived men pile through the door, Kelis is suddenly transported to another locale where she has been forced to wear an outfit that is missing some major structural components as she writhes about on a dimly-lit platform of some kind. (Okay, maybe “forced” isn’t the right word. She clearly seems to be quite happy with her new minimalist couture and the opportunity to test exactly what she can do before things start to pop free and endanger nearby citizens.)
Oh wait, we’re back in the diner, where one of the waitresses is doing a suggestive dance that seems to be based on the “Pin the tail on the donkey” challenge of childhood days. But the cheering men around her are obviously a bit more educated than young boys who have yet to figure out how to unlock the parental control on their cable TV provider. In fact, the “donkey dance” has inspired folks in the now-crowded diner to start a dance line similar to that on “Soul Train”, only with more explicitness as men and women hooker-strut their way down the aisle like there’s a prize if you totally lose your mind and act like a sex-crazed Chihuahua.
Okay, it looks like Kelis is back from that special room where she had burning needs and golden-hued lighting, and she’s once again on the diner counter, causing the milkshake machine to reach critical mass and start spewing sugary goodness in an alarming manner. Cut back to the dance line where booties and buddies are pushin’ it real good, then zip over to Kelis, who has managed to find her original outfit somewhere, with her gyrating whilst everyone raises a milkshake glass to her overpowering ability to eroticize a patty melt.
Then that milkshake machine finally goes cray-cray, with the icy milk dousing all the humpsters and humperinas, a development that would normally stop the show, what with all the ruined couture and the way it makes your shoes stick to the floor. But this ain’t your grandpa’s sense of reality, and everybody basically doesn’t care and continues to dance and exchange phone numbers while the waitresses continue to not wear panties.
We end the video with Kelis back in the mysterious golden room, with her and her hair and her patchwork outfit sucking down a final milkshake. Then she smiles seductively and heads out the door to find another Dairy Queen that hasn’t been sexually liberated…
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