When I was a teenager, with a mullet, in Jersey, jamming to classic rock, I could never figure out why songs celebrated women who cried after making love. Why was this a good thing? How could this possibly enhance the experience? Was a good cry kind of like a cigarette? Were female orgasms somehow connected to the tear ducts? And if a woman ever really did cry after sex like they’re supposed to, how was I going to enjoy it instead of getting all freaked out and calling a lawyer right away?

Now that I’m older, I’ve figured it out: rock stars are deranged egomaniacs. Stay away.