It was 2007. The internet was a different beast. YouTube was barely a toddler, and "viral" didn't mean a corporate marketing strategy—it meant something weird, inexplicable, and probably a little bit grainy. Then came Samwell. Clad in a pink tuxedo, sporting a pencil-thin mustache, he stared directly into the camera and uttered the words that would echo through dorm rooms and office cubicles for the next twenty years. What What (In the Butt) wasn't just a song; it was a cultural flashpoint that basically invented the blueprint for the modern digital meme.
People laughed. They cringed. Some were legitimately confused. But almost everyone watched it.
Honestly, looking back from 2026, it’s easy to dismiss it as just another piece of early internet "randomness." That would be a mistake. To understand the What What In The Butt song, you have to understand the intersection of queer camp, the democratization of video production, and the sheer chaos of the early social web. It wasn't just a joke. It was a career, a legal precedent, and a surrealist masterpiece that somehow ended up on South Park.
The Man Behind the Pink Tuxedo
Samwell, born Samwell Britten, didn't set out to create a global punchline. He was an artist in Chicago. He had a vision. The video, directed by Bobby Ciraldo and Andrew Swant, was low-budget but visually striking. It used green screens and rudimentary digital effects that gave it an ethereal, dream-like quality. Or a nightmare quality, depending on who you ask.
The lyrics are repetitive. Mesmerizing. "I said, what what, in the butt." It’s a rhythmic mantra. While the subject matter is overtly sexual, the presentation is almost innocent in its absurdity. Samwell performs with a sincerity that is impossible to fake. That’s the secret sauce. If he had been wink-winking at the camera the whole time, it would have been forgettable. Because he played it straight—pardon the pun—it became legendary.
South Park and the Legal Battle for Internet Culture
The song's legacy was cemented when South Park parodied it in the 2008 episode "Canada on Strike." They had Butters Stotch dress up in the pink suit and recreate the video frame-for-frame to make "Internet Money." It was meta. It was hilarious. It also led to a massive legal headache.
The production company behind the original video, Brownmark Films, sued Comedy Central and Viacom. They claimed copyright infringement. This wasn't just a small-time squabble; it was a foundational case for "fair use" in the digital age. In the end, the court sided with South Park. The ruling basically said that the parody was transformative. It was a commentary on the fleeting nature of internet fame. It’s kinda ironic that a song about butt sex helped define the legal boundaries of creative satire for the 21st century.
📖 Related: Why Grand Funk’s Bad Time is Secretly the Best Pop Song of the 1970s
Why it Went Viral (Before We Knew What That Meant)
You’ve got to remember that in 2007, there was no TikTok algorithm feeding you content. You found things because a friend emailed you a link with the subject line "YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS."
The What What In The Butt song thrived because it was perfectly calibrated for that specific era.
- The Visuals: Flamingos, floating hearts, and a man dancing in a void.
- The Hook: It’s an earworm. You hate that you love it, but you'll be humming it for three days.
- The Shock Factor: It was provocative enough to get a reaction but silly enough to not be banned.
It occupied a space called "Camp." Susan Sontag defined camp as the "love of the unnatural: of artifice and exaggeration." Samwell was the king of camp. He leaned into the artifice. He made something that was so bad it became good, and then it looped back around to being genuinely interesting art.
The Cultural Impact and Queer Identity
There’s a deeper layer here. Samwell is an out gay artist. In the mid-2000s, queer content on the mainstream internet was often relegated to the fringes or treated with open hostility. What What In The Butt reclaimed a specific type of flamboyant, unapologetic sexuality.
Sure, people mocked it. But for many in the LGBTQ+ community, there was something quietly radical about Samwell’s confidence. He wasn't asking for permission. He was just there, in his pink suit, being his authentic, weird self. He turned a "taboo" topic into a catchy pop song that the entire world ended up singing. That’s power.
How the Song Changed YouTube Forever
Before Samwell, YouTube was mostly home videos of cats and people falling off skateboards. After Samwell, people realized that you could create content. You could build a brand around a single, high-impact video.
👉 See also: Why La Mera Mera Radio is Actually Dominating Local Airwaves Right Now
He paved the way for the "Viral Musician" career path. Without the What What In The Butt song, do we get Lil Nas X? Do we get the bizarre, high-concept comedy of Eric Andre? Maybe. But Samwell was the proof of concept. He showed that the internet didn't care about big-label production values. It cared about personality. It cared about the "What?" factor.
Modern Context: Is it Still Funny?
Humor evolves. What was hilarious in 2007 can feel dated or even problematic in 2026. However, the song has mostly escaped the "cringe" graveyard. Why? Because it’s so earnest.
It doesn't rely on punching down. It doesn't rely on being mean. It’s just Samwell, some green screens, and a very specific request. It’s a time capsule of a moment when the internet felt smaller, weirder, and a lot less corporate than the hyper-optimized landscape we live in today.
Technical Breakdown: The Production
The video was shot on a shoestring budget. Ciraldo and Swant used After Effects to create the kaleidoscopic backgrounds. If you look closely, the masking isn't perfect. There’s "color spill" from the green screen onto Samwell’s suit. In a modern 4K world, it looks "cheap." But in 2007, on a 360p YouTube player, it looked like magic.
The beat is a standard mid-tempo electro-pop track. It’s heavy on the bass and features a repetitive synth line that mirrors the vocal melody. It’s designed for the club, even if it mostly lived in browser tabs.
Where is Samwell Now?
Samwell didn't disappear. He continued to make music. He released songs like "Protect and Serve" and "Chocolate Chocolate." He embraced his status as an internet pioneer. He’s appeared at conventions, done interviews, and stayed active in the Chicago art scene.
✨ Don't miss: Why Love Island Season 7 Episode 23 Still Feels Like a Fever Dream
He didn't let the meme define him, but he didn't run away from it either. That’s a rare feat for someone who becomes "internet famous." Most people burn out or try to distance themselves from their viral moments. Samwell leaned in, and in doing so, he maintained his dignity while remaining a cult icon.
The Legacy of the "What What"
When we look back at the history of digital media, the What What In The Butt song deserves a chapter. It represents the "Wild West" era of the web. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most influential art isn't the stuff that wins Grammys—it’s the stuff that makes us stop, stare, and ask, "What did I just watch?"
It broke the mold. It challenged our ideas of what a "music video" should be. And honestly? It’s still a bop.
Actionable Takeaways for Digital Creators
If you’re trying to understand how to make a mark in the digital space, the Samwell saga offers some legit lessons that still apply today:
- Commit to the Bit: Sincerity is the most powerful tool in your kit. If you believe in your weird idea, the audience will eventually come around.
- Visual Identity Matters: You don't need a million dollars. You need a "look." Samwell's pink tuxedo is as iconic as any superhero costume.
- Understand Fair Use: If you're a creator, learn the basics of copyright law. The South Park case is a masterclass in how parody functions as protected speech.
- Embrace the Weird: The middle of the road is crowded. The edges are where the interesting stuff happens. Don't be afraid to be the "What What" guy in your niche.
The next time you see a viral hit on your feed, remember Samwell. He did it first, he did it in a pink tuxedo, and he did it without an algorithm telling him how.