Miscellaneous Song Crap

Today, we’ll be investigating some song lyrics, perhaps making them better (unlikely) or ruining them for you (more likely).

Let’s begin, shall we?

First up, Mr. Neil Diamond and “Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon.”  Whenever I hear this song, I picture Neil, on the verge of deflowering some girl who is obviously making poor life decisions.  He’s just finished the second encore (Neil Diamond always brings it, dammit) and now he’s back in his dressing room, hovering over this young lady, sweat beading on his forehead, a single drop clinging to the end of his nose, threatening to jump.  A stained, sequined shirt hangs over the back of the armchair in the corner, tossed in haste as soon as the door closed behind him.  The entire room swims in a fog of Ben Gay and Drakkar Noir, and just as he’s about to complete the act, he looks down at her and says, “Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.”

Benny Mardones – “Into The Night”  – Let’s just point out the opening lines:

“She’s just sixteen years old
Leave her alone, they say”

So yeah, it’s a love song about the teenager he can’t bone.  And, for the record, this is Benny Mardone:


Not okay, Benny.  Not okay.

The Lennon Sisters – “Tonight You Belong To Me”

Here they are:

See, old people are always telling us that things were simpler in their day, more innocent.  And I assum I’ll do the same myself one day, sitting in my old age home yelling at the orderly how back in my day, we had to fight, fight I tell you, for our right to party! and if you don’t like it, you can just get the hell out of my room, Marcus!  Anyway, I am here to call bullshit on this innocent thing.

“I know (I know) you belong
To somebody new
But tonight
You belong to me


My honey I know
With the dawn
That you will be gone
But tonight
You belong to me”

You know what this song is people?  It’s a fucking booty call.  She (probably drunk) texted her ex (who’s in a relationship) trying to score some D.  Plus, she knows he won’t even be around in the morning.  Innocent times, my ass.

Okay, this next one I couldn’t find the title or info on, but I swear I heard it on the radio.  I was too stunned to do anything.  I think it’s from the 50s or maybe early 60s.  It’s from the point of view of the father telling his son not to fall for this “Indian girl” and in fact to stay away from her altogether.  The song reaches its climax when the father must eventually explain why.  Well, it turns out, that some time ago, the Indian tribe in question had scalped and killed the father’s only son, and so, out of revenge, the father stole the Indian chief’s son and raised him as his own, and he’s telling the kid he can’t marry that “Indian girl” because she’s his sister.  I shit you not.  What the fuck?

It seems Sheena Easton is a lazy asshole.  Calm down and I’ll explain using the lyircs from her hit song “Morning Train.”  To start:

“My baby takes the morning train
He works from nine to five and then
He takes another home again
To find me waitin’ for him”

What?  No job, Sheena?  The song doesn’t mention kids, so she’s just lounging around all day.

“He takes me to a movie or to a restaurant
To go slow dancing, anything I want”

What about what he wants, Sheena?  What about what he wants?  Is there a song out there about some dude who busts his butt all day to support his girlfriend but he’s cool with it because she does anal and threeways without hesitation?  Cause then it’d be okay.

“When he steps off that train, amazingly full of fight
Work all day to earn his pay, so we can play all night”

You know that mother fucker just wants to go to sleep early, just once, instead of taking her ass out dancing.

“Say Has Anybody Seen My Sweet Gypsy Rose?” by Tony Friggin Orlando

“We were very happy
Well at least I thought we were
Can’t somebody tell me
What’s got into her
A house, a home, a family
And a man who loves her so
Who’d believe she’d leave us
To join a burlesque show?”

The whole damn song is about a guy looking for his wife (and presumably mother of his kids) who left them and moved to New Orleans to become a stripper.  Spectacular.  And just look at him.

The hair, that ‘stash, those teeth.  He had no choice but to become a 70s heartthrob.  It was that or magician/serial killer.  Good call, Tony.  Good call.

Psalm 172 – Dance Remix

I had intended at some point to do a thing where I showed what it would look like if my 9th graded English teacher graded Si Mixalot’s “I Like Big Butts” as if I had turned it in for a poetry project.  It’d be mostly just different ways of saying “This is INAPPROPRIATE!”  I never did that.

But now, I’d like to present you with “I Like Big Butts” if it were from the Bible.  Presented with the help of Daniel, from “Jessie’s Girl, The Aftermath” fame.  No, not fame.  Infamy?  No, that’s too much.  Well, whatever the opposite of fame is that’s not infamy.

Our Lord on High, Rebekah, cast thine gaze upon her buttocks. Tis grand. She doth appear as if one of those rap guys’ girlfriends.


None who walk the Earth understandeth those rap guys.  They speak upon her solely because of resemblance to an unvirtuous maiden.




Her buttocks art so grand.

I stand in awe of its size perfect symmetry

Tis presented for all mankind to witness

Tis not a desiderata.

Verily, she is so Egyptian




Yea and verily, I like posteriors as big as the Jordan, and I doth not lie. You other pharisees cannot deny.


Forsooth, upon the entrance of yon maid with an itty-bitty waist and who presenteth a round thing unto thine visage, thou become sprung.




I doth want to pull up tough. Hark, thou believeth that the butt is stuffed. Deep in yon jeans she’s wearing, I am desirous and cannot help but to cast my visage upon them.




Oh, baby I doth desire to lay with thou
And cast thou image
Mine companions tried to warneth me
But alas, that butt thou possess
Maketh me desirous for the pleasures of the flesh.



Hark, lay hands upon that smooth skin.
Thou desires to ride upon my oxcart?
Then, useth me. Yea, useth me.
Because thou art no mongrel disciple.


I hath lain in witness of their gyrations
And it hath rendered me impervious to the notion of romance
She’s sweat,wet, hath it goin like a turbo chariot



I grow weary of those scribes
That say flat butts are of divine importance.
Take the ordinary Egyptian and inquire thus, and verily he shall speak:
“The maiden most possess an abundance of back.”



So apostles(amen), apostles(amen),
Testify if thine betrothed hath the butt (hallelujah).
Well shakest it, shakest it, shakest it, shakest it, shakest thine most glorious posterior.
Maiden hath back.


I preferest them as the apple and grand

And whence I deliverest a sermon

I cannot avoid temptation

I am but a lowly beast

Alas, I present my sins


I desire to lay with thou

Not once, but two-fold

I speaketh not of Grecian statues

Granite be reserved for idols

I preferest them sturdy and heavily laden


So discovereth that heavily laden rear

The Prophet Mixalot is in peril

His pleas rise for of piece of that posterior

As I observe the drama unfolding upon the stage

Disavow these maidens parading as for sale

Thou mayest retain those maidens

I shalt keepeth mine more the Hitite

I speaketh now to the Egyptians

I doth desire to lay with thee

I shalt not peak poorly or strike thee

I shalt not lie, I wish to lay with thee

Until the sun reappears in the East

Maiden hath it in plentitude

A lot of Pharisees shalt care not for this platitude

For they desire no more than to lay with thee and then return to the field

Nay!  I shalt remain with thee, as I am strong of loin, and I wisheth lay my seed in thee

So maidens (amen), maidens (amen)

Doth thou desire to ride upon mine oxcart?

If thou dost, simply display thine grandeur.

And, Lo!

Even the Romans shalt exclaim

Maiden hath back

Verily, maiden

Upon reference to the female form

Ecclesiastes hath nought to do with mine decision


Only if she’s 3 cubits tall.

Alas, your betrothed throws a fruit cart

Observing the ways of Mary of Magdalen

But Mary hath no oxen in your cart

Mine river asp waneth none unless thou possess buns, hun.

Thou may take great care of thine physique, but, if it please the Lord, do not loseth that butt.

Some Pharisees wisheth to harden themselves

And preach that thine butt is not valuable

Whence they discard it

I shalt be there with most haste to recover it.

Though the scribes may callest thou corpulent

Alas, I cannot abide by this

For thine belly is like that of an urchin

And thine remaining proportions enticeful

I am of a mind to lay with thou.

And now I address the waifs

Thine conceit is misplaced

Bestow upon me a disciple

Figs and grapes did miss her

A heretic did ponder to dismiss

And, lo, his maids were brought before me

The heretic did raise his hand to them

And I rescueth them from his bile

So, maidens, should thine hind quarters be bulbous

And thou desireth to lay with someone with great vigor

Search out the prophet Mixalot and lose thineself in the pleasures of the flesh

Maiden hath back

Maiden hath back

A dearth in her mid-section but she hath much back

Oh my god Becky, look at her butt
It’s so big.  She looks like one of those rap guys girlfriends

Who understands those rap guys
They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute

I mean her butt
It’s just so big
I can’t believe it’s so round
It’s just out there
I mean, it’s gross
Look, she’s just so black

I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can’t deny

That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung

Wanna pull up tough
’cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she’s wearing
I’m hooked and I can’t stop staring

Oh, baby I wanna get with ya
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got
Make Me so horney

Ooh, rump of smooth skin
You say you wanna get in my benz
Well use me use me ’cause you aint that average groupy

I’ve seen them dancin’
To hell with romancin’
She’s Sweat,Wet, got it goin like a turbo vette


I’m tired of magazines
Saying flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back


So Fellas (yeah) Fellas(yeah)
Has your girlfriend got the butt (hell yeah)
Well shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake that healthy butt
Baby got back

I like’em round and big
And when I’m throwin a gig
I just can’t help myself
I’m actin like an animal
Now here’s my scandal

I wanna get you home
And UH, double up UH UH
I aint talkin bout playboy
’cause silicone parts were made for toys
I wannem real thick and juicy

So find that juicy double
Mixalot’s in trouble
Beggin for a piece of that bubble

So I’m lookin’ at rock videos
Knockin these bimbos walkin like hoes
You can have them bimbos
I’ll keep my women like Flo Jo

A word to the thick soul sistas
I wanna get with ya
I won’t cus or hit ya

But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna —
Til the break of dawn
Baby Got it goin on

Alot of pimps won’t like this song
’cause them punks lie to hit it and quit it

But I’d rather stay and play
’cause I’m long and I’m strong
And I’m down to get the friction on

So ladies (yeah), Ladies (yeah)
Do you wanna roll in my Mercedes (yeah)
Then turn around
Stick it out
Even white boys got to shout
Baby got back

Yeah baby
When it comes to females
Cosmo ain’t got nothin to do with my selection
Only if she’s 5’3″

So your girlfriend throws a Honda
Playin workout tapes by Fonda
But Fonda ain’t got a motor in the back of her Honda

My anaconda don’t want none unless you’ve got buns hun
You can do side bends or sit-ups, but please don’t lose that butt
Some brothers wanna play that hard role
And tell you that the butt ain’t gold
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it

So cosmo says you’re fat
Well I ain’t down with that
’cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin
And I’m thinkin bout stickin

To the beanpole dames in the magazines
You aint it miss thing
Give me a sista I can’t resist her
Red beans and rice did miss her

Some knucklehead tried to dis
’cause his girls were on my list
He had game but he chose to hit ’em
And I pulled up quick to get with ’em

So ladies if the butt is round
And you wanna triple X throw down


Dial 1-900-MIXALOT and kick them nasty thoughts
Baby got back
Baby got back
Little in tha middle but she got much back

Bust A Move

Listen up, Clydes, I gotta real nice tale for ya, hear.   I spent too much time trying to give the dames what they say they want, and I’m here to tell, they don’t know what they want.  None of ’em.  They’ll tell ya one thing, and soon as ya give it to ’em, Boom! they’re out!  While I’m jumpin’ and pawin’ like a puppy going after a chew toy, she’s trying to find the cat who just pissed on the bed.

I get a call from Chicago Tim,.  He’s not from Chicago.  We call him that on account of how much time he spends with Big Lou’s wife.  Big Lou IS from Chicago and we all reckon that’ll be where Tim’s body gets found if Big Lou catches wind.  Seems ole Tim has whipped up a shindig at some dive down by the docks.  What the Hell, it’s not like I got clients beating down the door to give me money.  Bill collector’s the only man comes ’round anymore.  I get down there toot sweet and the place is just lousy with hoochie-coochers.  One walks by me with a set of gams on her that’d make Chuck Lindbergh park that plane of his for good just to get a peek.  Which is what I’m doing.  But I don’t even make it up to her knees before she gets scooped up by some GI home on leave.

The next day I get called in to see the big cheese.  I’m not worried, not this time.   He owes me for not ratting him out to his wife when she hired me to tail him.  She suspected he was out on the town with that floozy from Mac’s Tavern.  She was right, but I ain’t got no death wish.  So now he throws me a bone whenever his old lady goes to visit a friend in Chicago.  Thankfully, it’s not the same bone he throws the floozy.  This bone’s an open bar at his latest soiree.  I like that bone.  Six drinks in and I decide a bite is in order.  Eight drinks in and I’m on my third trip down the buffet line.  The band starts up and people are swinging.  Not me, I’ve eaten enough grub to make my belt re-think its career choice.  It’s just then I see a dame making her way across the room, as blonde as a field of sunflowers and twice as pretty.  Something told me if went traipsing through that field, I’d find plenty of bees waiting to sting me.  She pulls up next to me and asks if I’d like to cut a rug.  Before I can answer, she takes the plate out of my hand.  “Come on, fatso,” she says as she pats my overstuffed belly

I’ve tracked down a hundred a dames in my time.  I’ve never failed to find one for a client.  For me, though, that’s not in the cards.  My last bender had me telling Chicago Tim maybe I should just ship out, find a mountain top like one of them Dolly Llamas.  Tim slurred something about a light at the end of the tunnel.  Least, I think that’s what he said.  With my luck, that light’s attached to something big, ugly and belching.  Like the dame sitting by me at Mac’s.  I should go around to Tim’s, haven’t seen him since before the soiree at Big Lou’s.

I figure I better get out of here before the steam engine next to me starts looking good.  The theater down the street has a show about to start.  Might be a gas, and the darkness will be good for the hangover that’s creeping up on me like cheetah stalking an injured gazelle at the watering hole.  I plop down at the end of row like a sack of flour dropped by a baker at the end of a long day.  That’s when I see her.  She was six feet of gorgeous and wore that yellow dress like an over-filled sausage plumping in all the right places.  Kosher or not, I think the rabbi would understand.  She says, “Hello, come sit next to me you fine fellow.”  And up I go.  I’ll look for Chicago Tim tomorrow.  If I had to guess, he’d be just as dead then as he is right now.

This whole berg is crawling with dames, for what that’s worth.  Every Joe on every corner thinkin’ they’re Morey Amsterdam, as if that’s gonna get ’em somewhere.  And for everyone one of them, there’s a dozen Betty’s turning ’em away.  Ain’t none of them lookin’ to walk on a date.  No money, no car, living off Uncle Sam’s pension from the war.  That’s no way to pull a bird.  Not these birds, anyway.  They’re all searching for a way out of here, waiting for opportunity to start knocking, and opportunity damn sure don’t look like any of these bums.  Maybe ya used to be something, before you shipped back from the Philippines, where you could stroll own the beach with a C-note and dames’d be on you like dung beetles on a fresh pile.

The phone call was from Harry Blackwell.  Did two tours in the South Pacific with that crazy bastard.  His brother’s getting hitched up and I’m invited.  Anything to get out of Dodge for a few.  Days here drag by like a cockroach pulling a ham biscuit across the diner floor. 

I couldn’t be more out of place in this monkey suit.  You can take the neanderthal out of the saber-toothed tiger skin, but he’s still a neanderthal.  The bride walks past, nine kinds of brunette trouble, with legs that go all the way up, just like I like ’em, swishing down the aisle like a koi making its away across the pond.  But this fish is already on the hook, and tonight, she’ll be in someone else’s frying pan.  I shake the thought and blink the dame out of my head.  A bridesmaid, red, long, and dangerous, gives me the eye.  I smile back.  I’m not stupid.  At the reception, she slinks up to me.  I like it when they slink.  I ask if she wants to dance, she smiles and drops her room key in my drink before slinking back off.  The drink’s ruined, but this time, I don’t mind so much.

I could move here, I think on the elevator ride.  Nothin’ keeping me back home.  ‘Cept maybe Tim.   And there’s no way he survived that last trip to Chicago with the big cheese’s lady.
This here’s a jam for all the fellas
Tryin to do what those ladies tell us
Get shot down cause ya over-zealous
Play hard to get females get jealous

Okay smarty go to a party

Girls are scantily clad and showin body
A chick walks by you wish you could sex her But you’re standing on the wall like you was Poindexter

Next day’s function high class luncheon

Food is served, and you’re stone-cold munchin
Music comes on people start to dance

But then you ate so much you nearly split your pants

A girl starts walking guys start gawking
Sits down next to you and starts talking
Says she wants to dance cause she likes to groove

So come on fatso and just bust a move

You’re on a mission and your wishin
Someone could cure your lonely condition Lookin for love in all the wrong places
No fine girls just ugly faces

Some frustration first inclination Is to become a monk and leave the situation
But every dark tunnel has a light of hope

So don’t hang yourself with a celibate rope

Your movie’s showin, so you’re goin

Could care less about the five you’re blowin Theater gets dark just to start the show
Then ya spot a fine woman sittin in your row
She’s dressed in yellow, she says “Hello, Come sit next to me you fine fellow.”
You run over there without a second to lose
And what comes next hey bust a move

In this city ladies look pretty

Guys tell jokes so they can seem witty

Tell a funny joke just to get some play

Then you try to make a move and she says, “No way” Girls are fakin goodness sakin They want a man who brings home the bacon Got no money and you got no car
Then you got no woman and there you are
Some girls are sadistic, materialistic
Lookin for a man makes them opportunistic They’re lyin on a beach perpetrating a tan
So that a brother with the money can be their man
So on the beach you’re strollin real high rollin
Everything you have is yours and not stolen
A girl runs up with somethin to prove

So don’t just stand there bust a move

Your best friend Harry has a brother Larry

In five days from now he’s gonna marry

He’s hopin you can make it there if you can Cause in the ceremony you’ll be the best man

You say neat-o, check your libido

And roll to the church in your new tuxedo

The bride walks down just to start the wedding
And there’s one more girl you won’t be getting
So you start thinkin then you start blinking
A bridesmaid looks and thinks that you’re winking

She thinks your kinda cute so she winks back And now your feelin really fine cause the girl is stacked
Reception’s jumpin bass is pumpin
Look at the girl and your heart starts thumpin
Says she wants to dance to a different groove Now you know what to do G bust a move

Jessie’s Girl 2: The Aftermath

The year was 1981.  The Berlin Wall was still up, the “Brady Brides” debuted on NBC, and a young Grumpy Llama was on the verge of “the change.”  And a dashing soap opera star named Rick Springfield introduced the world to “Jessie’s Girl.”  A kinda stalker-y song about unrequited love.  Here it is:



Jessie is a friend,
Yeah I know he’s been a good friend of mine
But lately something’s changed
It ain’t hard to define
Jessie’s got himself a girl
And I want to make her mine
And she’s watching him with those eyes
And she’s lovin’ him with that body, I just know it!
And he’s holding her in his arms late, late at night

You know I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
Where can I find her, a woman like that?

I’ll play along with this charade
That doesn’t seem to be a reason to change
You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute
I wanna tell her that I love but the point is probably moot
‘Cause she’s watching him with those eyes
And she’s lovin’ him with that body, I just know it!
And he’s holding her in his arms late, late at night

You know I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
Where can I find her, a woman like that?

Like Jessie’s girl
I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
Where can I find her, a woman…
Where can I find her, a woman like that?

And I’m lookin’ in the mirror all the time
Wonderin’ what she don’t see in me
I’ve been funny; I’ve been cool with the lines
Ain’t that the way love’s supposed to be?
Tell me why can’t I find a woman like that?

You know I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
Where can I find her, a woman like that?

Like Jessie’s girl
I wish that I had Jessie’s girl
I want, I want Jessie’s girl

I’ve wondered for years what ever happened between those three.  Would Rick and Jessie’s unnamed girl ever get together?  Would they live happily ever after?  Well, below I bring you the answer (with help from my good friend Daniel *lastnameredactedbecausehehasoneofthosejobthings).  Enjoy!

Jessie’s Girl 2: The Aftermath

Jessie was a friend 
Yeah I know he was a good friend of mine
But lately something’s changed
It ain’t hard to define
Jessie had himself a girl but I went and made her mine
Now she’s watching me with those eyes
And she’s gonna make me get a cat, I just know it
And she won’t let me play Halo late, late at night

You know I thought I wanted Jessie’s girl
I thought I wanted Jessie’s girl
What do you do with a woman like that?

Why play along with this charade?
There’s no part of me she doesn’t want to change
Know I feel so angry when I have to watch her chew
I said I didn’t love her and she turned my rabbit into stew
‘Cause she’ watching me with those eyes
And she’s gonna make me get a cat I just know it!
And she won’t let me play Halo late, late at night

You know I thought I wanted Jessie’s girl
I thought I wanted Jessie’s girl
What do you do with a woman like that?

Like Jessie’s girl
I thought I wanted Jessie’s girl
What do you do with a woman…
What do you do with a woman like that?

And I’m lookin’ in the mirror all the time
Wonderin’ why she won’t just leave me
It’s not funny, I’m so depressed all the time
Is this the way love’s supposed to be?
Tell me can I return a woman like that?

You know I thought I wanted Jessie’s girl
I thought I wanted Jessie’s girl
What do you do with a woman like that?
Like Jessie’s girl

I wish that I had Jessie back
I want, I want Jessie back

Bunch of Damn Pervs…

After 230,000 miles my old Pathfinder finally gave up on me.  Its demise necessitated the purchase of a new car which is in the midst of its 90-day free trial of satellite radio.  What I’ve learned about satellite radio is there’s no reason for me to renew it when the trial is over.  All I do is hit the seek button a hundred times an hour.  I’m wearing out my arm.

But they do have an all 50s station that I have started paying attention to, and I’ve realized that the 50s were not the puppies and rainbows decade they’d have us believe.  If you read through the line of these 50s love songs, it paints a pretty bleak picture.  Of course, part of that is due to the fact that teenagers are, have always been, and will always be a bunch of horn-balls.  The 50s maybe just tried a little harder to cover it up.

Let’s start with “Silhouettes” by The Rays(1957).  It’s a lovely little number about a guy standing outside his girl’s window when he sees two people about to go at it.  He understandably gets upset and begins pounding on the door, eventually threatening to beat it down if she doesn’t answer.  (Yikes!)  The door finally opens and our intrepid peeping Tom discovers he is at the wrong house.  At this point, he runs to the correct house and, to paraphrase, “loves her like he’s never loved her before.”  I can only assume that means Reverse Cowgirl.

How about “Poison Ivy” by The Coasters(1959).  If this song’s not about a girl with STDs, I’ll punch a kitten in the face.  “Now you can look but you better not touch,” mm-hmmm.  And, “Late at night while you’re sleepin’ poison ivy comes a’creepin,'”  that’s the infection spreading.  How about, “But poison ivy, Lord’ll make you itch!!”  They’re not even being subtle anymore.  But then, “You’re gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion” shows how much they didn’t know about STDs in the 50s.  “You’ll be scratchin’ like a hound
The minute you start to mess around.”  Do they mean crabs,maybe?  Well, that’s not so bad.

“Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” by The Shirelles (1960) is pretty obvious.  I know that 1960 is not the 1950s, but it is really close, so I’ll allow it.  Plus, I’m afraid if I don’t, I will run out of reference material before you have been sufficiently entertained.

And Gene McDaniels’ oh-so-understated “Point of No Return.”  “You just can’t get off a train that’s movin’ down the track.  I’m at the point of no return and for me there’ll be no turning back.”  Come on!  There’s even a train comparison.  I can only imagine him actually singing the song to warn the poor girl of his impending…expulsion.  I think that just made it creepier.  Aaaand….now I can’t stop imagining that.  Great.  Thanks, Gene.  Dick.  Son-of-a-bitch.  I just found out this song is from 1962.  What the fuck, Sirius XM?  You’re making me look like an asshole here.

Moving on.

“Sixty-Minute Man” by The Dominoes(1951).  I’m including this one for obvious reasons, but I want to concentrate on this lyric: “And 15 minutes of blowing my top.”  15.  Minutes.  The man is talking about a 15 minute orgasm.  That’s ridiculous.  And to quote the internet, “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”  I will give full props to The Dominoes on the name of the song, which, if nothing else, has a great deal more panache than my song, “Eight and Half Minute Man (And That Includes The Foreplay.)”

Or Bobby Darrin’s “Plain Jane”(1958) about a not-so-attractive girl that he wants to go out with but won’t tell us why.  “I could never, never tell you why I love her like I do, but if you took her out for one fine night you’d feel the same way too.”  I think it’s pretty clear “Plain Jane” does anal.

And let’s not forget “Tutti Frutti” by Little Richard(1955).  Little Richard himself has said the original lyrics were “If it’s tight, it’s alright.  If it’s greasy, it makes it easy.”  Sounds like Little Richard spent some quality time with “Plain Jane.”

Now for some generalities.

The word “tenderness” comes up with an astonishing frequency in 1950s songs.  My research has revealed that over half (*figure not based on actual data) of all 50s songs include lyrics about missing “your tenderness” and needing “your tenderness”.  We can only surmise that “tenderness” was 1950’s teen code for “genitalia.”

And last but not least, we need to look at the prevalence of songs either about, or dedicated to, 16-year-old girls.  There is a preponderance of them.  In the 1950s, singing about “loving” a 16-year-old, and in some cases, rejoicing that she had finally turned 16, was perfectly okay.  But try that shit today and it’s all, “Sir, we’ve already called the police,” and “That’s VERY inappropriate!” and suddenly I’m banned from Hot Topic “like, permanently!”

Man, times sure have changed.


Please Be Funny

I am typing this from my couch, about to press play on a recording of “The Ten Commandments: The Musical.”  Re-read that sentence all you want, it’s still going to be ridiculous.  I’m going to let my reactions flow straight onto the screen.  The movie stars Val Kilmer as Moses.  I intend to watch this under the impression that Val Kilmer is playing Jim Morrison playing Moses.  It also has Adam Lambert in it.  I don’t care for him one little bit.  It is possible that will cloud my judgement.  I don’t care.

Here we go…

Two hours?  Uh-oh.

I think the Pharaoh is being played by the guy that played the Iraqi dude in “Lost” but I’m way too lazy to look it up.

The drowning of the Egyptians in the Red Sea is being conveyed by what appears to be cutting room floor clips of waves from “Blue Crush.”  And crappy acting.

Moses’ pre-wandering in the desert speech is not very Braveheart.  Just sayin’.

At least the writing is crappy…

Uh-oh, that Jew is feeling stabby.

Wait, is that dude hitting on Moses’ sister?

How come only one of them has a British accent?

No singing yet.  What the fuck?

Yay!  They found an oasis!  Oops, the water is no good.  That can’t be good.

Phew.  God cleaned the water.  Close one, God.

Um, so how did no one notice the murder of that family three feet away.

Oh, apparently they had wandered off earlier.  Might should have showed that.

Still no singing.  25 minutes in.

And we’re on the move again.  Action-packed stuff, this.  I’m beginning to think they are gonna show all 40 years.

Ahh, so God leaves rings of breadcrumbs in the desert whenever they need food, and causes springs of fresh water to burst forth when they are thirsty.  He should really still be doing that for people, don’t ya think?

Aww snap, Moses just dropped a zinger about the Jews being lazy!  Classic Moses!!

Looks like Moses just invented Krav Maga.  Cool.

Haha, that guy is stoned.

Stoned guy is Adam Lambert.  Yep, still hate him.

Oh hell yes, Moses is roughing Adam Lambert up!

That one Jew is still feeling stabby.  Ruh-roh!

Why the fuck is Lambert speaking with a half-assed British accent?

About to attack the Malachites.  Pre-war speech about as rousing as the pre-wander aimlessly speech.

Yep.  I think that dude is sweet on Moses’ sister.

Attacking the Malachites.

Soooo, Moses, you just gonna stand at the back and hold your staff the hold time?  (giggle)

Now his brother is helping him hold his staff.

Apparently the sight of two men grasping Moses’ staff really gets the Jews worked up!

My Kilmer as Morrison as Moses model is working out pretty well.

Seems to me that either Rodgers or Hammerstein would’ve found a way to work a song into that battle scene, but whatever.

Aww…yeah…sexy time with Moses’ sister!

She does not seem impressed.

Oops, appears they are married to other people.

Here comes Moses’ wife, Zipporah.

Well, Zipporah is easy on the old peepers.  Moses is pulling some quality talent there.

55 minutes and not a single fucking song.  What up?

Moses’ dad looks like a cross between my grandfather and Earnest Borgnine.

Wait, this is from 2006?  How did I not know this?

Why did Moses’ dad just pull a knife on him?

Wow, the kid playing Moses’ son is one shitty actor.

Oops, Zipporah is pissed.

And now she’s leaving.  Where the fuck did she come from?  How did she find Moses in the middle of the fucking the desert?  Nice caboose, though.  I’m assuming.  She’s wearing like nine sheets wrapped around her.

Moses just tore off his shirt.  He’s a lot more ripped than I would have suspected.

Fuck, this movie is 74% walking montages.

Haha, Jews are arguing about money.  Stereotypes are funny.

Uh-oh, Moses’ sister just got caught knocking boots by her husband.  Who is now being drowned.  Luckily, she’s doing fuck-all to stop it.

Flashback to Moses as a boy.  That old guy is the whitest Egyptian I ever seen.  He’s very nearly the whitest person I’ve ever seen.

Holy shit this movie is the suck.

Some little kid just found Moses’ sister’s husband’s body.  That they apparently dragged halfway up a rocky mountain.

Moses’ sister is horrible at fake crying.

Wait, maybe that’s not Moses’ sister.  Who the fuck is whom in this movie?

Where the fuck is the musical part of this shitshow?


Aaaaaaand, they’re dead!

Damn, Moses cries a lot in this movie.

More fucking walking.

Looks like Moses is about to get the Ten Commandments.  And without song.  Yeesh.

Stabby Jew is stirring up trouble!

That was a pretty lame party.

Well, Moses is pissed.

I’m not sure I have seen anything funnier than Adam Lambert standing with clinched fists trying to look intimidating.  So cute!

Time for some hot Jew-on-Jew action!!

In that Jews are fighting each other and they’re in the desert.

Moses still sucks at giving rousing speeches.  He could take a lesson from Ric Flair, throw in the occasional “Woooo!”

Ten Commandments, Round 2.  Since Moses threw the first ones.

Oh wow, they are using flashbacks to demonstrate the commandments as Moses’ calls them out.  Powerful, powerful stuff.

And we’re walking again.

Shenanigans!  Shenanigans!  That was NOT a fucking musical.

Holy crap was that bad.  Not even bad enough to be funny.

Two thumbs down.






‘Tis The Season

Let me be upfront, if you’re someone who thinks Christmas music is anything but horrible, this might not be the place for you.  Because it…is…horrible.  Every year, right around Thanksgiving, three local stations begin devoting all the air time to Christmas music, which is three too many.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-Christmas.  Just anti-Christmas music.  And it’s not part of some larger “Christmas has be come TOO commercial tirade.”  I’m way too much of a heathen to concern myself with the commercialization of Christmas.  It’s just that, at it’s core, if you ignore the subject matter and just take the music itself into the equation, Christmas music sucks.  Hard.  It always reminds of when Homer Simpson was watching the Christian rock band and he screamed, “Stop!  You’re not making Christian music better, you’re just making rock music worse!”

Part of the problem is that, despite the fact that musicians have had over 2000 years to write music about this holiday, there are, based on listening to the radio, only 31 different songs about Christmas.  That works out to the whole of the human race writing one song approximately every 64 and a half years.  To put that into perspective, Nickelback alone has written 84 songs in just 18 years.  Nickelback!  The entire world has written fewer songs about Christmas than Nickelback has written about….I don’t really know….being Canadian?  Although to be fair, both Nickelback and 2000 years worth of Christmas musicians have written precisely zero songs that don’t suck.  So, yay?

So when I decided to make a list of “My Top 5 Favorite Christmas Songs,”  I realized pretty quickly that it would be like making a list of “My Top 5 Favorite STDs.”  (If you’re interested, they are: 5. Chlamydia  4.  Gonorrhea  3.  A Stage 6 Clinger  2.  Syphilis  1.  Crabs.)  (Sidenote, as of right now, my last 4 Google searches are: “Nickelback,” “Chlamydia,” “Gonorrhea,” and “Syphilis.”  Haha, take that Google Analytics!)  It was then that I decided to do “My Top 5 Least Objectionable Christmas Songs” but then I started thinking about it and had to go with:

“My Top 4 Least Objectionable Christmas Songs.”

4. Santa Baby by Eartha Kitt

Why does it make the list?  Because Eartha Kitt, dammit!!  Or should I use her whole name – Eartha Mother Fuckin’ Kitt!  If you disagree that she was absolutely incredible, then you are a puppy-kicking fuck-wit and I will stab you in the spleen.  How dare you!

3.  Blue Christmas by Elvis Presley

If I have to explain to you why Elvis Presley makes the list, then maybe you should just go hang out with the Eartha Kitt-hating jack wads from above.  Because I hate you.  Because you suck.

2.  Date Rape Christmas by Johnny Mercer and Margaret Whiting

Okay, so after some research the name of this song might actually be “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”  Whatever, as soon as she gets to “Say, what’s in this drink?” all bets are off the table.  Just look at that screen grab!  “The answer is no.”  This is hands down the creepiest song I think I’ve ever heard (and I own a Nick Cave album).  Instead of playing at Christmas, they should play it in 6th grade health class when they split up the boys and girls for “the Talk” and use it as a cautionary tale so Becky Sue doesn’t get roofied her first weekend at college.

1.  All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey

Sweet damn, that was hard to admit.  I can’t explain it.  I don’t actually like the song, but if I’m at your holiday party and you put this song on, I will most likely not upper deck your toilet in protest.  And yes, Mariah, feel free to use that blurb if you ever decide to re-release this song.  I fully expect that my friends and family will make merciless fun of me, and I would also expect my inbox (hee-hee, “inbox”) to be flooded with emails containing this song that auto-plays when opened, except I know that none of them know how to do that.


Anyway, Merry Christmas, bitches!

Song Crap

Look, most songs suck, lyrically speaking.  They’re just bad.  This suckiness leads to me jotting down notes in the hopes that it will lead to a blog post, then I go back and look into it further, and there’s just not enough there for a full post, so I skip it.  But now, I’m looking through my notes and I see tons of tidbits about song lyrics and I don’t want to just toss them out.  So I’m dumping them all in one post.  Some of them are even funny.

The big one I wanted to do was a “brutally honest” version of Boys 2 Men’s “I’ll Make Love To You” because they recorded the song when they barely 20, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s the 20-year-old boys are incapable of treating sex like they purport to in the song.  I was going to go with something like “I’ll have awkward but possibly adequate sex with you, if you’ll let me.  Please, please let me.”  It’s possible I’m not a great a songwriter.

I also wanted to make fun of a religious song called “He Chose Me” because it was a bad song.  But the lyrics didn’t really give me enough to work on.  However, the search did lead me find the website www.namethathymn.com.  Yeah.  It has a searchable lyrics forum.  For hymns.  Hymns.

Then there’s a note that says – “Honest Songs” followed by “Nickelback” and then “Come On Eileen.”  I don’t know what to do with that.

Now let’s talk about lyrics.

Prince got me with these words: “Electric word called life, it means forever” when later he says “there’s something else, it’s called the afterlife.”  <*raises hand*>  Um, you’re purpleness?  If life means forever (it doesn’t, btw), what is the afterlife?

I don’t often listen to the Ozzy Osborne/Lita Ford duet “Close My Eyes Forever” but that’s only because it’s not a very good song.  When I do, however, I snicker uncontrollably as Ozzy sings, “I’ve got Heaven in the palm of my hand and it’s waiting here for you” because I always imagine he’s holding his penis.  And that’s funny.  Because I’m 12 you see.

I like the line in the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe” where they sing, “If you wannabe be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”  Because I think of a girl saying that to a guy, who then looks over at her friends and starts believing he has to have sex with them first.  And I can only assume he’d be okay with that.

I have a note that wonders what it would look like if the song “Footloose” were actually a sermon from Jesus.  Do what you want with that.  I’ve known I was going to Hell since third grade.

I like to think of Hall and Oates’ diddy “Maneater” as a light-hearted precautionary tale about a female vampire.

In U2’s “Mysterious Ways,” Bono sings, “On your knees, boy.”

In “Never Say Goodbye,” Jon Bon Jovi quips, “You lost more than that it my backseat” and I always think, “What?  Her car keys?  Her retainer?”  And then I giggle because I’m pretty sure he means her virginity.  Oh, Jon, you scamp!

I am absolutely sure (but way too lazy to test it) that if you take Amy Grant’s “Baby Baby” and replace “Baby” with “Jesus” (ala The Simpson’s) you’ll get a groovy little gospel song.  I am also equally positive that somewhere, Amy Grant is doing just that.  I guess I could Google it to find out if she’s back to doing strictly Christian music, but if I fear if typed “Amy Grant” into MY Google search bar, the ensuing algorithm loop would destroy their servers.

I also have a list that is just telling me to look at the lyrics for the following songs:

  • “Informer” by Snow
  • “Poison” by Bel Biv Devoe
  • “Fireflies” by Owl City
  • “St. Elmo’s Fire” by John Parr
  • “Jungle Love” by Morris Day

What I don’t know from that list, is why past me was so pissed at future me.




I Am The Warrior

So I had this idea that it would be funny to take a song, use Google to translate it to a different language and then translate it back to English and see what we’re left with.  And I might still do that, but I got distracted (shocking, I know).  I decided to start with Scandal’s blistering rock anthem “The Warrior” because, working from memory, I recalled the lyrics being odd enough that I thought they’d make for a fun experiment.  Plus, 14-year-old me had a huge crush on Patty Smyth.  She was adorable.  But I digress.

In my research, I had to watch the video from 1984, and holy cow!  What a incredible journey!  I highly recommend you watch it.

In case you’re at work, or for some reason don’t want to experience three minutes and fifty-four seconds of 1980’s awesomeness*, let me walk you through it.

I was halfway through it (and quite confused) before it dawned on me that the video was about some post-apocalyptic Thunderdome-style fight.  Well, “fight” is a bit strong.  Our hero (I guess?), a poor-man’s Wolverine sans bitchin’ sideburns, must battle four, what appear to be, cargo net monsters who terrorize him by leaping around him in a circle until a court jester/bicycle messenger does two flips in his vicinity and decides he has had enough.  Then for some reason he’s dancing with some boa-ensconced, LSD version of a ballerina, their 12-second dance somehow resulting in her death.  After her untimely demise, Wolverine is jostled gently by two bright-blue scarf nymphs who walk past him slowly.  Frightening stuff.  He is then  flummoxed by a trio of dumpster-dwelling, pasty-fleshed bat people who are ultimately ousted by a pair of blue-suited twine demons, as is usually the case.  Wolverine  dispatches with them via his menacing good looks (a problem I know all to well).  At this point, the lovely and talented Ms. Smyth joins the fray having thus far been…narrating, I guess?  The final battle ensues, and like all good battles, devolves quickly into dancing which leads to Wolverine conceding (you’re not gonna win a dance-battle against Patty Smyth, everyone knows that) and then contentedly standing back to watch Patty sing (I get you, Wolverine.  I get you).  Until the trust fall, of course.  Wait….what?

In short, it’s delightful.  And I’ll probably watch it several more times today.

*”Three minutes and fifty-four seconds of 1980’s awesomeness” is also how I still refer to losing my virginity.  True story.

Sidenote: The video to Scandal’s “Goodbye To You” is also awesome, but only because it consists entirely of 4 minutes of the band completely encapsulating the 80’s in someone’s rec room.  I guess the budget for “The Warrior” broke the bank, what with having to rent that warehouse and everything.