Monday, July 2, 2012

15 Excruciating Minutes of Pop Radio Part 1

      A day's work can be a "hum drum" nightmare. Boredom is slathered on most of our days like cooking oil to abs at a Chip and Dale's stripper convention (that is what they use isn't it?). My day is an endless chore of standing upright while semi-tardtastic fellas figure out  the best way to look busy. It's not a hard day. It's a job that used to be handled by children during the 1900's, before it was labeled "child abuse".


Hi, I represent the Fuck You Guild.

      Sadly, a large portion of my day is working with the drone of pop radio in the background. So, because of this, I coast on the thin line between insanity and suicide daily. I try to mix it up by plotting the ruination of the universe and muttering the Muppet Babies theme over and over. It doesn't win me a lot of friends, but, it keeps everyone alive...isn't that what really matters?

      On the whole, it's not bad, if can turn your brain off and develop a high tolerance for stupidity. I've done neither so, I make do, sometimes by inserting imagined expletives in the deejay's banter. It works really well when I'm not in ear shot...which is never.


"Tonight there is a chamber of commerce meeting at fuck you hall, 
right after the "Orgy Fisting Quartet's" summer revue of "Bastard Face Ass Cunt", 
so, please arrive early. 
Now back to the shits!"

      So, in an attempt to salvage my sanity and not construct a shoddy car bomb made of old cereal boxes, foil and Play-Doh, I'm passing my burden onto you, he wisdom that was bestowed upon me, from the last fifteen minutes of pop radio.

Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting



I will rip out your soul and shit in it's void--aturday nights alright!

      Elton John is an institution. A big, fat homo-queer faggy institute. A hero among flamboyantly gay men who act gay, but, claim straightness, only to "out" themselves as bi-sexual...and then, finally, just plain ol' gay. Which, I hope we understand, is fine. Being gay is like being straight...except wanting to bone the same gender and have the ability to befriend super models at will. Elton John is a prominent, famous figure in gaydom and a hell of a good singer/songwriter. 

      He's so good in fact, chances are you know at least six of his songs off the top of your head, which, according to most homophobic proclamations makes you partially gay.

      One reason I even bring up his homosexuality is that making queer bashing homophobes squirm is fucking funny. So--dedicated to them...butt fuckity fuck fuck, man on man 69, muff dive, muff dive...bull dike aaaand David Beckham naked.


Something for the ladies and male-ladies. He's holding one of his balls!

      The other reason I'm talking about Sir Elton John, is because he helped write and perform "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting". The first song in my fifteen minutes of pop hell retrospective. Since it's inception back in the year...uh...nineteen-sixty...no, uh. seventy something?--it's been a pop radio staple. Mostly because it's mildly aggressive yet, absolutely incapable of inspiring people to fight anything. Seriously, listen to it...


          

      Want to kick some fucking ass? Me either. It probably gives you the urge to close your eyes, jump and wave your hands like a middle aged woman trying desperately to recapture her youth. I know, because that's what it does for me. I also have it on good authority that any fight song using falsetto inspires people to go to shopping malls. It's true.

      Regardless of it's inability to provoke riots, my concern isn't with it's inability to make anyone short of a deranged disco fanatic hostile, it's what the lyrics are saying, namely the chorus that bother me. Is Saturday night really alright for fighting? Why not Tuesday or maybe Friday, right after work, so, you have the rest of the weekend to heal. Saturday fisterbating seems down right counter productive and frankly--retarded. It's your weekend, man! Though, it doesn't really matter.

      The day of the week is arbitrary, it's the fighting that's weird, isn't it? Why is fighting alright? If done right, everyone loses, sort of. Sure, there might be one fella that gets more paralyzed and bloodied  than the other participants, but, everyone still leaves in pain. Aren't there better things to be doing with your time? Fighting seems counter intuitive to a healthy lifestyle. Maybe Saturday night's alright for a movie or a date, perhaps, a nice strip club visit with a clean, grindy lap dance. Anything seems better, instead of provoking fights with strangers. Though, I think there's another problem here.

      I think whomever this song is directed at might view fighting as a perfectly acceptable, socializing past time. Instead of engaging in non-violent, healthy social interaction, they've somehow substituted fighting as a viable way to communicate and express themselves with others. If that's the case, I think Saturday night's alright for some fucking therapy instead. Talk some shit out, violence junkie. Use your words and not your fists, Fisty McFisterson.


Old Gold


Look at all that old, shitty gold. Gah!

      For years, I've been hearing companies advertise the buying of gold. Be it on t.v., radio, internet and small ads embedded in Hustler.com, all tout the virtues of the instant cash to be had by selling off family heirlooms to help with financial hardship. I'm all for parting a sucker from his valuables, in this case gold. Have at it! The thing that irks me  is the wording in these ads, especially radio. They keep referring to people having "old gold". What the hell is that?

      The value of gold is one of the scarily few things I'm certain about. Any gold is always valuable to some degree or another. Due to it's pretty shininess and it's ability to readily form into coin, ring, necklace and bar shapes. It's rare too,...so I reason. People have yet to make bottle caps and paper clips out of it. Plus, people will kill each other for it, which hardly ever happens over things like soda cans and stainless steel sporks.  

      Are there people in existence that have such an over abundance of gold that they see some of it as "old" and to a degree--disposable? The radio ads refer to it in such an off hand, run of the mill way. I'm worried there are overly burdened gold hording idiots out there saying to themselves, "Man, you know, I do have an awful lot of gold just LAYING around here. It's tumbling out of the cupboards, cluttering up closets and want not. Maybe I should sell it, instead of tripping over it on the way to the kitchen. Fuckin' shitty gold. It's EVERYWHERE!". If there are such idiots, please contact me. I know exactly what to do with all that nefarious gold. Don't trust the jewelry shops and scrap metal dealers, they're only going to use it to produce brain controlling micro chips! Chips that will control your brain! I'm a safe, trustworthy alternative I assure you,  please...let me help you with your excess shitty, old gold. Thank you.


Call Me Maybe


"Hey, I just met you and this is crazy, insert clever line to make an internet meme"

      Oh, this fucking song. It's so ridiculously chipper, it makes me want to burn Care Bears and kick puppies. It seems like it's played on pop radio twice every hour. I'm sure a quick Google search would give you a study on the uptick in work place violence during those times, but, it's easier to just take my word for it. I'm a self proclaimed expert in such things. Besides, I've fended off a few attacks from co-workers and believe me, it was this bitch and this song that started them.

      However, that's not the only problem with this song. No. It's the social implications it addresses. Here is a perfectly upbeat girl handing out her phone number to ripped jeans wearing strangers. Why does she do this? A quick, drunken addled scan of the lyrics tells us why. She tossed a wish in a wishing well...and made a wish about wanting kiss from whoever? Now she's forcing her number onto is the first guy that showed up afterward. Is it the guy she was wishing for? Nah, apparently it's just some douche' bag. Some wishing well loitering douche' bag.


I didn't call because...I was wishing...hard--about...my pants.

      It's songs like these that reinforce the idea that women love guys that treat them like shit. This girl is tossing good wishes in a well or wishes in a wishing well...whatever in the hell that means. I don't think she even knows. Regardless, she's wishing for a kiss, despite being "chased" by all manner of boys. Boys, I'm assuming, that not only want to kiss her, but, would giver her dick as well. 

      Then, this dip shit in ripped jeans shows up, presumably after the thrown in wishing well wish is granted? She gives him her number, immediately, despite other guys wanting her. Still ignoring ready and willing guys she waits for the douche' bag to call, who "takes his time" getting back to her, but, by then, she's already "fallen" for him. What the fuck is wrong with this girl?

      I'm assuming by the popularity of this shit that this reflects a dilemma plaguing young women everywhere. "Why can't I find a decent, good guy?", they question, while handing out their numbers to any douche' bag in ripped jeans and falling in love with him despite his obvious disinterest. This is your problem ladies. Maybe if you got to know a guy or hell, gave the guys that actually like you the time of day, you wouldn't have the douche' bag guy problems. 

Shit I hate pop radio...[to be continued]

5 comments:

  1. The "make homophobics squirm" sentence was great. The rest of this, though, I will be forced to murder you to the tune of of "Call Me Maybe" because I'll never be able to get it out of my head. And I'm absolutely depressed whenever I see a cash for gold commercial or see a shop that's strangely attached to a payday loan store. I'd like to say I'm looking forward to part 2, but I'm terrified of the horrors in store.

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    1. Oh, it's not too horrific. Imagine the pain I endure by couping this with work! One day soon however...the bring a gun to work ban will be lifted and the bullets will fly! Though, I should probably buy a gun first...and learn how to use it. Plus, I hear bullets are pretty expensive. Great, now my blissful revenge plot has been tainted with a bill. Woe is me.

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  2. There's going to be a part 2? I'm already on the fast-track to having an aneurysm.

    I have a theory. The recent cannibal attacks that have been popping up in the news have occured right around the time this song was aired on the radio. Perhaps there is a correlation betweent he two?

    Also, what the fuck is lying under that bushy veil of bangs? I wonder if she has a third-eye under all that hair? Or, maybe that's where she stores her power to turn people into cannibals.

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    1. I was wondering about the bangs myself. I assure you there is not third eye, nor a vortex to a parallel bath salt cannibal dimension. Her bangs are because...she's Canadian. That's a pretty good answer for most things that are wrong with her...and her music.

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  3. I hate listening to the radio because of the adverts and my unexplained dislike of almost all radio DJ's - I am not mad about CRJ Call Me Maybe but find the Abercrombie & Fitch YouTube clip to be a guilty pleasure (in its soooo bad its good) and the Enter Shikari cover of it also makes me smile. Intrigued to see what's in store for part 2.

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Comment. Lest your fear consume you, cry baby.