The Week In Review
Ok, I know I’ve already spent some time railing against horrible intercom music being forced down my throat, but at the risk of sounding like a broken record I have to tell you about going grocery shopping today. Normally, I don’t even notice the music at the grocery store. In fact, my wife will sometimes say to me, “Hey! Listen! Do you hear what they’re playing?” and I can’t hear a damn thing. But today I could hear the music loud and clear, and as a result, I have a new rule: If your commercial establishment plays We Built This City loud enough for anyone to hear it, I am legally obligated to burn your store to the fucking ground.
Now I have been made aware by my kids that I am the oldest person on the face of the planet, and so as a service to those of my readers who are unfamiliar with this alleged music, I am including the music video below. Please only use it to jog your memory, or listen to the first ten seconds or so. Do not listen to this song in its entirety, as prolonged exposure to We Built This City has been scientifically proven to cause seizures, anal cancer, and spontaneous decapitation.
Gahhh… It only takes about seven seconds of that to really ruin your day, doesn’t it? Here’s another rule: Anybody who sings the lyrics “Knee deep in the hoopla” needs to be kneed deep in the crotch. For God’s sake, man, do you not have an ounce of humanity?
Ok, let’s get that unpleasantness behind us and move on to Important News in the World Of Practical Science Applications. The following headline comes from the Huffington Post: Rats Laugh When Tickled. Thank goodness we finally got that squared away, right? I mean, tickling rats isn’t something I would have done before, but know that I know that they’ll laugh when I do it, fuck, I’m going to be spending all of my spare time tickling those beady-eyed little fuckers.
Who the fuck is the scientist who comes up with this study, who funds it, and where the fuck can I get some of what they’re smoking? “You know, Dr. Freep, I’ve been spending a lot of time wondering whether or not rats laugh when you tickle them…”
“Hmmm, that’s an interesting question, Dr. Spungo. So interesting in fact, that I’m going to drop everything I’m doing to help you design a scientific study to answer this very question.”
“But… But Dr. Freep! That means the end of your study on the psychological implications of yelling at beets!”
“I know, I know. But science must march onward, Dr. Spungo!”
What mystifies me is the total lack of scientific rigor that should have been applied to this finding that would have resulted in another wonderful headline: Washington State Researchers Act Like Morons After Huffing Bleach.
Ok, on to the last couple of weeks you missed while you were wondering where “This City” is located, and whether or not a tactical nuke would take it out entirely.
- A couple of Tuesdays ago, I got all sleuthy (which is a kick-ass word I totally invented just now) and solved the mystery of the Samurai Mini-Van Tweaker.
- A couple of Wednesdays ago, we learned that Charlie Brown is as high as a motherfucking kite, which then got stuck in a tree. Again.
- Two Thursdays ago, I went completely off the deep end because I had to listen to stuff I didn’t like on the radio. And I was so upset, I linked to a video of Angela Lansbury masturbating in a tub. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for subjecting you to that.
- A couple of Friday’s ago, I wrote about how someone else wanted to me to write something other than an apology for drop kicking their Yorkie. I know. Weird, right?
- Last Tuesday, I discussed Hollywood’s darkest secret: Cher has been stealing my mail. Now if I could get Cher brought to justice for this, I’d finally be free to go after Gavin MacLeod for stealing all my fucking lunch meat.
- Last Wednesday, we celebrated our differences as human beings. Unless you enjoy the CroqueMcDo, in which case I alternately loathe and pity you.
- Last Thursday, I’m King, And They Know It! (That’s Robert Blake’s son Noah, incidentally, and he went on to hit the big time, most recently starring in Piranhaconda as Arturo, a man who desperately wants to be cast in better fucking movies.)
- And last Friday, we learned that green is not a creative color.
While we’re on the subject of Piranhaconda, we may as well show you the trailer. I urge you to see this movie as many times as humanly possible, which as of this writing is zero.
Normally at this point in the ramblings, I’d introduce our Involuntary Advertiser and risk a libel lawsuit. But I’ve instead decided to punish my readership further with more shitty music that I’ve been subjected to at the office. This is the Bay City Rollers, with Saturday Night, an absolutely shitty song. The video, however, is either the worst video of all time, or the best. You be the judge.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. I don’t even know where to begin with that video, so I won’t even try other than to say if I found myself at this concert without a 50 gallon drum full of Napalm I would shoot myself in the head.
Ok, on to our latest Poll of the Moment:
[poll id=”16″]
As you can see, aliens agree with Katie Holmes: Tom Cruise and his wacky bunch of religious nutballs must be stopped.
Ok, that’s it. Enjoy the week, and if you live in the U.S. of A., try to blow some shit up on Wednesday. Showing up in the emergency room missing fingers is your duty as an American!
Thanks just shitloads, Greg! I didn’t even have to play the damned video for “We Built This Shitty..” as it’s still hardwired in from the 80s. You know, when they played the damned thing every fifteen minutes? Oh well; time to boot up iTunes and let the melodious sound of Blue Oyster Cult’s homage to Godzilla stomp that sucker out of my brain.
…Don’t Fear the Reaper?
Nope. Burnin’ for You.
Eh, that’s nothing three hours of Communication Breakdown won’t cure.
Jeezus, Michael Madson will do anything for a paycheck. Sadly, I’ve seen one of two of his movies that make Piranhaconda look like an Oscar winner.
It’s been a long fall from Usual Suspects. Poor Michael.
Yeah, he must be a pain in the balls to work with or something. Well, more that the usual, run of the mill, self centered prima donnas in that industry.
I’ve seen rock and roll, and I would ask my builder for a more solid foundation.
Plus that song isn’t even rock and roll, it is an aural representation of war crimes.
If we wanted to invite a war with neighboring alien worlds, beaming this song across interstellar space would be the surest way to go about doing it.
Thanks heaps for giving me an earworm of that bloody song. I am playing some Etta James to try to clear my head, but even Etta is finding the going hard.
Perhaps when the rat-tickle-antidepressant comes on the market, you might want to put your name down for some. It could rid you of your obsessive hatred of beets, again making an appearance in this post. Beets, Greg. Beeeeeettts!
At this point, I am thinking of switching this site over to an all anti-beet format. Yuk!