I’m sitting in my office (i.e. guest bedroom) and I’m listening to the local “pop” station. Local pop station is giving away U2 tickets and I will just about do anything including whoring out my musical tastes to get me some U2 tickets.
However, I’m developing a facial tic from the “music”. If I hear one more Jessica Simpson or Ryan “Freakboy” Cabrera song, I will be forced to kill the cat. I think he’ll understand because he’s looking rather suicidal himself. His look is actually one of “Look, bitch, first you make me live with those overgrown throw rugs you call “dogs”, then you invite some kid who fancies herself to be an evil voodoo priestess to live with us and now, NOW, you invade my sanctuary to play some mind-numbing bubble gum crap songs. This irritates me so much I will now go take a crap during office hours. You can thank me later.”
While adjusting my radio dial to said pop station, I happened to swing by the easy listening station. They were playing the B-52’s. Can someone please, please explain to me how my “I loved you in college” band is now on the easy listening station? They used to be alternative! They used to be whacked out crazies with beehive hairdos! And now they’ve been commandeered by some middle-aged, “listen while in the office” bullshit station.
And notice I cannot even bear to discuss Ashlee "Trying to Revive the Fe-Mullet" Simpson cause some shit just aint' funny.
Holy crap, I’m singing along to Kelly Clarkson…I have to go now… I have an appointment to put my head in the gas oven.
P.S. I'm tired from all the air quotes I put in the post...please forgive me...I am addicted to the use of air quotes. I'm seeking therapy.
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3 comments:
Oh God. Oh God, I understand. And the femullet - surely one of the four horsemen.
Oh I HOPE all that listening pays off for you! I saw them in Italy in 1993 when I briefly dated one of their crew members. The experience was definitely worth it even if the asshole dumped me.
I can totally see whoring for U2 tickets. But wouldn't it be less painful to simply sell your body to the local sadistic freak? Wouldn't it be less painful to run in front of a limo bearing lazy rich people who could be sued for enough to buy the venue where said band is playing? Wouldn't it be less painful to pull out your own pubic hair with tweezers, one at a time?
I hope it works in the end. Heck, for THAT kind of pain, I hope it includes backstage passes!
Luck!
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