Recently, I’ve been listening to the radio, which has been an exercise in auditory masochism and has continually tested my intestinal fortitude.
If I truly wanted to enjoy myself, I would put in Journey’s
Greatest Hits or repeatedly watch the music video to Taylor Swift’s
Love Story.
I’m about 99% confident that Viagra and Cialis would have to file for bankruptcy if her music video was shown in place of their ads.
Same effect, and you don’t even have to ask your doctor for permission to get on YouTube.
But anyway, my real motivation behind scraping the dust off the FM dial is to increase my pop culture IQ.
Knowledge is power, and without the occasional foray into the radiowaves, I would have no idea that I could kiss a girl and like it or legally stuff sunshine into my pocket.
There is no paucity of embarrassingly horrible songs on the radio, but one especially caught my ear and hung on like a parasitic leech, and not the kind used for blood coagulation in primitive surgical procedures.
The opus I speak of is Pink’s
So What? The song commences with these nuggets of lexical erudition: “Na na na na na na na, na na na na na na,” and these may be the most insightful lyrics in the whole song.
Uttered in a grating, sing-song manner, these “words” provoked in me painful memories of the countless miscreants in elementary school who chastised me with similar vexatious jargon, only to regret their decision to be incorrigibly annoying children as I chased them down and flagellated them with a modern mace I had constructed after ripping off a tether ball from its pole with only my baby teeth.
The first actual words used in the song were also of ample shock to my system, as Pink croons, “I guess I just lost my husband.”
Husband?
Pink?
If there were such thing as a lesbian-flavored snow cone, you’d just call it “The Pink.”
(If you disagree or are thinking, “How could a person be a snow cone?” you are wrong, as this
picture should cast aside all doubt).
Pink, in a vindictive state of mind that would make any feminist well up with pride, then decides to show her husband the error of his ways by “having fun” and “starting fights,” a truly mature response that begs for some additional comment.
- If concealed firearms were included at any point in this song, it could easily be the theme song for the National Football League.
- An eternal optimist could perhaps conclude that the moral of this song is “the best revenge is living well.” I tried this once. Some guy punched me in the face, and after the copious quantities of blood had dried, I went out and bought a new plasma HD TV. I really showed him.
- Pink’s rallying cry of “So what, I’m still a rockstar” carries about as much weight as an O.J. Simpson plea of innocence or any of the bilge that happens to trickle out of Tim McCarver’s mouth. Some of you may be unfamiliar with Tim McCarver; he is the senile baseball analyst who helps viewers out by explaining arcane concepts such as, “a change-up is slower than a fastball,” and perpetually mis-identifying pitches. Case in point: pitcher throws a 76 mph, looping curveball on the outside corner. McCarver: “It appears as if he just threw a cut fastball in on the batter’s hands.” McCarver has also reportedly identified Pink’s music as “good,” “family-friendly,” and “not humiliating to her family.”
At one point in the song Pink makes some obscure reference to Jessica Simpson. Check that: “Jessica Simps” is actually what she says. Apparently, Pink is so cool that, not only can she start fights, she can truncate the names of other celebrities and wax monosyllabic whenever she feels like it. I guess this ability would come in handy if she had to serve any jail time with former Illinois Governor Blagojevich. "Gov Blag" is a lot easier to say…
I’m getting stupider writing this. And I can’t tolerate music that’s so demeaning to men. So I’m going to put on my headphones, clip on my fake stud earrings, and listen to T.I. That’s one guy you know will always act with integrity, class, and several dozen loaded weapons…
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