As you all know I really don't care for my job, or working for that matter. So, as a means of adding some pizzazz to the doldrums of my average work day, I take it upon myself to take certain measures to insure my sanity and overall emotional well being. In fact, I am writing this as I currently "work" but I digress.
One of the things I enjoy doing most during the work day is checking up on the news. You see, I'm a firm believer that productivity should take a back seat to being knowledgeable on important world events. With the internet at my finger tips I can get constant updates to our ever changing world. You wouldn't want to be slaving away in your office when the breaking story comes out about an alien invasion or the second coming of Tupac Shakur would you? This being said, I make a point to thoroughly check the news at least twice a day.
So, today as I perused through the "Latest News" on CNN.com I came across a story that absolutely appalled me. CNN – “The Most Trusted Name In News” – reported that Jessica Simpson wrote, via her Twitter, that her dog was taken by a coyote and that a reward is being offered for anyone who finds it. This enthralling “story” went on to list several messages left by Simpson’s Twitter followers that offered prayers and condolences. My initial reaction was, “That’s fucking hilarious,” but my smile quickly faded as disgust over the story set in.
You see, I was not appalled because the dog fell victim to Darwin's theory of Survival of the Fittest - fuck that dog. My utter disgust arose from the fact that some jack ass over at CNN – a “journalist” if you will – decided that this anecdote out of a piss poor actress’s life was some how news worthy. There are a million things to report on – the health care debate, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the economy, Patrick Swayze and how he changed our lives after starring in Roadhouse – and the media establishment continues to poison our minds with pop culture bull shit as if it is somehow important and earth shattering news. Jessica Simpson’s dog!
I mean what the hell is this country coming to? The press used to be a respected institution, the bedrock of a free and democratic people, and now it’s used as a way to spread Junior High quality gossip to the masses. I understand the purpose and importance of entertainment, I get it, but does that shit really have to dilute the pages of the modern day press? Is American society that stupid? Do people just not give a shit about real news anymore? Jessica Simpson’s dog should not be something the press reports on. Period.
I’ll say it again. Fuck that dog. I hope half of it is resting in that coyote’s belly and the other half is scattered across a highway. And before you start calling me cruel, or inhumane, or a straight up asshole let’s look at the current situation we’re in. While Jessica tweets (Twitter’s word, not mine) to all her adoring fans that her precious pooch is missing, people all over the world are dying of terrible things like famine, the uncontrolled spread of disease, and war; the kidnapping, molestation, and murder of children continues to happen every year; our brave service members are getting killed in shit holes like Iraq and Afghanistan. All these things are part of our every day world and the press thinks this dog is important enough to make the news. What irks me even more is that with all this stuff going on, some dip shits out there have the nerve to send condolences and pray for a bimbo celebrity’s dog that had a higher standard of living than your average human being. Now, who’s inhumane? Who’s heartless?
It’s time to wake up to the world around you, boys and girls.
I’ll stand by my statement. Jessica Simpson, from the bottom of my heart, I hope your dog is dead.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Inspiration? What Inspiration?
Inspiration, inspiration, where is my inspiration? I hate this. Here I am a wannabe aspiring writer and I can’t even get myself to compose some half assed piece that will move me from “talent less hack” to “mediocre yet witty hack.” I mean, there’s plenty of stuff out there that I want to write about – and by write I mean bitch in word form – but it seems every time I get home from the black hole known as my job I just want to sit my bony ass on the couch and watch some insightful and thought provoking television. You know, Daisy of Love, The Real Housewives of Orange County, Charm School, and How to Destroy Ones Soul Through the Television Medium: The Series. All amazing shows…….
Ugh! This is driving me nuts right now! I have enough thoughts and opinions running around in my head to write a book about but I can’t force myself to regurgitate them through my fingertips onto this here keyboard and out to my audience of 6 and a half people. So much material frolicking around and its wasting away within the confines of my skull. I think I need to watch Fox News’s Fox and Friends to get really heated and inspired but it’s not even on the TV right now! Fuck! Wait, hold on a second. Bingo!
Why does the entire cast of Fox and Friends look like creepy porcelain dolls just waiting to come to life at night so they can kill my favorite dog and black friend? Ah, shit! This won’t work either because I’m digressing – and worse than usual because I’m not even talking about myself to either a. make me sound awesome or b. describe an emotionally trying time in a comical manner to assist in the healing process. I’m straight up changing my thesis statement and that ain’t cool. A little digression is always hilarious but at this point I’m detracting from the flow and continuity of this here writing piece. I won’t stoop to the level of an 8th grader who can’t write for shit just to develop some rushed material for the masses. Who do I look like, George Lucas? I’ll leave those Fox and Friends assclowns for another piece and another day. Just you all wait.
Let’s see, inspiration, inspiration……Ah! Perhaps I’ll randomly punch my roommate in the face right now so I can create a story I can write about and ultimately embellish. He’s sitting on the couch texting like a little bitch at the moment which gives me even more of a reason to hit him. With his eyebrows all pursed and that stupid “I’m texting a girl right now” face. Wait, wait, he just sported the cheese dick “I got a cute message from this girl I like face.” Fuck hitting him in the face, I want to straight up dragon kick him in the throat so his face will go to the “Holy shit my roommate just jumped off the couch and booted me in the jugular” face. Stupid…..
But in all seriousness, I need to find my compositional mojo here because I don’t want to spend the rest of my adult days working. Seriously, I need to establish my reputation as an amazing and awe-inspiring writer and gain some book deal so I can make a bunch of money and then do what I enjoy doing the most – absolutely nothing. And before you call me selfish for not wanting to contribute to society or better the world or whatever cop out excuse you use to justify the job that makes you feel empty inside, let me add that I want to do absolutely nothing with my friends and family. Kind of like Entourage except I won’t be famous or as good looking, or pull as many chicks. I’ll probably still sport the same douchey haircut too unlike Vince with his free flowing locks and what have you. But I digress…..
And there it is. As I sit here and write away seemingly random tirades that come to mind, I think I’m getting to the root of my problem as to why I feel I have no inspiration to write. You see it has nothing to do with inspiration; rather, I don’t have the motivation or the desire to write. And this is all because I work all day and I don’t want to write when I come home because my dreams consist of working full time as a writer and who wants to do more work after you already got off work because then you would have two jobs when you don’t even need to have two because you’re financially comfortable right now and as a result you don’t feel like writing. You following me here? In case you aren’t let me break it down in algorithmic form because it’s all logical and stuff:
Faheem wants to have a job as a writer
Faheem hates working
Faheem hates writing.
Bam! It all makes sense now. Its tough being this brilliant, it really is, but sometimes you just have to use those naturally acquired smarts in order to get to the root of all your problems. I see writing as work and I hate working. I’m supposed to piss my free time away doing more work? Why work when you don’t have to?
I know what you’re thinking right now, “But writing can be a hobby for you, Faheem. LOL.” (I added the LOL to make you sound dumber despite whatever degree you may hold) My response to this is you don’t get paid for your hobbies. That’s what makes them hobbies. And I want to get paid to write so I can do nothing and have plenty of hobbies like writing. In addition, my hobbies include playing Rock Band and watching Daisy of Love and I’m sure as shit you can’t get paid for doing either. If I can get paid for those two things please let me know so I can cease doing both. There’s plenty more things out there I can do without getting paid – sleeping, staring at the wall, giving myself high fives – and I’ll take those up as hobbies any day.
Where’s my inspiration? It’s all there I suppose but I don’t want to equate writing to coming in on a Monday or a Tuesday or a Wednesday or a Thursday for that matter. Friday’s okay because I essentially zone out for the duration of the day thinking of my weekend plans anyway - doing nothing, with friends. I don’t want my writing to become part of the grind like everything else that’s work related but it seems like I’m doing that. Well perhaps I can say to hell with my aspirations of becoming a writer because it only turns a hobby I enjoy into work and it constricts my intellectual creativity. Maybe I’m just writing out my ass at this point because with this "lack of inspiration" I somehow just jammed out a fresh piece. I need some new topics…….
Ugh! This is driving me nuts right now! I have enough thoughts and opinions running around in my head to write a book about but I can’t force myself to regurgitate them through my fingertips onto this here keyboard and out to my audience of 6 and a half people. So much material frolicking around and its wasting away within the confines of my skull. I think I need to watch Fox News’s Fox and Friends to get really heated and inspired but it’s not even on the TV right now! Fuck! Wait, hold on a second. Bingo!
Why does the entire cast of Fox and Friends look like creepy porcelain dolls just waiting to come to life at night so they can kill my favorite dog and black friend? Ah, shit! This won’t work either because I’m digressing – and worse than usual because I’m not even talking about myself to either a. make me sound awesome or b. describe an emotionally trying time in a comical manner to assist in the healing process. I’m straight up changing my thesis statement and that ain’t cool. A little digression is always hilarious but at this point I’m detracting from the flow and continuity of this here writing piece. I won’t stoop to the level of an 8th grader who can’t write for shit just to develop some rushed material for the masses. Who do I look like, George Lucas? I’ll leave those Fox and Friends assclowns for another piece and another day. Just you all wait.
Let’s see, inspiration, inspiration……Ah! Perhaps I’ll randomly punch my roommate in the face right now so I can create a story I can write about and ultimately embellish. He’s sitting on the couch texting like a little bitch at the moment which gives me even more of a reason to hit him. With his eyebrows all pursed and that stupid “I’m texting a girl right now” face. Wait, wait, he just sported the cheese dick “I got a cute message from this girl I like face.” Fuck hitting him in the face, I want to straight up dragon kick him in the throat so his face will go to the “Holy shit my roommate just jumped off the couch and booted me in the jugular” face. Stupid…..
But in all seriousness, I need to find my compositional mojo here because I don’t want to spend the rest of my adult days working. Seriously, I need to establish my reputation as an amazing and awe-inspiring writer and gain some book deal so I can make a bunch of money and then do what I enjoy doing the most – absolutely nothing. And before you call me selfish for not wanting to contribute to society or better the world or whatever cop out excuse you use to justify the job that makes you feel empty inside, let me add that I want to do absolutely nothing with my friends and family. Kind of like Entourage except I won’t be famous or as good looking, or pull as many chicks. I’ll probably still sport the same douchey haircut too unlike Vince with his free flowing locks and what have you. But I digress…..
And there it is. As I sit here and write away seemingly random tirades that come to mind, I think I’m getting to the root of my problem as to why I feel I have no inspiration to write. You see it has nothing to do with inspiration; rather, I don’t have the motivation or the desire to write. And this is all because I work all day and I don’t want to write when I come home because my dreams consist of working full time as a writer and who wants to do more work after you already got off work because then you would have two jobs when you don’t even need to have two because you’re financially comfortable right now and as a result you don’t feel like writing. You following me here? In case you aren’t let me break it down in algorithmic form because it’s all logical and stuff:
Faheem wants to have a job as a writer
Faheem hates working
Faheem hates writing.
Bam! It all makes sense now. Its tough being this brilliant, it really is, but sometimes you just have to use those naturally acquired smarts in order to get to the root of all your problems. I see writing as work and I hate working. I’m supposed to piss my free time away doing more work? Why work when you don’t have to?
I know what you’re thinking right now, “But writing can be a hobby for you, Faheem. LOL.” (I added the LOL to make you sound dumber despite whatever degree you may hold) My response to this is you don’t get paid for your hobbies. That’s what makes them hobbies. And I want to get paid to write so I can do nothing and have plenty of hobbies like writing. In addition, my hobbies include playing Rock Band and watching Daisy of Love and I’m sure as shit you can’t get paid for doing either. If I can get paid for those two things please let me know so I can cease doing both. There’s plenty more things out there I can do without getting paid – sleeping, staring at the wall, giving myself high fives – and I’ll take those up as hobbies any day.
Where’s my inspiration? It’s all there I suppose but I don’t want to equate writing to coming in on a Monday or a Tuesday or a Wednesday or a Thursday for that matter. Friday’s okay because I essentially zone out for the duration of the day thinking of my weekend plans anyway - doing nothing, with friends. I don’t want my writing to become part of the grind like everything else that’s work related but it seems like I’m doing that. Well perhaps I can say to hell with my aspirations of becoming a writer because it only turns a hobby I enjoy into work and it constricts my intellectual creativity. Maybe I’m just writing out my ass at this point because with this "lack of inspiration" I somehow just jammed out a fresh piece. I need some new topics…….
Sunday, May 17, 2009
It's Not Your Attitude, It's the Music
The other day my best friend since the 6th Grade, Swarm and I were having a heart to heart – a manly discussion if you will – and he told me that I have this negative aura about myself that seems to bring others down around me. My initial reaction was to say, “Fuck you, man. How can you say such things when the terrible world we live in makes me who I am? You don’t see how the fact that people in general suck ass upsets my emotional stability just a tad bit? I realize there’s no point to this negative tirade of cynical anger, but what the fuck!?” The words almost came out of my mouth but I stopped only due to the fact that I schooled Swarm’s ass in basketball wearing a pair of snow boots during Sixth Grade Camp, and I didn’t want to lower his self-esteem for a second time.
Now, being a person who is always in pursuit of self improvement, I took a step back from the situation and thought long and hard about what Swarm said. After much reflection and meditation over a delicious Taco Bell Crunch Wrap, it occurred to me that I can be rather negative at times. Come to think of it, I do tend to have negative outlook about people and just about everything else (read blogs below). There’s also this tendency to wish to get into an all out brawl with those I loathe most only to see them get chopped up by an airplane propeller like on Indiana Jones. In the past I have been referred to as a Negative Nancy, a Debbie Downer, a Bitter Betty, and a Cynical Cindy. Never a Depressed Debra though……
So, after much thought and self loathing, I realized I have been living life with a pretty piss poor attitude. I mean why go through life looking at the glass as half empty? “Man the fuck up and fill that bitch up,” is what I should be telling myself. There’s really nothing to get down on about because let’s face it, I’m pretty much all around awesome with the exception of my lack of coordination which keeps me from playing most types of ball sports. I live in a house at a location that would make Garth Algar from Wayne’s World say, “This is a fully functional babe lair. Chicks are helpless against it’s powers.” Did I mention my awesomeness?
Well there I was all excited and inspired about becoming a Positive Polly and then it happened: I turned on the radio. I casually turned on the radio while driving home and once again I lost all faith in humanity. The cynicism I hoped to exorcise flowed through my veins and once again that damned glass was half empty. I even went back to viewing babies as selfish egomaniacs who are life’s ultimate Socialists. I mean seriously, all they do is lie around all day waiting for their hand-outs, various bail out plans of infantile proportions, while the rest of us hard working Americans slave away for these toddlers’ Marxist desires. If that right there isn’t redistribution of wealth in its purest and ugliest form than I don’t know what is. Take note Rush Limbaugh…..
Now, what songs have soured me over time you ask? Ha. Well seeing how the 90’s were the pinnacle of musical greatness I would blame my current attitude on a lot of the garbage that came out in the 2000s. But, considering I could write an entire novel about shitty music from the past nine years and how it destroyed my sense of hope and wonder, I’m just going to focus on the most recent songs that killed my hour and a half of positive thinking. Shall we?
Plain White T’s – “1, 2, 3, 4”
We all know Plain White T’s. You know, those slightly emo guys with the poppy twist who sing that Delilah song with the reference to New York City and being famous and what have you. Well, if you haven’t heard their newest single “1, 2, 3, 4” consider yourself hella blessed. That’s right. I busted out hella despite the fact that nobody says that anymore. That’s how fucking serious I am about letting you all know how this song raped and pillaged my soul’s village of Optimism like a horde of rampaging Vikings in search of valuable loot, buxom women, and the Northwest Passage.
To make you all understand how bad “1, 2, 3, 4” is, I’ll put it this way: it’s my favorite song next to “Small Child Screaming on Plane During the Duration of an 8 Hour Flight.” It makes Limp Bizkit’s 2000 single “Rollin” look like Beethoven inspired genius. I thought I’d never say anything good about Limp Bizkit but low and behold, you can find the good in anything when you are graced by something that is all out bad. Serious, the song is pure cheesy super lame assed shit. There is no redeeming quality about this song. No artistic substance or creative expression. Shit. A stanza of the ridiculously over the top sappy ass lyrics are below:
There’s only
ONE thing
Two do
Three words
Four you (mind you this “you” is drawn out to be yooouuuuuoooooowooooowoooooo”)
I love you
That’s the chorus to the song ladies and gentlemen and no it is not creative. It is sappy and annoying and I cringed just typing those lines. It looks like something you would find on one of those Disney themed cardboard Valentine’s Day cards you used to get in grade school. I fucking loved those – when I was 9 – but it doesn’t mean as an adult I want them in musical form while I drive home from a bad day at work.
Someone needs to check these guys for plagiarism because I’m pretty sure they ripped this song off from some pre-pubescent 7th grader who wrote it for his 8th grade girlfriend who upon receiving the song/poem broke up with the kid and called him a fag. The Plain White T’s found the song in the trash after the poor kid threw it away so he could go home to lick the emotional scars that will never heal because we never forget the first girl to rip our hearts out and beat it relentlessly with a crow bar covered in glass and bee stingers. Damn you, Megan! Damn you!!!!!
Wait, where was I again? Right. Cheese dick Plain White T’s song.
I know some of you out there are going to try and come to the rescue of this horrid excuse for music by coming out and saying something like, “Quit sipping on the Hatorade, Faheem. You’re just jealous because you never wrote about Delilah and they did and now they’re famous and married and living happily ever after with a white picket fence and a house mortgage they can’t afford.” Face the facts here. This song blows. Yet somehow it gets air time which in turn fuels my cynicism and as a result this negative energy cloud Hurricane Katrinas everything around me (too soon?). Its just impossible for me to emote positive energy wave lengths into the cosmos with the existence of this song. Sigh…….
Okay, moving on.
Flo Rida – “Right Round”
The “artist” behind this monstrosity of a song calls himself Flo Rida? Are you fucking serious? Was “The Continuously Smooth Passenger” already taken? Do you think he wanted to be called Flow Rider but there was already an 80’s hair band with the name? R we even teachin lil kidz to spel theez dayz? Okay I’m digressing. I’m sure Flo Rida is a guy of outstanding moral character, a thespian and a Shakespearean poet, who only uses the moniker to appeal to the urban market he could never really relate to.
Now, to his abortion of a track.
Not to try and sound all proper and puritanical – as you can tell by my use of colorful language I’m absolutely neither – but the blatant sexual reference in this “work of art” are just a little too much, which to me, shows a complete lack of artistic creativity. You want to be considered an artist don’t you, Flo Rida?
You spin my head right round, right round
When you go down, when you go down down
Come on, dude. What the hell happened to subtlety or innuendo for that matter? Musicians like Prince were the masters of this art form. I mean don’t get me wrong, Prince was, and is, an absolute pervert but he also displayed his mastery of innuendo in songs like his outstanding 1983 single “Little Red Corvette.” If you don’t know what “Little Red Corvette” means then ask your parents. Or maybe a pervert….
See the issue here is that before you know it, radio play will be reserved for uncreative and unoriginal music that goes into highly descriptive sexual detail because lets face it, its really easy to do. Here’s something my inner artist just came up with:
Give me a blow job
Because I like blow jobs
Bliggidy blingin’ blow jobs
While I have no qualms with blow jobs, you don’t need to blatantly sing about them – in your fucking chorus – so all the children can hear it as they ride the bus home from school. It’s just down right inappropriate. Think of the children, Flo Rida. The Obama loving socialist children!
While the lack of innuendo certainly brings on my inner Debbie Downer, the thing that irks me the most about this song is the fact that it samples and subsequently butchers an amazing 80’s classic – Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round.” It was bad enough that Jessica Simpson chiseled away at this song’s reputation but now this ass clown straight up nuked it. Why must we destroy everything thing that was once great?
Flo Rida mixed “You Spin Me Round” and fucked it up. George Lucas redid Star Wars and fucked it up. Brett Michaels redid Rock of Love and fucked it up only to fuck it up again (Taya over Mindy are you serious?). I mean is there really any point to having a positive outlook on life when shit like this goes down? Before you know it we’ll redo the great feats America accomplished during World War II, in movie format, by turning an infamous day into a sappy uninspired love story. Like . . . Michael Bay’s . . . . . . Pearl Harbor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fuck!
Lady Gaga
Where the hell did Lady Gaga come from? Seriously. Did she materialize out of various beats and jams, Sephora makeup, and Chinese food? Did she come from the mountains of Southeast Trickistan? Work sends me to a far off terrible place – a topic I will not delve into due to fear of “The Man” – for 4 months and when I come back she’s one of the most played musicians on the radio. I know I started this thing off just attacking songs but I had to write Lady Gaga because she has like 14 different songs that play on the radio, and at the club, every 15 minutes. Or maybe its two songs but whatever….
Now, the negativity brought out by Lady Gaga is different than the disgust towards the world I feel after the other two songs mentioned earlier because I don’t really hate the music, rather, I hate what the music makes me do, how it takes control. You see, when Lady Gaga starts playing on the radio my white 2006 Nissan Sentra that hasn’t been washed in months goes from a simple means of transportation to the flyest club in all the land – Club Sentra. I ignore the road. I ignore public safety laws. I even ignore common sensibility because all I seem to do is bust a move and get my freak on with the steering wheel. The usually solo dance party that ensues in my car goes beyond ridiculous. It’s dangerous!
What am I supposed to tell the police when I go into a Lady Gaga induced dance seizure while driving and end up running over an expecting mother and her adorable cat Boots who she happened to be walking at the time? Just roll with me here. Do I tell them, “But Lady Gaga was on the radio and I couldn’t stop dancing . . .”? And what do I tell the parents? “Sorry, you’re not going to be grandparents, but that new Lady Gaga track is the shiznit! Just Dance! Am I right? Come on, come on . . .” Both of these responses probably wouldn’t hold up in court and I’d end up in prison married to the guy with the most cigarettes. If I were a lucky man he would love to cuddle . . . .
So after all that’s been said it is obvious that my attitude is not the problem. The problem is the garbage they play on the radio that inadvertently influences my attitude into something that others don’t want to be around. You should have just told me not to listen to the radio, Swarm. But no, you threw me into the wild world we live acting like I have complete control over my attitude. What is that?
If you still aren’t convinced that bad music has a detrimental effect on how you view life then just do one more thing and read the lines directly below this:
Po po po poker face
Po po poker face!
Three words
Four Youoooooowoooooowooooooo
When you go down
When you go down down
You just turned a little sour didn’t you? I’m so right about everything.
Now, being a person who is always in pursuit of self improvement, I took a step back from the situation and thought long and hard about what Swarm said. After much reflection and meditation over a delicious Taco Bell Crunch Wrap, it occurred to me that I can be rather negative at times. Come to think of it, I do tend to have negative outlook about people and just about everything else (read blogs below). There’s also this tendency to wish to get into an all out brawl with those I loathe most only to see them get chopped up by an airplane propeller like on Indiana Jones. In the past I have been referred to as a Negative Nancy, a Debbie Downer, a Bitter Betty, and a Cynical Cindy. Never a Depressed Debra though……
So, after much thought and self loathing, I realized I have been living life with a pretty piss poor attitude. I mean why go through life looking at the glass as half empty? “Man the fuck up and fill that bitch up,” is what I should be telling myself. There’s really nothing to get down on about because let’s face it, I’m pretty much all around awesome with the exception of my lack of coordination which keeps me from playing most types of ball sports. I live in a house at a location that would make Garth Algar from Wayne’s World say, “This is a fully functional babe lair. Chicks are helpless against it’s powers.” Did I mention my awesomeness?
Well there I was all excited and inspired about becoming a Positive Polly and then it happened: I turned on the radio. I casually turned on the radio while driving home and once again I lost all faith in humanity. The cynicism I hoped to exorcise flowed through my veins and once again that damned glass was half empty. I even went back to viewing babies as selfish egomaniacs who are life’s ultimate Socialists. I mean seriously, all they do is lie around all day waiting for their hand-outs, various bail out plans of infantile proportions, while the rest of us hard working Americans slave away for these toddlers’ Marxist desires. If that right there isn’t redistribution of wealth in its purest and ugliest form than I don’t know what is. Take note Rush Limbaugh…..
Now, what songs have soured me over time you ask? Ha. Well seeing how the 90’s were the pinnacle of musical greatness I would blame my current attitude on a lot of the garbage that came out in the 2000s. But, considering I could write an entire novel about shitty music from the past nine years and how it destroyed my sense of hope and wonder, I’m just going to focus on the most recent songs that killed my hour and a half of positive thinking. Shall we?
Plain White T’s – “1, 2, 3, 4”
We all know Plain White T’s. You know, those slightly emo guys with the poppy twist who sing that Delilah song with the reference to New York City and being famous and what have you. Well, if you haven’t heard their newest single “1, 2, 3, 4” consider yourself hella blessed. That’s right. I busted out hella despite the fact that nobody says that anymore. That’s how fucking serious I am about letting you all know how this song raped and pillaged my soul’s village of Optimism like a horde of rampaging Vikings in search of valuable loot, buxom women, and the Northwest Passage.
To make you all understand how bad “1, 2, 3, 4” is, I’ll put it this way: it’s my favorite song next to “Small Child Screaming on Plane During the Duration of an 8 Hour Flight.” It makes Limp Bizkit’s 2000 single “Rollin” look like Beethoven inspired genius. I thought I’d never say anything good about Limp Bizkit but low and behold, you can find the good in anything when you are graced by something that is all out bad. Serious, the song is pure cheesy super lame assed shit. There is no redeeming quality about this song. No artistic substance or creative expression. Shit. A stanza of the ridiculously over the top sappy ass lyrics are below:
There’s only
ONE thing
Two do
Three words
Four you (mind you this “you” is drawn out to be yooouuuuuoooooowooooowoooooo”)
I love you
That’s the chorus to the song ladies and gentlemen and no it is not creative. It is sappy and annoying and I cringed just typing those lines. It looks like something you would find on one of those Disney themed cardboard Valentine’s Day cards you used to get in grade school. I fucking loved those – when I was 9 – but it doesn’t mean as an adult I want them in musical form while I drive home from a bad day at work.
Someone needs to check these guys for plagiarism because I’m pretty sure they ripped this song off from some pre-pubescent 7th grader who wrote it for his 8th grade girlfriend who upon receiving the song/poem broke up with the kid and called him a fag. The Plain White T’s found the song in the trash after the poor kid threw it away so he could go home to lick the emotional scars that will never heal because we never forget the first girl to rip our hearts out and beat it relentlessly with a crow bar covered in glass and bee stingers. Damn you, Megan! Damn you!!!!!
Wait, where was I again? Right. Cheese dick Plain White T’s song.
I know some of you out there are going to try and come to the rescue of this horrid excuse for music by coming out and saying something like, “Quit sipping on the Hatorade, Faheem. You’re just jealous because you never wrote about Delilah and they did and now they’re famous and married and living happily ever after with a white picket fence and a house mortgage they can’t afford.” Face the facts here. This song blows. Yet somehow it gets air time which in turn fuels my cynicism and as a result this negative energy cloud Hurricane Katrinas everything around me (too soon?). Its just impossible for me to emote positive energy wave lengths into the cosmos with the existence of this song. Sigh…….
Okay, moving on.
Flo Rida – “Right Round”
The “artist” behind this monstrosity of a song calls himself Flo Rida? Are you fucking serious? Was “The Continuously Smooth Passenger” already taken? Do you think he wanted to be called Flow Rider but there was already an 80’s hair band with the name? R we even teachin lil kidz to spel theez dayz? Okay I’m digressing. I’m sure Flo Rida is a guy of outstanding moral character, a thespian and a Shakespearean poet, who only uses the moniker to appeal to the urban market he could never really relate to.
Now, to his abortion of a track.
Not to try and sound all proper and puritanical – as you can tell by my use of colorful language I’m absolutely neither – but the blatant sexual reference in this “work of art” are just a little too much, which to me, shows a complete lack of artistic creativity. You want to be considered an artist don’t you, Flo Rida?
You spin my head right round, right round
When you go down, when you go down down
Come on, dude. What the hell happened to subtlety or innuendo for that matter? Musicians like Prince were the masters of this art form. I mean don’t get me wrong, Prince was, and is, an absolute pervert but he also displayed his mastery of innuendo in songs like his outstanding 1983 single “Little Red Corvette.” If you don’t know what “Little Red Corvette” means then ask your parents. Or maybe a pervert….
See the issue here is that before you know it, radio play will be reserved for uncreative and unoriginal music that goes into highly descriptive sexual detail because lets face it, its really easy to do. Here’s something my inner artist just came up with:
Give me a blow job
Because I like blow jobs
Bliggidy blingin’ blow jobs
While I have no qualms with blow jobs, you don’t need to blatantly sing about them – in your fucking chorus – so all the children can hear it as they ride the bus home from school. It’s just down right inappropriate. Think of the children, Flo Rida. The Obama loving socialist children!
While the lack of innuendo certainly brings on my inner Debbie Downer, the thing that irks me the most about this song is the fact that it samples and subsequently butchers an amazing 80’s classic – Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round.” It was bad enough that Jessica Simpson chiseled away at this song’s reputation but now this ass clown straight up nuked it. Why must we destroy everything thing that was once great?
Flo Rida mixed “You Spin Me Round” and fucked it up. George Lucas redid Star Wars and fucked it up. Brett Michaels redid Rock of Love and fucked it up only to fuck it up again (Taya over Mindy are you serious?). I mean is there really any point to having a positive outlook on life when shit like this goes down? Before you know it we’ll redo the great feats America accomplished during World War II, in movie format, by turning an infamous day into a sappy uninspired love story. Like . . . Michael Bay’s . . . . . . Pearl Harbor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fuck!
Lady Gaga
Where the hell did Lady Gaga come from? Seriously. Did she materialize out of various beats and jams, Sephora makeup, and Chinese food? Did she come from the mountains of Southeast Trickistan? Work sends me to a far off terrible place – a topic I will not delve into due to fear of “The Man” – for 4 months and when I come back she’s one of the most played musicians on the radio. I know I started this thing off just attacking songs but I had to write Lady Gaga because she has like 14 different songs that play on the radio, and at the club, every 15 minutes. Or maybe its two songs but whatever….
Now, the negativity brought out by Lady Gaga is different than the disgust towards the world I feel after the other two songs mentioned earlier because I don’t really hate the music, rather, I hate what the music makes me do, how it takes control. You see, when Lady Gaga starts playing on the radio my white 2006 Nissan Sentra that hasn’t been washed in months goes from a simple means of transportation to the flyest club in all the land – Club Sentra. I ignore the road. I ignore public safety laws. I even ignore common sensibility because all I seem to do is bust a move and get my freak on with the steering wheel. The usually solo dance party that ensues in my car goes beyond ridiculous. It’s dangerous!
What am I supposed to tell the police when I go into a Lady Gaga induced dance seizure while driving and end up running over an expecting mother and her adorable cat Boots who she happened to be walking at the time? Just roll with me here. Do I tell them, “But Lady Gaga was on the radio and I couldn’t stop dancing . . .”? And what do I tell the parents? “Sorry, you’re not going to be grandparents, but that new Lady Gaga track is the shiznit! Just Dance! Am I right? Come on, come on . . .” Both of these responses probably wouldn’t hold up in court and I’d end up in prison married to the guy with the most cigarettes. If I were a lucky man he would love to cuddle . . . .
So after all that’s been said it is obvious that my attitude is not the problem. The problem is the garbage they play on the radio that inadvertently influences my attitude into something that others don’t want to be around. You should have just told me not to listen to the radio, Swarm. But no, you threw me into the wild world we live acting like I have complete control over my attitude. What is that?
If you still aren’t convinced that bad music has a detrimental effect on how you view life then just do one more thing and read the lines directly below this:
Po po po poker face
Po po poker face!
Three words
Four Youoooooowoooooowooooooo
When you go down
When you go down down
You just turned a little sour didn’t you? I’m so right about everything.
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