After the cashier informed a man who looked to be shy of 20 that he hadn't given her enough money to buy the soda he was holding.
"How much more? I can't count so good. Don't need that to get a GED. Don't need no diploma to make babies."
Showing posts with label Maybe the robots will kill off the children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maybe the robots will kill off the children. Show all posts
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Attention Impressionable Youngsters: Please Stop Listening To Terrible Music. Also, Give Me Money.
It has recently been brought to my attention by a credible source who shall here be identified only as 'My brother' that I have a larger audience than I previously suspected amongst the future leaders of America. Upon finding this groundbreaking information out, I immediately said 'Huh'. Then I took a nap. But after I woke up, I realized what I had to do. I then promptly forgot, because I am getting old. So, rather than provide you, my youthful-skewing readership demographic, with whatever groundbreaking, completely brilliant thing I was going to write, I instead have a request for you: Please stop listening to terrible music. Also, give me money. I guess it's two requests.
You see, young people, you wield incredible power that you did not know about until I decided to tell you about it in a couple sentences. In fact, you still don't know it unless you decided this whole thing was getting too long, and skipped ahead. You should probably be on Ritalin®. But that is not my point, at least not until I buy stock in the Ritalin Corporation. Instead, my point is that you control the mass media. I know. Doesn't it make you want to flex your hands in pleasure, feeling your newly-stated power coursing through them. Go ahead and do it. Alright, stop flexing them now. After two times you start to look ridiculous. Anyway, there is a very scientific reason for this, and that is that you control the majority of the country's disposable income, barring that possessed by trophy wives, which is wisely spent on silicon products. This spending on the part of the trophy wives leaves you as the controllers of the almighty dollar (Soon to be Yen) in the entertainment industry. Where you get this money to spend is unknown. Perhaps you steal it from your parents' wallets while they are napping. I won't them tell if you give me some of it. But scientific studies have shown that you are the ones with the purchasing power, and what you want is to be entertained. Again, the Ritalin thing.
Now, I am not going to sit here with rose-colored contacts in and tell you that back in the day, everything to do with the music industry was wonderful (Partly because I am lying down as I type this). Indeed, as those of you who were subjected to the on-screen tragi-comedy that was the Super Bowl halftime show would know (At least the ones of you who have been released from the necessary sessions of post-traumatic therapy), I would be blatantly lying if I tried to peddle this to you. Rather, I would relate to you a story from my days when I was a stupid youth, much like you are now. Here we go: When I was a stupid youth, I listened to absolutely TERRIBLE music, much of which (Such as Creed. Especially Creed) is extremely embarrassing and/or nauseating in hindsight. Now that I am older and know everything there is to know, I have much better taste, consisting primarily of bands that no one has ever heard of whose records are impossible to find in stores, and realize the folly of my younger, stupid ways. So please, young people, don't do it for me, do it for your future selves (Note: If you have plans to die within the next couple years, before you start to sprout nose hairs, you may ignore this advice safely): Stop listening to terrible music.
But you are shouting at your computer screen right now, "But HOLLA(R)! How am I supposed to know what music is good and what is horrible?!? I am merely a young person, and therefore stupid!" I know, and that is why you are lucky I am here to help you. Firstly, stop that shouting at the computer. I can't hear you, unless you have broken into my apartment and are reading this on my laptop. If you are doing this, please leave me some money. The first step to telling what music is terrible is checking the band name. If the band name is 'The Black Eyed Peas', the music will be terrible. This also holds true for the name 'Nickelback'. Or 'Panic! At the Disco'. Just to be safe, you should probably ask me before you listen to any music. Ask away. I will handle any and all questions as I receive them.
If you all stop listening to terrible music in unison, young people, then in a few years we may finally see some results from your laudable choice. Why will it take what is a substantial portion of your life thus far to see results? This is because the music industry is run by people who, rather than asking you directly which bands you would like to spend your parents' stolen disposable income on, instead prefer to keep their heads lodged firmly in a place where it is hard for changing cultural taste, or sunshine for that matter, to reach them. But ideally, within several years they will have to remove their heads due to a lack of oxygen, and will notice the masses of young people out there who, instead of choosing to spend their money on terrible music, have decided to give it to me (Hint hint). The resulting shock will probably cause their feeble hearts to give out, and they will be replaced by people who will know how to respond to changing cultural trends. Those who do not surface for oxygen will die of suffocation, which will help to correct this problem in much the same fashion already outlined. Long story short, it's probably worth dropping the cash to reserve a cemetery plot now before they become overcrowded with music executives and you wind up having to share a casket with the creepy guy who lived across the street.
So what have we learned today, young people? Quite a bit, I think. Maybe. But you do not know this, because you skipped directly to the end, rather than reading all the pearls of wisdom I attempted to bestow upon you. So I will now make you an offer: Rather than forcing you to reread everything you have scrolled past, I will send you a recording of me singing the whole thing for the low, low price of $15.99! This offer is not available in stores, and is only good for a limited time. So go on and steal some money from your father's wallet. He keeps it in the left pocket of his jacket. Make sure to get enough for the stamp, too. You'll thank me when you're older and still have your self-respect intact, by which point I will hopefully have made enough money to move to an undisclosed location so that you can't find me to demand a refund.
You see, young people, you wield incredible power that you did not know about until I decided to tell you about it in a couple sentences. In fact, you still don't know it unless you decided this whole thing was getting too long, and skipped ahead. You should probably be on Ritalin®. But that is not my point, at least not until I buy stock in the Ritalin Corporation. Instead, my point is that you control the mass media. I know. Doesn't it make you want to flex your hands in pleasure, feeling your newly-stated power coursing through them. Go ahead and do it. Alright, stop flexing them now. After two times you start to look ridiculous. Anyway, there is a very scientific reason for this, and that is that you control the majority of the country's disposable income, barring that possessed by trophy wives, which is wisely spent on silicon products. This spending on the part of the trophy wives leaves you as the controllers of the almighty dollar (Soon to be Yen) in the entertainment industry. Where you get this money to spend is unknown. Perhaps you steal it from your parents' wallets while they are napping. I won't them tell if you give me some of it. But scientific studies have shown that you are the ones with the purchasing power, and what you want is to be entertained. Again, the Ritalin thing.
Now, I am not going to sit here with rose-colored contacts in and tell you that back in the day, everything to do with the music industry was wonderful (Partly because I am lying down as I type this). Indeed, as those of you who were subjected to the on-screen tragi-comedy that was the Super Bowl halftime show would know (At least the ones of you who have been released from the necessary sessions of post-traumatic therapy), I would be blatantly lying if I tried to peddle this to you. Rather, I would relate to you a story from my days when I was a stupid youth, much like you are now. Here we go: When I was a stupid youth, I listened to absolutely TERRIBLE music, much of which (Such as Creed. Especially Creed) is extremely embarrassing and/or nauseating in hindsight. Now that I am older and know everything there is to know, I have much better taste, consisting primarily of bands that no one has ever heard of whose records are impossible to find in stores, and realize the folly of my younger, stupid ways. So please, young people, don't do it for me, do it for your future selves (Note: If you have plans to die within the next couple years, before you start to sprout nose hairs, you may ignore this advice safely): Stop listening to terrible music.
But you are shouting at your computer screen right now, "But HOLLA(R)! How am I supposed to know what music is good and what is horrible?!? I am merely a young person, and therefore stupid!" I know, and that is why you are lucky I am here to help you. Firstly, stop that shouting at the computer. I can't hear you, unless you have broken into my apartment and are reading this on my laptop. If you are doing this, please leave me some money. The first step to telling what music is terrible is checking the band name. If the band name is 'The Black Eyed Peas', the music will be terrible. This also holds true for the name 'Nickelback'. Or 'Panic! At the Disco'. Just to be safe, you should probably ask me before you listen to any music. Ask away. I will handle any and all questions as I receive them.
If you all stop listening to terrible music in unison, young people, then in a few years we may finally see some results from your laudable choice. Why will it take what is a substantial portion of your life thus far to see results? This is because the music industry is run by people who, rather than asking you directly which bands you would like to spend your parents' stolen disposable income on, instead prefer to keep their heads lodged firmly in a place where it is hard for changing cultural taste, or sunshine for that matter, to reach them. But ideally, within several years they will have to remove their heads due to a lack of oxygen, and will notice the masses of young people out there who, instead of choosing to spend their money on terrible music, have decided to give it to me (Hint hint). The resulting shock will probably cause their feeble hearts to give out, and they will be replaced by people who will know how to respond to changing cultural trends. Those who do not surface for oxygen will die of suffocation, which will help to correct this problem in much the same fashion already outlined. Long story short, it's probably worth dropping the cash to reserve a cemetery plot now before they become overcrowded with music executives and you wind up having to share a casket with the creepy guy who lived across the street.
So what have we learned today, young people? Quite a bit, I think. Maybe. But you do not know this, because you skipped directly to the end, rather than reading all the pearls of wisdom I attempted to bestow upon you. So I will now make you an offer: Rather than forcing you to reread everything you have scrolled past, I will send you a recording of me singing the whole thing for the low, low price of $15.99! This offer is not available in stores, and is only good for a limited time. So go on and steal some money from your father's wallet. He keeps it in the left pocket of his jacket. Make sure to get enough for the stamp, too. You'll thank me when you're older and still have your self-respect intact, by which point I will hopefully have made enough money to move to an undisclosed location so that you can't find me to demand a refund.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Wait, What Did They Just Say?
If I may return to pop music for a minute (I know the month is over. I just don't care), I'd like to discuss the song "Don't Trust Me" by the band 3oh!3 (I swear to God, Google says that is the band's name. I will judge them a bit based on that alone. In a negative way). This is getting quite a bit of airplay on the corporate pop behemoths that bestraddle this continent, owing allegiance only to ClearChannel and the almighty dollar. It features a laughable/terrible intro, featuring some low synths and a series of godawful lyrics sung at least 85 decibels louder than they merit. Let's ignore them completely. The song then goes into a fairly catchy chorus featuring the singer adopting a falsetto while the rest of the band goes for your basic four on the floor dance-rock beat. But this is just the first half of the chorus. Here, in full as played on the radio, are the lyrics for the second half. Breaks between lines are the band's, not mine.
Don't trust a
Never trust a
Don't trust a
Don't trust me
Those of you paying attention may have noticed that those are not, technically, complete sentences. Or even sentence fragments. With the beat of the song, if the radio is censoring a word there, that word is one syllable long. So here's a fun game you can play at home if you like: What one-syllable word that would require censoring would fit there? Google lyric searches are cheating. I have spent way more time than is healthy thinking about this, and haven't come up with anything that makes a lick of sense yet, so I am just about ready to conclude that the band got distracted in the middle of the songwriting process (Possibly by a shiny object) and forgot to finish writing the song itself. Somehow this did not hurt its (The song's) marketability. I suspect cash factors into this somehow.
But anyway, this is not even the most unfortunate part of the song. After we go verse/chorus/verse/chorus, per time-honored tradition, it is time for the bridge. Here now are the bridge lyrics, sung by what sounds like the collective extended family of the entire band, over solely a drumbeat (Yes, all the music is dropped to better allow us to focus on the poetry at hand):
Shoosh (sp? Shush? Shhhhhhhh?) girl/Shut your lips
Do the Hellen Keller/And talk with your hips
Now, I don't feel I'm usually one to get my knickers in a twist (At least not seriously. It's kinda fun if I'm joking about it), but isn't this actually offensive? I liked the Official Girlfriend's take on it, "I must have missed that part of The Miracle Worker'." It might have made that movie more interesting, I'll give it that. I guess it's what the kids are listening to these days, and the children are our future. So, as always, that is why I hope to die young.
Don't trust a
Never trust a
Don't trust a
Don't trust me
Those of you paying attention may have noticed that those are not, technically, complete sentences. Or even sentence fragments. With the beat of the song, if the radio is censoring a word there, that word is one syllable long. So here's a fun game you can play at home if you like: What one-syllable word that would require censoring would fit there? Google lyric searches are cheating. I have spent way more time than is healthy thinking about this, and haven't come up with anything that makes a lick of sense yet, so I am just about ready to conclude that the band got distracted in the middle of the songwriting process (Possibly by a shiny object) and forgot to finish writing the song itself. Somehow this did not hurt its (The song's) marketability. I suspect cash factors into this somehow.
But anyway, this is not even the most unfortunate part of the song. After we go verse/chorus/verse/chorus, per time-honored tradition, it is time for the bridge. Here now are the bridge lyrics, sung by what sounds like the collective extended family of the entire band, over solely a drumbeat (Yes, all the music is dropped to better allow us to focus on the poetry at hand):
Shoosh (sp? Shush? Shhhhhhhh?) girl/Shut your lips
Do the Hellen Keller/And talk with your hips
Now, I don't feel I'm usually one to get my knickers in a twist (At least not seriously. It's kinda fun if I'm joking about it), but isn't this actually offensive? I liked the Official Girlfriend's take on it, "I must have missed that part of The Miracle Worker'." It might have made that movie more interesting, I'll give it that. I guess it's what the kids are listening to these days, and the children are our future. So, as always, that is why I hope to die young.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Further Evidence of the Decline of Western Civilization
The hit single "Knock You Down" by Keri Hilson (Who? I don't know) features a guest appearance by a rapper who actually says "OMG". Just like that. OMG. For those of you who are not into the whole 'text messaging' thing, or the 'sounding like an idiot' thing, OMG means Oh My God. Which is the same number of syllables. Exactly three. I just counted. Meaning it would not have thrown off the beat of the line at all. The children are our future, and that is why I hope to die young.
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