Housewife Rock is the Root of All Evil
So I was sitting here at work, taking a break from phone sex and message board posting (and working - I suppose I have to include that), and I found myself singing. Not anything like Paul Simon, which would be enough to get alarmed about, but something ten times more horrific: Billy Joel. "Honesty, such a lonely word. Everyone is so untrue."
Good Lord, I thought, I must be going insane. These walls should be padded. As I got up from my chair in disgust and walked into the lobby, I did what any money-hungry bank employee would do - stare into the vault and gawk at the cash. Mmmm… it really smells good, and it's green!
As I drifted away to thoughts of fancy cars and boats, and girls blowing me in fancy cars and boats, I hear, from my own mouth: "You got me wrapped around your fingerrrrrr. Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?" Gasp!! Get me a straightjacket, and quick! Adult contemporary had somehow dripped its evil message into my brain.
I returned to my desk swiftly, to try and outrun the adult contempo (that's what those of us in-the-know call it), but alas, the evil message was being piped into my fucking office. There was no escape! And worse yet, the brain damage had already occurred. It was too late.
As my life tumbled out of control with realization, alarming things began to run through my head... I didn't want this inside me. Death by ice pick or being mauled by Bigfoot, or even his Himalayan cousin the Yeti, seemed preferable alternatives. Not the Loch Ness Monster though. That's all bullshit.
Anyway, I had been sitting here all this time, being brainwashed by Atlantic Starr and the like, and didn't even know it. No wonder I thought that new chick that I met was like the sun, chasing all the rain away. That's what THEY wanted me to think.
As I buried my head in my hands, all I could fathom was how fucked up and psychotic this supposedly tame music could be. It's really the devil coming in a completely innocent package of acoustic guitars and strings, with Peter Cetera singing, but pure evil underneath.
To think, the thoughts of these cult-like demons had bullied their way into my everyday thinking without me realizing. Here I thought there really was a right time of the night for making love. I suddenly realized what I used to know before the evil came; that any time is a good time for me and a girl, and another girl with a container of Cool Whip and a tray of ice cubes, to get down. And who says “making love” anyway?
"The horror! The horror"!
I said it so many times I felt like cutting a head off and throwing it at Martin Sheen. By this time my brain began functioning properly as I had regained control from the likes of Michael McDonald. And hey, who's the idiot that let him redo all those Motown classics anyway? Sorry Mike, but Marvin Gaye is about to lose his mind, not you.
And Ricky Martin needs to shake his fucking bon-bon right out of my noggin. She's NOT all you ever had, as I'm sure you made a peso or two from all those teen girls. Or boys, whatever.
Begone, all of you, and take your evil straightjacket with you!
Good thing I caught it when I did. Obviously everyone has been to the bank, and I'm sure you probably noticed the crap the speakers were subjecting your ears to. Well try listening to that 8-9 hours per day. And it never stops! Even when we close, the musings of Player continue on through those God-forsaken speakers. Well fuck you "Baby". I don't care if you come back or not.
It was nice to regain control of my mind. As I sighed in sweet relief at the reappearance of myself, I went out and gawked again into the vault. No Cranberries, not even a thought about Andy Gibb or his puppets on a string, just gentle thoughts of those blowjobs in cars and boats.
During my celebration later, I listened to several Pantera songs in a row and drank excessively. Oh yeah, and I drew devil horns and a tail on a
picture of James Taylor. “You've got a friend”, my ass.
by
White Punk on Dope
