For a long time, I argued that the Barenaked Ladies' "One Week" was the worst song in rock history. I argued this for several fortnights. Then, I heard a song called "My Humps" or "My Lumps" or "Lady Lumps" or some shit by Black-Eyed Peas. I briefly considered moving that song to the top of the shitheap, but, after careful consideration, I decided it was too calculatedly lazy. The Barenaked Ladies were actually trying. They were rapping, they were rocking, they were crafting pop hooks, they were attempting to be clever. Every move they made was labor-intensive, yet shitty. They remained the worst. Then, back in Lincoln around the New Year, I heard a song on college radio by Pedro the Lion. I don't know what this song is called, and I haven't heard any other Pedro the Lion songs besides this one, but I am going to go out on a limb and say that Pedro the Lion is not only responsible for the worst song in rock history, Pedro the Lion is the worst band in rock history.
In grocery store news, I was at the HEB today buying some food. They're completely rearranging the store, much to my consternation. I'm not the only one whose consternation was aroused. A mouse, whose physique I can only describe as healthy, ran out from under the shelves, freaked out for a few seconds, then ran back under the shelves. This mouse was nearly rat-sized, but clearly mouselike in appearance. He must have been eating well for some time, and is now pissed off. Also, in line to pay, an Indian youth asked me to take a picture of him next to his shopping cart. I complied with his wishes, for it would have been rude to say no, but I can only wonder why he wanted a picture of himself buying groceries at HEB. What a world, my friends. What a world.
8 comments:
As long as you don't want to punch Pedro the Lion in the face, I will respect your ranking of their band in the scheme of rock history.
I'm giving "Love Monkey" a four-episode lifespan before it becomes a "Fish Police"-esque reference on the still-airing "Simpsons" ten years from now. The scheme of rock history I give six more months.
The thing about "Love Monkey" is that the main character is supposed to be an expert on music, but the audience for "Love Monkey" are obvioulsy not experts on music. So, they have to make the main character talk about things that people kind of know about. If they dont't know his musci references, the audience will feel alienated. Its "Sex and the City" meets "High Fidelity" meets my dingleberries. By dingleberries I mean shit hanging from my ass hairs. On the comercial he quotes Bob Dylan, and I can hear the audience go, "Wow".
Is Bob Dylan that guy from Bright Eyes?
Seriously, though, could a show called fucking "Love Monkey" last longer than four episodes, tops? "Love Monkey"? A Warrant-esque hair-metal band in 1988 named Love Monkey wouldn't have sold more than 800 copies of its album. I may look foolish when the show nears its eighth season, but that's a risk I'm willing to take. A risk I'm not willing to take: calling my penis "Love Monkey." On an unrelated note, I've been calling my left testicle "Love" and my right testicle "Monkey" since 1988.
the part about the guy wanting his picture taken at heb just made me laugh so hard i cried.
either you're just that funny or i'm delirious from staring at my computer screen since 8am.
they've been rearranging that heb for weeks! i can't be mad about it though because it makes people watching so much more interesting. you never know when someone turns down an empty aisle if their face will turn red as they start swearing or they'll just shake their head and chuckle.
I'm usually the guy with the red face, swearing.
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