Over the past few weeks, certain west coast bloggers and I have had a little fun referencing (and consequently inculcating) lyrics from well-known songs. It was a fun, if occasionally maddening, exchange... even a Texan smart-ass and a Virginian rugby-lovin', wannabe-renaissance man played along. But really, by the fourth day of the same lyrics repeating in my head like a badly-scratched 45, Donna Fargo deserved to have "Freaking" inserted into her name. Likewise, many of the aforementioned bloggers were elevated to smart-ass status*.
Today, however, is a new day. A day that began with a Budweiser commercial on the alarm clock, in fact. Although I'm still waiting for the "True Women of Brilliance" upgrade, more often than not I enjoy Bud's "Real Men of Genius" advertising line. Mr. Boneless Buffalo Wing Inventor, for example. What's not to like about the guy singing, "Hope I'm not eating rear end" with that holdover-from-the-80's rocker inflection?
This morning's wake-up salute was to Mr. Hot-Dog-Eating-Contest Contestant. I don't typically consider "seven hours of routine angioplasty" to be fodder for humor, so it's JUST NOT RIGHT that "my left arm feels tingly" has been reprising in my head since 6:30 a.m.
My frontal lobe feels tingly. It's almost enough to make me long for DonnaFreakingFargo.
*Statement is not intended to include an Art Journalist. Her smart-assedness was established long prior to events referenced in this-here blog entry.
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Today, however, is a new day. A day that began with a Budweiser commercial on the alarm clock, in fact. Although I'm still waiting for the "True Women of Brilliance" upgrade, more often than not I enjoy Bud's "Real Men of Genius" advertising line. Mr. Boneless Buffalo Wing Inventor, for example. What's not to like about the guy singing, "Hope I'm not eating rear end" with that holdover-from-the-80's rocker inflection?
This morning's wake-up salute was to Mr. Hot-Dog-Eating-Contest Contestant. I don't typically consider "seven hours of routine angioplasty" to be fodder for humor, so it's JUST NOT RIGHT that "my left arm feels tingly" has been reprising in my head since 6:30 a.m.
My frontal lobe feels tingly. It's almost enough to make me long for DonnaFreakingFargo.
*Statement is not intended to include an Art Journalist. Her smart-assedness was established long prior to events referenced in this-here blog entry.
.
4 comments:
Is this a cry for help, Wen? Are you asking for DonnaFreakingFargo lyrics? 'Cause we can totally get into whether or not you can be a beacon...
The refrain that's been going through my head all day? If you guessed Tom T. Hall's "Faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, more money," you're absolutely right! I have no clue where I picked up this insidious little song fragment. I'm in the South. It could have been anywhere.
I'm pretty sure it is a cry for help. My lyric of the day?
My baby don't care for rings,
Or other expensive things
My baby don't care for me.
My baby don't go for big Rolls Royces
She does care for me. Nevertheless...
Oh, and a college friend of mine had the T.J. Maxx (get the max for the minimum, miniumum price..." in his head for years. All it took was one word from the jingle and he'd start singing it.
I said almost, you smart-asses.
eb, the smart-ass tag is one to embrace with pride. You are so, so sensitive. :)
And Wen, my love. Your tingly frontal lobe is quite sexy. Quite sexy indeed.
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