Can You Protect Yourself From The Most Annoying Song In The World?

Think of it as a virus, but you’re not a carrier.  Your radio is.  And there is no cure.

The Most Annoying Song In The World was released in Canada in September of 2011.   Nobody paid any attention until fellow Canuck Justin Bieber tweeted about it.  Then she got signed to an American label and the song was released again on February 14 of 2012.  Since then, the Most Annoying Song In The World has swept the globe and is already one of the biggest hits of 2012, reaching number one in Australia, Czech Republic, Denmark, Finland, Hungary, Ireland, New Zealand, Scotland, Switzerland, the United Kingdom and the United States.  In four months its taken over the western world.  That’s a better success rate than AIDs.  I just heard it yesterday.  And I fucking hate it.

On first listen, Carly Rae Jepsen’s Call Me Maybe is pretty much musical wallpaper.  Some half-decent looking youngish white chick singing about playing coy with a boy, which is the DNA of half of mainstream radio.  You’ve heard a billion songs like it, you’ll hear a billion more before you die.  The problem is, you might die humming this one.  Because YOU CAN’T GET IT OUT OF YOUR HEAD.

Its sort of useless to wonder WHY.  The article Anatomy Of A Hit breaks down a few characteristics of a pop song:  it’s simple, it’s short (most hits clock in at under 3:30, Annoying Song is 3:20), its got a hook, etc.  But the essence of a true pop hit is more than just assembling a few traits.  Its much more, or in this case, less.  You remember “Don’t Worry Be Happy”?  That song at least had beat boxing as a gimmick.  Or Timberlake’s “Sexy Back”? That was silly, stupid, and probably got quite a few shitty dancers laid.  But once you heard it, you couldn’t forget it.  Call Me Maybe has no such gimmick, it’s not clever, her voice isn’t anything special and yet, I CAN’T GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD.

So no, you can’t protect yourself from The Most Annoying Song In The World.  Our brains are just wired that way.  Its the nature of the beast.  What you can do is make it more interesting by substituting the lame ass original lyrics with something not as cheesy.  I offer these examples as the chorus, instead.

When I bite you
I make you crazy
9-1-1’s the number
Call me Rabies

(sing this one like a pirate)

When I board you
I’ll rape your lady
I’m a pirate
Call me Matey

I’ll shoot you
then act real shady
I’m an evil fuck
Call me Dick Cheney

Do you have any good replacement lyrics?  Please share in COMMENTS below.

The Guinness Book: World’s Biggest Waste Of Time

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Jack White is super pissed at the Guinness Book of World Records.  A few years back, the White Stripes played a quick show: a literal one-note cymbal crashing affair that was taped and sent to Guinness for verification.  ‘Twas verified, and thus recorded, putting the Stripes in the Book as having performed the Shortest Concert Ever.  Since then, Guinness has been besieged by a bunch of bands claiming THEY’VE done the quickest show: essentially leaping up on stage and taking a bow.  Since this brings into question “when does a concert become a concert” (very much a Pro-Life conundrum), Guinness decided to bag the category altogether, cancelling the record.  So White is seeing red, all his effort wasted.  Wasted!  And now the Guinness officials are getting an earful from the worlds palest rocker (Record that!).  “Yes, Mr, White, your complaint is noted…”

How about the17-Hour Fist Pump?   This jamoke super glued his hand shut for the attempt.  Can you imagine how the Guinness Official felt when he got the task of reviewing the 3 flash drives of footage of superhuman Jersey Shore endurance event?  Surely a great sense of purpose in verifying this monster Time Suck.

The Worlds Largest Margarita was made in Vegas last year.  2,125 gallons of tequila, 708 gallons of  Triple Sec, 5,667 Gallons Margarita Mix, plus 22,267 limes. The drink took 6 months to plan and a few days to make.  Anybody want to wager how many flies and bees meet their maker in that Margie?  I bet a few crows took a bath in Davy Cuervo’s Locker, and maybe a couple undocumented laborers didn’t make it out either.  A watery, salty grave, on the rocks, indeed.  You could have made 181,333 12-ounce drinkable margaritas, or one disgusting one.  Congrats!

As far as the World Largest Ham Sandwich is concerned, once you slather mayo on the bread, and spend the next 6 hours constructing it in the hot Mexico sun, that sammy has turned.  What is a sandwich if it is no longer edible?  “Yes, Mr. Fook, your complaint is noted…”

In the pursuit and encouragement of making and breaking records, I believe The Guinness organization has been a real wind drag on the human race.

What used to be a fairly noble pursuit by the makers of Guinness Beer (yup, same people) to catalog the most extreme and impressive things on earth is now about 1 second concerts, fist pumps, and giant inedible sandwiches.  And take the greatest record you could possibly hold, the record of Oldest Person Ever To Live.  A real testament to the tenacity and will of Man, to suffer and survive.  Do you know how that person is enjoying their reward?  That person is dead.

 If it weren’t for the two fat ass twins riding those motorcycles from the 70’sImage  the whole book would be utterly useless.  But those twins are fucking awesome.  Or were, until they died of swallowing motorcycles with their buttholes.  Wait, another record!

Only In Tucson #1

Yo!  Most likely you’re here because you’re a fan of Fook Music Mornings on KFMA.com, but for whatever reason you decided to check out FOOK ME, thanks!  We’re going to talk about funny stuff, music stuff, and life stuff.  I hate to start out with a WTF moment, but it’s been happening a lot lately, and it seems to happen Only In Tucson.

Only in Tucson #1:

I admit I don’t have a great name for this phenomenon:  When you’re driving and you glance at a pedestrian, they catch you looking at them, and then they stare back at you like you’ve just lobbed a flaming bag of dogshit at them.  In one knee-jerk stare, they’ve said it all:  “You want some motherfucker?  I’m right here, on the side of the road.  And if you want to make an illegal U-turn and park somewhere close by, like maybe in that Petco parking lot, I will totally kick your ass.  That’s right.  Nobody glances at me.  I own this sidewalk.  How dare you.”  In most cities the Ped is just your run-of-the-mill Punk, an angry young dude with nothing better to do.  That’s fine; I worked landscaping once, and I didn’t like it either.  But in Tucson, it’s not just the young punks that do the Pedestrian Skull Bore. PSB? Its EVERYONE.

Yesterday I had a mother whip around and give me the finger after I checked her out for a good half-second while sitting at a stop light.  She was pushing her kid in a stroller past the $2.50 theatre on Oracle. I guess I had it coming.

Day before that I noticed a middle-aged guy with a shirt on with some sports team logo that I didn’t recognize immediately, so I held my gaze for an extra beat.  When I looked back in the rear view, he had turned completely around, starting walking backwards, all so he could make that dual hand chop at his crotch at me.  Clearly, I screwed up.  I apologize.

Even Grandpa, retired and spending his golden years in the Foothills, wearing the Blu-Blockers and taking the Rascal Scooter to the Circle K for some whole milk, takes me on.  He craned his neck completely around to eye-fuck me while nearly running himself into the wash.  Why the hell wouldn’t I take a moment to look at an octogenarian flooring it at 13 mph with a wicker golf hat and tank top that said “Get Off My Lawn?”

And if you’re PSBing me, cut it out.  I’m just trying to get home to the pool without being nailed by a speeding camera.  Chill out, dicks.

Got a better name than PSB?  Please comment below.