Thursday, April 17, 2008

The Most Unwanted Song

      Hardcore is great but honestly, he's a bit of a computer nerd.  And I think that he will probably admit that.  So when he IM's me with the line "I hate the internet sometimes, Dave." I know that there must be a serious situation afoot.  Upon further inquiry, I discovered that Hardcore was about 10 minutes into listening to the worst song in the history of the world (a.k.a. The Song).  A song that was delivered to him by the Internet.  If you want the Internet to deliver it to you click here.  But I wouldn't recommend it to you.  It's terrible.  Now all that Core wanted was some solidarity, some support while he went through his trial.  So I had him send me the link and I jumped in with him, about 13 minutes behind but totally immersed.  And I immediately regretted the decision.
     Click here to go to the website upon which Hardcore found The Song.  They will give you far more details that I am able to, or that I really care to to be honest.  But the basics are this: two Russian d-bags decided to find out what music people don't EVER want to hear and then arrange it into a 25-minute waste of space mp3 of crappy shitpile music.  It's atrocious.  Seriously, I hope that they kept all of their receipts so that they can get that part of their life back.   Because it was wasted away on nothing. NOTHING.  Anyway, like I was saying, I listened to the whole thing, and because I care about you dear reader, I won't make you listen.  I will tell you what's going on while I listened to it.  Because spending 25 minutes bashing your temple onto the big nut on the top of your neighborhood fire hydrant would be a better use of your time.  Trying to smoke as many unfiltered menthol cigarettes as you can in 25 minutes would be more productive.  And stabbing your right testicle for 25 minutes would certainly be less painful.  If you don't have a right testicle of your own, just poke at the one nearest you with a dull steak knife.  Anyway, here is the rundown, and it's going to be long.  So sit down.
     The Song opens with a mixture of accordion and old-tyme cowboy music.  First of all, of course that is an awful combination.  Accordion and harmonica?  That's like putting together brown mustard and mayo.  They are fine when standing on their own.  And I am sure that they can be blended together into something wonderful.  But the two lame-o's in Russia decided to pick the two worst musicians in the history of everything to play these parts.  The accordion sounds like what came out when I was messing around with my dad's electric keyboard when I was 10.  In fact, I am pretty sure they had a microphone dropped into my basement rec room and recorded the whole damn thing.  And then the paid the Russian girl I used to know to get me to sign a waiver that I didn't know was a waiver and take it back over to St. Petersburg for them.  Awful.  But that wasn't enough.  These sick bastards take my fake accordion-type solo and they put it over the opening strains of Billy Joel's "The Legend of Billy the Kid."  Why would you do that?  Apparently they didn't have a chalkboard around to drag their fingernails across.  Plus, I am pretty sure that they didn't ask Billy, so that's plagiarism.  And once Billy is done crashing his car into the nearest house I am sure he will realize that he's getting ripped off for the sake of pure evil.  Oh, and then they add just a touch of flute, because they didn't have the time to come to my house and kill me.
     Just as your mind starts to drift off towards the mesas and tumbleweeds of eastern Utah or some other God-forsaken lonely area in the western United States, or to the Pampas if you live in South America, The Songs breaks into an amateur-style rap done by an opera singer.  The Song breaks into an amateur-style rap done by an opera singer.  Yeah, you just had to read that twice.  If you are a little drunk you had to read it four times.  But it's that stunning.  I mean, it's so amazingly inappropriate and terrible and off the wall that even Adult Swim wouldn't air it.  Not even at 3:30am after anime when nobody is still watching anyway.  It is so bad it wouldn't just cause people to turn their TV's off.  It would cause day shifters to wake up and actually turn their TV's on to other stations.   That's how bad it is.  If Adult Swim aired the opera rap, there would be a natural and concerted effort to watch other stations regardless of what they were showing.  And I will stand by that.   Oh and there are bagpipes involved.  I would say more but I can't even comprehend what has already been said.  
     The accordion/cowboy part then joins with the opera singer.  Bad enough.  But then the kids come in.
     I am pretty sure that these are the exact same kids that worked with Pink Floyd on "Another Brick in the Wall (part 2)."  Except for now they are working for the most evil place in the world  - Wal Mart.  That's right.  These young children, whose parents apparently don't love them at all, proceed to sing an ode to each holiday IN SUCCESSION from Christmas all the way through Halloween.  And at the end of each ode they tell me to do all my shopping at Wal Mart.  In between their odes there is a mixture of a tuba, the opera singer, and what appears to be the sounds from a train accident.  But not just any train accident.  That would be too soothing to the ear.  This is like if a French TGV happened to be in Scotland and hit a horse and buggy contraption that was pulled by cats instead of horses and that was carrying a Scottish bagpipe band.  And then a bunch of local schoolchildren saw it all happen, and were screaming because the cats were dead and the train was exploding and the band's kilts were up over their waists and they hadn't shaved anything down there since the year began with a 19.  That's roughly the sound that is in between the Wal Mart commercial sections.   Then the Phantom of the Opera and the Opera Lady walk in.  Together.  Holding hands.  And the Phantom plays his pipe organ and someone pulls out a tuba while she sings the Star Spangled Banner and raps and I die a little on the inside.  And I think that the Phantom has some sort of stroke while he is playing.  Or maybe a heart attack, I can't quite tell.  And that happens between the Wal Mart ads too.  Seriously.  I don't have the time or the energy to make this shit up anymore.  
     Eventually the kids go away.  Thank God.  I hope that they got put in awful foster homes.  No wait, I hope that they were taken to a Chinese orphanage.  They could have been taken to a textile mill circa 1810 for all I care.  I am just glad that they are gone.  But The Song soldiers on.  I don't exactly know what happens next because I really couldn't hear anything over the sound of my own voice.  See, by this point I was curled up in the middle of my bathroom in the fetal position with my head behind the toilet, rocking back and forth and screaming "Make it stop!"  But it didn't.  It wouldn't stop.  So then I went into my garage and shut the door and turned my car on.  But because my garage is so leaky I was unfortunately unable to suffocate myself.  I tried but the garage is old and doesn't seal well, so too much oxygen got in.  But, luckily, I was saved.  See, this song is so awful, so atrocious, to putrid, that it actually affected the structural integrity of the wood in my garage and made the roof fall right down upon me, blessedly knocking me out.  Okay, so that didn't happen.  But you can't even begin to understand how much I wish it had.
     Well, about the time I came to and came back in the living room some pissed off lesbian was yelling at me through a bullhorn about how are government works while a dirty hippie played a flute in the background.  Even the avant garde sect wouldn't claim this shit.  And I think that the worst part of the lesbian yelling at me is that she doesn't even seem to have a grip on reality.  At one point she digresses into just yelling random nouns.  I don't know what the Russians thought they were doing when they put that in there, but in out country they call that Tourette Syndrome.   Apparently in Russia they get a government grant for that.  I'd expect that out of Germany or maybe Sweden but not Russia.  They wouldn't even let a pissed off lesbian have a bullhorn, let alone make music.  And that's how it should be.  Where to these d-bags get off making me listen to that?  And shouldn't the pissed off lesbian be getting to rugby practice or pruning her she-mullet?  Or at least re-lacing her hiking boots?
     Just like most corny, awful songs The Song ends with every character coming by to play, sing, or scream through a bullhorn all together.  In Unity.  What I am thinking really happened at this time was that the FBI had finally figured out that The Song was a threat to basic human well-being and rounded up everyone who participated.  These people then broke into song while they were in the lineup being identified by the remaining shards of my sanity.  My brain at this point was standing behind the one way glass, asking the sergeant "Are you sure they can't see me?  Because I think it was number 1.  And 2.  And 3-12.  They are all guilty.  They all did this to me."  So there they are, all aligned in song, much like Germany, Italy, and Japan were all aligned during World War One.  And despite the fact that I now have my head in the oven and am trying to reach the "self clean" button to turn it to about eleventy billion degrees and put an end to it all I can still hear all those people singing.  But to anyone who has ever seen a musical, or listened to a lot of those all-star-sing-togethers-to-save-the-whales-type concerts you know that once everyone gets onstage at the same time the end is near.  So I took my head out of the oven and gritted out the last bits.  And then finally it was done.  
    But I missed it.  Hardcore was talking about "sweet sweet silence" but I realized I sort of missed it.  The Song was over and I didn't know what to do with myself.  For the last 25 minutes I had lived through what I imagine is the music that they play you while you wait in line at the ferries on the River Styx on your way to the innermost levels of hell and now I didn't know what to do that it was gone.  It's was kind of like that girlfriend that you always fought with.  No matter what you and she were always at each others' throats, and you pretty much hated each other.  And you know that you need to break up.  But once you do you sort of miss her.  You know what I mean?  The Song is like the girl.  You couldn't live anymore with it but now that it's done you just don't feel right.  I couldn't shake the feeling.  It all came into perspective later in the day when I traced the feeling back to general dizziness from the loss of the gallons of blood that were leaking out of my ears.  I knew that The Song was too terrible to have any redeeming qualities at all.
     So that's it.  Now you don't have to listen to the worst song ever made.  And trust me, it is.  It's even worse than "Love Will Keep Us Together."  Way worse.  So don't be a hero.  Don't go listen to it.  Don't fall into a trap like I did.   Listen, if you want to know what war is like, you don't go out and have people shoot at you.  You talk to a veteran, right?  Do don't subject yourself to The Song.  I already did and told you all about it.  What more do you need to know?  Or do you just not trust me and  have to listen to see for yourself?  Well don't say I didn't warn you.


P.S.  Oh yeah, and the whole song manages to be out of tune with itself for the entire time.  Good luck with that, asshole.


     
     

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