Woe is me

-by Ida

I am mourning a loss of a dearly beloved.
My mp3 player. I lost it. Pure sadness.

Morning traffic used to be enjoyable; I’d dance and sing and (attempt to) rap (e.g., “cruising down the street in my 6-fo’ jockin the bitches, slappin the hoes” ). I’d get odd glances from old ladies in Cadillacs and air-blown kisses from middle-aged Hispanic men. My hands rarely made contact with the steering wheel (which makes this post) even more puzzling.) How will I survive? (Au contraire, the odds of my survival probably skyrocketed. Goddamnit.)

If I sit in silence, I can hear myself think (oh, the horror!) so I automatically reach for the radio dial, but the music playing is the same crap I heard last time I tuned in (months ago). The songs repeat in an endless loop; in fact, I find the commercials to be more entertaining. What’s the impetus for this endless repetition of music that lacks any apparent quality? Like everything else in this “great nation“, it’s the mula that drives the system. A radio station, like any other enterprise, attempts to maximize profit. How does a radio station make green? By earning a pretty penny for allotting time slots to advertisers. However, in order to attract advertisers, it must first attract listeners. And how does a radio station manage to attract listeners? By appealing to the masses. Who constitutes this “mass“? Brainless twits. How does one get a brainless twit hooked? By repeating the same twenty shitty, but catchy, ballads over and over, until they sink in. I’m sure radio stations get some kind of Costco-esque royalty discount as well. Double whammy.

(Holy moly, I just caught my self singing “my hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps”. Downgrade.)
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Speaking of catchy tunes, try this one:

This is the song that never ends,
Yes, it goes on and on, my friend
Some people started singing it not knowing what it was,
And they'll continue singing it forever just because—

Gotch-yaaa poophead!