Sunday, March 25, 2012

Oh the horror!

Today, my son misidentified Take It On the Run as a Beatles song.

Three of the Fab Four just rolled over in their graves.

Oh, Ringo's not dead?
Someone tell his eyes.

My friend Elizabeth is going to drive her happy behind all the way from Connecticut and burn my house down unless I rectify this unfortunate situation. Despite being perfect for pretending you're an 80's front man while booking 75 on the highway, on no planet does REO Speedwagon sound like the Beatles.

No way, no how.


It's a long way to the top if you're going to rock n roll, especially if you can't tell one era from another. I wonder if Dewey Finn might be willing to live in my sewing room for a few months. I'm pretty sure I can manage to scrounge up enough Mountain Dew, gummy peaches, and a couple months of WOW subscriptions with which to pay him.


What up? Level 80 paladin the house!

Speaking of 80's front bands, please, please, please explain to me who told Tom Cruise he could be a rocker? He couldn't be mistaken for a roadie and yet someone cast him in the role of a rock god.

Really? I mean really???!?

I'll petition the court myself to get Russell Brand half of Katy Perry's money if it will keep him from selling his soul to a certain Xenu loving pygmy. But clearly it's too late. Instead of gifting Tommy boy with the derision he deserves, Russell is actually starring in Rock of Ages along side Catherine Zeta-Jones and one of the proactive girls.

It's too late for that face, Russell.
You already took the money.

To make matters worse, it looks like Tom Cruise is going to spend the majority of the movie sans shirt.

Tom Cruise:
More effective than ipecac syrup since 1987

It's a shame Justin Timberlake's too busy seducing dukes, romancing penniless writers, and singing about diamonds. Someone needs to bring sexy back again and it shouldn't be Tom "don't mind the lifts in my shoes" Cruise.

"Don't tell him I told you about the lifts."

Sadly, judging by the girlchild's response to the Rock of Ages trailer, I suspect I'll be forced to watch it. At least the music will be good. Too bad my powers of make believe will be challenged and my eyeballs assaulted by Tom Cruise's sweaty nipples. Whatever will I do to clease my brain of such horrific sights?

I'm suddenly feeling a lot better.

1 comment:

  1. Your friend Elizabeth is realizing that she needs to drive her happy behind to Georgia just so my "niece and nephews" have a PROPER Beatles education. Harumphf!