Dictionary.com has, to my surprise, a definition of the slang term hold my beer. Wedged between hobnocker ("a piece of construction equipment similar to a jackhammer, but sometimes used as an insult because it sounds dirty") and holler ("to shout, say hello, or hit on") resides the familiar-to-memers phrase. Among the many explanations about what this term means and how its typically used is this bare bones summary; "On the internet, hold my beer is used to make fun of decisions that are seen to be bad..."
Why, might you ask, did I look this up? Welp, in the prior blog post, I lamented quite a lot about what I feel is an especially terrible number one song. I bemoaned the lyrically awful "Abracadabra" and wondered how such unlistenable music could become so popular. And then, well, the randomizer did its thing for this week.
What a hobnocker.
Sigh. Welcome to my nightmare.
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| They don't make television like this anymore |
Disco. Is there anything worse? Really. I'm serious. It ranks excruciatingly high on the overall list of most repugnant man-made creations ever. And, to be honest, I think it qualifies to be up near the top. Somewhere just above Peeps but barely below televangelists this dreck belongs. Just miserable, unpleasant garbage.
(If I haven't been thoroughly clear yet, I'll say it plainly. I don't like disco. Did you get that so far?)
In terms of musical genres, it is the first pillar in the four-post foundation of tunes I cannot stand. It finds its place among the likes of new country, psychedelic 70's, and that damn Mexican music with the jaunty accordian. What is that stuff called, and why can't it be played at a decible level below insanity-inducing?
But, really, while I find those other three styles irritating, none of them hold a candle to the contempt I feel for disco. It is brutally cheesy and utterly souless nonsense. There is nothing good to be pulled from it. Not the instrumentation, nor the lyrics, nor the style. I'd listen to pretty much any other song rather than this week's number one.
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| Suddenly this guy doesn't seem so bad, right? |
However, I have to review it. Somehow. The blog requires it. I can't just light my computer on fire and walk away to avoid this reality. I can't! Well, my wife says I can't (shh, I'm still thinking about it).
Anywho, I have to consider other options. Real, non-burn-y ones.
Harrumph.
In the past, as a way to augment my reviews, I'd run various tunes through an array of song translators. Different languages, real and imagined, were used. That seemed like a possible path through this current morass. If I could take this shit and pass it through some kind of machine, maybe a nugget of...not shit would come out the other side.
Still gross, but not shit.
Thus, I tried that, using the always helpful Fun Translations site. And, in keeping with this week being a celebration of all things Star Wars (happy May the 4th to all my nerdly nerd brothers and sisters), I thought, well that's the way to deal. Let's take the worst creature in the galaxy, pictured above, and allow his ear-splitting tongue to take a stab at improving the worst single. Will this repackaged tune be packing them into Mos Eisley's for years to come? Let's see!
Here's only the chorus, in Gungan:
"How deep is yous shu, how deep is yous shu
How deep is yous shu?
Mesa really mean to learn
'cause wesa're liv in a world of fools
break us neb when desa all should let us be
wesa belong to yousa and mesa"
Nope. Nope. Nooooooooope. Still shit.
Shit.
I struggled to find another way through this post's chart topper. Fortunately, the news brought me one. A deadly one!
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| what's in a name? |
This week, while virus madness continued to take hold and throttle this country with equal parts illness and ignorance, a new menace appeared. Not of the phantom variety, the murderous one!
Now, I'm not going to link to any stories about this deadly critter, which apparently just popped up in the state of Washington (hello neighbor please put up a giant screen door along the Columbia River thanks!). It is a terribly large and vicious bug, and quite frankly, there's enough yuck and angst to read about in this country without seeing a graphic depiction of how this mini monster will destroy us all.
That said, it did give me an idea for how to deal with today's tune.
Let's take a focused gander at a particular aspect of this singing group. Ignoring for a moment the music (if only I could), let's look instead only at the band's name. Bee Gees. Pretty weak, right? I mean, bees are fine, but throwing a gee in there really takes that poor insect down a few pegs towards passive place. Who's gonna be impressed or scared by that sort of thing?
Certainly not a murder hornet. In fact, you could almost say that a murder hornet is exactly the opposite of a bee gee. An antonym, if you will.
And I will.
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| MC Skat Kat knows opposites attract. He is all knowing. And creepy. |
The only way to review "How Deep is Your Love" is to reverse it completely. One hundred and eighty degrees. We're taking the lyrics from this particular piece of top selling treacle and flipping them onto their dark opposites. I can't review shit. But I can review the opposite of shit, which is...well...hmm.
I'm not sure.
Let's find out! With help of the creatively named Wordhippo.com and significantly less adorable Antonym.com, we're going songwriting. Doing an exact mirror version of the tune would very likely be akin to crossing the streams (crossing the streams is bad Egon), so I'm not gonna go that far. Instead, I'm bringing only some of the more pertinent actions and nouns to opposition town.
Here before you is the world premiere of the opening stanza and chorus from the inverted number one smash from the hottest and most dangerous new band; The Murder Hornets:
How Shallow is Your Hate
I know your unbelief in the nightfall dark
I feel you avoid me in the standing aridity
And the age that you stay in place near me
I want to extinguish you with my body again
And you leave me on a winter calm
Keep me cold in your hate, then you loudly arrive
And its me you should suppress
How shallow is your hate, how shallow is your hate
How shallow is your hate?
I really chance to unlearn
Cause we're dying in a meagerness of brains
They abandon me and you
I can hear the guttural growl of lead singer Hugo Gibb (the forgotten brother) already. Now that's music, Volume 666!
With that done, I sincerely hope the next hit dispensed my way is something I at least slightly enjoy. Internet? Please? Come on, I'm hollerin' here!
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