You know the song, of course you do, probably to the point of being a bit sick of it and preferring a deeper Alice cut–Ballad of Dwight Fry or something–but I have a question, Enthusiasts. (And the question is not “Who the hell would trust Alice Cooper with a fucking epee?” even though it really should be.) The item before us is this:
What the funniest line from a non-novelty song?
And I posted School’s Out because, though I’ve heard the tune thousands of times, “WE CAN’T EVEN THINK UP A WORD THAT RHYMES!*” still gets me. Maybe it’s the sheer joy in how dumb, D-U-M, the line is.
So–and bear in mind that I’m still asking you stuff even though you were absolutely no help with the chair/dog/Candyman thing–whatcha got? Remember: no Weird Al or Dr. Demento or any of that AV Club bullshit, plus no Frank Zappa just because I say so.
As always, leave your entries in the Comment Section and, as this is only an exhibition, no wagering.
*Rinseable, invincible (perfect); buildable, interval, pitiful, minimal (imperfect); fanciful, lanceable (not really); splinterful (not a word).
The song’s called Hello, Hooray; it’s a goody and maybe tonight deserves a little big of hoopla. Maybe tonight’s the night the wave began to roll back. Maybe not, but who can tell the future?
If you’re getting your news from me–AND YOU FUCKING SHOULDN’T–here’s how it stands:
- Democratic wins in the Virginia and New Jersey (FUCKING A RIGHT) gubernatorial races.
- Dems take back the VA House of Delegates, including seating the nation’s first transgender politician.
- A ballot measure to expand Medicaid passed by huge numbers in Maine.
Also, Bill DiBlasio was reelected Mayor of New York City, but fuck that over-tall goober.
Yeah, I’ve posted it before. Sue me.
1974: greatest year of all time, or actually kind of crappy except for a few good bits of art and entertainment?
The second one.
I don’t know about that.
Wars, gas crises, revolutions, coups, and the President of the United States resigning under a cloud.
There were some good things about ’74.
Wall of Trump?
DO NOT CALL ME EITHER OF THOSE THINGS.
Get out of here. You’re currently possessed by Donald Trump’s spirit from 1993.
I CAN MULTI-TASK. BESIDES, THAT STORYLINE MIGHT BE OVER.
THERE WAS ONLY THE ONE PHOTOSHOP OF TRUMP’S FACE ON ME.
Oh. Still: leave. I was talking about Alice Cooper.
YOU WEREN’T. THIS IS THE FIRST YOU’VE MENTIONED HIM.
YOU KNOW I DISINTEGRATED DOCTOR GARY, RIGHT?
Oh, he’ll back.
THIS UNIVERSE IS BECOMING A PET SEMATARY.
Hey, kids: wanna see a smoking monkey? 1:40 in to the video. Try pulling that bullshit nowadays. The innertubes would straight up come to your house and murder you, and then take pictures of your body and put Crying Jordan on it.
(Alice Cooper–the band not the guy, but also the guy–doesn’t get enough love. The songs were a lot smarter than they let on, and the guitarists were crunchy and ragged, and Bob Ezrin was the producer for the first bunch of records.)