Blame It On The Boogie
Crap - like the recent Bryan Adams single ‘Have You Ever Loved A Woman?,’ the latest Sylvester Stallone movie Judge Dredd, or the recent Philip Weiss novel Cock-A-Doodle-Doo - can on occasion, be good a thing.
Like a knish in the park or a porno alka-seltzer shower cap, crap can - and will continue to - work wonders for the meandering mindwarp. Be it a messed up son of a gun with baaaaad additood, or a six figure workhorse with a visa down his underpants. Crap's cool. Crap's in. Crap's refreshing.
What's more, it's everything one doesn't need all of the time, and it's everything one needs some of the time.
Problem is, most Americans have fallen in line with the former - the trap of engaging it all the time. Hence the aforementioned examples and the fact that Guns’n’Neuroses have actually sold records. THEY SUCK. Just like new New York Govenor George Pataki and his goomba guns of kill the liberal (mind you, this is a different form of crap altogether - it's called biting the vote that feeds you).
Still, when Mr. Adams sings: ‘’You gotta breath her/Really taste her/Till you can feel her in your blood,’’ you can bet your bottom Maple Leaf that thousands of men throughout the western hemisphere actually believed him. This explains why Cosmofuckinpolitan sell the amount of magazines they do: cause thousands of men - in both a tizzy and a fit of lust - charged out to Macys to purchase a device with which to ‘’breath a female.’’
A cross between an ill-fitting pair of shoes and the Poseidon Adventure, said device is responsible for much of today's divorce rate, not to mention the selling of Jackson Browne albums.
Then there's good ol' Sly - stooooopidity personified.
Signed, sealed, delivered, he's yours. In a cape, in movie house near you. Talking like he's never talked before - like a fuckin stone.
‘’Court's adjourned’’ says he, at the end of Judge Dredd. ‘’Not a minute too soon,’’ says Caryn James in the June 30th edition of the New York Times.
Like a sea monster in drag, replete with speech impediment and Gene Kelly dance routine, crap ruleth all.
Blame it on the boogie or blame it on the housewife, crap - which ever way you look at it - is today's biggest seller.
... a double dose of fox-fart journalism, high-brow enough for the s(l)ick wankers of industry, sexy enough for the office girls of proportional representation (the representation being the chest region, the proportional being the amount of the chest region - as if you didn't know)...
... a double portion of french fries topped with an extra helping of Julie Andrews singing Napalm Death's greatest hits.
... another action packed movie, in which a pumped up prick will save the world with a mere flick of his witty biceps. Crap’s whatever you want it to be, just so long as it isn’t art, just so long as it isn't beauty.
