Thursday, August 26, 2004

A Modest Proposal

So I'm thinking of starting a campaign to have the Warren Zevon song below officially adopted as the new national anthem if Cheney, Bush, Rumsfeld & Ashcroft are anointed for "4 MORE YEARS!!" It seems to more honestly reflect the modern American value system of greed, corruption, cruelty and oppresion (aka: corporate domination). As fate would have it when I sent out a zippy little appeal proposing this to few friends, Yahoo sent it back to me for using unacceptable language. Thanks John A. "It's a sign. It's a sign." Don't get me started on that one.

I've been hoping for awhile that some fellow Zevonian might pick up on the fact that the intentionally obscure choice of favorite bands on my blogger profile was an homage to Warren and two of his hairy beast numbers -- "Werewolves of London" and "Gorilla, You're a Desperado". Maybe someone did and just kept it to themselves. The truth is I don't think I've acquired that many readers. Poor, poor pitiful me.

Now that reminds me of a funny story. Last summer I lived for 2 months in a house in the 'burbs where there was an exceptional sound system. One morning I was listening to Warren and cleaning the kitchen. I had the music on VERY loud. I was singing, no, shouting along and in the middle of "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me" just after I'd screamed out the lines, "I met a girl at the Rainbow Bar. She asked me if I'd beat her. She took me back to the Hyatt house. I don't wanna talk about it," the old coot evangelical fundamentalist Christian dude who lived down the street knocked on the door. He said he heard the music and was sure I was in there praying and "reverenting" just like he did at his church. I smiled and told him "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was." He left happy and I went back to dancing.

It never fails to amuse me that he showed up at just the moment when I was yelling out those words. Bless the old guy and the poor woman I was living with at the time. She turned out to be in pretty bad shape but I still pray for her in my own way. Is what I do prayer or meditation? I'm still trying to figure that one out.

Anyway, if you'd like to join my little campaign let me know. You can go into my profile and email me. Naturally we'd have to alter the lyrics a bit (go from 1st person singular to plural and such) but I suspect Warren will be laughing his ass off from the great beyond and wouldn't mind a bit. Rules schmules.

Oh man, I heard an hysterical observation about Kerry the other day. Someone said when they met him he had on so much hairspray he posed a threat to the environment - not that you shouldn't support him or anything. When he was here with Ted Kennedy before the caucuses I was one of the few people fighting to get OUT of the room. Poor Ted looks more like a caricature of himself than ever. I think those guys in Devo could have been spokesmodels for Johnson's Baby Shampoo compared to poor Ted and John, apparently. I'd rather not go see Kerry unless it's with my fellow and gallow Billionaires for Bush and let's face it wouldn't we much rather go take a peak at Laura? It's sort of like David Sedaris. Been there. Okay, whatever. The only one I'm really interested in meeting, seeing or conversing with is his boyfriend, Hugh. If he even exists, that is.

Anyway....here are the lyrics to:

MR. BAD EXAMPLE (join my campaign!)

(Warren Zevon & Jorge Calderon)

I started as an alter boy, working at the church
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research
Which led me to a cash box, labeled "Children's Fund"
I'd leave the change, and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund

I got a part-time job at my father's carpet store
Laying tackless stripping, and housewives by the score
I loaded up their furniture, and took it to Spokane
And auctioned off every last naugahyde divan

I'm very well aquainted with the seven deadly sins
I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in
I'm proud to be a glutton, and I don't have time for sloth
I'm greedy, and I'm angry, and I don't care who I cross

I'm Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt
I like to have a good time, and I don't care who gets hurt
I'm Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me
I'll live to be a hundred, and go down in infamy

Of course I went to law school and took a law degree
And counseled all my clients to plead insanity
Then worked in hair replacement, swindling the bald
Where very few are chosen, and fewer still are called

Then on to Monte Carlo to play chemin de fer
I threw away the fortune I made transplanting hair
I put my last few francs down on a prostitute
Who took me up to her room to perform the flag salute

Whereupon I stole her passport and her wig
And headed for the airport and the midnight flight, you dig?
And fourteen hours later I was down in Adelaide
Looking through the want ads sipping Fosters in the shade

I opened up an agency somewhere down the line
To hire aboriginals to work the opal mines
But I attached their wages and took a whopping cut
And whisked away their workman's comp and pauperized the lot

I'm Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt
I like to have a good time, and I don't care who gets hurt
I'm Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me
I'll live to be a hundred and go down in infamy

I bought a first class ticket on Malaysian Air
And landed in Sri Lanka none the worse for wear
I'm thinking of retiring from all my dirty deals
I'll see you in the next life, wake me up for meals

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