That graffiti painted on the wall in the Blurred Lines video is blinding me in retrospect and now I forgot what I was going to post. Damn.
It seems to me that if you have to spray paint Robin Thicke has a big dick on the wall in a creepy music video the entire world will watch, with the possible exception of Saudi Arabia, (because you know countries are people too as in Russia keeps calling me), it probably isn’t all that big. The dick, I mean, not the country. Not that I have any personal knowledge of said dick.
Plus the song, Blurred Lines, causes a really nasty sticky earworm. It’s so unrelenting that out of desperation I was forced to play the entire soundtrack of Evita over and over again in my head (Yeah, I’ve got the entire soundtrack stuck in there)– which, prior to Blurred Lines, caused the worst earworm of my life. I thought I’d have to have, like, electric shock therapy or massive injections of anti-psychotics to stop it. Took three or four days for Evita to finally override Blurred Lines and then I had to use Phantom to erase Evita, Cats to erase Phantom and Dr. Seuss One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish to erase them all.
If there’s ever a Grammy awarded for earworms, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Robin Thicke will have to share.
And I think there’s something wrong with my parenting skills because I had to explain twerking to my kids. Parents aren’t supposed to know this stuff. My kids should be explaining twerking to me.
Besides, there are two surnames in this entire world that make me feel like I’m about to have a seizure. Thicke happens to be one of them. The other belongs to my mother’s friend. Can’t post it here because I’m too polite and I might have a seizure. See what you did, Robin Thicke? Now I’ve got her name stuck in my head along with, once again, Blurred Lines.
Don’t cry for me, Argentina….
And from Bart Baker: