Blogs Are Stupid

Doesn't anyone believe in Dear Diary anymore? What happened to the joy of putting actual pen to paper? And why does every ordinary Jane and John think they can write well enough to burden the world with their scribblings? It’s a mystery that badly needs solving. My first entry contains my thoughts about blogging and will set your expectations. The rest will probably be stream of consciousness garbage, much like you’ll find on any other blog. Perhaps we will both come away enlightened.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

File This Under "Only in the South"

If you are young and hip, or, like me, are ancient enough to have adolescent children who are all about being young and hip, you have heard the new Fallout Boy Song, "This ain't a Scene, it's an Arms Race."

I have to admit, it's a pretty catchy little song, even if I have to be philosophically opposed to it due to the explicit lyrics. Still, I did authorize the download for my son. What? Like he doesn't hear a thousand times worse stuff at school. You would not believe the stuff adolescent boys talk about when they think nobody is listening. But that's another post for another day.

I will also admit that I downloaded it onto my own iPod. But don't tell my kid. I will also admit that If I were a teenage girl, I would be SO into Pete Wentz.

Aaaaaanyway....

Last night I went for a short jaunt to the drugstore to procure cold meds for Husband (for which, by the way, the only information I did not have to provide was first date of my last period) I didn't bring my iPod, so I was forced to listen to the radio for all of ten minutes.

They were playing "This Ain't A Scene....". I was humming along waiting for chorus, because it's the only part of the song I know the words to. I opened my mouth to belt out the undeniably profane, but inexplicably enjoyable refrain....

This Ain't a Scene, it's a GOD-DAMN Arms Race


Only to find that the radio station had overdubbed the "God" part. It completely threw me off and totally killed my groovy vibe.

Apparently, in the South, profanity is just fine, but blasphemy is indefensible.

You see, singing about women being delicious and tastey ("Fergalicious") and killing and rape and gang violence aren't at all offensive, but taking the Lord's name in vain....now that's serious.

I thought after 20 years, I could no longer be suprised and/or mystified by the arbitrary parameters that seem to drive the Southern exegesis of morality and politesse in wholly secular mediums.

I was wrong.

I was going to put the video in this post, but once again I am foiled by Blogger. What was once a simple matter of copying and pasting the embed tag from youtube, now apparenlty requires an advanced degree in computer programming, software engineering, and possibly astrophyics. So instead I will just post the lyrics, which, I would like to make known, was not as straightforward an endeavor as one would think given the currently user-unfriendly state of Blogger's dashboard.

This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race
Fallout Boy


I am an arms dealer
Fitting you with weapons in the form of words
And I don't really care, which side wins
As long as the room keeps singing
That's just the business I'm in

This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
I'm not a shoulder to cry on, but I digress
I'm a leading man
And the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate
I'm a leading man
And the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate

I wrote the gospel on giving up(You look pretty sinking)
But the real bombshells have already sunk(Primadonnas of the gutter)
At night we're painting your trash gold while you sleep
Crashing not like hips or cars
No, more like p-p-p-parties

This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race

Bandwagon's full.
Please, catch another

I'm a leading man
And the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate
I'm a leading manAnd the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate

All the boys who the dance floor didn't love
And all the girls whose lips couldn't move fast enough
Sing until your lungs give out

This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it’s a god damn arms race
This ain't a scene, it's a god damn arms race

I'm a leading manAnd the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricateI'm a leading manAnd the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate


Obviously, this song will bring about the downfall of civilization.

Jesus. Oops, I mean....Deadair.

5 Comments:

  • At 3:26 PM, Blogger Oh, The Joys said…

    Don't mess with God, right?!

     
  • At 5:27 PM, Blogger Mamma said…

    Let's not focus on real problems when we can worry about what people are saying about god.

     
  • At 8:41 PM, Blogger Fairly Odd Mother said…

    They can say damn over a drugstore muzak system? Wow, just what I want my kids to hear (yes, they hear that at home, but I say it much nicer)! And, I thought all those crazy pictures of bald Britney on the cover of the magazines was odd enough.

     
  • At 6:09 PM, Blogger MrsFortune said…

    I love this song! And yes, as an 8th grade teacher, I most certainly WOULD believe what adolescent boys talk about when they think nobody is listening. It's actually provided me with hours of both BEmusement and AMusement.

    I think they probably do that edit everywhere, not just in the south?

     
  • At 10:20 AM, Blogger Natalie said…

    It is edited in Chicago also. Typically God is not edited unless it is followed by a damn.

     

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