Alas, poor Yorrick, I knew him Horatio. By the time Juliet got done banging Romeo, Hamlet and King Lear, there was no one left for her to conquer, except maybe the Merchant from Venice, but ya know, age difference and all. We Tamed the Shrew during the Midsummer Night but it was hotter than a day trip through the many many levels of Italian prose.
STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!
What is your major malfunction?
I will not have you quoting gobs of Shakespeare to the washed and squeaky clean masses on this blog. This is a highly respected Joe Lunchbucket type of blog, and there is no room for pseudo intellectual malfeasance.
Excuse you?
You heard me. Now, get it on with it, or I'll pull your creative license and make you live out your worst nightmare.
Nightmare, Gracie?
Speechwriter for The Donald.
That, my useless compadre, is not a nightmare. A four year old wired out on five pounds of sugar can slap together two pages of gibberish and it wouldn't anti-matter. That's strike one.
Spokesman for Hillary Clinton.
You can pull a homeless drunk off the street, clean him up, slap a bottle of Jim Beam in his hands and stick him in front of a microphone. He'll make a hell of lot more sense than Hillary. That's strike two.
I got it! I got it! I got it! Songwriter for Justin Beiber!
Please, that is not a nightmare. That's easy money. I can learn three chords, borrow an electric piano and hammer out ten songs, each one containing lest than 25 words, all on a variation of one single theme. That's strike three. So now you get to suffer your worst nightmare.
What's that?
This:
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
The preceding post is a sterling example of what happens when the logical side of the brain attempts to muscle in where it doesn't belong, manly the man cave of creativity: he gets taken back to ye olden woodshed for a "meeting of the minds".
My name is G.B. Miller, and I approved this drive-by Bch slapping of my common sense.
(c) 2015 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved.
Oh my that's one of the worst performances I've ever heard!! Cringe!!
ReplyDeleteI've heard spoken word done better, and I think my eye was starting to twitch.
DeleteAs bad as Shatner's rendition is of "Rocket Man," his version of "MacArthur Park" is even WORSE!!!!
ReplyDeleteBe glad I didn't pull out his version of Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, or a duet he did with Ben Fold of Ben Folds Five back in the 90's.
DeleteBut ya gotta give him credit. He's willing to spoof on his bad singing.
Funny, G. :)
ReplyDeleteThankee....I do try my best from time to time to entertain everyone.
DeleteHave I told you my William Shatner story? My husband was seated next to him at a sushi bar in L.A. 15 years ago or so. They were having a great conversation until my husband decided to pull out his William Shatner impression. At that point, ole Bill gave a forced smile, turned his back, and completely ignored him for the rest of the meal!
ReplyDeleteI'm sure it wasn't funny then at the time, but it definitely sounds funny now in hindsight.
DeleteYeah, right. "Singing". At least Justin B. can carry a tune.
ReplyDeleteTrue dat. But spoken word does have its advantages. Not here, but elsewhere.
DeleteMy ex from high school, who at the time was (I thought) a hardcore musician, just directed a music video for Justin Bieber. I am retrospectively embarrassed. If possible, I would go back in time and not date him!
ReplyDeleteMy daughter cannot stand Justin Bieber, so whenever she gets out of line, I threaten to buy some and play it.
DeleteOr sing, which can be much worse.
Okay, brief music story. Former co-worker used to play in a band (a very good bass player). Saw him play once. The singer sang in monotone, just slightly worse than William Shatner.