Randomania IV

The long-awaited return of the nonlinear column

It’s amazing to me that Congress is concerning itself with baseball’s steroids policy. Steroids are already illegal, so what’s Congress got to do with it? Well, if you’re normally knee-deep in scintillating stuff like H.CON.RES.95, Title IV, Section 404 (restrictions on advance appropriations for the congressional budget, fiscal year 2006), you’d probably love to take a day or two to yell at Jose Canseco too.

Let me say this, though: If I’m ever reduced to a vegetative state, don’t remove my feeding tube. Leave my feeding tube in and shoot me in the head. I don’t want to starve to death, people, and I certainly don’t want Congress getting involved. I wouldn’t want to distract them from whatever important investigation they’re then conducting, such as whether or not Jimmy Spencer used an illegal carburetor in his two NASCAR Winston Cup wins in 1994.

I like when songs are used for advertising and everything but their catchy, mass-market-friendly jingle is edited out. The latest, and possibly greatest, example is the Royal Caribbean ads that use Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life.” The main part you hear is the “I got a lust for life!” chorus, but I’m disappointed they neglected some of the other lines from the song, like “Something called love, well, that’s like hypnotizing chickens,” or “I’m worth a million in prizes, with my torture film,” or “I’m through with sleeping on the sidewalk, no more beating my brains with liquor and drugs.” Why not include those lines, Royal Caribbean? I, for one, would be more likely to sign up for a cruise if I thought it involved hypnotizing chickens. I can never get them to pay attention to my swinging pocket watch long enough to enter a trancelike state.

Here are some other songs that happen to contain ad-friendly snippets, along with products they could be used for, and the parts they wouldn’t want you to hear:

Ice Cube, “Today Was a Good Day,” for Applebee’s:

Scene: A happy family eating Fajitas con Sizzles to the chorus of “Today was a good day.”

You don’t hear: “Even saw the lights of the Goodyear blimp, and it read ‘Ice Cube’s a pimp.’ Drunk as hell but no throwing up, halfway home and my pager still blowing up.”

Guns N’ Roses, “Welcome to the Jungle,” for Busch Gardens:

Scene: A happy family riding roller coasters and petting elephants to the part that goes, “Welcome to the jungle, we got fun and games! We got everything you want.”

You don’t hear: “Feel my, my, my serpentine” or “You’re gonna die!”

Snoop Dogg, “Doggy Dogg World,” for Purina Dog Chow:

Scene: Happy families feeding happy dogs to the cheery chorus, “It’s a crazy mixed-up world, it’s a Doggy Dogg world”.

You don’t hear: “Ho’s call me Sugar Ray for the way I be stickin’ and movin’.” Or really, any of the rest of it.

Why does it cost so much to rent a tuxedo? Last time I rented one, the bill was $150. This doesn’t seem proportional to the cost of the tuxedo itself. I just looked online and saw several complete designer tuxes for $350. If the tuxedo-rental price structure applied to everything, it would cost $10,000 to rent a Chevy Malibu for a weekend. And yet I don’t own a tux; it just seems extravagant. Will I ever make the leap from Oscar de la Renta to Oscar de la Owna?

I think our greatest weapon in the battle against global overpopulation is Nanny 911. Watch that show some time and tell me if you ever want to have children. Translate that sucker into Hindi and in about 20 years India would look like Nebraska. Of course, other cultures might need a more literal title, but I’m sure you can translate “The World’s Worst Parents” into just about any language.

The other morning I awoke to screaming, cursing and general mayhem. My girlfriend had opened her cell phone bill and discovered her previous month’s charges, fueled by extra minutes, totaled $450. Why don’t cell phone companies have to tell you when you’re over your limit and getting pillaged? There’s a little icon on your phone to let you know when you’re roaming; I propose an icon that lights up when you’re over your minutes quota. It would look like a man getting gored in the perineum by an elk. I mean, for $450, she could’ve rented three tuxedos, for crying out loud. I hope Congress addresses this issue as soon as they’re done with their latest investigation, which shouldn’t take long—everyone knows Popeye was juiced.