Classic as in old/a rerun, but posts were a bit skimpy today so maybe some of the noobs will enjoy this one.
I just got back from a Sam's Club run. I didn't tell my wife I was going because it makes her nervous. I'm an impulsive shopper, so on past trips I've come home with 1000 food service gloves, 30 cans of green beans and a giant tub of 250 pretzel sticks (that was April and my kid got tired of them after 146).
I also once bought several DVDs which, as it turned out, we already owned, so if anybody wants a copy of Syriana or Driving Miss Daisy II: Ass, Gas or Grass let me know.
The food service gloves were for my hands. I had a rash for a while, so my dermatologist gave me some cream to use at night and told me to wear gloves over my hands while I slept. Rubber gloves are too hot, so I saw the plastic ones at Sam's and though, yeah, that dog'll hunt.
They only came in a two-pack of 500 gloves per box, a little more than I need, but whatever. I wore them for about four nights until my wife made me stop because every time I moved in the bed -- which is a lot -- the sound of rustling plastic woke her up.
Besides, she said, I was never gonna get laid wearing those things and looking like a Subway "sandwich artist" or the sad albino bread guy at Picadilly Cafeteria.
So now we have 492* plastic food service gloves; I gave one box of 500 to my friend Danna, a "be prepared" kinda gal like me, and she was excited. I'm still glad to have my 492, because if I ever end up changing diapers again -- god forbid -- I'm gonna use them. (Update: I no longer have to worry about this.)
But I digress. Sam's pissed me off because like so many places I shop, they play the worst music over their loudspeakers and you're stuck listening to it while you shop. Then one of those shit songs gets stuck in your head, and you walk around all the rest of the day haunted by dreck like "Suddenly" by Billy Ocean (thanks, CVS), "Key Largo" by Bertie Higgins (Publix), or, thanks to Sam's today, "Mr. Bojangles" by the Nitty Gritty (Shitty) Dirt Band.
Can I tell you how much I absolutely hate the song, "Mr. Bojangles"? HATE. IT. Always have. Even as a kid I thought it was so GD lame, this ridiculous song about some rotten old scabies-infested bum who dances for nickels to support his gin habit. Who fucking cares?
And then there's the lame-ass lyrics. "He let go a laugh"? WTF? He was squeezing it in like a fart and it slipped out? You let go a fart, not a laugh. Actually, though, since Mr. Bojangles' breath undoubtedly smells like ripe ass, his laughs are like farts, making the connotation appropriate, if not brilliant.
Whatever. The song blows, and I'm rewriting the lyrics. If I have to have it stuck in my head all day long, I'm gonna make lyrics that I like.
The real lyrics (abridged version):
I knew a man Bojangles and he'd dance for you
In worn out shoes
With silver hair, a ragged shirt, and baggy pants
The old soft shoe
He jumped so high, jumped so high
Then he lightly touched down
He said his name "Bojangles" and he danced a lick
Across the cell
He grabbed his pants and spread his stance,
Oh he jumped so high and then he clicked his heels
He let go a laugh, let go a laugh
And shook back his clothes all around
I knew a song "Bojangles" and it sucked my nuts...
For forty years
A lame-ass tune in three-quarter time 'bout some homeless dude
Who gives a fuck?!
He let go some gas, let go some gas
And then he shit his pants
See? Now I don't mind so much when I hear it.
*492 on 6/25/09. 484 on 3/29/11. Another 18 years and we'll need more.