Ice Insults My Intelligence

Yesterday I tried a bland, boring advertisement for my new blog.  (Click here to visit.)  The new blog showcases a side of myself you don’t often see on Bumblepuppies… namely the hardcore academic side.  Around here, you get the humor end of business and that’s probably what you’d hope for from the ever popular gratuitous advertisement from me.

So, I’m trying again.  This time, I’m taking a page from the future and from the past.

My new blog, The Blacklight Candelabra, will offer writing challenges and I’m composing this post in response to a writing challenge.   Since you can only hide a brain inside a zombie’s mouth (and I choose not to do that), you might call that my professional side to some extent.

But then again, I was Freshly Pressed this year for writing a musical parody.  This is closer to the person my oldest friends would recognize and it’s the person my regular readers are most familiar with.  I suppose it’s also what makes my arrogance endearing to everyone I meet.

With that in mind, I offer you a breathtaking musical rendition of quality marketing material for my new blog.

To the tune of:

Yo, Bumblepups, let’s kick it!

Blacklight baby
Blacklight baby
All right dogs
The candelabra’s up now
Pups is back with a gift for your diction
Ideas grab a hold of you weekly
Shoot like a harpoon quick and meekly
Will it ever stop?
Yo, I don’t know
Turn off the lights and I’ll glow
To the extreme I’ll rock your blog like a vandal
Light up the cage and free your brain, it’s no scandal.
Write!
Light up the candle and glow
I’m feedin’ your brain like philosopher Rousseau.
Deadly, when I write a cruel challenge ’cause
Anything fluffy and light does not move paws.
Love it or leave it
You better gain brains
You better hit bull’s eye
The pups don’t play
If there was a problem
Yo, I’ll solve it
Check out the blog while my big brain evolves it

Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the

Now that the zombies are jumping
With the new year in and the brain cells are pumpin’
Quick to the point, to the point no faking
I’m saving them brains like a golden kraken
Saving them if they’re so quick and nimble
I go crazy when I see you’re dismal.
And the bloggers with a souped up tempo
They’re on a roll and it’s time to plead nolo.
Buildin’ up your 4.0
With my kitchen here so your brains can grow
The zombies on standby
Waving just to say hi
Did they stop?
No, they all passed by
Kept on pursuing to another space
They busted a left and they’re heading to the next blog
That blog is dead.

Yo so I continued to Candel… hey! Blacklight Ave
Brains were smart answering all my topics
Zombies expelled, visiting the tropics,
Jealous ’cause I got all the brains
Play with a rage and attention is all mine
Ready for the pings on the back
The pings are acting swell because they’re full of great acts
Blog posts rang out like a bell
I grabbed all nine
The information gels.
Hopin’ for the pingbacks real fast
Logged in again, was not aghast
Topic to topic, the blog will be packed
I’m tryin’ to bring some friends before zombies attack
Zombies on the scene?
You know what I mean…
They’ll pass us up, and mesmerize all the dope fiends.
If there was a Zombie
Yo, I’ll kill it
Check out the blog while my big brain distills it

Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the

Take heed, ’cause I’m a lyrical poet
The puppy’s on the scene just in case you didn’t know it
My blog, that disposed of all the brain fog
Enough to shake and kick holes in a dog
‘Cause my blog is like a chemical spill
Feasible thoughts that you can vision and feel
Conducted and formed
This is a hell of a concept
We make it hype and you want to step with this
We play through the days, slice the zombie, hell oh yeah!
Cut like a razor blade so fast
Other bloggers say, “damn”
If my blog was a drug
I’d sell it by the gram
Keep my composure when it’s time to get loose
Magnetized as I write while I kick my juice
If there was a Zombie
Yo, I’ll kill it!
Check out the blog while my big brain does fill it.

Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the
Blacklight baby, Visit the

Yo man, let’s get over there.
Word from your teacher.

Blacklight baby
Too cool
Blacklight baby
Too cool too cool
Blacklight baby
Too cool too cool
Blacklight baby
Too cool too cool

 

The Blacklight Candelabra: Protecting Your Brains from Zombies in the Coming Year

Cats Insult My Intelligence

I’m going to get in so much trouble for this, but here it goes anyway.

To the tune of “You Can Call Me Al” by Paul Simon:

A man walks down the street
He says, Why am I soft in the middle now?
Why am I soft in the middle?
Defendin’ my home is so hard.
I need a guard cat with sharpened claws.
I want a shot at some safety.
Don’t want to end up a young guy
In an young guy graveyard.
Cute felines, cute felines,
Cats in the moonlight
Come upon my well-lit door.
Abyssinian, ‘ssinian
Get this cat in here with me
You know I don’t find this crime
Amusing anymore.

“If you’ll be my bodyguard
I can fill your dinner bowl.
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me,
You can call Meow.”

A man walks to the fridge
He says, Why am I short of some chicken?
Cat wants a little can of some chicken
And now my nights are so long.
Where’s my fish and milk carton?
What if she starves here?
Who’ll be my protector
Soon as my protector is
Gone, gone?
She’ll duck back down the alley
With some roly-poly little bobtail guy.
All along, along
There were incidents and accidents.
There were hints and allegations.

“If you’ll be my bodyguard
I can fill your dinner bowl.
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me,
You can call Meow.”

A man sits on his couch
In his house on a bad road.
Maybe it’s a bur-guh-lar.
Maybe it’s the cat’s first defense.
She doesn’t care to engage,
No cares in the world.
She is a lazy cat.
She is surrounded by the spoils, the spoils:
Burgers from the marketplace
Litter box and lots of cool toys.
She looks around, around.
She sees gunfire in the living room now.
Purring in infinity
She says, “Hey man, now bring me tuna!”

“If you’ll be my bodyguard
I can fill your dinner bowl.
I can call you Betty
And Betty, when you call me,
You can call Meow.”

Edward Snowden Insults My Intelligence

Russia seems to play a prominent role in current events these days.  We have their anti-gay policies, their annexation of Crimea and desire to take over all of the Ukraine, and their harboring of Edward Snowden.

Yes, this “hero” Snowden thought for some reason that certain other countries might be more admirable in their actions than the United States.  While I’ve expressed negative thoughts about the NSA actions he revealed, I don’t quite get why he didn’t contact someone on the Senate Intelligence Committee (for example) who, if I’m not mistaken, has a legitimate right to learn that information and the power to perhaps slow the abuses.

Have the abuses slowed?  I thought not.  And now he gets to see lots of worse stuff in Russia.

And so, inspired by Snowden’s naive belief that foreign countries act for the common good instead of in their own national interest, I would like to present a song.  You may recognize it as a parody of the Tears for Fears classic:

Welcome, Comrade Ed.
There’s no turning back.
Even while you sleep,
We will use you:
Acting on your information,
Glory be to Russian Nation!

Everybody wants to rule the world.

It’s our own design.
You’ll have your remorse.
You helped us decide,
Helped us take the most
of freedom and of treasure.
Ukraine could not last forever.

Everybody wants to rule the world.

There’s a room where the Feds won’t find you,
Full of mice ‘til the walls come crumbling down.
When they do, I won’t be behind you.

So glad we’ve almost made it.
So sad you can’t now trade it?
Everybody wants to rule the world.

I can’t stand your dear old country.
It is ruled by rabid monkey.
Everybody wants to rule the world.

Say that you’l never never never never mean it
when you say borscht is spleen! It
is not what we’ll use to rule the world.

The world’s freedom and its pleasure
Can no longer last forever.
With your help we will soon rule the world.

Peace Insults My Intelligence

Suffering builds character.

While everyone was busy ducking and covering in the 1980’s and marveling over the guy who “did not have sexual relations with that woman” in the 1990’s, too much happiness and cheer were going on.  And then people get all nostalgic about all that “wonderful” 80’s music or 90’s music just because it was playing during all those important childhood moments.

Get over it.

Long-time followers of this blog already know how I feel about the American music industry.  They feed us domestic crap and then they import the smelliest crap (sans flies) from overseas.

And so we get Falco and Ace of Base and nothing truly worthwhile.

Do you know what’s worthwhile?

Pain.

Yes, pain.  And transforming those songs into a more explicit version of the pain that they have caused so many people.

So let’s go back to Falco and the dirty little hit job he did on Mozart.  How did that song make you feel?  Perhaps warm and fuzzy like these guys?

Those of us who always hated Falco’s music have become superior moral beings because we had to suffer through it.  Umbra Et Imago’s improved version would help the more mainstream idiots grow in character.

It’s amazing what those melodic low notes can do for a song and for a few blubbering fools.

And then there’s Ace of Base.  I will not bore you with any description because I’m sure that the band has bored you enough already.   However, I will provide you with a lovelier version of an Ace of Base song so that you might truly understand what it means to be an ace:

And once you become wise like me, you will find that the heavy discordant notes now sound normal and you’ll need something different to prevent yourself from becoming a mindless zombie follower of your new musical love.

This is why God invented duets.

Just find the best approximation of your favorite Brazilian death metal band and dummy up the most unlikely musical partner for them…

Now that’s a song that would have been worth losing your virginity to all those years ago.

“Normal” Music Insults My Intelligence

I’ve noticed quite a few bloggers around here participating in a “25 Days of Songs” challenge.  It looked interesting but it seemed rather idiotic to dedicate 25 posts to a single topic… especially since I only write 3-4 posts per week.

Fortunately, I now have an excuse to do all 25 days in a single post.    And fortunately for you, I do not intend to be completely truthful here.  I think we should have some fun with this, don’t you?

And besides, I’ve been meaning to showcase a bunch of (mostly) arcane music you’ve never heard of.  A few titles are well-known but a couple of them experienced much-deserved deaths.  Hopefully violent ones.

1- A song from my childhood

Ummm… did my childhood ever end?  I guess it must have ended because I didn’t choose to embed the official video that includes a bunch of snakes eating a guy’s flesh in super-graphic detail.  Sounds like a cheerful childhood, huh?  Anyway, this is track one on the first non-English-language CD I ever bought.

2- A song that reminds me of my most recent ex-girlfriend

Just because it would piss her off if she knew I’m the one writing this, here’s a little gem from Russia:

3- A song that reminds me of one or both of my parents:

Dad never skimped on the Jewish humor with his officially non-Jewish children.  (People who discriminate against Jews classify me as Jewish… and that makes for an especially fun job search. )  Anyway, humor:

4- A song that calms me down.

Because I love the NSA and feel most calm when I am under constant surveillance, I have to go with this largely forgotten classic:

5- A song that is often stuck in my head

A Belgian girls’ choir singing Rammstein?  Absolutely!  How could you possibly get that off your mind?

Continue reading

Russian Teddy Bears Insult My Intelligence

Ever since the Olympic opening ceremony, people have been complaining about how the mascot looks drunk, how it gives children nightmares, how it destroys the Olympics’ intended spirit.

Here’s the cute little perpetrator:

Photo courtesy of the Presidential Press and Information Office via http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2014_Winter_Olympics_opening_ceremony_%282014-02-07%29_01.jpeg   It has been cropped from its original version.

Photo courtesy of the Presidential Press and Information Office via http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2014_Winter_Olympics_opening_ceremony_ %282014-02-07%29_01.jpeg (It has been cropped from its original version.)

I’m sorry, but this fellow doesn’t seem like a worthy opponent for Godzilla, or even for a three-year-old boy.  In fact, he kind of looks like a more adorable version of Dick Cheney… which means we should expect a couple of heart attacks if the bear continues getting all that exercise.

Heart attacks don’t scare children, especially if the victim is furry and cartoonish.

That ain’t right.  The Olympics deserve a mascot who can inspire the masses to emulate the athletes, namely in that they end up moving very very quickly.    And I will skip over the tired old jokes about Russia… you know, the ones that lampoon how everything in Russia seems drunk and belligerent.

I prefer not to pursue such cheap humor on this blog.

Instead, I would like to introduce a more suitable animal who should have been chosen as mascot.  Meet Dvar the bumblebee, a veritable VIP in Russian cultural circles and connoisseur of warm weather.

This image was slightly modified from the original on "Oramah Maalhur."  The bee is unchanged.

This image was slightly modified from the original on “Oramah Maalhur.” The bee is unchanged.

Oh, and he sings too… this entity so great that he was once rumored to be a creation of the almighty terrorizer of children, Michael Jackson.

He reveals himself in dreams to the anonymous band that adopted his name and they distribute his musical revelations to the world.  What better symbol could have emerged for an event named after the residence of ancient gods?  And the singing even sounds like it came from a children’s show.

All hail Dvar!

Elvis Insults My Intelligence

Good afternoon.  I’m thrilled to be here today.

My name is Elvis Presley and I’m originally from Tupelo, MS.  I know, I know, you think I’m dead.

As you can see, I’m not dead.  I currently live on a remote tropical island in the South Pacific where legions of servants wait on me hand and foot.

It’s good to be the King.

You need to see things from my perspective.  I was getting old and fat, so my agent decided that I needed to disappear.  The fans will forgive you for becoming a drug addict, for getting arrested multiple times, for doing almost anything under the sun except become old and fat.  My waistline bulged and my face had begun to wrinkle.  If I could have swiveled my hips like in the old days, my sagging testicles would have swung and whapped some poor gal in the audience.

Music fans clamor for a different wrecking ball.  Flying genitals are considered acceptable at 19, creepy at 40, and gross at 79.  Ageism at its finest…

But back to my story.  To keep the income flowing in, I retired to this island.  The whole hoopla around “Is Elvis dead?” kept my name in circulation far longer than it deserved to be.  Armies of performers still don my clothes and hairdo while kids who think Metallica is ancient line up to get married by me.  And every time someone imitates me, I get a royalty check.

And don’t forget the memorabilia and tickets to Graceland and everything else you can spend money on.

I’m rolling in the dough because death’s aura conquers all.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/00/Memphis_national_cemetery.jpg

This is the Memphis National Cemetery.  I ain’t here.  (Photo credit: Thomas R. Machnitzki)

Since I’m so generous, I shared my wisdom with my ex-son-in-law, Michael.  No one was buying his music and radio stations refused to play anything by him.  No one wanted to do anything that would funnel money into the hands of a child molester.  But as soon as he “died,”  people could only remember the controversy surrounding his death.  His music reemerged that week and it sells very well on iTunes.

That’s right, kiddies.  Drugs are okay.  They can get you forgiven for greater crimes.

Michael joined me here and we plan to grow older and die on this island.  We can do it because you’re all so stupid.

Thank you.  Thank you very much.

Knowledge Insults My Intelligence

Everybody must get stoned.  (No, that’s not why I’m unemployed but thank you for assuming the best.)  With that in mind, today’s post comes with some inoffensive musical accompaniment:

I had this song in my head all through lunch and for a while before that, so naturally I thought you should join in the fun.  It’s always a pleasure to infect people’s minds with a melody they can’t get rid of.

Yes, I enjoy plotting evil while I eat.  The TV blasts awful shows while I partake of food so I prefer to burrow deep inside my head.

And on the topic of evil, I once took the opportunity to learn what the title means in English.  “Stoned Satan.”  It’s not stoned as in the symbolic Muslim remembrance but rather stoned in the pharmaceutical sense.  I also checked out the band’s name, which means “Hammer of the Underworld.”

So… I bought instrumental music with innocuous cover art and still managed to land some unholy content.

Yippee!

Seriously, though, I don’t like explicit evil in my music.  And I haven’t looked up any more song titles by this band because I want to continue enjoying them in peace.

Since it’s all instrumental, “not knowing” the titles will also make it suitable for work when I find a job.

Broken Promises Insult My Intelligence

See?  I said I’d be back at the end of my last post.

And silly me!  It seems that I forgot to tell you who the band is.  (The title of this post is “Broken Promises Insult My Intelligence,” not “Lying Insults My Intelligence.”  Very important distinction… )  They’re a Tuvan group called Yat-Kha.  In case you’ve never heard of it, Tuva is located in southern Siberia near the Mongolian border.  The language is Turkic in origin and the culture more closely resembles Mongolian than Russian.

And the vocals, a longstanding art form, are known in English as throat-singing.  Here’s an unofficial video of a song and I’m sure you’ll agree that they don’t growl their lyrics:

Reality check: someone who was “desperate” to join the Western mainstream would not sing so much of an English-language song in Tuvan.  (This was one of the songs the review cited as desperate-sounding.)

And in the interest of full disclosure, here are links to the reviews I mentioned in my last post:

(the main review)

http://www.theguardian.com/music/2003/may/09/popandrock.shopping4

(the second review)

http://www.theguardian.com/music/2010/oct/28/albert-kuvesin-yat-kha-cd-review

And the picture in my original post was of an instrument that Yat-Kha sometimes uses in their songs.  It’s called an igil.

Lastly, I promise not to be so obnoxious in the future until it suits my purposes again.  The Weekly Writing Challenge wanted me to leave you hanging over a cliff this time around.  I hope the view was nice and that you have not become flattened like Wile E. Coyote.

Unless you taste like pancake…

Meep meep!

Music Reviews Insult My Intelligence

I don’t have enough time right now to do a full post, but I need to vent.

Earlier today, I discovered an old review for a band whose music I received for Christmas.  The band is not Western and they incorporate aspects of their local music traditions into their work, including so-called “wild” rhythms.  (“Wild” is according to the reviewer.  I’d sooner say “unfamiliar.”  )  The results will astound you.

However…

The reviewer needs to learn a few things.  He claimed that the band sounded good when recasting traditional songs but not so much when they moved towards original Western-style works.  He even goes so far as to say they seem “desperate” to become a part of Western mainstream music.

We all know everyone’s goal is to be like us, right?

But then again, he describes the traditional singing methods as “strange” (in a different review) and “growling,” so I suppose he must have started out with a few prejudices already implanted.

Trust me, that singing ain’t growling…

And unfortunately, I’ll have to stop here.  (Sorry to leave you hanging.)  Once I’ve got my ducks in a row, I’ll post links to the articles and a youtube video if I can find one.  In the meantime, please accept my sincerest apologies and a really cool picture I found.

File:Igil oktober saya front view.gif

(Photo credit: Johanna Kovitz)

Unfortunate CD Covers Insult My Intelligence

I’m feeling inspired today by a couple of recent posts about terrible CD covers over at the muscleheaded blog.

I’d like to add a pet peeve of my own to this: the gratuitous use of pentagrams for music that isn’t satanic.  (That’s satanic, not santaic.  Christmas is over.)  It makes the music harder to find because American sellers fear it and, once it is found, buyers like me experience profound difficulty when explaining the purchase to unenthusiastic friends and family.   Since people are inherently superficial, many would prefer to judge a book or CD by its cover… especially when it comes to anything that might influence their soul’s eternal resting place.  Picky, picky, picky.

I’m done pontificating, so here’s the first CD cover:

Die Prophezeiung

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This CD is about as Satanic as Dante’s Inferno.  However, you can’t really get anything by this musical group in the U.S.  I bought my copies overseas.  And when I wanted to obtain a copy of something that wasn’t even available used, I couldn’t get one despite the fact that Amazon sells MP3 copies on its foreign websites.  I contacted Amazon about it and they apologized for the “inconvenience” and cited vague copyright issues.  I suppose Universal Records can’t afford to be associated with a pentagram in the U.S. market.  (Gratuitous advertisement: I’ve written about this issue before.)

And then there’s “Sex Sex Sex” by JBO, which I also enjoy.

3s

(Tip: the German words for six and sex are pronounced even more similarly than the English words.)

JBO is the closest thing Germany has to Weird Al Yankovic, and who doesn’t love Weird Al, or sex and Satanism rolled into one CD cover?    That surely must make you curious about the accompanying concert tour…

Lives

I don’t own this CD.  I prefer my sexual content to be perfected with all sorts of technological advances.  Anything that’s relatively “unplugged” sounds too much like celibacy.

But seriously… there’s barely any sex in the music.  And so I offer you a song from one of JBO’s later CD’s because it’s in English.  My more theologically oriented readers may want to skip the video but, then again, anyone who made it through the CD covers isn’t too likely to be offended.  I think…

Barking Insults My Intelligence

Once upon a time there was a cute little puppy…

Beagle puppy

Cute little puppy. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Star1

Unfortunately, the puppy had no unique talents.  He knew how to pee and how to bark and how to fetch.  He also knew a few other doggy tricks that made his owners happy, but he didn’t know how to become famous.

Star2

In his sadness, the puppy started howling at the moon and the racket woke up his neighbors.  Soon enough, their door opened and an old, tired-looking man started walking his way.

The puppy was scared.  Very scared.

STAR3

The old man also knew that the puppy had other hidden talents.  For example, the puppy knew how to hump a person’s leg.  “That’s perfect for your first concert tour,” the old man said.  “Just get up there and shake your hips and yelp and you’ll make a lot of people very happy.”

Star4

And that, boys and girls, is where wealthy pop stars come from.