IT CAME FROM HOLLYWOOD!

The conclusion is as inescapable as it is blood-chilling: All of you people are sickos, and show biz is to blame. Centuries from now when the space aliens dig up remnants of a lost civilization, they'll listen to our tapes and realize that we deserved to perish. And a darn good thing too.

A riddance, a riddance, a pest!

It's not just karaoke -- there was a regrettable incident involving 'The Piano Man' a few days ago -- but, more recently, my apartment mate learning all the words to a sickening ditty.


I'VE WRITTEN A LETTER TO DADDY

I've written a letter to Daddy
His address is Heaven above
I've written "Dear Daddy, we miss you
And wish you were with us to love"

Instead of a stamp, I put kisses
The postman says that's best to do
I've written a letter to Daddy
Saying "I love you"

I've written a letter to Daddy
Saying "I love you"


It's from Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, a blockbuster with Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, which gave impressionable people nightmares from 1962 onward. My apartment mate has watched it obsessively several times, and I'm sure she's doing the same thing that she did with Valley of the Dolls years ago. Which must count as one of the worst movies of all times, with dialogue and lyrics that are cringe-worthy. Heck, the story is pretty putrescent also. Faugh.

She watched so often she could recite it verbatim.
Act all the parts, and sing all the songs.


A sample, to give you an inkling.

I'LL PLANT MY OWN TREE!

I’ll plant my own tree and I’ll make it grow.
My tree will not be just one in a row.
My tree will offer shade
when strangers go by.
If you’re a stranger, brother, well so am I.
Come tomorrow all that I see is my tree,
oh, Lord, what a sight.
Let someone stop me and I will put up a fight.
It’s my yard so I’ll try hard
to welcome friends I have yet to know.
Oh, I’ll plant my own tree,
my own tree,
and I’ll make it grow.

My tree will not be just one in a row.
My tree will offer shade
when strangers go by.
If you’re a stranger, brother, well so am I.
Come tomorrow all that I see is my tree,
oh, Lord, what a sight.
Let someone stop me and I will put up a fight.
It’s my yard so I’ll try hard
to welcome friends I have yet to know.
Oh, I’ll plant my own tree,
my own tree,
and I’ll make it grow.


Good lord. What does that even mean? Who wrote that bollocks?

The only thing possibly even worse than either of those are the various texts to the Pippi Longstocking songs, but thank heavens that kind of twaddle does not appeal to my apartment mate. I can only imagine how awful life would be if she developed a fascination, but as Pippicrap doesn't involve bad acting and psychotic women, there's no danger of that.

[Please note that I provide no clickable links to the Pippi Longstocking movies Or songs. You are on your own, I shall not quote. Good luck.]

If there was ever a reason for Comic Sans Typeface, it is crap like the lyrics above. Surely no songwriter would wish to have this on his résumé, these are not achievements to be proud of. Or even known for. Claim insanity, expunge, and deny they ever existed instead.

My apartment mate is singing.
Breakfast is a horrible time.
I blame Hollywood.





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