(This is another entry in the series of things we always thought were okay and inoffensive, but have turned out to be horrible, following my complete smackdown of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, found here. Herein I extensively and exclusively reference the song “Please Come to Boston” by Dave Loggins. If you are unfamiliar with it, you will find nothing wondrous in what’s to follow. Please seek out, and then return here for the vivisection. That is all. In fact, here, watch this, then read, if you like. Sorry about the crap, homemade YouTube quality.)
Also known popularly as the “I’m the number one fan of the man from Tennessee” song, “Please Come to Boston” is the sort of sappy love song that is pretty much forgettable as soon as it ends, but people generally hold in good opinion. I’m no music critic, it might be the greatest slice of music genius since “Minnie the Moocher” and I wouldn’t know it. I can say “It’s catchy” or “It’s got that cool funky beat” or “I can relate to 99 Problems, cause my bitch ain’t one!” but I can’t really break it down further than that.
However, musicality aside, I’ve got a pretty serious problem with “Please Come to Boston.” There are a lot of facts presented in this piece of work that show without a doubt that a) this guy was absolutely right to get the hell out of Tennessee in the first place but b) presents no reason why he even still communicates with this harping shrew of a woman. Let us begin at the beginning. Continue reading
With vaccine shipments in short supply or going missing or ending up in the wrong hands, the government had no choice but turn to the semi-retired, but long battle-tested defense against illness and poisoning, Mr. Yuk, last week.
Meghan McCain finds herself embroiled in controversy this morning after posting a picture on popular social networking site Twitter.com yesterday in which she holds an Andy Warhol biography and smiles, clearly implying she enjoys it. The wildly sexy McCain, contributing writer for the website 
“Incredible!” posted McDeetzey. “With a YOWZA body and killer smile like @McCainBlogette has, you think she’d know better! Warhol was a hack!” 
WASHINGTON D.C. – A group of historians polled by Georgetown University has named Barack Obama the best President in the history of the United States. Not wanting to be seen as premature, a spokesman for the group stated that based on what the president has planned for the country, and assuming all campaign and inaugural promises come to pass, Obama’s legacy will absolutely trounce that of all previous occupiers of the Oval Office.
Yep, I’m going to get into the world of crank-‘em-out mystery novels. You know the kind – woman in her forties goes into a bookstore, says to herself that she’s looking for something that “looks like something I’d read.” They hit upon the mystery section – bingo! – find a book that seems to have a pattern in its title, almost guaranteeing an extended trip with the same characters down non surprising roads for many books to come, and next thing you know, this slightly pre-menopausal lady is out on the back porch, reading about some taxidermist getting himself stuffed in a department store, populated by wacky employees, and bringing in a wacky detective with wacky neuroses, making for interesting reading and light, fluffy evenings of enjoyment.
As some of you may know, I’m kind of into the Oscars. I like movies, and the other movie awards out there are kind of crap, let’s face it. The Golden Globes? Garbage! People’s Choice? Worthless! MTV Movie Awards? Horrible! So while the Academy Awards are largely self-congratulatory nonsense, they are the best thing going, that gets aired on television anyway. I like hearing what the critics choose in their various groups in December, but until they start airing them on TV with pointless dance routines accompanying, they will not get the same attention from this guy.
Knowingly Undersold 