Saturday, May 19, 2012

Flushing Yourself? Kimmy’s Suicide Playlist.


As I’ve mentioned before, I work a crappy job that forces me to endure an adult contemporary/easy listening radio station for 8-9 hours on end. There are no speakers in the crapper, which is probably why I take so many bathroom breaks. Well that, and I drink a metric shit ton of coffee every day. But I digress.

I’ve compiled a list of malodorous melodies that I hear on a daily basis that make me want to gnaw my wrists open, just so I can tilt my head and fill my aching ears with blood to make the suffering stop. While this is in no way a complete list of songs that make me want to kill myself (I should probably seek therapy again), I think if I heard all of them consecutively I would just stroke out and be done for, with no real effort required.


So, without further adoo-doo, here is my collection of songs to commit suicide by for the not-yet clinically depressed:

Manic Monday - The Bangles
I heard this song yesterday. It was Friday. It was FRIDAY, and I had to listen to a 26-year-old song about MONDAYS that wasn’t even good in 1986. In 1986, it was annoying. Now, it causes me to grab the radio and scream “DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT FUCKING DAY IT IS YOU STUPID TWATWAFFLE!” into the speaker—which is just as awkward for me as it is for customers and coworkers. They don’t play Monster Mash in May; so what the hell justifies playing a colon carol like this on a day of the week that isn’t Monday? This is why I can’t take any of those “emergency alerts” seriously, and will probably be sucked up into a tornado someday. And as long as there’s no radio reception inside the twister, I’m okay with it.

Photograph - Nickelback
It was extremely difficult to pick just ONE Nickelback song, as most of their work inflicts me with a burning desire for a massive aneurism; however, this torturous tune has to take the cake for being the ultimate in douchebag ditties.  There’s just one thing I must know before I take a massive hit off this tailpipe—just what the hell is on Joey’s head?

Grenade - Bruno Mars
Would someone throw a damn grenade at this fucktard already? Otherwise, hand it to me. Please hand it to me. Better yet, give me two. One for each ear. I bet the butt-twat Bruno Mars wouldn’t splatter his brain matter for you, but I would. I’d do anything to not hear his whiny ass anthem any more.

Desperado - The Eagles
If you’re a 9 to 5’er like me, you know there’s a daylight witching hour – it occurs between 2:30 and 3:30 in the afternoon, and you’re not sure whether you should grab an afternoon cup of liquid laxative (coffee, for you newbies) or sharpen a pencil to jam into your esophagus. It is during this hour that my local suicide station always plays this song. Now where the hell do we keep that pencil sharpener?

Anything by Adele.
Adele, I want to like you. I really do. You have an “I don’t give a shit that I’m not a supermodel” attitude, a unique voice, and I am automatically drawn to anything English. However, you need to either get laid or lay some serious colon cable, because your songs are fucking depressing. Do you really wonder why that guy left you? “Guess she gave you things that I didn’t give to you…” I’m guessing that refers to a will to live, because every time I hear your voice crackling through the radio mine oozes out of every orifice.

Say  - John Mayer
I’m sure you all (and by “you all” I of course mean both of my faithful readers) knew this shitstain would make the list. Like Nickelback, every one of this turdsicle’s songs make me want to off myself, but this one takes the colostomy cake for being one of the most obnoxiously aggravating intestinal operas I have ever heard. Apparently this douchebucket needs to talk to Alanis Morrisette about the definition of irony, because in this mind (and butt) numbing number he repeats the phrase “Say what you need to say” 40 times. That was not an excremental exaggeration. Forty. Apparently someone else needs to just spit the shit out already… and it’s not me with these painkillers and gallon of vodka.

Fields of Gold – Sting
Similar to the Desperado entry, this song simply sucks the soul out of every poor shithead that has the misfortune to hear it during their workday. It has that cute little lyric “Feel her body rise, when you kiss her mouth,” which just goes to show that even the chick he was trying to impress with this stool strain of a hymn died of boredom and he had to give her mouth-to-mouth. I hope, for her sake, that it was unsuccessful.

California Gurls – Katy Perry
Aside from my obvious colon-clenching contempt at the misspelling of GIRLS (and KATIE, for that matter) this song is more annoying than a rabid, constipated cat in heat. “Daisy dukes, bikini on top” – does that sound to anyone else like she’s wearing a bathing suit bottom over top of her jean shorts? That’s hot. So hot, in fact, it will melt your popsicle. As will any temperature over 32 degrees, but that’s apparently irrelevant. Also, that little “OhhoOHHoohHOhoHOHOHHhh” sound that she makes in every single shitpile song she soils the airwaves with sounds eerily like a 100-and-some-pound chick swinging from the rafters with a noose around her neck. (the “and-some” is none of your goddamn business, thank you very much.)

Hotel California –The Eagles
Yup, the dirty butt birds made the list twice. And overall I actually like The Eagles. But this song makes me want to kill them, and then myself. Save me your conspiracy theories about what this song is about, I don’t care. It’s annoying, and I hate it. I bet this song has dropped a deuce on my eardrums more days of my life than it hasn’t.  And it’s an earturd if I’ve ever heard one. Once it’s in your head….. Well, you can check out any time you want (and you’ll want to!), but it will never leave.

Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
Have you ever heard a goat being anally raped by a horned-up hippo? Well, I’m guessing it sounds a lot like this song, only a little more pleasing to the palate. Yesterday at work I was so fed up with the usual adult contemporary crap (and had almost chewed through a major artery) that I finagled the dial, stood on my head, and strung a strand of paperclips straight out of my ass to pick up the local classic rock station—and they were playing this diabolical dung ditty too. FUCK.



PLEASE NOTE: I do not in any way condone suicide, nor do I think it’s funny. I also do not condone listening to John Mayer. I find these two things to be equally appalling and detrimental to one's well-being.