CAUTION: EXPLICIT LYRICS

Unfortunately, whenever I come with an idea for a sure-to-be Number One, cross-generational, romantic ballad pop hit, I can never keep the idea to myself, even if for a few days, and therefore many of you already know about this future hit. (okay so this is my first time ever coming up with an idea for such a song, but I can blame the "establishment" since the closest I have ever been to a music legend is when I drive on that stretch of I-65 iutside Indianaplois dedicated to Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds. More exposure= Me being a songwriting guru by the age of 9, even maybe me being the sole male member of TLC)

So far all I have for this song is a title, and even more romantically, I came up with it on Valentine's Day. I envision this ballad to have a nice slow bass line, a romantic chorus, and a soulful delivery like what Usher might provide. So, the name of this song, you ask?

"I Want to Do You in the Butt, P.S. I Love You"

Tell me that one's not selling. It will become the top hit played as first dances at a wedding, the last song at 7th grade mixers, and the first song played by desperate 38 year old virginal men bringing a hooker home for the first time.

If you want to help me out with this, whether it be penning the lyrics, coming up with a melody, or getting it to Usher without having a restraining order placed on me, PLEASE let me know.

I have recently discovered something that I hate and that actually disgusts me, and I am not really sure why as I generally try to be open-minded and not judge others all that harshly (except when they are really dumb. just stop being so dumb. or bad at driving. please improve your driving). With all due respect, I hate watching old people eat. It reminds me of watching my former pet turtle, King Tut, try and gum all his food down. They no longer either have sharp teeth or teeth at all, and just rip off pieces of their food and deliberately chew it. And when you couple this with the fact that some of them smell like cat excrement, I am not really sure what their place is in public venues where others might be eating/drinking/trying to not be disgusted. All apologies old folk. But grandma, if I sit next to you when we are eating a meal, you will know why. (Luckily the g-unit does not read this. And last time I ate with her, I really did sit next to her).

The other day I was speaking with my Mom on the phone, and she had recently let me know that possibly our whole family will be here over Easter weekend, and will be preparing dinner at my house. I asked when Easter was and answered myself by saying "40 days from next Wednesday?" I continued by joking around and saying that I referred to all things in biblical time (where everything happens in 40's, 7's, or 3's...it seems). This is when I came up with the best haughty religious time frame reference that can be used to express never. Let me explain:

From my Catholic grade school experiences and Catholic upbringing (who am I kidding? it has only to do with my schooling and not my upbringing that I know this) I learned some Biblical facts, and one of them was that Methuselah was one of the oldest men in recorded history, reaching an age of 969. So, if you ever want to say that something will never occur, just state that it will occur in a "Methuselan lifetime". Don't want to hang out with someone ever again? Tell them you will see them in a Methuselan lifetime. You think you will quit your job before you finish that big project for the boss, let him know it will be done in a Methuselan lifetime.

Someone, I am not sure whom, left a comment on my last blog requesting an entire section devoted to the anti-gloriness of bosses, and since comments have become few and far between, I am more than willing to oblige with this bit of meter:

Ode to a Craptastic Boss

You suck at giving orders
and make me wish to break at Borders

Your every forwarded e-mail "joke" causes
In my laughter, mucho pauses

Your team building exercises, crap
What would help far more, a nap

You took all the credit for that work
You are a real jerk

8:15 is not that late
Especially for someone of my wage rate

Your criticism sucks
I really couldn't give two fucks

Worst of all you smell,
And you shop at sweater hell

But thanks for the paycheck.


Finally, if it is at all possible, for the next "blog", I would like it to be a mailbag of sorts. Ask me questions, either posted as comments, or sent to my e-mail (tradway@hotmail.com), and I will answer any and all. AMEN HOLLA.