Whitney

by ANDREW J HICKS

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"I wanna smoke a pile of rocks THIS BIG!"

My generation contains a subset of dorky guys who like girls but have a love for the cheesy adult-contemporary and pop hits of the ’80s and ’90s. I’ve got a friend — loves pussy, loves Michael Bolton even more.

Me, I’ve got musical guilty pleasures out the ass, but I have a special fondness for the Hot Diva Pop of the Reagan/Bush/Clinton years. Music that makes you look gay from women you’d love to fuck. I’m talking about early Mariah, Janet, Vanessa Williams, Paula Abdul, Madonna and, yes, Whitney Houston.

So when Whitney was found dead in a hotel room at age 48 last Saturday, it was a cause for mourning and reflection. There were also many crack jokes involved also. Because, let’s face it — it’s funny.

A coworker complained to me that Whitney was no great legend, that she only had like 6 popular songs. I told him I could name 20 Whitney Houston songs that charted. He didn’t believe me. I rattled them off: You Give Good Love, Saving All My Love For You, Greatest Love of All–

Another coworker interrupted: “How many can you name that don’t have the word ‘love’ in the title?”

I got to 19 Whitney songs and blanked. My general manager, who had arrived around the time I listed Song 13, chimed in, “What about [singing] My Name Is Not Susan“? And I had my 20. How could I have forgotten about the WORST Whitney song ever played on the radio? I started singing, “My name is not Bobby, but my husband’s name is.”

Later, I remembered Whitney’s 1991 live version of The Star Spangled Banner at the Super Bowl. It was released as a single at the height of combat operations during the first Gulf War. You’d better believed it charted. A fourth coworker told me, “You know, at the time, no one had any idea that Whitney lip synched that Super Bowl performance.” I’d had no idea. “Yeah, he said, “saw that one on E! about 6 years ago.”

The weird thing about famous people dying young is, it brings the living closer together, if just in a minor way, for a short amount of time. Whitney, I respect your achievements. I love about 15 of your songs. I even watched your movies. And my coworkers and I had fun remembering you. Rest in peace.

Song Challenge 19: Adult-Contemporary Guilty Pleasures

edited by ANDREW HICKS

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Chicago's "Look Away" video: Hot chick. Fiery explosion. Still somehow boring.

ANDREW HICKS
Okay, I’ll go first. One of my guiltiest of guilty pleasures is Chicago‘s “Look Away.” It’s a Diane Warren song, even (that lady has written some of the worst pop ballads of all-time and become a billionaire in the process), and I love its maudlin gaudiness. The video, on the other hand, looks like an awful version of the depressing first half of a Folgers commercial with pyrotechnics tossed in.

ANNE GARDNER
What does “adult contemporary” mean exactly? Music that appeals to adults or music made by adults? Or both?

ERIC DOHMAN
Any music where you can replace the word “baby” with “Jesus” and it still sounds like it fits.

T. ALLAN CHRISTOPHER
The narrowed-down definition would be: music by people our age for people our age. However, you can look at “past adult contemporary” music as well, which was music for peers in that time period. Think of softer, more R+B-driven non-bubblegum pop. Michael Bolton, Kenny G, Amy Grant‘s secular stuff, Elton John, Billy Joel, etc.”

ERIC DOHMAN
‎“Look away, Jesus, look away…

Do Reacharounds Count?

As close as I get to a smile around here

by PSEUDONYMOUS

Today’s WordPress Topic Of The Day is: “Share something that makes you smile.”

What makes me smile? Nothing. Especially not around here. Here is a blog with 50,000 words, covering an array of topics, and not a shit-stick worth of funny.

The only thing funny around here is Andrew Hicks‘ fetishes with Michael Bolton and Billy Ray Cyrus. Can we please have an article covering something you didn’t masturbate to in the 90’s?

And what’s with this Woo? This fucking tardsmarts really thinks we don’t see through his attempts at comedy? Tag it as satire all you want, guy — we all know you really do suck cock for Facebook access, and have an unhealthy obsession with Verne Troyer. I’m with Kanye West, I’ll be over at The Onion.

New Year’s Resolutions 2011

by WE’RE NOT FUNNY

• Take down all those David Cassidy posters. But not the Hasselhoffs.

• Enjoy life and appreciate all the beauty nature has to offer by staying inside and watching “National Geographic” specials.

• Stop calling every ape we see on Animal Planet “Snooki.”

• Donate more money toward research into curing the world’s most serious diseases – AIDS, cancer and Bieber fever.

• Go back in time to the 1995 Grammy Awards, when Michael Bolton’s “Said I Loved You… But I Lied” was nominated for Best Male Performance. Present award, announcing “The winner is… Michael Bolton!” When he comes up to the stage and reaches for his award, take it back, telling him, “Said you won… but I lied.”

• Help O.J. find the “real killers.”

• Acknowledge that Pin the Tail on the Donkey is not a bedroom game. And apologize for calling our wife a donkey.

• Continue to “like” our own jokes on Facebook.

Men Being Men

by ANDREW HICKS, RYAN KRAUSE and JESSICA STIMSON
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Every now and then, two greats will cross paths and bask in the other’s genius. Picture that black-and-white portrait of President Richard Nixon shaking the hand of Big Old Elvis Presley in the Oval Office. Imagine being the guy on the third barstool the night Sam Kinison and Bill Hicks crossed each other’s paths and traded comedic world-views over what had to be a ton of drinks.

Or how about sitting front row at the 1990 Grammy Awards, when Michael Bolton, Kenny G and the long shiny brass shaft of a Soprano Sax shared the stage for a performance of “How Am I Supposed To Live Without You” that still holds a proud place in adult-contemporary history? Michael Bolton did not leave that night without a Grammy, but I don’t need to tell you that.