What is that? Let's Hear It for the Boy? Didn't they burn all existing copies of this song? If you're not familiar, it goes:

Maybe he's no romeo
But he's my lovin, one man show
Woah, Oh Oh Oh


My brain had purged this awful thing years ago... it was never a good song, it hasn't aged well, and doesn't even matter on those awful fucking 80's nostalgia stations. But here it is... piped in on the office overhead PA system. A compelling mix of 60's and 80's pop: how long has it been since you heard Miami Sound Machine? Eh?


One two three four
Come on baby say you love me
five six seven times
eight nine ten eleven
I'm just gonna keep on counting
Until you are mine


I hear it once day, at least. The occasional James Brown song doesn't make up for the two (count em, two) Fine Young Cannibals songs in constant rotation. Every day. And "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."

Just when you're about to slap your forehead and say "They don't pay me enough for this," they move a better sound system into your office. And there you are, listening to Frankie Valli shriek away in his godawful falsetto... I didn't know he recorded a version of I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, but there it is-- and, since there aren't as many christmas songs on the playlist, you hear it, along with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmas Time" (when I heard George Harrison died, I thought "Why couldn't it have been Paul?" Obla-Da, my ass) twice a day.

So, I'm frustrated.

Okay, the music on the PA wasn't the only reason... not even the biggest one, but they did catch me on a ladder, with a screwdriver, going at one of those speakers.

"Um, loner, what are you doing?"

"Well, I figured that, since you can only hear the music if you're directly under the speaker, if I just pop the negative lead off the speaker, no one will be able to tell the difference but me." I'd only gotten one screw out.

To combat my logic, they turned the music up. Now everyone can hear it. This didn't make me any more popular in the office, but... I've never been terribly popular around here. I'm not big on popularity (I think "popularity" is what happens when you finally make yourself bland enough for mass consumption, while still being fake enough to be "cool"), but I just don't inspire love the in three-hundred pound, sitcom obsessed hens that make up the majority of my co-workers.


I found myself the other day sensually wanting my secrety! OK listen up it's a guy, he is openly gay and I love him dearly. But dang if he wears that black suit with the open white shirt one more time I might just have to clear off my desk and try and shang hi his lovely buttox onto it. I really need to find something better to do...oh for pete's sake now here comes Barry Manilow blasting Looks Like We Made It. Yea right! He's definately a liar.


I've got to get that speaker turned off I've sat here now devilishly staring at it thinking nasty thoughts. Even if I play my own music through my computer speakers the top company speaker still drowns everything out. Poor Michael, mixed with I'm to sexy for my shirt playing above, what a wacky consolation.


Anyway the building next door is on fire, we have to get out ourselves for safety reasons. Dam maybe I'll get lucky and the whole electrical sound system of this building will go....hmmm wishful thinking. Anyway I'm off to scamper outside in the rain. blah!