You wanted it folks, and here it is! Side two to the CD of those tunes for that special arsewipe in your life. Here goes:
1. F.O.C.U.S by Jenny Talia from Australia. For those of you who don't know, she is the daughter of Kevin Bloody Wilson. This is her stage name. Say it out loud and you'll understand. If you still don't get it, then focus. In today's text-speak and shortened words and phrases, this is a nifty little acronym meaning Fuck Off Cos Ur Stupid. I'm sure most of us get it, although being old school I see 'cos' and wonder why someone has something against a variety of lettuce that goes well in a Caesar salad, and what exactly is the significance of an ancient city that stood in Mesopotamia. Now that I'm more jiggy with youth-speak, I realise 'cos' is a bastardisation of 'because', and 'ur' is a U and an R, and being a gun on cryptic crosswords I can now associate the homophone 'you are', and it's meaning is now 'you're'. When texting, I will never resort to this. I am not a teenager, I am a fifty-one year old grammar Nazi.
2. 'Don't Expect Me To Be Your Friend' by Lobo. I am not thinking of the broken heart that drives the narrator hereof. I'm just thinking of the title. It goes out to someone I know who has caused untold misery, and we can't go back. Yeah, don't expect me to be your friend. I know the chorus starts: 'I love you too much to ever start liking you...', but I don't know that I've ever even liked the person I'm thinking of when I nominate this little number. Nope, pretty sure I haven't.
3. 'Fuck You' by Lilly Allen. Queen of Straight To The Pointedness. That's all I've got to say in this instance.
4. 'Another Bloody Motherfucking Asshole' by Martha Wainwright. The lass has issues, one might think.
5. 'You're Moving Out Today' by Carole Bayer Sager. I actually rather like this song. Very catchy little number. Not too sure about when she sings 'Your nasty habits ain't confined to bed/The grocer told me what you do with bread...'. Sounds a bit off and makes me think of the urban myth (I will call it a myth because I'm not sure if it's true or not) surrounding a nasty prank played on Glen Matlock of the Sex Pistols involving a hotdog bun type of bread roll, some heated liver, and the, um, DNA of John Lydon after he'd masturbated into it. But back to my own world, the world according to Bingells, this not so much the tale of drastically changing domicile status, but a metaphor for a certain person being removed from my life. Just thinking about Max Von Sydow in 'The Exorcist', and in my mind I'm shouting, 'I cast thee OUT, unclean serpent!'
6. 'There's A Fraction Too Much Friction' by Tim Finn, for the person who's causing the trouble. You know something? This song annoys the living snot out of me. It's so, so twee. I think the Finn boys do some kick-arse lyrics; think 'I See Red' with the imagery of 'down the drain like molten toothpaste/I feel used, and spat out...' Some of you might think those lyrics are a little overblown and venturing into Sondheim territory, but I actually like 'I See Red'. But the song I've nominated for this bilious CD just grates on my everlovin' tits. It's like 'Soul Kind Of Feeling' by the Dynamic Hepnotics in that it is just an annoying mass of cheese set to music, and makes me want to whack it with a flyswatter.
So there it is. You might glean from my last few posts I'm feeling unfavourably deposed. I often am just lately. With good reason.
Also, I am heartbroken. Yeah, I know I've been shitty about certain incidents in my life but there are some things that just defy description and beggar belief. Things like greeting your 12yo son when he walks through the door after school. You ask him how his day went. He says in a querulous voice, 'Sad.' His beautiful face is white. His eyes are huge like those of an anime character, and moist. His mouth is like an upside down letter 'U'. He hands you a note from the school and sits beside you on the lounge. You read the note, and learn a boy in his year took his life on the weekend. Dazed, you blink and shake your head. Surely you can't have read that right. You take a deep breath and read it again, and your throat starts to ache. You hold your son close and his father enters the room. You give the note to his father, who reads it then makes an inarticulate anguished noise of despair and grief. You wonder how is it a just world when a twelve-year-old child feels there is no hope, and this is his only resort. Cyberbullying. Fuck you, you cowardly miserable monsters. I hope you never have a decent day in your lives again. Live with the knowledge of what you've caused, you filthy pieces of waste.
My young one has asked to attend the funeral, and we have said yes. It will help with his own healing. His father will take him, and he and his classmates can support each other in their own way. This will be so hard for him. He's had to deal with his pop's death, but that can be justified: my father died peacefully and quickly of natural causes in his own home, at the age of 86. How do you justify the torment that drove a boy of 12 to do this? Be at peace, beautiful boy. Please find peace, his grieving family.
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