Up until going abroad a few months ago (in a place with not-so-great toilets, as it were), I had a really hard time dropping a deuce anywhere but home. It wasn’t that I couldn’t; in a high stress, emergency scenario, I was perfectly capable of using a public toilet. But it was never a comfortable experience, and despite my recent maturation, pooping in a public place is still something of a trying experience for me.
It may well be that I am alone in struggling to drop trou in public restrooms. I have a hard time believing that I am #foreveralone, but even if we say for the sake of argument that I am, I’m still sure that everyone, I mean virtually EVERY man, woman, child, and other, prefers to poop in comfortable circumstances. It’s why dogs prefer the grass to the sidewalk, why cats prefer anywhere but the litter box to the litter box (wait no that’s because cats are total dicks nevermind).
If you are an avid Sherman Ave reader, then you likely have seen our line by line analysis of Macklemore and Ryan Lewis’s chart topping hit “Thrift Shop.” Or if you are a casual reader you have probably seen the article too–it’s our most viewed article of all time, which just speaks to how fantastic the song is.
Thrift Shop has achieved many firsts in terms of its chart performanc. It was the second ever independent song at number one and held that place for 6 weeks, and its reign would have lasted into perpetuity were it not knocked down halfway through its tenure by the Harlem Shake, because apparently Youtube clips of a song count towards a song’s total plays. But really have you listened to more than 30 seconds of Harlem Shake? If you have then you definitely didn’t do it a second time. That song sucks.
How could we as a society commemorate a song that brought irony to the forefront of the mainstream, that brought a generation together through identifying with a culture it doesn’t really understand, that pissed off your friends from Seattle cause they knew about it when it came out (that was back in last August. When Todd Akin was still culturally relevant). How do we honor it? We better Kidz Bop this mothafucka.
So the new Macklemore & Ryan Lewis album The Heist just dropped and basically it’s fucking awesome. I’ve decided to take a look at one of the more remarkable tracks off the album, “Thrift Shop.” Here now begins a lyrical analysis of the above song.
“What, what, what, what, what….
From the outset, the listener’s curiosity is piqued, building into the sexy saxophone hook.
I’m gonna pop some tags/ only got 20 dollars in my pocket
Limited by a frustrating, Obama’s America budget, Macklemore, speaking through Wanz, is nevertheless determined to refresh his wardrobe with some novel accouterments.
I, I, I’m hunting, lookin’ for a come-up/ This is fucking awesome.
The artist is unable to contain his excitement as he searches for a surprise new fashion trend, which he himself shall inspire. Certainly, the pleasure lies in the pursuit.
Walk into the club like what up, I got a big cock/I’m so pumped, I bought some shit from a thrift shop
Fast forward now to a moment in which Mackelmore’s newfound discount “swag” is already prominently on display at a discotheque. His braggadocio—or is it genuine honesty? —well suits his fresh duds. Macklemore now confirms our suspicion: that his fantastic fur coat came at a discounted purchase, and that he derives excitement from that fact.
Ice on the fringe is so damn frosty, /The people like “damn, that’s a cold ass honkey”
Macklemore ascribes his incredibly rare and valuable discovery as something akin to a diamond, or “ice,” which, when found “on the fringe,” or outside of the conventional realm, is especially “cool” or “frosty.” The extraordinary nature of his find has the crowd’s attention and respect.
Rollin’ in hella deep, headed to the mezzanine/Dressed in all pink, except my gator shoes, those are green. /Draped in a leopard mink girls standin’ next to me/Probably should have washed this, it smells like R. Kelly’s sheets
On his way to the entresol with a number of disciples, Macklemore reveals that his fur coat was only an appetizer to something much greater. For him, pink is not for cancer supporters, little girls, or real men. Rather, it is for those who would dare to demonstrate a remarkable sense of style and, further, to be shod in the skin of a deadly fresh-water predator. Adorned with additional super intensely awesome animal skins and fine women to boot, Macklemore suddenly discovers the chink in the armor (LOLJeremyLinLOL), his very own Achilles’ Heel. For all the grandeur of his garb, his perfume is not so sweet. Nay, it is reminiscent of a certain R&B artist’s alleged proclivity to relieve himself onto young women, to “turn [their faces] into a toilet seat, as it were.[1]
Pissssssssssssss/But shit, it was 99 cents. /Bought it, coppin’ it, washin’ it.
Highly effective onomatopoeia precedes Macklemore’s unapologetic explanation for the scent, as well as his willingness to address the issue at a future point in time.
‘Bout to go and get some compliments passin’ off in those moccasins/Someone else has been walkin’ in, but me and grungie fuckin’ ‘em/I am stuck in a closet and savin’ my money/And I’m hella happy, that’s a bargain, bitch.
Here, Macklemore documents further instances in which he demonstrates observers’ appreciation for his second-hand style.
Imma take your grandpa’s style, imma take your grandpa’s style, /No, for real I asked your grandpa, can I have his hand-me-downs?
Now Macklemore turns on the listener. He’s going to steal YOUR grandpa’s style. OUR COLLECTIVE GRANDPA’S STYLE. Technically, since both of my grandfathers are dead, I’m exempt from all of this. Still, he’s taking our entitlements. OUR OBAMA-GIVEN ENTITLEMENTS.
The lord’s jumpsuit and some house slippers, /Dookie brown leather jacket that I found diggin’. /They had a broken keyboard, I bought a broken keyboard/ I bought a skeet blanket, then I bought a kneeboard.
Don’t ask what a skeet blanket is. Seriously, don’t. Well, you don’t really need to, since I guess it’s pretty fucking obvious. Not sure about the need for a broken keyboard, that just seems wasteful, but maybe Macklemore likes fixer uppers. But a kneeboard? Oh hell yes. Way better than tubing or waterskiing. Also good if you suffer from paraplegia.
Arguably the funkiest white man since Michael Jackson
Hello, hello, my ace man, my mello/John Wayne ain’t got nothing on my fringe game,
Hell no! I can take some pro wings make ‘em cool, sell those/ The sneaker heads will be like “Ah he got the Velcro.”
When I first heard these lines, I thought Macklemore was saying that John Wayne had nothing on “my French gay Elmo.” I like my version better. Fringe game makes a lot more sense though. Also, Velcro on shoes needs to come back. Laces are the worst.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, lookin’ for a come-up
This is fucking awesome. (x2)
What you know ‘bout rockin’ the wolf on your noggin/What you knowin’ about wearing a fur fox skin/I’m digging, I’m digging, I’m searching right through that luggage/One man’s trash, thats another man’s come-up. /Thanking gran dad, for donating that plaid button-up shirt/‘cause right now I’m up in here stuntin’ I’m at the Goodwill, you can find me in the Benz, /I’m not, I’m not, I’m not searching in that section.
This is the part of the song that separates the dedicated lip-syncing sing-along assholes from the rest. These lyrics aren’t particularly remarkable except that they’re delivered so rapidly and so stylishly. I gave up just reading through this section. I do like the idea of a wolf on my noggin though. But according to Macklemore, I wouldn’t know anything about that.
Your grandma, your aunties, your momma, your mammy, /I’ll take those flannel zebra ‘jammies secondhand, I’ll rock that motherfucker. /They built-in onesie with the socks on the motherfucker.
Macklemore is going shopping with the females of your extended family. Further, he’s going to take that snuggie fad and turn it on its head by bringing back the adult onesie. Wait, did that already happen? I guess it hasn’t happened with USED onesies yet. Certainly not flannel zebra onesies. Personally, my feet always got too hot when I wore a onesie with the socks on the motherfucker. I felt that way as a 2-year old, I still feel it now. Macklemore can keep his zebra onesies.
I hit the party and they stopped in that motherfucker. /They be like oh! That Gucci, that’s hella tight. /I’m like Yo! That’s 50 dollars for a t-shirt. /Limited edition, let’s do some simple addition, 50 dollars for a t-shirt, that’s just some ignorant bitch shit. /I call that getting swindled and pimped, shit. /I call that getting tricked by a business. /That shirt’s hella dough/ and having the same one as six other people in this club is a hella don’t.
Peep game, come take a look through my telescope/Trying to get girls with brands, then you hella won’t. /Man, you hella won’t.
Macklemore now engages in an extended, poignant rant about the unreasonable, even criminal costs associated with modern style. 50 dollars for a t-shirt, indeed. The modern textile industry, evolved from its horribly abusive and exploitative relationship with cheap labor, has now begun to harmfully manipulate consumers. Not only is modern style too expensive, but with it also comes a lack of creativity. What brand could compete with the originality of Macklemore’s thrift shop-inspired style? Chumps who sport brand names certainly cannot keep up with Macklemore’s romantic talents, piss-smell and all.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, looking for a come-up
This is fucking awesome.
I wear your granddad’s clothes, /I look incredible, /I’m in this big ass coat, from that thrift shop down the road. (x2)
Wanz now adds to the chorus, implementing the previous information about taking your geriatric elder’s style. Not only will he take said style, he will look really fucking awesome in it too. Get it? Fucking awesome? Yeah.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, looking for a come-up
This is fucking awesome.
Is that your grandma’s coat?
Well, is it?
*Credit to RapGenius.com for its passive assistance with interpreting the lyrics and also intuiting certain concepts/phrases that my honky ass cannot comprehend. [1] NOT GUILTY BETCHES. I’m a grown ass man, amirite?
Rumor has it that Churchill fathered his successor to the throne of Badassery, Morty Schapiro
The study of history is, in many ways, the study of humanity. From kings and heroes to slaves and cowards, history provides us with an unrivaled view into the inner workings of the human mind.
But never has any historical figure kicked quite as much ass as Winston Churchill.
Let’s start off by investigating what the man had to work with. On the pros side, he was born the grandson of the seventh Duke of Marlborough. Aristocratic blood? Check. He was enrolled in the best schools. Education? Check. He was a brilliant politician. Acumen? Check. Oh, he also beat the Nazis. Awesomeness? Check.
Now for the cons. That school he was in? He hated it and got bad grades. Good GPA? Not check. He was fat…and rude…and a bit of a drunk. Winning personality? Not check. At the time of his political achievements, he faced a weak parliament and a weaker aristocracy. Strong support system for confronting foreign difficulties and interacting with the power-hungry, vicious Nazis? Not check.
The man was born with five-pound jowls
So to recap: Winston Churchill was born rich, but balked at any attempts to civilize him beyond what was required to find and light cigars, and—who could forget?— jimmy open the liquor cabinet. He then went off to the Royal Military College where he had the option of enrolling in either the cavalry or the infantry. He chose the cavalry. Why? Because it had a lower grade requirement and he hated math. Here was a man who had his priorities straight.
At that point, his father asked that he transfer to the infantry, to which I can only presume Winston replied: “Suck it.” Whatever his exact words, he stayed in the cavalry for some time until he got bored—again I can only assume because he was too bitching at everything for his regiment to handle—at which point he became a journalist and war-correspondent. Even more awesome (if such a thing could be possible) Churchill then went to Cuba to follow a conflict between Spain and the Cuban rebels, where he learned about cigars. His response was reportedly to blow smoke in the face of the Spanish General Ramon de Not-As-Mind-Blowing-as-Churchill. As history has taught us, this ended the war then and there.
But while his early life was too grandiose for words, it was Churchill’s later life that cemented his place as history’s greatest badass. You see, Churchill’s greatest quality was this: he was fucking hilarious. Yes, Churchill played a central role in the defeat of the Axis powers and the preservation of Great Britain beyond the bombing of London. But all of that nonsense pales in comparison to his rollicking contributions to insult comedy.
This image was captured moments after Churchill listed off the gut-wrenchingly filthy sexual activities he had engaged in with Stalin's mother
Though Churchill’s insults can — and do — fill entire books, some of them stick as even more groin-grabbingly funny than others. When asked about his opinion of Neville Chamberlain (who some of you may remember as the dickwad who tried appeasing the Nazis as British Prime Minister before Churchill), Old Winston had this to say: “He looked at foreign affairs through the wrong end of a municipal drainpipe.” In other words: “That dude is a shitface.”
On cultured people, tubby had this to say: “Cultured people are merely the glittering scum which floats upon the deep river of production.” What a baller.
Still, as funny as Churchill was in general, he had two particular adversaries with whom he had supreme moments of insulting hilarity: Lady Nancy Astor, member of Parliament and second-class comic, and playwright George Bernard Shaw.
We’ll start with Shaw. Both intellectuals (Shaw of the kind that actually does things of artistic and literary merit, and Churchill of the kind that makes fun of those things), the two often enjoyed exchanging witticisms. Shaw, no real fan of Churchill’s, thought it might be funny to send Winston a pair of tickets to Shaw’s newest play, Major Barbara. Accompanying the tickets was a short note: “Have reserved two tickets for opening night. Bring a friend, if you have one.”
Now, at this point, any lesser man would have accepted the truly hilarious burn at face value. Not Chubby Churchill. He wired back—in a moment where even God himself spit out his top ramen in laughter—”Cannot possibly come first night, will attend second, if there is one.”
Awesome.
Onto adversary number two: Lady Astor. The two had a long legacy of mocking one another, Astor for Churchill’s rampant alcoholism and obesity, Churchill for Astor’s general bitchiness. Who can forget this exchange:
He usually only needed one of those fingers to properly express himself
Astor: If you were my husband, I’d poison your tea.
Churchill: Madam, if you were my wife, I’d drink it.
Again, awesome. But these clashes of wits pale in comparison to a later insult. One particular evening, Churchill came to a party visibly drunk and irate, so much so that a Mrs. Bessie Braddock quite publicly remarked, “Mr. Churchill, you are drunk!” But Winston, drunk or not, knew a challenge when he heard one. After shouting “Challenge Accepted!” he looked the offending woman in the eye (or chest, as Churchill was not one for manners) and said: “Yes, and you, Madam, are ugly but tomorrow I shall be sober and you will still be ugly.”
So yeah, no one rocked the house like Winston.
Some more Churchill insults for your consideration:
Young man (after seeing Churchill leave the bathroom without washing his hands): At Eton they taught us to wash our hands after using the toilet.
Churchill: At Harrow they taught us not to piss on our hands.
[Referring to Arthur Balfour] If you wanted nothing done at all, Balfour was the man for the job.
The British Prime Minister after single-handedly clearing Juno Beach during D-Day
Churchill: Madam, would you sleep with me for five million pounds?
Woman: My goodness, Mr. Churchill… Well, I suppose… we would have to discuss terms, of course…
Churchill: Would you sleep with me for five pounds?
Woman: Mr. Churchill, what kind of woman do you think I am?!
Churchill: Madam, we’ve already established that. Now we are haggling about the price.
And now for the winner:
[Referring to Charles De Gaulle] He looks like a female llama who has been surprised in the bath.
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