Sherman Ave Presents: Ikea Bingo

Ikea is an awful place.  The Swede-founded furniture mega-mart is like some terrible cross between Disneyworld, the Minotaur’s Labyrinth, and your local mattress store.  It is humanly impossible to spend less than thirty minutes inside its walls, trying desperately to navigate yourself through the aisles of Bjurstas and Husviks, all while dodging the inevitable hoards of small children manically gallivanting across your path.  For college students, however, it’s an unavoidable destination: if you need a piece of furniture, Ikea’s gonna have it (simply because of the store’s sheer size); as such, hundreds of thousands of university kids make the pilgrimage through Ikea’s maze-like corridors every summer’s end.

The El at Night: A Poem

Outside the Keg, I loosed a sigh,
The frigid air cut to my core.
“It should be spring,” I dared to cry,
“Still freezing cold! Chi-town! You whore!”

It was past one, a Friday night,
And dark as Tisdahl’s crumpled heart.
I felt my mind flood then with fright,
For I had quite a trek to start.

Though I had drank with all my boys
I had forgotten what I’d known.
For I lived North, At Sherman-Noyes,
And now, alas, I was alone.

I gazed upon the road ahead
Its passage paved with glacial air
And thought, “I would rather be dead,
Then walk the way from here to there.”

But dare I face the other choice?
A risky move at better times!
“Just call safe ride!” rang out a voice!
“Or Anything! Except the El!”

But I ignored that fateful call
And soon I found myself again,
Inside an almost empty hall
Of rattling steel, upon the train.

I say ‘almost’ for there was one
Who sat across the car from me.
He sat as silent as a nun,
His forehead resting on his knee.

“Only two stops,” I muttered then.
“Yes! Only two, and then I’m home.”
Oh hope, how you do toy with men!
Alas, if I had only known!

For as the train began to fly
And travel North, to bare me hence,
This other man, he met my eye
With such a glare to give offense.

And then he stood and turned, and sort
Of slowly, he began to stride
Along the aisle, stopping short
Of where I sat; of where I cried.

For I had seen a dreadful sight!
A sight most terrible and crude.
He was riding the El at night,
Completely and utterly nude!

At last the train came to a stop
At Foster: one stop short of mine.
I lept from my seat with a hop,
And found myself, at 1:09,

Back on the road, to walk the rest.
For I had seen a gruesome scene,
And I had learned that it is best,
To stagger home in moonlight’s gleam.

Remember this! Please hear my cries,
And save yourself a horrid fright.
That comes from seeing naked guys,
Who ride the el here, late at night!

Happy Chick-Fil-A Day: 3 Things that are Actually Destroying the Sanctity of Marriage in America

Hmmmmm……..

Happy Chick-Fil-A day!

First, I’m going to point out that bitching about how someone’s interpretation of the Bible is wrong isn’t going to change their beliefs. Then I’m going to bitch about anti-gay crusaders’ interpretation of the Bible.

“The sanctity of marriage,” according to my translation of some people’s opinion, is a statement that presumably means that marriage is a Rull Special Thang. By letting just anyone marry, it’s not Rull Special anymore. Okay, got it. But the strategy so far (convert every LGBTQ in America by invalidating their feelings and telling them that they’re aberrations?) hasn’t really worked. If we’re gonna go down the road of preserve-marriage-by-making-it-only-available-to-some, we should bar a few others as well. Or just assassinate them, cause I’d be down with that.

1. Bruno Mars
Finish this sentence:

“It’s a beautiful night. We’re looking for something dumb to do. Hey baby, I think I want to __.”

Get Northwasted with ShermanAviators and attempt to pee on every building on campus while singing an impromptu a capella Katy Perry/Adele mashup? No, I’m sure you’re aware that that’s Ross Packingham’s sole purpose in life. Host a Winnie the Pooh-themed squaredance and kidnap someone’s mom because you want an even number to play Flipcup? No, that doesn’t rhyme. Beat the shit out of a homeless dude? Apparently at least three assholes who need to die painfully are into that, but the author and vessel of these words has a much more sinister plot.  Bruno Mars, who according to a recent poll has swiped the v-cards of 35% of teenage girls during their algebra daydreams,* wants to marry you.

…the fuck??

Look, B-mizzle, your name and your voice sound like they belong to a small ugly dog or a European pseudo-manslut. I’m sick of hearing your song about a completely uneventful day. And the assholes in this world who are offended by two people enjoying one anothers’ penises should really just calm the fuck down and be offended by Bruno Mars instead. This Motherfucker is partaking in the drink of the devil and clearly hasn’t asked her father’s permission. I’d mention that love isn’t exactly a central theme of the song, but the sacred kinds of marriage are apparently built on sanctity and not love, or no one would GAF.

Hell, at least Train was going to wait until he got the nerve to say hello in that café.

Hello Cleaveland!!!

2. Kim Kardashian
I wish that, for every small child that was given a homophobic protest sign by a Bigoted Motherfucker, another small child would be given a sign that said, “For the love of whatever God you believe in, stop media coverage of this woman.” While I congratulate her on having an admirable pair of boobies, only a woman desperate for companionship would marry someone who has the word “hump” in his name. She has also casually tossed the idea around of marrying her current beau, and I am convinced that living with Kanye West would be almost as bad as reading Ross Packingham’s Facebook powertrips.

Look, let’s all just agree that the Kardashian family is a few hookers short of a brothel and one letter short of a really fucked-up set of initials. Now who wants to take bets on when the number of how many weddings she’s had will exceed her bust measurement?

3. Anyone in Las Vegas
Enough said.

 

I will conclude this pathetic rant with the semi-relevant words of Commandant Leo Sextoi: “Bitches be too pretentious and uptight.”

 

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is heinous. The other is as though everything is heinous.” – Albert Einstein

 

——————————————————————————————————————————
*second only to Justin Bieber, who regularly performs cunnilingus on young women while they avoid focusing on whatever the fuck their stupid English teacher is saying.

We will have no more of your sorcery, Train: A review of Train’s album California 37

We will have no more of your sorcery, Train.

It seems unfair that this album will probably net more in profits than the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

I’m not sure that Pat Monahan is quite all there anymore. And by “not sure,” I mean he’s completely lost it. And by “anymore,” I mean have you heard the song “Meet Virginia?” (“Smokes a pack a day, but wait, that’s me, but anyways”…what exactly are you smoking a pack of, Pat?) He’s never been completely “with it,” as much as his rapping self would like you to believe. Droppin’ some beats and having a slightly societally acceptable voice does not mean that you are a songster, sir. Lyrics are a big part of the package, and lyrics that make sense usually increase your fan base. BUT WAIT. WHAT’S THAT, INTERNET!? TRAIN IS ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR BANDS OF OUR DAY?! AND THEY HAVE 3 GRAMMYS!?

WTF guys. We did this. We have no right to complain about musicians and kids these days when we made Pattycakes rich. We have been swayed by the upbeat pop melodies and use of the ever popular ukelele, but no more I say. Have you ever actually sat down and listened to a Train song? And actually thought about the lyrics? Well, probably not because you have midterms and friendships and sleep. But I am not human and so I did it for you. This is my review of the newest Train album, California 37, which should actually be called Pulling Random Words Out of a Bag to Make Sentences Now Here Comes the Ukelele!

WARNING: These are actual Train lyrics. I shit you not, friends. Do not be alarmed.

This’ll Be My Year
This is the new “We Didn’t Start the Fire!” JK! But don’t tell Pat that! He pretty much lists all of the 10 famous historical events that he remembers from school, oh did I say historical because he mentions Nintendo along with 9/11. Then he acts depressed. Don’t know how he could be, as he lives in a money house.

–“I stopped believin’, although Journey told me ‘don’t”
Never disrespect Journey like that again. Sit down like a good boy and do as Journey says!

Drive By
This one starts out promising. Got a good beat, seems like it will be a sweet song about a boy meets girl. And it is…sort of. Then we get to the chorus…

–“This is not a drive by,
Just a shy guy looking for a two ply hefty bag to hold my love”
Will single ply just not suffice to hold your metaphysical representation of love?

–“There’s nothing up my sleeve but love for you”
Whoa, whoa, so the two ply STILL isn’t enough to hold all of your love? Shit, dude, you got an extreme case of the LUV.

Feels Good at First
This is where Pat tells us about his anterograde amnesia. Drew Barrymore is all like, “yeah I feel you, maybe move to Hawaii so you don’t feel so bad YOLO!”

–“Every fire gets too close”
Not how that works. YOU get to close to the fire. Not the other way around.

–“Every autumn colors come, that you’ve forgotten”
Red, yellow, orange, brown. Did I get them all? And it’s not even fall! Amazing that I could remember them.

50 Ways to Say Goodbye
This is the best song in the entire world. If the entire world consisted of Rebecca Black songs. I have been listening to it on repeat for a good 10 minutes trying to figure out what it is about (a true artist commits to her work), and from what I can tell it’s a wet dream of Pat’s where he imagines different ways in which his ex can suffer horrible deaths. But it’s not his fault! He’s just no good at goodbyes.

–“She went down in an airplane, fried getting suntanned, fell in a cement mixer full of quick sand…she was caught in a mudslide, eaten by a lion (etc etc)”
These thoughts should be restricted to your therapist’s office and not played on the radio, for the love of humanity.

–“How could you leave on Yom Kippur?”
Extensive research of Pat Monahan provides no evidence that he is actually, in fact, Jewish. But damn her just the same! He loved her as much as a garbage bag would hold!

–“Got run over by a crappy purple Scion”
Don’t drag Scion into your heinousness, man. They don’t need this kind of publicity.

Did I mention that on Pat Monahan’s solo record he has a song called “Two Ways to Say Goodbye?” Guess he’s done more thinking since then.

You Can Finally Meet My Mom
This sounds sweet, right? Taking a girl home to meet his mother? Wrong. It’s about death. And all of the dead people he knows. And how he will be too busy to hang out with them in heaven because he will be hanging out with you. And his mom. Menage a what?

–“Don’t cry when I die, when it’s my time I probably won’t die”
Who wants to explain this one to him?

–“Life is good, but love it’s better, even Bieber ain’t forever”
Well let’s fucking hope not. But we were wrong about Train, so…

Now it’s time to list all the dead people I know! Better pick the most important ones! OMG here we go, Pat, make it count!

–“Jimi Hendrix, Jesus, Chris Farley, Mr. Rodgers, Gilda Radner, Buddha, the dude who had pop rocks and soda at the same time, oh and I almost forgot my mom”
I think he nailed it.

Train: Making lonely wives and adolescent girls cream their pants since 1994.

Mermaid
Every man’s dream. Pat seems to think it actually happened. WHERE ARE HIS CALM DOWN PI PHI PILLS!?

–“Can’t swim so I took a boat, to an island so remote, only Johnny Depp has ever been to it before”
Subtext: I’m as rich as fucking Johnny Depp

–“Shocks, scream with envy, they wonder what you see in me”
$$$$$$$$$$$$

–“Beauty in the water, angel on the beach, ocean’s daughter”
Ariel! It’s you! Unless he is fucking a fish. Which may not be too unlikely as this dude is cracked out as hell right now.

California 37
Rapping. He is rapping. He says bitch. He is Kanye Jr. He is wonderful. I love to hate it.

–“Knock knock, who’s there? 2012 is a brand new year”
Awwww shit, Train is back yall. Did anyone miss them? No?

–“Ding dong, the witch ain’t dead. She’s still tryin’ to take my bread
Four more years ‘til my girls are grown, then the bitch gonna have to leave me alone”
Clever! His ex-wife will never know this is about the alimony and child support he owes her!

The rest of the songs are too depressing to even poke fun at. You shouldn’t poke a sleeping bear, but you also shouldn’t poke a dying bear. Also, I’m realizing now that this article would probably cause a lot of people to google these ridiculous songs, so thanks for supporting me! Luh my fans like a baby loves a ball of yarn!
– Pat Monahan