I walk 47 miles of barbed wire,
I use a cobra-snake for a necktie,
I got a brand new house on the roadside,
Made from rattlesnake hide,
I got a brand new chimney made on top,
Made out of a human skull,
Now come on take a walk with me, Arlene,
And tell me, who do you love?
Don't diddley around in the recliner with your remote control, Dad! Be decisive. Mute the damn fools! Take the wind out of their annoying full-of-hot-air sails. "Ask your doctor if..." hitting the mute button on your remote control might relieve symptoms caused by overexposure to Sally Field with her once-a-month Boniva; to the Geico caveman with his nervous breakdown; to all those actors shrinking their prostates, erecting their dysfunctions, or being so superficial as to imagine gray hair ruined their relationship and forced them back "into the game".
Who do you mute?
I had the great good fortune to hear Bo Diddley perform in a small Oklahoma City club many years ago. I hope Bo's remote control is made of rattlesnake hide, and that he hits that mute button whenever Brian Williams of NBC's Nightly News narrates those near tragic/perky rescue pet stories for the blue-haired condo/dachsund-owners demographic.
Ask your doctor if using the television remote mute button is covered by Medicare and your supplemental Medi-gap insurance.
© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder
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1 comment:
I mute the dumb 40-year-old woman in the diet-food ad that says, "My husband said I was hot!" and "I feel soooooo sexy!" I cannot stand her accent.
My dad, by the way, loved the mute button. He referred to its use as "mutting" which was his sort of humor. Makes me smile to think about the joy he got out of mutting politicians, etc. whom he didn't like.
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