Deet do dee do dee do do
A personal message from me to whomever created those evil Magic Mountain commercials with the tiny man in the bald mask flailing around to the best in 1999 trash dance pop:
Dear sir,
I hope that someday, somewhere, someone takes a sharpened Number Two and burrows it into your ear, ever so slowly, over the course of several days. Then, just when you get used to the pain, he starts on your eyes.
No, really. I’m sure you’re very talented. It’s just that you deserve to be tortured, you know, a lot, for sticking that f*cking song in my head for the last few days. You know that worm they put in Spock’s ear in The Wrath of Kahn? It’s like that. That worm is in my brain, and I’m screaming, and it’s your fault. Hence, torture. I’m sure you get this a lot, so let’s just get started, shall we?
Thanks, Derek