That's Terrible......Let's Write a Song About It!

I am a big fan of things that are demented, especially if the thing in question is demented in a very nyuck-nyuck juvenile way.

Example 1. I never missed a Dr. Demento show on the radio. My ritual was to curl up with my radio and a bag of pretzel goldfish, recording the show on my tape recorder (held up to the tiny radio speaker) so that I could learn every word to every Rick Dees or Spike Jonyz song, and sing "Ahab the Arab" on the way to school. Of course, I am a big--although secret--Weird Al fan. Something about turning pretentious popstar music on its head appeals to me. Because I am weird, growing up I ignored my sister Drew's disco and early rap obsession and my sister Holly's Frampton-and-roach clips in your hair tendencies in favor of my mother's Edith Piaf, Nina Simone, and Billie Holliday records. Which explains why I became a dirty, disaffected, and excruciatingly condescending punk chick, perfectly.

Furthermore, my reading choices tended toward the sardonic and absurd. Mad magazine, of course, but also Roald Dahl, Rabelais, and Shaw. When Spy magazine arrived, I sent my dough for a subscription that I carried with me until their last gasp. Now it's all online stuff, some high-brow, some decidedly low. There are some awesome blogs happening, although they do appear to be less interesting the more popular they become, always a sad state of affairs for cool stuff. Bottom line, it's hard to find obnoxious, demented, and/or juvenile cool stuff anymore. Please don't even mention "Jackass" or Bam Margera or Fear Factor. Garbage.

Example 2. Many, many years ago, there was what was arguably the very first email-forwarded nugget of demented joy: "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee" or "Gonads and Strife" a short and loud video of a mad squirrel. I was slackjawed with glee when I watched it, and didn't hesitate to send it to everyone I knew.

Anyway, this site, home of the original "Wheeeeeee!" video, hosts a "rock video" that Superfly boyfriend and I adore. It is seriously demented, riding that fine line of offense, making you digusted and fulfilled simultaneously. Enjoy!

Here's me wondering what your specifically-demented guilty pleasure might be. Do tell!