Loser News

Warning: This is a rant…

So, I’m cruising home from work, listening to the straight-up-dope-easy-pop-jams provided by the good people at 103.1 FM, the High Desert’s home of songs that stir no emotion whatsoever, when suddenly the sultry voice of Sting wafts from my dual stereo speakers, followed by the coarse guitar riff of one of Dire Straits’ two notable songs, Money For Nothing.

Normally, this tune would be a little too edgy me, and I’d be pressing one of the four presets which whisk me away to the smarmy, androgynous, government-sponsored NPR host who explains how not being a communist kills porpoises.  But today I’m feeling saucy and decide to throw caution to the wind (as opposed to cotton, or cushions, or even croutons to the wind), even turning the volume up to 6 to fully experience the pounding drum and Springsteenesque croonings of 1985’s fourteenth favorite band.

So, by the end of the first verse I’m completely immersed in the passion of pre-grunge pop and about to dive into verse 2 when the bridge suddenly steps out of nowhere and bursts the bubble of content that encompasses my very being. I tentatively wait for reality to snap back into place, reasoning that I had a mild stroke, when the third verse emerges like an unexpected urine test on the Monday after Lent.

Welcome to the the city of Censorship. Population: Mankind.

Sure, verse 2 may not be exactly “PC”, but the contemporary pop stations happily promote all of Beronche’s gesticulary humpfests, despite scientific tests linking her vocals to a virulent strain of chlamydia. Anywho, my life is ruined. The FCC has taken all that I love, crammed it into Pepsi Zero can, recycled said Pepsi can, then made it into a bed pan.