Ummmmm...

 Amazon advertises a felony machine:

Someone on FB sells a bunch of local misdemeanors:

Brick Building Was Feeling Alright

Brick Building was feeling alright (submitted by Andrew Gall).

Prius Door Handles were, too.

Breast Pump was shocked.

Production Truck was furious for some reason.

IHOP Pineapple Slice was bummed.

Serving Table felt absolutely grouchy.

Police Barricade Bracket was distraught and on the street.

Brown Roller didn't care and just wanted to get out of there.

EADJ Song Hate: "Hard To Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago

So it's been a while since the last installment of EADJ Song Hate, maybe because the songs on the radio have been so consistently enjoyable and high quality, that there was no reason to complain for over a year <\sarcasm>.

But I think it's time to dredge up this old bit again to express our fervent hate for a dusty from back in 1982: "Hard To Say I'm Sorry" by Chicago. I can't remember if the title is partly in parenths, either, like  "(It's) Hard To Say I'm Sorry" or "(It's Hard To) Say I'm Sorry" or "It's Hard To Say I'm Sorry (Fuck My Ears Are Bleeding Again)" but regardless, this song deserves the full attention of our Song Hate resources.

Let's start by saying that Chicago is a talented band, if maybe not your particular flavor of soft rock. Past songs like "25 or 6 to 4" and "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" show a certain aptitude and musical range that Light Rock stations and guys named Wayne really get a hard-on for. But "(I Really Find It) Hard To (Say) I'm Sorry" is Chicago's first foray into truly sappy, intentionally honeydrenched pop chart-bait. This was a conscious, open-eyed career move for the group, and for that we cannot forgive them.

Let's break down this turd:

Okay, the melody is pleasant enough (perhaps suspiciously so). A piano, some "Love Story" strings, and Peter Cetera's signature nasal honking carve a suppository-shaped ballad that enters you without you noticing and then blossoms like an umbrella with sharp edges in your bowels.

The lyrics suck:

Everybody needs a little time away 
I heard her say, from each other 
Even lovers need a holiday 
Far away from each other 

Hold me now 
It's hard for me 
To say I'm sorry 
I just want you to stay 

After all that 
We've been through 
I will make it up to you 
I promise to 

And after all that's 
Been said and done 
You're just the part of me 
I can't let go 

Couldn't stand to be kept away 
Just for the day, from your body 
Wouldn't wanna be swept away 
Far away from the one that I love 

Hold me now 
It's hard for me 
To say I'm sorry 
I just want you to know 

Hold me now 
I really want to 
Tell you I'm sorry 
I could never let you go 

Okay, if it's so hard for him to say he's sorry, why is he okay with running his mouth about not wanting to be "swept away far away from the one that I love?" He's too proud to apologize, but he really needs to be held? What kind of pride-filled gutter pussy is this? Why would a woman want to hang around with such a simpering, sniveling man-child (Answer: big dick).

God, those lyrics are so embarrassing to even cut and paste. I'm cringing as I'm reading them again. Combine that with cloying instrumentation and some atonal nose-singing, and you've got yourself a 1982 Hot Billboard #1 hit!

But the suck doesn't end there. The end of the song usually faded out to nothing, but on some radio stations (and on the album Chicago 17), the song transitioned into a rocking short track "Get Away." Scroll to 3:47 for the magical moment:

BAHAHAHAHHA! What?! You poured your heart out to me with all this whiny horseshit, then you decide at the end to "recover" with a nut-kicking hard rock number? No, Chicago. That ship has sailed. There is no way you can't pretend the previous 3:36 didn't happen. That's like sending a flaccid dick pic with skid marks in your underwear to your girlfriend, followed up by a selfie of you flexing your abs. You don't come back from that.

So without further ado, we bid a heartfelt, truly earnest au revoir to "Hard To Say I'm Sorry/Get Away." We will not miss you polluting our minivans/dental offices/Guantanamo Bays with your insufferable sincerity.

Click to enlarge

A Very Smecial Dreams Entry: Andrew Files A Follow-Up Report With A Full Description Of Megan's "Danny Devito" Dream

Andrew had promised earlier to get a more in-depth description of Megan's excellent Danny Devito dream, as covered earlier this week. After having consulted with her further, Andrew now has a full transcript of the dream:

Staying at my parents’ house, I had developed a habit of going downstairs at 2 or 3 a.m. Periodically, I could hear something going on outside: voices, etc. but I never bothered to look behind the curtains. Finally, I did, and this is what I saw:

Danny DeVito with a baseball team of little people, all in blue uniforms.

“WHAT THE F$%K IS GOING ON HERE??” I said.

Danny, upset that he had been “caught,” explained how he coaches these teams of little people. But detailed that you must have a Master’s Degree to play. But it was more complicated than that. If you wanted to play a different sport coached by DeVito, you had to have a different Master’s: one for football, one for baseball, and so on.

Everyone was really nice. 





**Slight Update:

This Week In Hip Hop Awfulness

 

Pitbull, sick of topping the charts with pop hit after pop hit, decides to urinate on Antarctica under the world's largest Red Vines.

 

Roc Marciano. Not to be confused with legendary boxer Rocky Marciano. Rock Marciano would have had the sense to go inside during a lightning storm/18-alarm fire.

 

Future Colon?! Future Goloin? Shit. Pick a legible font, OB Product. Or is it DB Product?

 

Freeway wakes up and wonders how he got Philadelphia in his beard.

The Empire decides to call a mixtape what it really is.

Okay, Krizz Kaliko- which doesn't even sound like a real rapper's name; it sounds like an MC that would appear on "Curb Your Enthusiasm"- if you're going to name your album in slang, explaining what it means in parenths makes it 5000 times uncooler.

 

Tracy Chapman, distraught over not having a hit since "Fast Car" in 1988, contemplates ending it all.

 

Styles P is very angry at you for not only returning the garden tools you borrowed from him 3 weeks late, but returning them in such a bad condition that he can never get a full refund for them at Lowe's. He's very angry at you.

 No change needed. Stet.

 

"Hi there. I'm Wiz Khalifa. You probably remember my last session at the Sears Portrait Studio wearing some lady's real estate blazer. Well, today I'm back, and I've picked out a great outfit. This faux white leopard coat was only $14.99 from the Ann Taylor Factory Store, and these Evel Knievel pants I picked up from True Religion, which is right next to the Piercing Pagoda. Holla!"

 

What The "Plus" Means In Many Store Names

Awards Plus

"Plus" = the nagging feeling that you could have done better in the three-legged race.

T-Shirts Plus

 "Plus" = pit stains, quick-fading graphics and denial of admission into nightclubs.

Best Western Plus

"Plus" = bed bugs and cum on the ceiling

Wigs & Plus

"Plus" is redundant here with the ampersand. Like who talks like that. Here "plus" stands for the waning popularity of the recording artist Pink even though she currently has several songs on the Top 40 charts.

Dollar Plus & Convenience Store

Another redundancy- putting "plus" after the ampersand is no improvement. "Plus" here stands for unenthusiastic service from a teenager on her cell phone.

Shuttle Bus Plus

"Plus" = pus