‘Scuse me while I kiss this guy

Recently, I’ve started to watch re-runs of “Don’t Forget the Lyrics” on one of our channels because IT IS HILARIOUS . . . if you like bad singing. Now and then they get someone who can carry a tune, but it’s usually not the melody of the song they’ve said they can sing. I’m telling you, most of them are bad–they’re worse than ME.

Tonight some lady said she could sing “All Along the Watchtower.” Yeah, RIGHT. She actually missed the fourth line of the song. (“I can’t get no relief.”) She made something up. She also had little clue to the melody. I’ll give her this–she brazened it out like a champ.

I couldn’t go on the show because I am in the habit of changing lyrics I don’t like. And I know the “Weird Al” versions of a good number of songs, so I wouldn’t be able to remember that it’s not really “The Rye or the Kaiser” and “Soon I’m going to be a Jedi.” Also, I have the most squeaky voice. My best friend Linda L. and I would sometimes break into laughter at the same time, and people would say, “Hey! Where are the elves?” People still ask to speak to my mother. I swear, I love to sing, but you wouldn’t love to hear me. I can harmonize on “The Chipmunk Song.” Pretty sad.

But really, this is a hoot to watch. If you see early episodes, you won’t know any of the songs (or at least *I* didn’t) because they’re all hip-hop or whatever, stuff that was never played on 1960s-1970s-1980s radio. (GRIN) However, lately they’ve taken to using older songs that I can not only sing, but sing correctly. I nailed “Blue Suede Shoes,” “Carry On Wayward Son,” and “Roundabout” (by “Yes.” Although my personal motto is “Just Say NO to Yes,” Rick Wakeman is one of my husband’s heroes, so I absorbed the lyrics by osmosis from hearing the albums all the time. Yes, even now he loves YES.) I was, however, totally irate at the guy who said he could sing “White Rabbit” but obviously had it confused with another song. He kept saying, “Who’s Alice?” when the lyric was revealed. *sigh* Feed your head, dude. Feed your head.

(They aren’t crazy enough to do “MacArthur Park” yet, but they did do “American Pie” and the singer got it wrong. That is a complex lyric that’s tough to remember. But she was pretty much on key, in her defense.)

It was a real hoot when they had a celebrity football player on and he had done fairly well on the R&B and pop categories. He went for the Encore Song (you know the drill–“double or nothing” for one song) and it was . . . wait for it . . . “Killer Queen”! Yes, by Queen with Freddie Mercury! Aw, poor player. He had NO CHANCE.

Freddie Mercury had an operatic range and (it is said) used to go to an opera/voice teacher for fun to sing arias with her. Also, the lyrics to this song are clever and go pretty fast. There was no way this poor dude could do it.

They brought several members of the audience up as “backup singers.”

It was a trainwreck.

But I had fun hearing what they thought the lyric should be!

My mother said, “What is that song babbling on about?” When I explained, she said, “That is disgusting! That’s pornographic!”

“Not as pornographic as the film you were just watching. ‘The War of the Roses’ has pornographic violence, anger and rage and hate, and FAR WORSE STUFF than the story of the Killer Queen, which is absolutely hilarious.”

“Get out of here,” she said, turning back to the Michael Douglas movie channel. Up next was “The Game,” another depressingly horrible little film that she loves. To each her own, I guess.

But seriously, if you get a chance to catch this program, give it a try. It could be one of the funniest experiences you’ll have all day.


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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