Someone call a priest! Or a faith healer. Or that faux-sage who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart. And get me the number for Alcoholics Anonymous. And one of those tube necklaces that glow. I’m in deep, man. Balls deep. Loss of control, loss of appetite, loss of direction. I need a fix--just one little toke. Have some mercy. I’m a broken human being. I’ll never ask again. Where’s Dr. Drew Pinsky? I’m a fucking addict.
I silently shook my head the first time I heard M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes.” It seemed goofy, almost like a novelty song on par with “Barbie Girl” and “I Wannabe A Supermodel.” Boy, was I wrong. Thanks trailer for Pineapple Express.
In case you don’t follow music or have spent the last six months smoking meth with the Stephanie from Full House, M.I.A. is a British musician and her song “Paper Planes” has gun shots in the chorus. In all probability, it’s currently playing on a radio station somewhere and/ or being heard in the trailer for Seth Rogan and James Franco’s new action stoner comedy Pineapple Express. And its more addictive than crack, heroin, strippers, and scratch-off tickets put together.
I was at the bars with a few of my buddies on Friday when the DJ unwittingly ruined my life by unleashing “Paper Planes.” One of my friend’s shouted, “It’s that song from Pineapple Express“, and we all stopped to listen. That was it. A few hours later we were all back at the house, rolling up a joint and frantically searching Youtube. I’ve been at it ever since. It’s been played over six million times--at least thirty-five are directly related to this writer.
Here’s the thing: I’ve had songs stuck in my head for seventy-two hours straight before. But you can’t hum goddamn gun shots. I’m not the guy from Police Academy. I can’t just pull life-like sound effects out of my ass; so, I’m forced to listen--over--and--over--and--over again.
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