Story #6: "The Boogie Man"

Part of my #astoryaday June Writing Challenge, here's a short, but (IMHO) amusing vignette I plotted out over the weekend, but didn't write till today. Enjoy?  ~  JH

"The Boogie Man"

I like to move it, move it. Dancing is in my blood. Any style, any beat, anytime, anyplace. Play me a song and I will dance to it. 

Admittedly, it's not a pretty sight. I am bald, I am overweight, I am white, and I am a terrible dancer. But I don't let these little details get in the way of my having a good time. 

I have danced on planks to the fluid sounds of reggae on the shores of Jamaica. I have danced with Zulu warriors in southern Africa. I have waltzed with royalty in the United Kingdom. I have twerked to Ke$ha at The Spot downtown. 

Sure, I have heard the boos and hisses of disapproval from the masses, practically every time I get my groove on. I have endured being thrown out of not one, not two, but thirty-five different establishments for rashly committing collective buzzkill. But I simply do not care. 

I will dance until the day I die, and then I will dance on the other side. I dance because I must. Because I can't not. 

I am the Boogie Man, this is my world, and you are welcome in it. May I have this dance?

Story #5: "I Told You Not To Fall Asleep"

OK, so I'm a few days behind here. I don't know if I set any hard-and-fast "rules" for myself at the beginning of this #astoryaday June Writing Challenge endeavor or not, but if so I'll amend them thusly now. As long as I am able to write 30 original stories in 30 days, namely during the month of June, I am off the hook. This takes off any pressure I may put on myself to write something every single day, when the goal is not to stress myself out but to get me writing creatively again. So it's Day 8, and this is Story #5. Don't worry, the rest of the weekend's stories are right behind this one. Enjoy?  ~  JH

BLOGGER'S NOTE:  This story is written in a woman's voice – i.e., the protagonist (if you can call her that) is female. I don't do this often, but when I do it usually works out alright. This one took an expectedly violent turn, which I'm not entirely certain that I condone, though I do understand her motivations. I go where the character leads me, though, and this one led me here.

"I Told You Not To Fall Asleep"  (251 words)

Nine long years is nine too many. I'm taking back my life once and for all...

You probably thought it was an idle threat. You never listened to me anyway – if you did, you didn't take me seriously. I told you not to fall asleep, or you might not wake up again.

Many a night I spent, trying to stay awake, not knowing whether – whenever you decided to come home – you would be the thoughtful, sensitive man I married or the sadistic monster you all-too-quickly became afterwards.

Tonight, you sealed your fate. I didn't say or do anything to cause your latest outburst; but you never needed much of a fuse to explode anyway.

You fell asleep much earlier than usual. I sneaked out of bed, crept down the hall to the kitchen, and withdrew the widest, flattest cast iron pan in the cupboard. I wanted to make sure you never woke up again.

The pan was heavier than I'd anticipated. I hadn't cooked much on a regular basis lately, so I'd forgotten. I would definitely have to use two hands.

I looked at you sleeping, more peacefully than you had a right to. I contemplated saying goodbye, but knew I would only regret it later if I did.

I raised the pan over my head, reared back, and brought down the fury on your skull. And again. And again.

Seeing the crimson stain spread around your head didn't make me feel better. But it did make me feel free. Finally.

Story #4: "The Rise And Fall Of Alvaro Chalupa"

It's Day 4 of my #astoryaday June Writing Challenge, so here's Story #4. Many of my stories come into existence after I've thought up what I deem to be an interesting title. This one started when I devised the name of its main character. The rest of the story kind of fell into place around that. Hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  ~  JH

"The Rise And Fall Of Alvaro Chalupa"

Not so very long ago, in the only hospital in the town of Ocozocoautla de Espinosa, in the state of Chiapas, in the country of Mexico, a young woman by the name of Luz de la Luna gave birth to a son, whom she called Alvaro Manuel Chalupa.

The boy grew in girth if not in stature over the course of the next few years, and at the tender age of twelve, began to have strange and terrible visions. Some would call them prophecies, others lunacies, but Alvaro called them Esteban.

"Mamá," he said to her in a characteristically quiet tone one cloudy Thursday. "I have had another Esteban."

"Oh, dear boy, no!" Luz replied. "What has your Esteban foretold this time? A famine? A pestilence? Perhaps a government shutdown?"

"No, Mamá," the boy patiently explained. "This Esteban involves neither hunger, plagues, nor legislative incompetence. I have had an Esteban about myself."

A sharp intake of breath highlighted Luz's apprehension. "Is it bad news, Alvaro, my dear?"

"Not at all," smiled Alvaro. "My Esteban has told me that I shall become a great leader. Men, women, children, and goats will follow in my footsteps, heed my edicts, and build statues in my honor."

"Oh, Alvaro, this is a wonderful Esteban indeed!" She beamed proudly, adding, "Goats?"

"That bit was confusing," he admitted. "But I have not yet told you the best part."

"Oh, my boy, tell all! Do tell all," said Luz, clasping her hands dramatically in front of her face.

"The best part of all," continued Alvaro, "is that I shall become a martyr for my people. I shall be killed violently for the sake of the cause by ignorant rebels who refuse to defer to my authority. Is that not wonderful, Mamá?"

Luz's smile sank quickly into a frown and her hands fell to her sides in defeat. "A martyr, my son? Are you certain?"

"Have I ever had an inaccurate Esteban?" The question was rhetorical, of course. Alvaro's Estebans had correctly predicted the outcome of the previous Mexican presidential election, the past two Kentucky Derby winners, and the price of cheese at the Soriana supermarket half an hour away in Tuxtla Gutiérrez.

"My boy, I wish it were not so," cried Luz, dabbing at her tears spasmodically, as was her usual manner when frightened. "But this must happen as you say, I suppose."

And so it did. In six years' time, as Alvaro Chalupa had reached manhood, he had already gained a large following of people (and goats). His philosophies were startlingly simplistic yet refreshingly apolitical in nature, which drew many to him. Alvaro was unanimously elected president of Mexico and served half his term before being unceremoniously cut down by an assassin's rocket launcher in the middle of a speech about horticulture. His state funeral was the grandest his country had ever seen. Festivals were thrown in his honor and grenades were thrown at the rebels. The war was long and hard-fought, but ultimately the rebels were ousted and sent to live on the tiny island of Rábida in the Galapagos, where goats were banned and flamingos thrived.

Fond memories of Alvaro Chalupa continued long after his passing, in his home state of Chiapas in particular. Luz de la Luna lived a long and miserable life without her "dear boy," but was much revered by her fellow countrymen, who regarded her in nearly the same light as the Virgin Mary. Her only consolations were dwelling in the obscenely opulent mansion her son had built for her after his rapid rise to fame and driving her gaudy but gorgeous red Lamborghini at excessive speeds over back roads outside the city.

Story #3: "Courtesy Flush"

Day 3 and Story #3 of my #astoryaday June Writing Challenge. This one is über-short, but after reading it you may thank me for that fact. I've been mulling over the appropriateness – or lack thereof – of penning such a vignette as this for quite some time now, and finally decided – "What the heck! Why not?" – so here it is. Enjoy?  ~  JH

"Courtesy Flush"

  How can you call yourself a human being and be so thoroughly devoid of compassion and consideration? How can you so cruelly and callously disregard your fellow man? How can you concoct a product so noxious, repugnant, and malodorous as this and not stop to think – for one second! – that others may not relish the aroma as you so obviously do. You are a disgrace to common decency and a scorner of etiquette! I could continue castigating your character ad infinitum – and you would well deserve it! – but I am above that. In point of fact, I have but four words yet to disseminate: Please. Flush. The. Toilet!

Story #2: "Aim Too, Please"

It's Day 2 of my June Writing Challenge, or #astoryaday, or whatever it is I'm going to decide to call it. Did you like yesterday's story? I'd love to hear your response to it. Additionally, I hope you enjoy this one and look forward to hearing what you think of it as well. I don't expect it, but I look forward to it nonetheless. Enjoy!  ~  JH

"Aim Too, Please"

I don't know why we're playing chicken like this, but apparently it's a road we have to cross to move forward. I love you. You love me. Do we really have to prove it with silly and potentially catastrophic games? You of all people should know I was never very good at sports.

I'm staring down the shaft of my steel-tipped arrow, aiming to the best of my meager ability at the serendipitously heart-shaped apple perched atop your fine head. I don't want to do this. I don't want to let go of this string. I don't trust myself to hit my target. But my love for you overwhelms me, compels me to aim straight and true and sever the fruit from its core instead of your brains from your head.

Measure twice, cut once – isn't that what they say? I've lined up my shot, now I do so again, and still one more time. (Does overextending an axiom negate its truth?) I close my eyes and release.

The thwack is quicker and louder than I expected. I can't bear to look, though I must respond with haste if I have missed and gravely injured you. I open my eyes.

You are eating the apple, careful not to cut your tongue on the head of the arrow, which has impaled the fruit as was its intention. I find this strangely funny and respond with nervous laughter.

"I love you." The words are shaky, uttered from shaky lips. I feel disconnected from myself, though I know I was the speaker.

You smirk slyly and reply, "I love apples. So juicy." You cock an eyebrow and your head at me and I relax my shoulders. (I wasn't aware I'd been raising them so stiffly.) "And you, too," you add, as an afterthought.

"That was exciting. And by exciting, I mean terrifying." I plop down onto the grass and expect you to join me. Instead, you approach me and take the bow from my hand – softly, not meaning to intimidate but succeeding at such. You pull the arrow – the reverse thwack is no less jarring – from the remains of the apple and toss the core onto the grass.

"Where's the other one?"

"The other what?" I inquire.

"Apple. It's your turn now."

I'm flummoxed. I don't know what to say. "I'm flummoxed," I say. "You want me to do it, too?"

"Don't you love me?"

I stand quickly, the nervousness invading my being anew. "Of course, but…"

"Then prove it." She doesn't wait for me to pull the apple out of my hoodie pocket. She reaches in and grabs it for herself and hands it to me.

And here we are. My back to the tree, with the second apple – not serendipitously heart-shaped, I might add – resting peacefully upon my noggin. You, with the arrow in place and the string drawn back, and your history of clumsiness in motion and life in general. I love you, truly I do, with all of my heart. But I don't want to do this. I don't want you to let go of the string. I love you, but I don't know if I really trust you.

Thwack!

Story #1: "Checkered Shirt Past"

If you know me at all, you can probably attest to the fact that I am full of ideas of all kinds. Many of them are bad ideas, many more are at best benign, and a few of them are darned good ones. Time will tell whether this latest endeavor will have been a good idea or a month-long disaster. But here goes nothing. Starting today, I will attempt to write a brand-new short story each day for a month and publish it here on my blog. I don't know if I am up to the challenge or not, but I'm going to attempt it nonetheless. It's Day 1, so here is Story #1. I do hope that you enjoy it. But if you don't, please do your best to wipe it from your memory and I'll try again tomorrow to do better. Thanks,  JH

"Checkered Shirt Past"

  You may think you know me, but you don't. You only know the me that I let you see. I have a past. It's not as sordid as all that, so you may as well get your mind out of the gutter. But it's a past nonetheless, and since confession is good for the soul, let's just say I'm craving soul food today.

  I wasn't always the t-shirt-and-jeans-wearing guy that you know and tolerate me as today. No, my friend. I was once a card-carrying, suit-and-tie-wearing, corporate slave, climbing the ladder to success one backstabbing rung at a time. And I was no slouch at it, either. In the game of that life, I was winning and winning big.

  So…what happened? The inevitable question. In searching for a succinct answer, I can only offer this: It started with a checkered shirt.

  Solid-colored shirts, heavily starched and pressed, were the mark of a true team player in the corporate world, and I was the captain of that team for longer than you'd believe. But one day, I found myself in front of the clearance rack of the local big-box department store of all places, gazing in awe and wonder at an orange-and-blue checkered shirt.

  Sure, it was a designer label, perhaps the economy line, but by no means a no-name piece. But it was plaid. And not a jaunty, country-club plaid at that. This shirt was two rungs shy of grunge. And, as much as it pained me to admit it to myself, I wanted it. Badly.

  Like the proverbial fugitive, I furtively glanced first over my left shoulder, then over my right. No corporate types in sight, and especially not any of my coworkers. Why would they be shopping here anyway? (Why was I, for that matter?) I lifted the shirt from the circular rack, examined the price tag casually (shockingly low for its obvious quality), and folded it over my arm.

  I beat a hasty retreat to the nearest checkout counter, which just happened to be a self-service aisle. My credit card in hand, I promptly scanned the shirt, dropped it in the bag, tapped out the appropriate numbers on the keypad, and completed my purchase.

  Fortunately I'd parked illegally in the handicapped space, so my SUV was merely steps away from the store's entrance. I had gotten away with it. (In both cases.)

  The only question then was where to wear the surreptitiously acquired top. The obvious answer, to me at least, was church. I had attended the church of my youth as often as I could, and being in the field that I was, had no reasonable expectation that I would encounter anyone from my place of employment at the service. Which is, of course, exactly what I did encounter.

  The first person to greet me at the front door of the church, serving up a bulletin with a hearty smile, was the trash guy. In truth, he was probably called a janitor or some other less-demeaning title such as "facilities coordinator." But I knew him simply as the guy who dumped my wastebasket each morning. A quiet man with whom I'd exchanged only a few passing words in the five years of my employment.

  The "trash guy," as it turns out, was the head usher at my church, newly appointed so. He greeted me by name – the look of astonishment on my face must have been evident – and patted me on the back in genuine welcome. That he added "Nice shirt" to his greeting, merely as an afterthought, must have had no effect on him – at least not as great as it had on me.

  A genuinely nice man the trash guy may have been, but apparently – as seems to be the case with many "facilities coordinators" in my experience – he loved to talk. Word of my ingloriously non-corporate attire eventually made its way to my supervisor. 

  In the cutthroat world of business, one success can make you as easily as one mistake can break you. I was broken. Shattered is more like it. Within days, I was looking for another job, having unceremoniously been relieved of my hard-earned one. All because of a checkered shirt.

  You won't see me out in public wearing a checkered shirt these days. In truth, all but the most deeply discounted ones are beyond my ability to afford now. I wear t-shirts and jeans because frankly, they're cheap. 

  Life hasn't been the kindest to me of late, but one thing remains constant. I am happy. Happier than I've ever been, in fact. I am free from the pretentious, ruthless, win-at-all-costs slavery of corporate America. I am devoid of market-changing, world-altering responsibilities. I no longer have a demanding boss breathing down my neck to see if I am meeting up to his standards.

  I live a simple life now. I'm a trash guy – well, facilities coordinator, to be precise – at the state zoo. It's a thankless job, but I love every minute of it. Not every job affords one the opportunity to converse – albeit one-sidedly – with a red panda on their lunch break. Indeed, not many workers have experienced the joy of seeing not one, not two, but a hundred kids' faces light up with joy the first time they see an elephant.

  That one checkered shirt has made all the difference. The power of plaid has changed my life. And I don't regret it for a moment.

A Literal Interpretation Of Willow Smith's "Whip My Hair"

This song is just...well, stupid. Vapid lyrics to begin with, then they're repeated ad infinitum. It's enough to...well...make you want to rip your hair out! Anyway, here's my "translated" version of the "song." For whatever it's worth. Enjoy?  ~  JH

"WHIP MY HAIR" by Willow Smith

CHORUS:

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

VERSE 1:

I get out of bed.

Turn my confidence on.

We ignore our detractors.

We simply brush them off.

We are not doing anything wrong.

So do not tell me anything.

I am simply attempting to enjoy myself.

So make sure the party stays lively.

So what is going on? (Yes.)

And now they are unsure how to proceed.

We turn our backs on them.

Fling our tresses and simply

Shake them off.

Shake them off.

Shake them off.

Shake them off.

BRIDGE:

I do not allow detractors

To distract me from my goals.

I remain confident, knowing I will be fine.

I continue fighting until I arrive.

And when I feel despondent

And I feel like giving up…

CHORUS:

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

VERSE 2:

I am going to glimmer even more shortly.

As soon as I arrive on stage, they clap.

I hear it.

Whether it is black stars

Or black cars

I enjoy it all.

But no one else can fling their tresses like I do. (I do.)

I arrive at the "mm" (?) – I persevere.

When they see my car arrive

I fling my tresses extra-hard.

I fling my tresses extra-hard.

Extra-hard.

I fling my tresses extra-hard.

BRIDGE:

I do not allow detractors

To distract me from my goals.

I remain confident, knowing I will be fine.

I continue fighting until I arrive.

And when I feel despondent

And I feel like giving up…

CHORUS:

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

VERSE 3:

To all my female associates

If you can relate.

Go ahead and do this, do this.

Fling your tresses! (fling your tresses)

It doesn't matter if your hair is long or short.

Do it, do it – fling your tresses!

To all my female associates

If you can relate.

Go ahead and do this, do this.

Fling your tresses! (fling your tresses)

It doesn't matter if your hair is long or short.

Do it, do it – fling your tresses, your tresses, your tresses!

CHORUS:

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Just fling them!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward. (Fling them well!)

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

I fling my tresses backward and forward.

A Literal Interpretation Of Notorious B.I.G.'s "Big Poppa"

Here's another literal interpretation of a popular hip-hop song. Two things I took away from this one. First, the lyrics of the song, even sanitized as it is here, are still rife with debauchery. And second, the "message" of mainstream hip-hop – acquiring wealth by whatever means necessary and spending it on frivolous and extravagant things – hasn't changed a whole heckuva lot in the past 20+ years. Sad! That being said, I hope this is good for a laugh or two. Enjoy!  ~  JH

"BIG POPPA" by Notorious B.I.G.

Intro:

Uh, uh, pay attention

Junior M.A.F.I.A., uh, um

(I enjoy this, yes)

Uh, yes, 1994

Verse 1:

To all the ladies in attendance who possess style and grace

Allow me to thread these lyrical cleansing products in your shrubbery.

Who excels at music and makes passes at all the mothers?

In the back of the night club, sipping on spirits, is where I can be found.

In the back of the night club, making passes at prostitutes, my associates flanking me.

I'm asking a lot of questions, passing a marijuana joint, playing my music loudly.

But I am unable to stop.

Because Biggie desires to sneak around stealthily with one of these ladies.

Take a nap with her, keep the episode a secret – why not?

Why mess up my plans, because we both became angry?

Now, listen – I have more ability to charm the ladies than Craig Mack.

And in the bed? Believe me, Sweetie, I am capable of stopping world hunger.

There is no need to be greedy – I have angry friends who drive Mercedes Benz vehicles.

I have numerous $100 bills – we are true opponents of monogamy.

Jump in your Range Rover and drive here.

Tell your friends to jump in their Lexus GS3's.

I have massive quantities of marijuana.

Chorus:

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

Extend your hands above your head

If you truly oppose monogamy.

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

To the ladies receiving money

Deceiving African-Americans as though they were idiots.

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

If you are carrying a firearm in a waist holster

Please do not fire it at will.

Because I see some women here this evening

Who should be the mothers of my children.

Children!

Verse 2:

Truthfully, dearest – actually I'm inquiring

Most of these African-Americans think they are charming the ladies

But they are merely playing a role.

Who are they attracting with pickup lines such as:

"What is your name? What is your astrological sign?"

As soon as he purchases the wine, I simply creep up from behind

And ask you what your interests are

And whether or not you are currently in a relationship.

Things to make you smile. My phone number.

Are you planning on staying for awhile?

I will place a telephone call to my associates.

You place a telephone call to your associates.

We can all meet at the bar around 2 o'clock.

We will make plans to leave.

I will hand my keys over to my friend, Lil Cease.

He will pull the truck up front.

We will roll another marijuana joint

So that we can smoke it on the way to the hotel.

I am hungry.

I will eat a T-bone steak, cheese, eggs, and Welch's grape juice.

We will converse for several minutes prior to doing

What we came here to do. Isn't that correct, Boo?  (True.)

Forget about the hotel. Let's go to my place instead.

We can watch a movie in the jacuzzi while smoking marijuana joints

And engaging in illicit sexual activity.

Chorus:

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

Extend your hands above your head

If you truly oppose monogamy.

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

To the ladies receiving money

Deceiving African-Americans as though they were idiots.

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

If you are carrying a firearm in a waist holster

Please do not fire it at will.

Because I see some women here this evening

Who should be the mothers of my children.

Children!

Verse 3:

(How are you living, Biggie Smalls?)

In a mansion. I drive a Mercedes Benz.

Giving my friends money makes me feel terrific.

I have so much money – forget "a dollar and a dream." (What?)

I still carry firearms equipped with infrared beams.

I chop up cocaine by the ounce.

I smoke cigars filled with marijuana.

I have money, promiscuous women, and fancy clothing –

Everything an African-American is aware of.

A foolish pleasure? Whatever.

I had to find a way to make money.

So I was forced to sell drugs.

However, now my standard of living has dramatically improved

As evidenced by the Gucci sweater that I am now wearing.

Look at my convertible BMW – I am superior, Woman!

(Dearest, listen, listen!)

Encourage your friends to meet up with my friends

And we can all become mutual friends.

We can associate with each other every weekend. (That is correct.)

All right? Is that all right with you?

Yes…carry on.

Chorus:

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

Extend your hands above your head

If you truly oppose monogamy.

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

To the ladies receiving money

Deceiving African-Americans as though they were idiots.

(I enjoy it when you call me Large Father)

If you are carrying a firearm in a waist holster

Please do not fire it at will.

Because I see some women here this evening

Who should be the mothers of my children.

Children!

Outro:

Uh, pay attention.

My full repertoire

For that posterior.

Uh, Puff Daddy

Biggie Smalls

Junior M.A.F.I.A.

Represent, infant, infant!

Uh!

A Literal Interpretation of Iggy Azalea's "Fancy"

I did a few of these "literal interpretations" of popular songs (mostly mainstream hip-hop) awhile back, and they were extremely well-received. So I decided to do some more. This is the first in what will be several of them, hopefully. It's all done in fun, of course, but when you closely examine the lyrics, you realize how much depth song lyrics actually have...or don't, in some cases. Enjoy!  ~  JH

NOTE: Link to the original lyrics for a side-by-side comparison here.

VERSE 1 (Iggy Azalea):

First things first, I'm the most sincere (most sincere).

I release this song so that the whole word may experience it (may they experience it).

And I am still in the business of murder

I could suppress you, as though I were a physics teacher. (Correct, correct)

You should desire a naughty female dog like me. (What?)

Lower it and lift it up again just like I am doing. (Yes)

One cup each of three different alcoholic beverages.

High-heeled shoes, something valued at half a ticket is on my wrist (on my wrist).

I drink my liquor straight, no chaser (never).

This rooftop is a retrospective nod to the year 1988. (what?)

Bring in the memorable chorus, where is the bass?

I spilled some champagne, you should taste it.

CHORUS (Charli XCX):

I am so fashionable

As you are already aware.

I am driving in the fast lane

From Los Angeles to Tokyo.

I am so fashionable.

Can you taste my gold jewelry?

Remember my name.

I am about to expel air.

VERSE 2 (Iggy):

I said, "Infant, I am doing this, I thought that you were aware."

I cannot tolerate detractors, and honestly, the truth is

My skill at rapping is ridiculous, they say this, then leave.

My fashion sense is excellent, I do not shop at department stores.

I prefer to be paid in a timely fashion, otherwise my credit card may be declined.

I swear, I was so sincere in the previous line that I have decided to repeat it.

I prefer to be paid in a timely fashion, otherwise my credit card may be declined.

I cannot be anxious about detractors, I must stay the course.

Now tell me, who is that, who is that? That does that, that does that?

Who places money above everything else, I thought you were aware, were aware.

My name is spelled I-G-G-Y, please place my name in boldface letters.

I have been working, so now I have some money to spend.

CHORUS (Charli):

I am so fashionable

As you are already aware.

I am driving in the fast lane

From Los Angeles to Tokyo.

I am so fashionable.

Can you taste my gold jewelry?

Remember my name.

I am about to expel air.

BRIDGE (Charli):

Destroy the hotel room.

Let's become intoxicated on alcoholic beverages from the mini bar.

Call someone on the telephone.

I truly enjoy self-indulgence.

Yes, continue to cause a ruckus.

Swinging from chandeliers, we do not care.

Film star, yes I am luxurious.

Classic, expensive, you may not touch me.

Ouch…

VERSE 3 (Iggy):

I am still acting up, don't you love that about me?

I have the entire world asking how I do that.

I am a warm female, take your hands off me, don't touch me.

Look at me, I'll bet you wish that you could grope me.

I am exactly your type, am I not?

You are so adept, you wish that you could bite me, is that right?

I never refuse anything.

I am murdering these garden tools, my handgun has a golden trigger.

CHORUS (Charli):

I am so fashionable

As you already aware.

I am driving in the fast lane

From Los Angeles to Tokyo.

I am so fashionable.

Can you taste my gold jewelry?

Remember my name.

I am about to expel air.

OUTRO (Iggy):

Who is that, who is that?

I-G-G-Y.

That does that, that does that?

I-G-G-Y.

Who is that, who is that?

I-G-G-Y.

Expel air.

Who is that, who is that?

I-G-G-Y.

That does that, that does that?

I-G-G-Y.

Expel air.

Interesting Quotes By People Who'd Be 100 Years Old This Year…If They Weren't Already Dead

1)  "Knock the 't' off the 'can't.'"  ~  George Reeves, actor

2)  "No one owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death."  ~  William S. Burroughs, writer


3)  "War is fear cloaked in courage."  ~  William Westmoreland, Army general


4)  "Life is a tragedy full of joy."  ~  Bernard Malamud, writer


5)  "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die."  ~  Joe Louis, boxer


6)  "When people are smiling, they are most receptive to almost anything you want to teach them."  ~  Allen Funt, entertainer


7)  "Do not go gentle into that good night, but rage, rage against the dying of the light."  ~  Dylan Thomas, poet


8)  "A person always doing his or her best becomes a natural leader, just by example."  ~  Joe DiMaggio, baseball player


9)  "When I die, I hope they don't cremate me, 'cuz I'll burn forever."  ~  Harry Caray, broadcaster


10)  "Life is to be lived, not controlled, and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat."  ~  Ralph Ellison, writer


11)  "Who is more foolish? The fool or the fool that follows it?"  ~  Alec Guinness, actor


12)  "I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."  ~  Robert McCloskey, writer


13)  "Movies are a magician's forge; they allow you to build a story with your hands – at least, that's what it means to me. What attracts me in movies is to be presented with a problem and be able to solve it. Nothing else; just to create an illusion, an effect, with almost nothing."  ~  Mario Bava, film director


14)  "Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid."  ~  Hedy Lamarr, actress


15)  "Hope lies in dreams, in imagination, and in the courage of those who dare to make dreams into reality."  ~  Jonas Salk, scientist