Die, Mariah! Die! DIE!!

It's not really Mariah Carey's fault that I want to kill her. She's got an amazing-- some might say freakish-- vocal range coupled with equally amazing vocal control. On top of that, she appeared in revealing clothing in one episode of MTV's "Cribs," which forever endeared her to me (I have no TV, but my brother Sean is an MTV fan, and I've sat down to watch MTV with him while home in the States). What's more, she's crazy. What's not to like? (Oh, yeah-- the insipid lyrics of all her songs. There is that.)

Unfortunately, the Smoo gym plays one of her CDs over and over and over, and it's driving me insane. I'm beginning to think that my personal hell will be eternal NordicTracking plus Mariah singing piercing high notes. I had previously thought that hell would be a Hello Kitty chamber in which country music was blaring, but Mariah is fast becoming my new torturer.

One of these days I need to sneak a Rammstein CD into the player and get all the gym girls pumpin' to

Du!

Du hast!

Du hast mich!

Yeah.

That, or Tenacious D's "Kielbasa Sausage" song:

I love ya, baby, but all I can think about is
Kielbasa sausage, your butt cheeks is warm.
I check my dipstick; you need lubrication, honey--
My kielbasa sausage has just got to perform.
Now get it on!

I see you walkin', but all I can think about is
Dianetics-- your butt cheeks is warm.
I check my dipstick, you need lubrication honey,
My kielbasa sausage has just got to perform.
Now I've been set loose-ah,
I'm shooting my juice-ah,
Right in your caboose.
Now fuckin' get it on!
Now get it on.
Get it on!


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