Thank God that my series of posts about the Beachle-bashers has come to an end. Now I can finally get back to punking out the world at large. First off, I’d like to zero in on the Beachle-bashers for a minute. Did you guys realize that what you were doing was the digital equivalent of monkeys picking insects off of one another for nourishment? Because that’s really the way it seemed to anyone with a single functioning neuron. On the forilla. As I’ve said before, if I’d had my way this record would’ve sounded a great deal more like Foster Brooks choking on a full-grown housecat. Seriously, let’s make one thing perfectly clear, so that even the densest of you can attempt to understand. I did not owe you any kind of free record, you fucking entitlement-junkies. You’re lucky that the one I gave you is as flawless as it is. The world didn’t deserve better, and it never will. Kindly get that through your worthless heads and we’ll get along just fine. And let me make another thing clear. Stephen Cole has replaced David Mamet as my arch enemy. Perhaps he thinks there is more talent to be found in his inexpert coverage of the season finale of The West Wing, but I doubt that even he is that stupid. Between you and me, he seems like a bit of a stuffed shirt, if not a Nancy’s blouse. From now on, Stephen, you’ll be known as either Tammy or Mitsy ’round here, depending on what mood I’m in, but I promise to always remind you that it’s you who I’m referring to. And when I’m talking to you, you’d better listen up. Do you hear me, Mitsy? That’s a dog’s name, and you’re my little bitch now. Okay—back to the world at large. I’m still not terribly keen on it, but I’ll live. All righty then, I guess that does it. Top 5 Reasons to Stop Moaning Like Children, Part 1.

1. Power Source - “Dear Mr. Jesus”

  Ah, Power Source. Time-honored source of veritably limitless power. I just can’t express how much fucking POWER this group exuded throughout the 1980s. Well, okay… twist my arm. They were the fucking SOURCE of that shit. They were so fucking POWERFUL, they self-destructed almost immediately. This dismal song of theirs made it to #1 in the States, but only because it featured an annoying, whining little white girl bawling her ceaselessly blackening little brains out about another little girl (most likely also white) who, the song alleges, was “beaten black and blue” by her parents. And like any good, Christian song that fetishizes child abuse, it invokes the name of Jesus loads of times. For a year or so, you couldn’t turn on a Goddamned radio without hearing hundreds of trillions of instances of this little girl begging the Lord to intervene. “Please, dear Jesus,” wept she, “God, sweet Jesus, please just put an end to child abuse, once and for all, and please let this poor, nonexistent little white girl die so that she may live on eternally in your blessed honky bosom.” Hard to believe that people in the ’80s actually fell for this horseshit. Okay, not really. Anyway, we find out that the girl singing the song is also beaten by her mother, which prompts a vocal response from a seriously freakish Michael Bolton-esque singer near the end of the song. It’s so out of place, you’ll almost want to beat a fictitious child to death in retaliation.

2. Clarence Carter - “Patches”

  Clarence Carter, known to his fans as Dr. CC, had a pretty rough childhood. He was blinded at a young age, and still managed to save the family farm. I believe it. Anyway, this is one song that brings a tear to my eye, and since I only have one eye for a tear to be brought to, Clarence’s story means all that much more to me. This song went to #4 in the U.S. in 1970, and up to the #2 spot in the U.K. Even today, it manages to get quite a bit of radio play. Carter taught himself to play the guitar by listening to Lighnin’ Hopkins records, though he is also exceptional on keys. He had a successful run with labels like Fame and Stax, but none of his later singles would do as well as “Patches.” Carter still tours and records music, and he has a new CD which you can purchase by clicking here.

3. Lil’ Markie - “Diary of an Unborn Child”

  Of all the songs about nonexistent dying children, this one is bound to move you the least. For starters, it’s like listening to the audio track from a Bobby’s World episode about prenatal care. But even Howie Mandel wasn’t tasteless enough to write a song this manipulative. As if some clinic-bound teen would actually reconsider her impending abortion on the advice of some Mogwai. God, I hate cutesy, squeaky voices… especially when they’re coming out of overweight Christians who make their living singing for other overweight Christians. This guy has no shame. His real name is Mark Fox, in case any of you want to look him up. Or abort him. Please, I’m begging you.

4. The Kids of Widney High - “Primary Reinforcement”

  Okay—the last thing these kids needed was “primary reinforcement” from some crazy bitch named Barbara. Somehow, a group of retarded kids were coerced into making this record, and it’s since become the stuff of outsider music legend. From what I gather, these kids weren’t exactly thrilled about being exploited in such a way, but what the Hell could any of them do about it? This record is so tasteless, it’s not even not funny. From the tacky synthwork to the asinine lyrics, it’s really quite amazing that anyone aside from retarded children worked on this album. It’s equally astounding to consider all of the takes that didn’t make the cut. Just what in Christ’s name were these people thinking? Money… that’s what. The Kids of Widney High shouldn’t exist, but fortunately for us they had no other choice. And fortunately for them, they’re probably no worse for the wear. Let’s hope Barbara is dying penniless in some gutter.

5. Dolly Parton - “Me and Little Andy”

   What is it about songs in which adults sing in annoying, squeaky voices? And why do the children they’re pretending to be always have to die so wretchedly? This song is one of those that sank their treacherous claws deep into my brain at an early age. Dolly sounds so creepy singing this number, it’s almost as if she wanted to teach us all a valuable lesson about the seriousness of child neglect. Of course, according to the lyrics, Dolly does absolutely nothing to save the frostbitten child. (Not to mention Andy, the kid’s insouciant dog.) Since this song, like so many others, is a shameless work of tug-at-the-heartstrings-style fiction, I like to imagine that there is a lost verse in which it is explained that Dolly’s character was as helpless as anyone, trapped in her lavish home beneath the snowdrift. Then I like to imagine that Dolly must eat the child and wear the dog’s skin to keep from freezing to death. Then, I like to imagine that Dolly perishes anyway, many painless years before starring in 9 to 5. And then Dabney Coleman stumbles in and consumes Dolly. This song would’ve been so much better if the kid had survived, only to sue Parton for not driving her to the fucking hospital.