In lieu of more celebrity pain, I bring you: unmitigated hideousness. With any luck, some of you may find something here you’d like to download. It’s not likely, but hey—give it your best shot. I want for you to have the time of your life. Since no website can provide that, however, I’ll be satisfied if you chuckle once or twice. Again, numbered for no particular reason, here are a few nasty weapons to use against your iPod. Top 5 Songs to Take With You on a Killing Spree, Part 1.

1. Herve Villechaize - “Why Do People Have to Fight?”

  Herve Villechaize is without question my favorite midget of all time. Once a highly skilled painter trained at Paris’ renowned Beaux-Arts museum, Villechaize was the youngest artist of his time to be featured in the Museum of Paris. Herve is better known for his acting, though, having starred in several films, including The Man with the Golden Gun, Oliver Stone’s directorial debut Seizure, and most notably Oingo Boingo’s indescribably outlandish and endearing low-budget musical Forbidden Zone. Of course, practically everyone remembers him as Tattoo, Mr. Roarke’s airplane-loving, tuxedoed sidekick on Fantasy Island, but the little guy made guest appearances on Taxi, Diff’rent Strokes, The Fall Guy, and The Ben Stiller Show, just to name a few. He also turned up in Burl Ives’ final picture, the worthless softcore skin-flick Two Moon Junction. In his prime, Villechaize was commanding an impressive $25,000 per episode for Fantasy Island, but he sometimes drank heavily and was prone to violent outbursts. Sadly, with his millions gone and in worsening health, Herve killed himself at the age of fifty. What percentage of his career was inspiration, and how much was desperation the world may never know. But we’ll always have this undying plea for universal peace, and for that I raise my pint glass to this rare individual whose tiny frame and humorous accent gave hope to the hearts of so many. One thing we can be sure of is: for such a small talent, he left us some mighty big shoes to fill.

2. Father Abraham & the Smurfs - “Smurfing Beer”

  Good Christ—this is possibly the most debilitating song ever recorded. Father Abraham (or Vader Abraham, if you’re Dutch) made several records with the Smurfs, and much to my surprise one of them was massively successful, reaching England’s #2 spot in 1978. Abraham’s real name is Pierre Kartner, who has in fact sold millions of records. And as any hipster ought to be able to tell you, Kartner’s partnership with the little blue devils is no laughing matter. Take this record, for instance, which I first discovered on a road trip with an ex-bandmate. The little red cassette peered out at us from a rotating spindle at a Mississippi truckstop which doubled as a makeshift Civil War museum. And just as inexplicably, this song made us laugh hysterically for most of the long trip home. I dunno what it is about this one; the thought of Smurfs drinking beer, even the kind that doesn’t get you drunk. Or the image of Smurf Village being invaded by the disembodied head of a creepy Hasidic Jew who converted to Catholicism might also be a factor. Whatever the case, this song makes me want to torture people indiscriminately. I know that torture is illegal in much of the world, but if it’s good enough for Dick Cheney it’ll do in a pinch. If after listening to this you’re still not in the mood to kill anyone, listen to it for seven hours uninterrupted. Get ‘er done.

3. Wally Cox - “There is a Tavern in the Town”

  This is one of those songs that cracks me up whilst inspiring gleeful bloodlust. Wally Cox was never as famous as his longtime friend and onetime roommate Marlon Brando, but his crazy voice is instantly recognizable to any fan of Underdog. As the incessantly rhyming title character, Cox’s talents were appreciated by repressed American children the world over. He also had parts in films like The Bedford Incident and MST3K-favorite The Boatniks, as well as having appeared on The Twilight Zone and (probably a bit more often than he would’ve liked) Hollywood Squares. To say that this song hits new levels of absurdity is putting it mildly. Wally apparently was some kind of maniacal human synthesizer; part man, part yodeling machine. Brando, for the record, was in possession of Cox’s ashes for many years, in spite of reports that they had been scattered at sea. It has been suggested that Brando kept Wally’s urn on his mantle, and according to some he even enjoyed having lengthy conversations with the remains. When Brando died their ashes were scattered together in California’s Death Valley. The story goes that Cox stopped living with Brando because he despised his pet raccoon. I don’t know why that seems important to me, but it sure as Hell does.

4. Shooby Taylor - “Why Me, Lord?”

  William H. “Shooby” Taylor needs no introduction. But if ever I were to introduce him, my announcement would very likely include the description “human horn.” Taylor has become something of a cult icon, thanks in no small part to Irwin Chusid and Andy Mardesich. Chusid’s excellent Songs in the Key of Z  is essential reading and listening for any serious fan of outsider music. The book featured a chapter on Taylor, but at the time of publication he was nowhere to be found. Mardesich started a website to find Shooby, and soon thenafter Rick Goetz, Elektra Records’ senior director for A&R, took it upon himself to locate the legendary tenor. And like Shooby’s rise to semi-eminence, it turned out to be more than an overnight thing. Eventually Goetz did find Shooby Taylor, and their meeting would result in the timely unearthing of several previously unheard masterpieces. Shooby guest DJed on WFMU, was featured in The New York Times, and even turned down an invitation from David Letterman. This song is pure Shooby: take an existing track (in this case, one by hillbilly gospel singer Christy Lane) and scat your heart out over it. The result? Some really serious magic. Taylor’s music—an obvious inspiration to Texas weirdos Culturcide and the original, imitable Mic-in-Track compilation—is perhaps the most unsettling thing to play for someone while you’re torturing them. For this reason, I am renaming this list: Top 5 Songs to Play While Torturing Someone to Death.

5. Jim Reeves - “Bimbo”

  This guy creeps me out. James Travis Reeves was wildly popular in South Africa; outselling Elvis and the Beatles, starring in Kimberly Jim, the most expensive South African film of its time, and even recording a few albums in Afrikaans. For years, I couldn’t remember who sang this song, or even what it was called. All I could remember was that it was about a little boy with an unusual name and a hole in his pants. Needless to say, the Internet wasn’t much help. I heard this song regularly as a child, but by the time I hit my twenties I had completely forgotten it. At the time, there was no way I could’ve known that I would one day become obsessed with finding it. But that day came, and for years I asked people about it, giving the only details I could to help with its identification. It wasn’t until I walked my friend Helen home after a long night of drinking that I came to realize that I wasn’t crazy. She mentioned the song to me offhandedly, and—although I barely recalled Jim Reeves—the name “Bimbo” stuck out like a sore thumb. And when she began singing the song, I suddenly remembered every word and sang along. Victory at last. Unfortunately, Helen’s ever-so-slightly slurred rendition of the song was infinitely better than this steaming pile of redneck puke. Behold: one of the biggest letdowns of my adult life.

  Now that John Cleese has a lemur named after him, it’s finally safe to talk shit about famed American playwright David Mamet. The Pulitzer Prize winning Glengarry Glen Ross scribe has apparently been moonlighting as a “cartoonist” for Huffington Post. Only thing is, the dumb bastard can’t spell. Notice anything peculiar here, aside from the fact that he’s an artless douche who struggles without consequence to make grand political statements? This is perhaps one of the most pointless scribblings ever. His handwriting’s practically indecipherable, though, so he must be a genius.

  This is someone, by the way, who taught at the Yale Drama School, and who is regarded by many as one of the finest talents working in film today. Dare I forgive him for two identical misspellings of the word “doesn’t”? What about his consistently terrible punctuation? This is the same pretentious crybaby who chooses to remain uncredited when doctoring scripts, after all. Why on Earth would such an esteemed hack affix his idiotic signature to this piece of trash? I guess it just “dosent” matter anymore. His career was finished when he forgot to remove his name from Hannibal. You may be able to fool most of the people some of the time, Mamet, but some of us are way ahead of you most of the time. Our language has an alphabet for a reason, you jive-ass loser.

  Here are some songs, in no particular order, but still numbered for your convenience. We all seem to appreciate lists nowadays. So many lists. All of them with stupid themes. Okay, I’m going to get in on this nonsense. I hope to make a habit of it. Once a month, perhaps, or—if people are really enjoying themselves—I may just bring it. And with that in mind, let’s get right to business. Today’s offering is simple, yet one of regrettable pain. Top 5 Awful Records by Famous and Semi-Famous People Who Should’ve Known Better, Part 1.

1. Jack Webb - “Try a Little Tenderness”

  As lovable Sgt. Joe Friday, Jack Webb warmed the hearts of countless Americans with his puritanical banter and snappy anti-hippie comebacks. I like to imagine that he spent much of his alone-time eating children. This weepy attempt at high-brow camp (or is it?) can attest that all was not peachy in Webb’s personal life. Drink and women and some general despair, I would imagine, were what ultimately drove the Dragnet star to record this God-awful rendition of one of the best numbers of Otis Redding’s career; not to mention Sam Cooke, Flip Phillips with Dick Hyman, or Bing Effing Crosby. I wonder if when Woods, Campbell, and Connelly wrote this, they could see ahead to a near-future marred by the hideous beast that was producer, actor, and heap of rigid talentlessness Webb. Too bad Harry Morgan never had a record this bad. Or maybe he did. Apparently there were some LPs of rugby songs released by Sportsdisc Records in the 1960s featuring Harry Morgan and something calling itself “The Jock Strapp Ensemble.” I’m getting sick just thinking about it.

2. Frank Sinatra - “Mrs. Robinson”

  It doesn’t get much worse than this. Legend has it that when Frankie strolled into the studio to record the Simon & Garfunkel classic, he refused to take a look at the lyrics. “I saw the Goddamned movie,” bellowed he. Or else I might’ve just made that up. Research it and get back to me. With such punchy ad-libbing as “so, how’s your bird, Mrs. Robinson?” it’s hard not to give Ol’ Blue Eyes some credit for being able to think on his feet. Unfortunately, he’d acquired those feet from a poor, crippled boy in India. “You’ll get yours,” Frank taunts the dissatisfied housewife, “fooling with that young stuff like you do.” Not that he would know anything about that. Whadda maroon! And by “maroon,” I mean: “irredeemable bastard.” Still, he’s so tight with Jesus that he calls him “Jilly.” That’s amazing.

3. Peter Sellers - “A Hard Day’s Night”

  Years before he worked with the Beatles, George Martin produced the early records of Peter Sellers. It has been said that the Fab Four were so taken with Sellers’ Goon Show that they jumped at the chance to work with Sir George because of his estimable history with the celebrated funnyman. But even Sellers, undisputed comic genius that he was, hit some frightfully low points. Take this recording, for instance, produced by Martin at the height of Beatlemania; an obviously tongue-in-cheek, albeit clearly misguided reworking of one of the Beatles’ best-known songs. It should be noted that this track landed a spot on the UK Top 20, which only goes to show how shortsighted the English can be when it comes to comedy. I mean: Mind Your Language, anyone? Fortunately, this blunder didn’t stop Ringo Starr from appearing with Sellers in The Magic Christian. Thank heavens.

4. Ed McMahon - “One Solitary Life”

  Ah, Ed McMahon. Fans of The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson  will tell you that Ed is a shameless dipsomaniac, but in truth he is so much more. Boisterous oaf, loyal sidekick, and royal pain in the ass, just to get the ball rolling. What we never suspected of Ed was that he once had a Christian Doppelganger by the very same name. Yes, the same Ed McMahon who starred as a hairy-chested mobster in Slaughter’s Big Rip-Off. The same Ed McMahon who succeeded Telly Savalas as official Players Club spokesman. And yes, the same Ed McMahon whose name became synonymous with “gargantuan novelty check bearer” in the 1980s. This none-too-subtle advertisement for Jesus is just what the doctor ordered: a gazillion heart-stopping milligrams of hurt. Let’s be honest… who better to shill for our Lord and Savior than a maniacally cackling, obstreperous drunk who offers overpriced insurance to the elderly and shitty travel discounts to wannabe high-rollers? Sheesh.

5. Telly Savalas - “Rubber Bands and Bits of String”

  Aristotle “Telly” Savalas was never cool. Let’s stop kidding ourselves. It stands to reason that his first record—1974’s Telly—was the closest he would ever get. This song is best described in three words: a Kojak moment. Sorry. I just couldn’t help myself. Seriously, though, we’ve gotta go easy on Telly. He’s like the creepy uncle you don’t want to be alone with, but the poor bastard died of bladder cancer on his birthday. And besides, this ditty may be one of the most quotable songs in history: “Pickle bottles filled with plants / the cuckoo clock we bought in France.” Just what in the Hell was going through Savalas’ mind? Well, for starters, I’m sure he knew how ridiculous a venture this was. In the liner notes, he states plainly, “I was asked to make a record.” Even with classics such as Jobim’s “How Insensitive,” Savalas couldn’t have sucked any harder with all the lollipops in the world. To be fair, this is probably the best song on the LP, although his remake of Bread’s “If” actually flew to #1 in the UK in 1975. Amazingly, it graced the top for two weeks, knocked out by the Bay City Rollers. “People know that singing is not my bag,” Savalas riffed, “I can only make mistakes by pretending to be a great singer.”  I couldn’t have said it better myself.