Another day, another journey into the land of “What in the HELL were the record companies thinking?”
Why ease our way into things when we can start off this one? I tell ya, folks, nothing says “sexy time” better than a bunch of elderly lunch ladies slathered in curdled dairy product.
Maybe they should use the album for sex ed classes? Might make a hell of a dent in the teen pregnancy rate. God knows I’m not sure if I’ll ever get an erection again…
Okay, I want to dismiss this one as merely kind of sad. Dad can’t let go of his failed dream to make shift manager at Long John’s Silver’s, and is forcing his family to take part in his delusions. I would dismiss it, except I’m pretty sure the “kid” on the far left is actually some sort of puppet. That’s just wrong, man.
I hate this one, because it reminds me of that crappy old game “Operation.” I fucking hated that game. I hate any game I’m not good at, and I was not good at that game more than any other game I’m not good at. Or something.
“Going for the breadbasket” BUZZZZ! “Going for the leg bone” — BUZZZ! Christ, I must have killed more patients than Jack Kervorkian.
I find this one more curious than disgusting. My German is a little rusty, but I’m pretty sure “Leberkas” means “Liver cheese.” What the hell is liver cheese, and why would you put your head on top of it?
Oh, they’ll *float*, Timmy. They ALL float down here…
Olaf sure looks thrilled to be at this “dance party.” I suspect his thoughts are revolving around razor blades and/or making plans with a can of drain cleaner right about now.
Uh, guys? Gene Roddenberry called. He wants his Romulan costumes back.
Leaving aside the fact that Mrs. Mills looks suspiciously like Ernest Borgnine about to have a psychotic break, does anyone believe she actually has that many friends to invite in the first place? That’s a crazy old cat lady if e’re I saw one.
I confess, though, I’d show up just to see what sort of food she’d serve at her party. I can’t shake the feeling that there would be many, many gelatin-based dishes.
Wait, Nellie Olson from Little House on the Prairie did an album pretending to be Amy Carter? I wonder whose private fanfiction collection was the inspiration for that little outing?
This album reminds me of my ex-wife. Well, except the part where she’s been doing any work around the house. Or engaging in playtime that involves coffee and cake rather than the mailman, the pizza delivery guy, or that group of Jehovah’s Witnesses who came by last month.
Ah, well. The police and the insurance investigators ruled the wreck was an accident, and that’s all that *really* matters…
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And finally, proving that jokes really do write themselves sometimes, and also that I have the emotional maturity of a 13 year old:
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