The impossibly-catchy tune of the 1980s.
And yeah, I know it was written in the 60s. But breathes a man alive who did not think impure thoughts of doll-sized cutie Susanna Hoffs?
And I have to say, she’s still not too bad today either, as a MILFy-type thing:
From Ishmael, snarling away from his lair in the Shetlands:
I was up all night, between here and watching the telly. It was a wee small hours, musical interlude, on Channel Four, firstly a film of Liam Gallagher’s new ensemble, Beardy Eye, playing their new album in the Abbey Road studios. Liam is the truly neanderthal, younger brother from Oasis, a thick, grunting Manchester-Irish fuckpig, dumb as shit, you can hear the wind whistling between his ears, if he was any more stupid he’d have to be watered twice a week; makes Manchester United’s Wayne Potato look like a full Mensa meeting, does Liam. Nothing wrong with stupid. There’s lots of people like Liam, their oil just doesn’t reach the dipstick. He’s not as stupid as he looks, mind, because he looks like he was beaten with the Ugly stick and then ate it, ugly as fucking sin, is Liam Gallagher, ugly as a hatfull of arseholes; if your dog had a face like Liam’s, you’d shave its arse and teach it to walk backwards. Stupid, ugly and nasty, that’s Liam Gallagher, a truculent moron, charmless, graceless and entirely without discernible musical talent, a sign, in fact, of Ruin’s corrosion.
Now that’s scorn and dislike for you. And it gets worse…
Hold My Hand (featuring the genius of Neil Innes, who could write Beatles songs every bit as good as Lennon& McCartney’s). Don’t believe me? Try Help! Ouch.
Almost as good as Out On The Weekend
Hang On Sloopy… and the identity of the Sloopy Girl, revealed at last.