Earworm Wednesday!

On the way to work this AM, I heard one song, thought of a second, and heard a reference to a third, all of which relate to Thanksgiving (sort of).

The one I thought of is Adam Sandler’s Thanksgiving Song.

The one I heard reference to was Arlo Guthrie’s classic about Alice…and the restaurant:

And the song I heard only makes sense as a Thanksgiving song if you’re having a Turducken for dinner, or at least that’s what the deejay said (by way of telling you that someone else made the joke).

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Author: Paul Krendler

The Thinking Man’s Zombie

9 thoughts on “Earworm Wednesday!”

  1. The following is a work of satire and parody, and is fair use and totally legal so suck it!

    Denny's Restaurant
    by Willy Smallfeltch, Lard of Satire

    This song is called Denny's Restaurant.
    It's about Denny's, which is a Restaurant.
    But Denny's Restaurant isn't just the name of the Restaurant,
    It's also the name of the song, because I have no imagination when it isn't about the butt stuff,
    And that's why I call this song Denny's Restaurant.

    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    When I walk right in they make me sit in the back,
    Because I'm not as wealthy as the kid selling crack!
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.

    Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, that's two years ago on Thanksgiving
    When my pedo-pal Brett and I had dinner at Denny's.
    He was having a rough time with his wife, first she turned of legal age
    And then things just went down hill from there. Now she was
    Leaving him and talking to strange men like this guy Hoggy.
    Telling him all kinds of mean nasty stuff about Brett, like the truth.
    Now folks, the idea of anyone telling the truth about him had my
    Pedo-pal Brett crapping his pants like I do, well, like I do all the time, frankly.

    So Brett was living in his mom's basement, and being on parole like he was,
    It had been a long while since he'd had the balls to face up to people
    So he says “Willy, you're a journamalist, cant you write up some garbage?
    Now folks, I like writing garbage even more than I like getting paid,
    Which is why I mostly don't get paid to write no more, so naturally I agreed.
    We sat down, had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, because Brett was paying,
    I waddled on home, pooped my pants, went to bed and didn't get up until the next morning...

    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    When I roll on in they make me sit in the back,
    Because I'm not as healthy as the kid smoking crack!
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.

    So the next morning, I got up, and went about writing about a half a ton of garbage.
    I got out my keyboard and microphone and instruments of personal destruction,
    And the garbage just started to flow through me.
    Sorry, that wasn't garbage, that was kaka. Oopsie poopsie.
    Anyways, I get this garbage out onto the internets, and wait for Hoggy to see it.
    Does his head explode? No, Hoggy just calls me “some bozo.”

    “Some bozo.”

    Man I've been writing garbage a long time, and I ain't never just been “Some bozo.”
    But I'm a peaceable man, and if war he wants, war he shall have.
    War to the knife, knife to the hilt. He started it.
    Owie, I just got a paper cut. Back in a minute.
    While I'm getting medical care you can sing along as it comes round on the guitar:

    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    When I roll on in they make me sit in the back,
    Where I can steal the jelly packets out of that little rack!
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.

    Good, Shiloh, sorry Daddy's out of peanut butter now.
    Dennys doesn't always put peanut butter out on the table
    So when they do it's a little holiday that week. So where was I?

    So I sat down and wrote a typical day in the life of Hoggy.
    And what happens? This crazy guy Braniac steals my idea.
    Writes about my day, and it's like he's with the CIA or something,
    Because it was spot on. The only thing he missed was the peanut butter.
    Must've been an off week at Denny's. But I like mayo even better, it's just
    Dennys doesn't put little packets of mayo out on the tables.

    Anyway, so I do what any self respecting author would do
    with such an accurate portrayal of my home life, and I “write” a book.
    I mean, it's my life, I can publish what I do in a day, right?
    What's Braniac gonna do, sue me? He'd have to tell the court who he is.
    See, I thought this one through. Because I'm Braniac, right?

    Nope, he “sold” the rights to Hoggy, and Hoggy sued.
    Seems I put a lot of his stuff in my “book” too, and he didn't like that.
    He'd also fraudulently gotten a restraining order against me,
    OK, two, or was it three by then? Who can keep track. I can't.
    Anyway, I called up my pedo-pal Brett,
    We had another Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, cause Brett paid,
    I went back home, pooped my pants, and didn't get up until the next morning,
    When we all had to go to court.

    So we went off to court, Brett drove me in his Prius,
    He was mentioning how the springs on the right side needed work.
    And the passenger seat needed replaced, because of a weird smell.
    Anyway, I was ready for anything. I was gonna get Hoggy on the stand
    And confront him about the peace order he LIED to get last summer,
    And his 427 false Twitter complaints I had blowed up (not by Brett)
    Into Four Hundred and Twenty-seven color 8x10 glossy pictures
    With a Feldtchart and a paragraph on the back of each one,
    Explaining why each one wasn't harassment and Hoggy could suck eggs.

    Man came in, said, "All rise!" Hoggy stood up, and I stood up with the
    Four Hundred Twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures, and the judge walked in, sat
    Down, with a seein' eye dog and he sat down. We sat down. I farted.

    Brett looked at the seein' eye dog . . . then at the four hundred twenty-seven 8 x 10
    Colored glossy pictures with the Feldchart and a paragraph on the
    Back of each one . . . and looked at the seein' eye dog . . . and then at
    The four hundred twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the Feldchart
    And a paragraph on the back of each one, and began to laugh at me.

    Because Brett came to the realization that it was a typical case of American
    Blind justice, and there wasn't nothin' I could do about it, and the judge
    Wasn't gonna look at the 427 8 by 10 colored glossy pictures with
    The Feldtchart and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin'
    What each one was, and why it wasn't harassment, and I was fucked.
    Because the most I could've done was read them to the judge,
    And even my good buddy Brett didn't think that was a good idea.

    Well folks, it turned out I wasn't fucked, which was good 'cause I was out of mayo,
    But I did have to sign an agreement. No payment, no jail, no nothin'
    And I must've forged the signature 'cause it looks too much like mine.
    I did have to agree not to quote his copyrighted works, and the doggone
    Hoggy had to go and copyright his entire blog. I mean really!
    But the paper didn't say nothin' about Fair Use, so that still works, right?
    And it didn't say nothin' about Statue of Limitations, neither.

    I always did like that statue. My wife got it for my for my birthday.
    It looks like me, only happy.

    Anyway, to make a long story longer, I done moved to Wisconsin,
    Within a pleasant rolly-stroll of Lake Michigan.
    Now you might think a disabled man with Stage Eleventy Parkinsons
    Couldn't rolly-stroll all the way from my apartment to Lake Michigan and back,
    Especially because of the hill, see I live uphill and the lake is downhill
    Which is good 'cause if it were the reverse my home would be underwater
    And then all my things would get wet.
    But anyway since my wife passed on I've had to do all sorts of things by myself.
    Like walking. And shopping. And abandoning the dogs.
    She still tells me what time it is, though.
    I miss Shiloh. And peanut butter. And bobbers with mayo.

    Anyway, I wrote another book, and Hoggy got upset.
    And Braniac got upset. And Zombiette got really upset.
    But hey, Hoggy's got to come all the way to Wisconsin to sue, right?
    And sure I'm looking at a cold Wisconsin winter,
    And the Sisters at the home I'm in have started crossing themselves as I roll by,
    But I've got my rage to keep me warm. And my new pal Johnny.

    And folks, the best thing is, even after I bought a new scooter,
    I have enough left over to treat myself at Denny's every now and then,
    When I don't spend it hanging out with Johnny.
    Which is good, because Brett isn't here to pay anymore, since he's still
    Living in his mother's basement back in Maryland.

    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.
    When I roll on in they make me sit in the back,
    Where I hum a little tune about raping boy scouts.
    You can get anything you want at Denny's Restaurant.

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