Tales to Astonish!

Last night, after bouts of sweetly singing Slaughter’s “Fly to the Angels” and Eddie Money’s “Take Me Home Tonight” to each other, Sloth made an interesting observation: a really good way to knock out any song that might be stuck in your head is to sing George Michael’s “Faith.” (Although I guess Limp Bizkit’s version would work as well.) That, of course, got me working on a way to get “Faith” out of my head, which in turn brought about a discussion on what the catchiest song of all time really was.

I know some of you guys are insatiable music junkies, so I’m sure at least a few of you have got the breadth of knowledge necessary to make solid guesses. I only know five songs, four of which are “Faith,” “Take Me Home Tonight,” “Suddenly,” and “Fly to the Angels,” so I’m pretty much tapped out. I’ll leave it up to you to fight this out amongst yourselves, but my personal vote for catchiest song can be heard RIGHT HERE.

(And when I say “catchy,” I don’t just mean that the song is chart-friendly or radio-worthy or whatnot; I mean that it has to make you wonder if death is the only way to stop hearing it in your head. You know what I mean.)

Like pretty much everything else, America’s sense of humor has slowly changed over the decades. You know what the end result is: Adam Sandler, people getting pocked in the nards, and Aqua Teen Hunger Force bomb scares — but what you probably aren’t familiar with is how things Used To Be. Thanks to my friend Missa Lyssa, who got her hands on a 1923 newspaper with a very special joke column, I can share with you a little bit of our collective history:

Q: Have you read any fiction lately?
A: Why yes, just this morning I received a letter from my husband.

BWAHAHA!

“Why did the banker catch cold?”
“Because all the drafts go through his cage.”

****

Waiter: Grilled steak, and choose a tough one.
Chef: Why tough?
Waiter: The chap who ordered it used to be my sergeant-major.

HO HO HO HO!

Irate Father: No sir, my daughter can never be yours.
Bright Suitor: Quite right sir. She can’t possibly be my daughter; I only wanted her to be my wife.

BA-DUM BUM!

“I had a good joke to tell you this evening, but I see you are not in condition to receive it.”
“Why?”
“Because if your face lights up the powder will go off.”

****

“Where did you take that memory course?”

*wait for it*
*waaaait for it*

“I don’t remember”

Yep. They went there.

“I saw a lemon floating in the river and I threw it a rope.”
“What did you do that for?”
“JUST TO GIVE THE LEMON ADE!”

****

“What can I do for you, my man?”
“I’m an old sea dog. Let me have a couple of bones.”

As Golgo 13 says:

“Do you play golf?”
“You bet; I just laid out the most beautiful 18-hole course on a man’s coat that you ever saw.”

****

“Minerva sprang from the head of Jupiter.”
“An extract of the bean, as it were.”

I want to be there for the conversation where that remark comes in handy.

“Noah was the first to come from the Ark when it landed.”
“Nope. The good book says that Noah came forth, so there must have been three ahead of him.”

****

“I’m mad at you, you always contradict me?”
“Oh! I do not!”

****

“I’m continually breaking into song.”
“Hmph! If you’d get the key you wouldn’t have to break in.”

****

“I’ll bet my girl is better looking than yours.”
“What will you bet?”
“Thirty cents.”

Yes, that is the punchline.

Miss Dearborn: Let the cow be taken into the lot. What mood?
Mary Jane: The Cow.

****

News Boy: Buy Edgar Guests’ latest work, sir?
Ketcham: No thanks, I’m Edgar Guest himself.
News Boy: Well buy “Man in Lower Ten.” You are not Mary Roberts Rinehart, are you?

Now, this is my absolute favorite of them all, which is why I saved it for last:

The Solid Geometry Shark says, “An oxygen has eight sides.”

I think the Solid Geometry Shark is going to be my site’s new mascot. You can read all about Solid Geometry here, but it won’t help you understand that joke. Or even Solid Geometry.

It’s a busy Friday, and I’m a busy boy. Too busy to get into vampires, werewolves, or mancrushes of any sexual orientation. Instead, I’ll give you two very special gifts:

ELLEN AIM & THE ATTACKERS
PERFORMING:

GOING NOWHERE FAST

and

TONIGHT IS WHAT IT MEANS TO BE YOUNG

I learn a lot from Sloth.

One of the things that I’ve learned recently is that human beings are not 100% heterosexual or 100% homosexual (which I suspected since I saw my first Prince video), but rather fall someplace on a scale of sexual preference like the one that Kinsey worked up. This is a totally unscientific assessment of the Kinsey Scale, but I think it’s a pretty sound conclusion. I’m not sure where I stand (1? 2?), since I am confused by their definition of “incidentally homosexual,” but I will be the first to admit that I, The Retropolitan, am not 100% heterosexual.

It doesn’t take a two-dollar psychic to know what you’re thinking: The Retropolitan? Champion of Manliness and Masculinity? Tower of all things macho and testosteronish? The very symbol of everything that is tough and cool? The man whose biceps are named “Manifest” and “Destiny”? NOT 100% heterosexual? IMPOSSIBLE!

To that I say, “LADIES CALM DOWN!” I still prefer the soft and tender embrace of women, their supple lips and lightly perfumed necks. But what I’m saying is that if all the women were gone, like that time in seventh grade when I wandered onto the dance floor and everyone with two X chromosomes disappeared, I’d totally follow Ralph Fiennes into an airplane bathroom. You see, I have Man Crushes.

I may be lady-oriented, but there are some dudes that I just feel especially drawn to, for whatever reason. George Clooney, for one, with his humor, dashing good looks and palpable charm. The aforementioned Ralph Fiennes, for his immense talent and smoldering personality. Also: Dr. Drew, for being so smart and straight-laced — Dr. McDreamy, indeed! That guy even has an asteroid named after him! I don’t even have a Pole Position named after me.

Man Crushes are perfectly normal, even for extraordinarily macho, Fight Club-living men like me. In fact, some people — such as my friend Andrei — even have man crushes on ME! Instead of finding it awkward, I’m flattered. It’s nice to know that people are especially drawn to me and my magnetic personality. (As if they stood a chance of resisting!) Surprisingly, I still have no profile on Mancrush.com.

My point is that IT’S OKAY to reside someplace other than 0 (or 6) on the Kinsey Scale. Sexuality is a great and varied thing, and you shouldn’t be judged for not being 100% heterosexual or 100% Paul Lynde. The only time you should worry is if your Kinsey number is negative, like Ben Stein. Or, perhaps, like my parents and everyone else that would be too psychologically damaging to think of as real sexual beings. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all, like, -10,000.

Okay, a simple one for today:

You have the choice of becoming either a vampire or a werewolf; there’s no “none of the above” or “death” choices.

Which is it, and why?