Up My Own Ass

I mean, it’s been 25 years for crissakes.

25 years.  Man.  It seems like only yesterday I was watching MTV with baited breath for the world premiere video.  I mean, Duran Duran was there.  Where else was I supposed to be that was more important than the possibility of catching a glimpse of John Taylor running his fingers tentatively through his thick, barely kempt pop mullet, or Nick Rhodes pouting his masculine glossy, fuschia lips as if to convey both a sense of philanthropy and purpose without betraying his impeccable style?  These were hard-working fellows taking time out of their busy schedule of sex, drugs, and barely intelligible lyrics to feed those little pot-bellied African children with the flies buzzing around their lips* that so desperately needed the help.  I mean, really, did they know it was Christmas?  It was a moral imperative of 1984 to let them know with the help of Bananarama, Spandau Ballet, Ultravox, that creepy cross-dressing Marilyn weirdo…the list goes on.  For this project, the lot of them was simply called “Band Aid.”

What better way to show the world the plight of Ethiopia than through tripey lyrics that, at once, let in light and banished shade.  Which is really odd, frankly, because in the blazing, direct heat of an ongoing African drought, I would imagine a little shade is a fairly hot commodity, but in the spirit of fellowship, let’s just go along with it.  In our world of plenty, we should spread a smile of joy.  ‘Fro ya ahms around the WORLD at Christmas taaaaaaaam.

Perhaps the most compelling lyric is the one that reminds us to “Say a prayer to pray for the other ones.  At Christmas time, it’s hard, but when you’re having fun there’s a world outside your window, and it’s a world of dread and fear where the only water flowing is the bitter STING (deliberate and ironic emphasis) of tears.  And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom – WELL, TONIGHT THANK GOD IT’S THEM INSTEAD OF YOU.” You rotten, selfish bastard.  Perhaps, rather than getting a pair of fingerless gloves and a neon green sweatshirt for Christmas, you could ask Santa to send a bag of gruel to Africa by way of Sir Bob Geldof. 

OR you could just buy this record.  And THAT, we did.  We bought the shit out of it, and when we were done buying that, we bought it again, just for good measure.  We fed the world, dammit.

So the next time you hear the opening gong, remember that we were actually changing the world when we listened to it.  We made a difference.  What’s more important, feeding a nation, or giving a dirty little poor boy some pole dancing shoes to give his tubercular welfare tramp of a mother?  Yeah, that’s what I thought. 

Now, does anyone know where I can get a clanging chime of doom?  I guess I’ll check Kohl’s.  MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

*Well, they WERE pot-bellied with flies buzzing around their mouths.  Give a 14-year-old kid a break, will ya?