C’mon who did it?
I mean really, now I’ve got a whole bucket of Sh-Bomp Sh-Bomp here and there’s just Bomp all over it. I’ll never get this thing cleaned up.
You know, I’m not really mad. I just want to know who did it, okay?
C’mon who did it?
I mean really, now I’ve got a whole bucket of Sh-Bomp Sh-Bomp here and there’s just Bomp all over it. I’ll never get this thing cleaned up.
You know, I’m not really mad. I just want to know who did it, okay?
Um…it certainly wasn’t me. I was waaaay over there. I don’t know anything about any Bomp. I swear!
::backing out of the room::
I’d like to shake his hand.
If we know the words of that song, we are both waaaayyy too old Euty.
Who was that man, I’d like to shake his hand…
Who put the dip in the dip de-dip-de-dip???
He made my baby fall in love with me. He deserves a handshake, frankly. Or perhaps some cash.
Why, I was just eating a Ding Dong the other day, and I round some ramalama in it. I wonder who put it there?
Found, damn it.
[Misquote hat ON]
What I wanna know is, who are the guys who put stardust in my eyes…
[Misquote hat OFF]
[sub]then again, maybe i got those words RIGHT![/sub]
…and I was telling the kids just the other day that our songs made sense.
Euty? No offense, man, but I’m going to have to kill you now.
You see, back in the carefree days of my misspent youth, when CABLE! television was something kewl to have instead of a human right, our cable system used to carry a couple of UHF channels out of Philadelphia. The programs these channels carried have long escaped the flodmemory, but the amateur budget commercials will not leave, even with therapy and powerful medications. One of the most horrifically memorable was for a discount jeweler’s store. A woman was showing off a diamond ring to a group of men, as they sang, meter be dammed:
“Who put the rock in the rock ya-got, ya-got?”
“I got the rock at Robbin’s Eighth and Walnut!”
Ah, you know you’re dealing with the higher quality variety of discount jewelry shops when they refer to their wares as “rocks” :rolleyes: And incidentally, the name of the store really was “Robbin’s Eighth and Walnut”. “Our name is our address!” the cheery voice-over would always remind the viewer. Gak.
So you understand, I can’t get that damn jingle out of my head now, and somebody has to pay. It’s nothing personal. Prepare to face the Wrath of flodnak. And hey, no hard feelings.
Hey flodnak!
Jerry’s got a diamond in his beard! Lots of people think that’s really weird…
Mrs. Murphy called.
She says she finally got the chowder stains out of the overalls and if whoever put them there would please stop.
flodnak runs, screaming and flailing an axe, in the general direction of dantheman
And while we’re at it, someone took the title page of my **Book of Love ** and I can’t remember the author’s name. Got any ideas?
My only clue is from a Tish Hinojosa song in which she asserts “Whoever wrote the Book of Love wrote a romance magazine.”
As long as we’re asking questions…
Who’ll stop the rain?
Who’s that knockin’ on my door?
And finally, Who are you? Who, who? Who, who?
DW, have you ever seen the rain?
Hey Flodnak! Where did your love go?
This is too much. Sh-Bomps, and Dip-de-Dips, and Rama-lama-ding-dongs. Like others, I’m wondering who wrote the Book of Love, and who’ll stop the rain, and it’s just too much.
Guess I’ll take my troubles down to Madame Ruth. You know, the gypsy with the gold-capped tooth…?
Who wrote the Book of Love? Velvet Jones!
Velvet Jones? I thought it was Dr. Ruth.
Oh, wait, she wrote The Freaky Guide To Midget Mud Sex
Hey, does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody even care?