We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like to think of ourselves as really, really hip. Not, we dare say, as cool as, say, Pat Boone, but pretty with-it nonetheless.

Every once in a great while, however, something from the world of popular culture strikes us as so calamitously pernicious that we perceive ourselves as getting into prime Jerry Falwell mode to excoriate it. Frankly, this makes us feel like a passel of superannuated curmudgeons. But sometimes we simply canÂ’t help ourselves.

And such was surely the case when one of the junior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—took in a music video of “My Humps,” a ditty by a pop group called the Black Eyed Peas. Naturally, “Chip” was just passing by the MTV, in search of finer cultural fare. Yet this song and its appallingly lascivious video were so upsetting that “Chip” found himself glued to the set. To be downright honest, “Chip” immediately thought that, if this is what Osama bin Laden means by “decadent Western culture,” he’s got a darn good point.

DonÂ’t believe us, dear reader? Well, just take a gander at the lyrics for the first few verses of this inane romp:

What you gonÂ’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
IÂ’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps. (Check it out)

I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these icies.
Dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and NaDonna
Karan, they be sharinÂ’
All their money got me wearin' fly
But I ainÂ’t askin,
They say they love my ass ‘n,
Seven Jeans, True Religion's,
I say no, but they keep givinÂ’
So I keep on takinÂ’
And no I ainÂ’t taken
We can keep on datinÂ’
I keep on demonstrating.

My love, my love, my love, my love
You love my lady lumps,
My hump, my hump, my hump,
My humps they got u,
SheÂ’s got me spending.
(Oh) SpendinÂ’ all your money on me and spending time on me.
SheÂ’s got me spendinÂ’.

And on and on it goes. Now, is it just us, or does these lyrics appear to be the work of a seriously retarded person? We mean a real Call-the-Neurologist kind of guy? We’ve heard better rhymes in instrumental tunes. And for crying out loud: “Humps?” “Lovely lady lumps?” Dear, oh, dear.

Unfortunately, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found that this vapid tune and its accompanying randy video are all the rage among the pre-teen thong-wearing set. Never mind Bartok—bring on the lovely lady lumps!

This all made us wonder: How can we capitalize on the arrant stupidity of such children? Why not make our own version of “My Humps,” but fit the lyrics to our “weblog”? This, surely, will make “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” all the rage.

Accordingly, the Official Lyrics Department here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” has fashioned its own verse, which should be sung to the mind-blowingly horrid tune “My Humps”:

What you gon’ do with all that “post”?
All that “post” inside your “web-host”?
IÂ’ma make, make, make, make, you toast,
Make you love boast off my “post.”
My “post,” my “post,” my “post,” my “post,” my “post,”
My “post,” my “post,” my “post,” my lovely little “posts.” (Check ‘em out)

Pretty darn good, if we must say so ourselves. Next thing you know, weÂ’ll be bigger than Elvis (in more ways than one).

Posted by: Chip at 12:01 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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