Are you ready to take your place in the modern museum of mistakes?

In honor of Diana (Miss Piggy) Krall(omort) and Mr. Elvis Costello's nuptials. (fuckers) I'm posting some lyrics.

How To Be Dumb

I was hell-bent on destroying my powers of concentration
While you were living like a saint
And all the time the very one you trusted was washing off
somebody else's paint
Now you've got yourself a brand new occupation
Every fleeting thought is a pearl
And beautiful people stampede to the doorway
of the funniest fucker in the world

They're here to help you
Satisfy your desire
There's a bright future for all you professional liars

Now you know how to be dumb
Are you ready to take your place in the modern museum of mistakes?
Don't you know how to be dumb?
Like a building thrown up overnight in one of those reverse earthquakes

They emptied out all the asylums, they emptied out all the gaols
The "New Bruise" was the name of a dance craze
By "Jesus Cross and the Cruel Nails"
Followed up by "Torturing Little Beaver"
With their contraption of barbed wire
Between the fear and the fever lies all the rejection they require
They'll be howling by midnight, they'll be drooling by dawn
Skulls shrunk down to the size of their brains
Heads shaven and shorn

Trapped in the House of the Perpetual Sucker
Where bitterness always ends so pitifully
You always had to dress up your envy in some half-remembered
philosophy

Now you're masquerading as pale powdered genius
Whose ever bad intention has been purged
You could've walked out any time you wanted but face it you
didn't have the courage
I guess that makes you a full time hypocrite or some kind of
twisted dilettante
Funny though people don't usually get so ugly till they think
they know what they want
Scratch your own head stupid
Count up to three
Roll over on your back
Repeat after me

Don't you know how to be dumb?
Are you ready to take your place in the modern museum of mistakes?
Don't you know how to be dumb?
Like a building thrown up overnight in one of those reverse earthquakes

Oh another one the new Mrs might want to take heed too

Baby Plays Around

It's not open to discussion anymore
She's out again tonight and I'm alone once more
She's all I have worth waiting for
But baby plays around
And so it seems I've always been the last to know
To hold on to that girl, I had to let her go
I wish to God I didn't love her so
'Cos baby plays around

I try to be strong hold on to my pride
She doesn't even know it's wrong, how much
I hurt Inside
And heaven knows I've tried
But baby plays around. just a plaything
It's hard to reconcile the facts I'm facing

It's not open to discussion anymore
She walks those shiny streets
I walk the worn out floor
She's all I have worth living for
Baby plays, baby plays around

She should listen to the song as done by Anne Sofie Von Otter, to get the proper effect.

And lastly to Mr. Costello, remember these lyrics. I put the important bits in bold type.


Episode Of Blonde

I spy for the "Spirit of Curiosity"
All the scandals of each vain monstrosity
I gossip and I pry and I insinuate
If the failure is great
Then it tends to fascinate

A tornado dropped a funnel cloud with twenty tons of rain
Though she had the attention span of warm cellophane
Her lovers fell like skittles in a 10-pin bowling lane
But nothing could compare with the explosion of fame

So you jumped back with alarm
Every Elvis has his army
Every rattlesnake his charm
Can you still hear me?
Am I coming through just fine?
Your memory was buried in simple box of pine

Did her green eyes seduce you and make you get so weak?
Was there fire engine red that she left upon your cheek?
It's such a shame you had to break the heart
You could have counted on but the last thing you need is another
Episode of blonde

Revolving like a jeweller's figure on a music box
Spangled curtain parted and night-club scene unlocks
Pinned and fixed and fastened in a follow spot
Arms thrown out to everyone, she's giving all she's got
To the last gasp of a wounded bandeon
Tiny man imploring to the ceiling fan
This stolen feeling
Amplified up through a busted speaker
Blaring, blasting, advertising, distorted beyond reason
Into the street where petty crime-coats shadow panic drunkards,
Half out of the taxi cab the barker seized my elbow
He thought I was another lonely, likely pilgrim looking for St. Telmo

I tried to keep a straight face but you know it never pays
He would stare into those eyes and then vacation in her gaze
She was a cute little ruin that he pulled out of the rubble
Now they are both living in a soft soap bubble

The film producer's contemplating, entertaining suicide
The picture crumpled in his fist, his runaway child bride
The timepiece stretched across his wrist
She couldn't care less cast aside
The scent that so repelled him that he swore: "insecticide"
And there's farewell note to mother
That will conclude "your loving Son"
"Oh, tell your other children not to do as I have done"

So an artist drags a toothbrush across the first thing that he sees
And names the painting "Christ's Last Exit into Purgatory"
Receiving secret messages from an alien intelligence
Paying off his stalker it's a legitimate expense
So paste up pictures of those shrill and hollow girls
With puckered lips
She's a trophy on your arm
A magnet for your money clip
The moral of this story is the sorry tale to say
They're pieced with links of chains so they can never run away


I hope you've clicked on the link in the first line of this post. It goes to show that Elvis is completely willing to toss his career to the dogs to sniff after his new wife's skirts. A good next album hardly seems likely.

I'm all for mature music, but ehm, jazz is not his forte, and Elvis in love is downright disgusting.

And yes I still wish them luck with a capital "F."

Many happy returns on your marriage Mr. Costello.

Where's my barf bag?