Don't listen to this vol. 4

I woke up this morning with the following A Taste of Honey lyrics in my head:

Get down, boogie-oogie oogie
Get down, boogie-oogie oogie
Get down, boogie-oogie oogie

I immediately tried to stop the infantile lyrics from further infecting my body, but they had spread quickly: within one verse, I was already back in the womb sucking my thumb and trying to find a cool spot on the pillowcase with my pinky. After rehearsing my phone pitch for a "mental health day" in Baby Talk, I rolled over and tried to block further contamination, but all I could think of was Queen's Radio Ga Ga. Still sucking my thumb, I wondered what the world would be like if all songwriters composed their lyrics in Baby Talk.

Billie Joel would sing "You're Always a Woman to Me, Yes, Yes, You Are." Jewel and Nelly would actually sound normal. Pacifier lollipops would break out of the rave scene and go mainstream, and Tipper Gore would surely find 2 Live Crew's lyrical odes to rim jobs a little more tender when peppered with endearing phrases like "poopsies" and "wittle wons."

Would this bring happiness and peace to the world? We'll never know. Schookums-wookums had to stop hitting the cute little snooze button and go to workey-workey with Boogie-Oogie Oogie in her precious (yehhhhhhhhhhs, it is so very precious) head, and she was very, very mad!

Guilty pleasure rating: Equivalent to the joy one might derive from putting a polka dot headband on a small dog or allowing yourself to publicly drool in rainbow colors while chewing enormous gumballs.