I’m going to do something very unusual on this blog today.
Some of you may be familiar with my “Why Music Sucks Now” posts, but while this post will focus on music, it will not be focused on horrible music. Actually the song and artist I’m discussing today are both amazing.
You are familiar, I am sure, with George Strait. I am sure you’re also familiar with his hit song, “I Can Still Make Cheyenne.”
I guess the video won’t play through the blog because UMG is a bunch of ninnies, but click on through and familiarize yourselves.
I have a mind-bubbling theory about this song. It occurred to me whilst driving down the road the other day, and hit me so hard I almost had a wreck.
Here’s the theory:
Only the first thirty seconds of this song actually happened. Everything after is a fictional representation of an imagined ‘worst case’ scenario that played out in her mind immediately after picking up the phone.
So let’s break the song down before we go on.
Scene is set at a house, the phone rings, it’s late, the woman’s man-friend is on the line. He’s had a hard go at the local rodeo, and he failed to qualify for the next round. Tired and beat up, he decides he’s coming home.
But alas, while he has been out riding bulls and carousing with cheap women (probably) his significant other has taken another lover, and he “sure ain’t no rodeo man.” She tells her man-friend not to bother coming home, that she’ll be leaving and won’t be coming back.
Saddened, but not surprised, the man-friend simply says, “It’s totes cool, babydoll, I’d leave me too, but I gotta go, cause there’s a rodeo up in Wyoming and I think I can get there if I leave RIGHT THIS SECOND.”
Then there’s some driving, the chorus again, and before you know we hit the end of the song, which repeats the first few lines.
She never knew what his calls might bring,
With a cowboy like him, it could be anything.
And she always expected the worst in the back of her mind.
And there we have it. Those three lines give us all we need to know that almost the entire song has been a figment of her imagination, which played out in the span of a few seconds between her answering the phone and him leaving the phone dangling off the hook.
Confused? So was I at first.
You see, she was so worried about what he might say when she picked up the phone, that she subconsciously created a scenario in which he told her he was coming home, and she told him she’d found someone else (she hadn’t, really, it was a test, women always come up with these little tests) and he didn’t even bother hanging up, didn’t get mad, just said, “Baby that’s cool, I gotta bounce though.”
She always expected the worst in the back of her mind
Him not caring about her leaving is the worst thing she can think of.
So George, the master of Inception-esque temporal physics it would seem, has basically sung us a three minute ballad the equivalent of Bruce Willis being dead the whole time.
So, if you were as concerned as I always was for this tragedy of a romance, take heart, it never actually happened. The whole thing was a dream.
That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.
Also, as a complete side note here, there’s no way George Strait and I aren’t related somehow. You put a hat on me and there’s virtually no difference in our looks. Uncanny really.
Today’s blog may disturb you. I will manage to firmly prove once and for all that a certain country music star is probably both a witch and a terrorist. If finding out that country music stars are both witches and terrorists is something that is likely to disturb you, please close this page.
I am not a superstitious man.
When I woke up this morning, I had a thought run through my head, and it demanded to be examined, studied, and investigated to it’s fullest extent, knowing that I had a duty to you, the reader, and to my country.
As most of you know, it has been quite dry in Oklahoma. Dry, hot, and humid. In fact, I haven’t been able to step outside and NOT start sweating since early May. By the time I get done walking anywhere, it looks as though I’ve run a marathon. Being heavyset, people often know that I haven’t run a marathon and that I’m just fat and out of shape. To those people, I say this: round is a shape. Suck it.
I don’t know how many of my readers are familiar with country music star Carrie Underwood. If you’ve lived in Oklahoma for longer than ten minutes or you’ve ever watched American Idol, you’ll know her as the winner of that show in 2005, catapulting her from anonymity to superstardom virtually overnight.
I have no opinion on Ms. Underwood’s music. Some of it is catchy and fun, and other times it can be about Jesus driving your car for you. But lately, radio has been playing a song of hers called “Blown Away.”
The tune is, as I mentioned, catchy and fun, and the song is about a young lady who watches her mean father die in a tornado while he’s passed out drunk and she’s in the fraidy-hole. Sort of a “what goes around comes around” story. At least she’s not slashing anyone’s tires, right?
This album was released on May 1st, 2012.
It just so happens that I have a a rainfall summary from the Oklahoma Climatological Survey that runs from May 3, 2012 to today’s date. This picture illustrates the amount of rain we’ve had in Oklahoma compared to a “normal” year. The only reason I quoted up “normal” is because as an Oklahoman, I realize we’ve had exactly six “normal” years since statehood.
|This shows it’s been dryer than
As you can see, it’s bad. Terribly dry. Crops have suffered, lawns have suffered, and small, pale, Irish children like my poor niece cannot walk outside without having to be pumped full of fluids and slathered with sunscreen first. I’ve personally lost more skin to peeling this summer than I lost to bicycle crashes in the early nineties.
If you listened to the song in the video earlier, or you’ve heard it on the radio, you know that the lyrics feature the quote: “There’s not enough rain in Oklahoma, to wash the sins out of this house.”
“There’s not enough rain in Oklahoma.”
“There’s not enough rain in Oklahoma.”
“There’s not enough rain in Oklahoma.”
Folks, hopefully I don’t have to spell this out any clearer for you, but I will. The album came out on May 1st. Since May 3rd, we’ve had a near record lack of rain fall. In fact, the average has been almost seven inches below normal. Are you understanding?
Carrie Underwood is a witch.
She has obviously released this album and this song as a curse on the state of Oklahoma. As long as radio stations keep playing it, the drought will last, and Oklahoma will eventually dry up and become the next Arizona. Only it won’t be a dry heat. It will be a “Travis doesn’t get off the couch because anytime he moves he ruins clothes with his copious sweat” kind of heat.
|Seen here at an awards performance in full witch garb, admitting that I’m right.
If I can be proved wrong on this, let me know. I’m pretty sure the science behind it is 100% real, and so it can’t be wrong. I suppose the final word would be to see if she weighs more than a duck.
The next and final charge I will level at Carrie is a bit more circumstantial, but it might appeal to the conspiracy theorist in all of you like it did to me.
While perusing the data for my expert scientific research and eventual proof of Carrie witchcrafting Oklahoma a drought, I came across a startling revelation. Take a look at a screenshot of the survey.
|Looks normal, eh?
Wrong. Look again.
|This gives me the goosebumps, y’all.
Is Carrie Underwood a terrorist as well as a witch? Did she have a hand in 9/11? I’ll leave that up to Governor Jessie Ventura and the Supreme Court to decide. But after singing songs about destroying vehicles and watching people die in tornados, let’s just say I have a heavy suspicion.
I’m just laying the facts out for you people. Take them and run. And I didn’t even have time to mention what she did to Tony Romo and the Cowboys.
*All charges leveled against Carrie in this blog are of course based on nothing but pure scientific research, but at the same time, I am not actually accusing her of being a witch or a terrorist. I’m adding this for legal reasons, which really seems as though I have a grand opinion of myself, thinking she might actually see this. Carrie, if you read this, I love you. Marry me.