We're A Family Suffering From The Ill Effects Of IRA

You don't have to probe too far back into Infidel family history to find early IRA victims. Do you know IRA? You should. It's quite likely that you or somebody you know struggles with the heartbreak of IRA or as its better known Inappropriate Reaction Affliction.
See, I'm like my father. We both lack the necessary sentimental gene required to make it through ballad night on American Idol. It's an absolute physical impossibility.
I laughed uproariously during the entirety of the schlocky New Moon movie while my sisters-in-law were furiously hushing me in between dabbing away their endlessly flowing tears.
My mom, however, is a living embodiment of a Mrs. Butterworth's Syrup bottle nestled snugly inside a bag of extra cheesy Cheetos.
She's subsisted on a steady diet of treacly sweet nonsense and shameless cheese for so long she has to have built up an impressive dual cheeseball/syrup storage system somewhere around her spleen.
So anyway, my parents divorced when I was 2.
A few years before passing away my father confided in me that after the divorce he was inconsolable and listened to Elton John's despondent song, Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word non-stop for several months.
I was deeply moved by his uncharacteristically emotional outpouring so I naturally assumed my mom would be equally touched by the soul-crushing pain he endured but kept so well hidden from her and everyone else for the past 30-something years.
My mom's response? She collapsed onto the sofa and shook with laughter for a good five minutes.
IRA strikes whenever you least expect it.......Curse you IRA!

And All The Sailors Say: "Elastic, You're A Fine Girl....."

The sailors also say: "What a good wife you would be."
They obviously haven't had many in-depth discussions with my man, Papi.
Okay, so I've only flung myself into Hokey Karaoke twice in my entire life.....and the world is a much better place for that decision.
Coincidentally, both of the times I faced sudden stage death I chose to sing the most recognized of the ode-to-chicks-named-after-alcohol songs, "Brandy."
Hey, I tend to stick with what I know.
Maybe next time I'll diversify and perform a totally sober version of "Margaritaville." I'll whip out a salt shaker during the grand finale and proclaim: "Here it is! As Jimmy Buffet as my witness, I will never search for my lost shaker of salt again......"
As me and my backup singer Sunbum took the stage, I huskily spoke into the microphone dedicating the song "to all my peeps who find infinite musical inspiration from the stylings of Kroger in-store radio."
And after that lively intro, a bunch of raucous DOO-DOO burst forth from the speakers.
That would be the DOO-DOO background chorus.
The Looking Glass sure did like to surround their "Brandy" with a lot of DOO-DOO.
At the end of our performance I gleefully told the audience that I had been saving up all my powerful DOO-DOO just for them.
They didn't seem impressed.
Anyway, before each and every "Brandy" refrain I encouraged the audience to sing along with me. Nobody did. At least not out loud.
Undeterred, I embraced my inner lounge singer and started dialoguing in between the lyrics...."What did all the sailors say? Come on, I can't hear you! All the sailors said Brandy, you're a fine girl...."
By the way, I was wearing my amazing tie-dye sneakers. I credit them with keeping me swaying and stepping in time to the Brandy-soaked rhythm.
The remainder of non-participating mini-Infidels later remarked that roughly half the audience did indeed lip sync along and seemed genuinely amused at our antics. The other half though, well, they appeared torn between looking embarrassed for us and/or sitting completely stone-faced as though "Brandy" didn't have the power to save their mortal soul.
Luckily, I know different and can readily bear the testimony of "Brandy" at any given moment.
Oh, I saved the best part for last. The venue happened to be a gathering of Constitutionally-minded people participating in the newly-instituted 912 Project that's predicated on an ideology based not on politics, but on principles and values.
I wanted to start a Conservative Conga Line, but my inner voice nixed the idea. It might be viewed as a tad too risque to lead a room full of people into grabbing at stranger's hips while lining up, one behind the other, to shake it jungle-style to Gloria Estefan. As it is, I think some folks already assumed that I must have spiked my Diet Coke with a hidden Brandy flask.
I'll admit it: I DO LOVE my "Brandy."

The Looking Glass guy who sings "Brandy" looks nothing like I assumed! The official article on Wikipedia details how he started a heavy metal band just a few years later. How you evolve from squeezing out soft processed cheese like "Brandy" to heavy metal, is beyond rationality. It is amusing to note, however, that the Red Hot Chili Peppers also did a rousing cover of this song.

I don't care what anyone says: I'm going to make it a point to serve up "Brandy" at all my parties.....and you should too! I bet Brandy likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain while wasting away in Margaritaville with her friends Jose Cuervo and Sherry. Poor Sherry, she's still on the run from that stalker, Steve Perry. He's relentless even though she told him it would never work out because Sherry Perry makes for an abominable married name.