I live in a populous neighborhood.
The streets are only wide enough for those shopping carts with fake car fenders bolted onto them, and yet the inhabitants of my neighborhood treat the space like it’s spacious enough to transport windmill farm blades. You know the kind that look like a giant’s butter knife?
It’s a supermarket display of canned peas stacked next to the canned corn, enough space between the two to maybe laser through a broom, if you happened to have been an Olympic javelin thrower, and yet the inhabitants of my neighborhood treat the space like it’s the perfect setting for dragstrip fork truck driving, blaring their tightly packed engines at odd hours, but somehow always managing to cross their combustion engine-born, exhaust pipe-amplified aural effusions with my evening workout time in our garage gym.
Thus was born this column.
While listening to Lady Gaga’s Born This Way album (door open so I don’t, you know, die of heat stroke. Little things), straining my senses through the muffling effect of a thousand baffles, I misheard the title lyric on the song Electric Chapel. What did I hear?
Electric Chapel has some energy to it. Throws off a zipping, zinging, dancing, raving vibe. But Electric Jackhole? That’s just fucking fun.
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Want to get inside the head of a star? Read on for our special interview with pop star sensation Spady Haha as she describes her motivation for writing her new smash hit: Electric Jackhole.
TFF: Electric Jackhole. That’s a unique title. Some would say offensive. What say you?
Spady Haha: I say call it like you see it.
TFF: Can you be more specific?
Spady Haha: My boyfriend was being a huge dick to me. He decided to spend the whole day lying around our pool while I dealt with our dick contractors—contractors who were building his music studio.
TFF: Your boyfriend is also a musician?
Spady Haha: [scoffs] A musician makes music that at least one other person will willingly listen to without a Winchester to their temple. My boyfriend’s [air quotes] music [end air quotes] is nothing like that.
TFF: That bad, huh?
Spady Haha: Let’s put it this way: his audio filth makes playing the kazoo look like Leonard Bernstein conducting the New York Philharmonic.
TFF: So he sucks. We get that, but could you explain the Electric Jackhole title?
Spady Haha: Of course. That’s the best part. As you know, I was raised on a ranch. We used many tools to keep the cattle from wandering off: fences, ditches, Australian Shepherds, and such, but occasionally, you get a Texas Longhorn that won’t respond to non-stimulant deterrents, and you have to bring energy to the mix. Enter the electric cattle prod.
TFF: I see where this is going.
Spady Haha: Stick that cattle prod up a Longhorn’s hindquarters, and you’ve got yourself a motivated Longhorn, an exemplary Longhorn, a Longhorn that other Longhorns whisper about in the corner because they’re jelly.
TFF: That means jealous, right?
Spady Haha: Right on.
TFF: I do what I can to relate to youths.
Spady Haha: Don’t try too hard.
TFF: Because I’ll hurt my back?
Spady Haha: You said it. Damn, you are quick. … Getting back to the story, I don’t like to use curses in my songs, so instead of asshole, I use jackhole. That’s what my boyfriend was being—a jackhole, and when I electrocuted his hindquarters with my spare cattle prod—
TFF: You have a spare cattle prod?
Spady Haha: [hard stare]
TFF: Of course you do.
Spady Haha: —I had myself a motivated man. He took over handling the contractors right quick.
TFF: Sounds like he was a changed man. Excuse me—a charged man.
Spady Haha: [looks confused, continues look for 10 seconds until realization dawns] I get it. Not bad, Old Man.
Spady Haha: Let’s not, however, confuse motivation for change. He’s still a jackhole, and it’s only a matter of time before he gets lazy again. Thus, he’s always my Electric Jackhole.
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Fun with cattle prods and jackholes.
Literary electricity from the stars.