Roughly Enforcing Nostalgia, the Plunderphonic Power Pop Band of Chicago - (When I Get My) Girlfriend

(When I Get My) Girlfriend (3:42) [Winter/1995] Music by Joel Frieders & Dan Jeremy Brooks. Lyrics by Dan Jeremy Brooks. For Lamar Lee. MP3 Liner Notes I was walking with the freaks last Saturday night; Our breath was cold & everyone was looking for lights. We tried to get into a bar that said, “No Fags Allowed.” I said, “Why don’t you go in there? We can watch you get your ass kicked out.” & we all had a good laugh. ‘Cause when I get When I get my girlfriend Me & her, we’re gonna paint the town red When I get When I get my girlfriend There sure as hell ain’t gonna be no doubt about what I said. Hey Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah Oh Lord Lord Lord Lord Lord Lord. I was lifting with my bro Sunday afternoon; I asked him when I can go to the gym with him, he said, “Soon, But first you gotta show me how really dedicated you are; Like by trying to bench-press something heavier than the bar.” & we both laughed it up now. ‘Cause when I get When I get you, Girlfriend, Me & you, we’re gonna paint the town red Oh, & when I get When I get you, Girlfriend, There sure as hell ain’t gonna be no doubt about what I said. Hey. I was talking with my dad last Sunday evening; He asked me what I’m gonna dress up as for Halloween. I said, “Dad, I don’t think I’m gonna do that this year; It’s getting so my own best friends don’t respect me anymore, And I can’t blame them, ‘Cause when I get (‘Till I get) my Girlfriend, I’m gonna be at the mercy of every trend I see; Oh yeah, &‘till I get (When I get) my Girlfriend, There sure as hell ain’t gonna be no doubt about what I said.” Hey Hey yeah Oh Lord Oh yeah.

This song’s melancholy tune, co-written by Frieders, Brooks, and drummer Jon Alison, goes from eerie to aggressive with dynamically throat-grabbing guitar work, while the lyrics by Brooks work themselves into an adolescent, homicidal lather. Matt Alison - Drums / Joel Frieders - Bass, Lead & Rhythm Guitars CARTMAN: Well, hello. It's all my little friends with all their little dreams. MR. GARRISON: Eric, where have you been? CARTMAN: Let's see, where have I been, where have I been? STAN: Where have you been, Cartman? CARTMAN: Well, I might have been over at the Cheezy Poof call-back, winning regional championship! ALL: Oooooo! CARTMAN: This is my regional championship certificate. Do you like it? Say, where's your regional championship certificate, Clyde? Oh, you don't have one? Hmmm, do you have a regional certificate, Wendy? No? Apparently, only I do. KYLE: (Counting off syllables on his fingers) Ass full of pork fat Jiggles like a jello mold Mouth is flapping too. CARTMAN: Your haiku insults have no effect on me, Kyle. I'm regional champion. STAN: Does that mean you're going to be in that Cheezy Poofs commercial? CARTMAN: It's between me and four other kids. I'm on my way now with my mom to the finals. KYLE: I bet you don't win They don't let big fat asses Perform on T.V. MR. GARRISON: Very good haiku, Kyle. CARTMAN: (Counting off syllables on his fingers) Shut your Goddamn mouth Or else I'm gonna kick you Square in the balls . . . asshole ----- Goddammit!" - Trey Parker & Matt Stone, South Park(1998) "Your stuffed duck craned toward Harvard from my trunk: its bill was a black whistle, and its brow was high and thinner than a baby's thumb; its webs were tough as toenails on its bough. It was your first kill; you had rushed it home, pickled in a tin wastebasket of rum ----- it looked through us, as if it'd died dead drunk. You must have propped its eyelids with a nail, and yet it lived with us and met our stare, Rabelaisian, lubricious, drugged. And there, perched on my trunk and typing-table, it cooled our universal Angst a moment, Delmore. We drank and eyed the chicken-hearted shadows of the world. Underseas fellows, nobly mad, we talked away our friends. 'Let Joyce and Freud, the Masters of Joy, be our guests here,' you said. The room was filled with our cigarette smoke circling the paranoid, inert gaze of Coleridge, back from Malta ----- his eyes lost in flesh, lips baked and black. Your tiger kitten, Oranges, cartwheeled for joy in a ball of snarls. You said: 'We poets in our youth begin in sadness; thereof in the end come despondency and madness;' . . ." - Robert Lowell, "To Delmore Schwartz" (1959)