Young Tad introduced this band to me as we were riding our horses* to the local arcade and listening to the radio. Although I usually listen to NPR, whenever riding the ole’ mustang with Tad we listen to Tad’s favorite pop station, HOT 99.5 (which, mathematically, is the relative opposite of NPR).

This band, 3OH!3, is played constantly upon Tad’s favorite station, with their most popular song, “Don’t Trust Me” playing at least twice every ten minutes. So for the forty-five minutes it takes us to ride our mustang to the arcade, the song plays at least eight times. Although I have heard some terrible sounds in my day (usually emanating from Mary Todd’s throat when she’s going through one of her crazy spells)** this song is in a class of it’s own.

Just a few things Mary Todd has sounded like

Although the song has many flaws such as; strong basis on novelty, reliance on an old and boring pop format, and the overall fact that the members of the band seem like awful and unrelatable people, there is one part of the song that really makes me angry every time Tad and my humble self listen to it on our way to the arcade.

3OH!3-”Shush girl, shut your lips. Do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips.”

On one hand, perhaps the command to stop talking is because they are afraid of the inevitable criticism that should automatically follow a song such as this. But on the other, and more serious hand,*** Helen Keller is far too good of a person and a friend to be so horribly trashed in this piece of garbage.

Helen Keller has always been a good friend

3OH!3 is so uncool.

*As I’ve stated before, horses were the only means of transportation back in my day, kids. Not even walking was invented until 1922!

**Which is more often than not.

***

Serious hand

The summer of 1861 sure was a hectic one. What with the Civil War of the country I was presiding over starting and more importantly my son going through a Nickelback phase, change was all around my humble self.

I must admit, the first press conference of the summer was quite difficult. The Press Corps were like sharks that day, asking hardball question after hardball question about what I even knew at the time to be one of our country’s greatest criseses.

“How long has your son been listening to Nickelback?”

“Do you believe this infatuation with Nickelback to be just a phase or do you see this as having lasting power?”

“Why are you still making speeches about the Civil War when we all know you are just distracting us from the real crises? You’re son is a Nickelhead.”

Oh God, that day was awful. Did they really believe I knew the answers to those questions? Did they really believe I hadn’t spent every night since the news hit tossing and turning in my bed just trying to figure out how to solve this national crisis? Looking back on my presidency, my son becoming a Nickelback fan truly was my lowest moment and most difficult challenge.

This seemed rather easy in comparison

After many a sleepless night of deliberation (which wasn’t made any easier by Mary Todd’s continuous dog yelping), I finally decided that the only way to beat the Nickelback would be to learn the monster’s ways.

I arrived at Best Buy dressed, quite well I might add, as a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Within the costume, I could take solace in the fact that noone would recognize me as the President of the United States and more importantly, the guy who’s son listens to Nickelback. After gracefully searching around for a little while (I was not awkward at all in the Tyrannosaurus Rex suit as I had worn it while making love to Mary Todd on all her birthdays since we’ve been married) I finally found the Nickelback audio cassette tapes (cd’s weren’t invented until 1954, kids), purchased them, and got the devil’s out of there.

Listening to those tapes was another one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. The shameless novelty and facade of Southerness of every single song was so annoying to me that when I had finally and miracuously gotten through all  of the tapes, I had every single tape hung for crimes against the state. Although, if my studies in science and how things work are correct, this hanging did absolutely nothing to damage the tapes, the act of hanging them and the whole ceremony of the ordeal felt really, really good. However I am a man of peace, and I knew the rest of my actions regarding solving this crisis would have to reflect this.

So I sat my son down for a talk, father to son.

“Why are you doing this to me, Tad?” I asked him. “Why are you doing this to your country?”

Tad sat there for a long time.

“Well, father.” He paused, and then at the top of his lungs in a primal scream, “Everybody wants to be a rockstar!”

Tad then left the room humming the rest of “Rockstar” and left me sitting there upon his bed, knowing, that our country was in great peril.

Don't go swimming!

Nickelback is so uncool.