I recently got a new computer to play games on, and filled it with all the games I like to play. The games I most like to play are the ones I used to play when I was about 15. This includes one of my all-time favourites, SimCity 3000.
SimCity 3000 is full of silly jokes and unexpected references, and when I was 15 I didn’t get all of them. Coming back to the game in the last month or two, having not really touched it for perhaps the best part of a decade, a joke popped up that made sense to me for the first time, and it made sense thanks to one Kevindo F. Menendez and one Ian “Hotter Otter” McIver, who had kindly introduced me to a song the teenage Chris had never heard, and my life was all the better for it.
19 comments on “A lesson from the Commodores”
This deserves all the chuckles. In fact, I’m throwing my allotted chuckle quota for the rest of the day at this joke. It’s so stupid, exactly my kind of joke.
We may even need to ring a bell for it.
It’s totally stupid and I’m glad it gave you day-long chuckles. So much pleasure from one stupid joke written in 1998.
Kevin Hill – unintentionally and unknowingly taking credit for other people’s work since 1984.
It’s important to remember that brief pause between ‘brick’ and ‘house’. That’s what seals the deal in a wigwam.
It is and I do.
What I don’t know, at all, is what the hell the song is about. I can’t think of anyone I know who would want to be described as a brick…
…house. It doesn’t sound flattering.
Maybe she’s just fecking massive! Like in “built like a brick sh*thouse”. I cant remember the song, is there a suggestion that the woman in question is popular?
I’ve red through the lyrics, here are the highlights:
“That lady’s stacked and that’s a fact”
“Well put-together, everybody knows, this is how the story goes”
“Shake it down, shake it down, shake it down now
Shake it down, shake it down, shake it down now
Shake it down, shake it down, shake it down now etc.”
Conclusion: no idea, mate.
My conclusion is that it’s about boobs.
#boobs
Well you would go straight to the gutter, wouldn’t you? Filth hound, always gragging (not dragging) the conversation down.
Of course I would. As soon as I log on to the Beans I’m looking for ways to get gragging, and I grug this right down like the nasty piece of work I am.
You know if I were you, I wouldn’t wanna know you. Thankfully I’m not so we can carry on being friends.
That’s lucky. Think of all the gruggage that would go ungragged if you were me.
I wouldn’t like to dwell on the notion of ungragged gruggage. It would keep me awake at night, like a cat made of ice playing the violin.
No, don’t dwell on it. You don’t need that.
What, the dwelling or the cat made of ice?
The dwelling. I reckon you could probably do with a musical ice cat.
I could sure do with some tiny frozen kitties that’s for sure. They could play Kanon D-Dur by Johann Pachelbel and I could make a stir fry.
Would it be beef, pork or chicken?