On the way to Victorville, we drove over Mt. Shasta. Ever been there? It's really pretty country down there, mountains, and woods, and lakes, and all that. Just beautiful. It was so beautiful it made me feel like singing. So I popped in my favorite Cannibal Corpse CD and sang along. (Death grunt) "DEATH! BLOOD! HELL! SATAN!"
Three hours later, "HELL! SATAN! BLOOD! DEATH!"
"BLOOD! HELL! DEATH! SATAN!"
"DEATH! HELL! WHAT! IS! IT! HONEY! I mean, what is it, Honey?"
"Could we maybe listen to something else for awhile?"
"Sure. I brought lots of CDs. What do you want to hear? I've got Slayer, I've got Napalm Death, maybe some Cradle of Filth?"
"Um, could we just listen to the radio for awhile?"
"Anything you say, Honey." So the first thing that comes on the radio is (sings) "I write the songs that make the whole world sing…." Barry Manilow! "GAH!" I hit the button right away.
Then I hear this little voice from the back seat. "Oh, but I like that song…."
"What? Who said that?"
"I don't want to hear anymore of that kind of talk. You like that song. You can get out and walk to Grandma's house if you're going to talk like that."
(Exasperated) That Tamika.