In response to an audio trivia question the other night, I wrote “Nobody Knows” by the Beach Boys.  This was stupid.  The song’s title is “God Only Knows.”  In fairness, Nobody and God are pretty much interchangeable, but I have made a promise to myself to avoid both politics and religion in the future.  Unless I hear a really good joke about Donald Trump, a rabbi, and a Buddhist monk.  Then all bets are off.  Nothing is cast in stone around here.

The reason I missed the question is because from childhood I actually thought the song was titled “Nobody Knows.”  Oh, how I would sing in those naive days of youth.

“Nobody knows what I think about you.”  I could have been Brian Wilson’s illegitimate son.

Regardless, despite learning the real name of the song, my brain went back to what I had learned as a child.  There is probably some sort of scientific name for this psychological phenomenon.  But I am too lazy to Google it right now.  Let’s just call it Phuchupasteria; defined as the inability to  differentiate real song lyrics from those that you have created in your own mind.

“Wrapped up like a douche,” anyone?

“Your money for nothing and your chicks for free.”  It’s “checks.”  I did Google that.  I’m not always lazy.  Only when it is easier to make up psed0-scientific words.

Photogenesis.  Myostochomotomy.  Creationism.

I lasted just under 200 words.  I have no self control.  It is probably something to do with my diet.  Victualmetaphysicalspasmosis.  Spell that, you little Indian children.

I know it’s not a real word.  Yet.  You know what shouldn’t be real?  Semi-colons.  I used one above just to show how ridiculous they are.  That is known as punctuation satire.  Who in the hell invented a damn semi-colon?  Whoever it was, they were truly a pedantic asshole.  Probably someone with a Dickensian name and a rheumatic constitution.  Mr. Withcherpicketts.  Of Worcestershire Lane.  In Dickering Dale.

Well, Mr. Witcherpicketts, your punctuation mark is a fraud.  Either use a period.  Stop.  Or a comma.  Pause.  Not stop/pause.  One sentence or two.  Make up your damn mind.  Mr. Witchpicketts is a clear case of what I like to call Vacillationary Dysfunctional Syndrome.  Or VDS.

Nevertheless, as long as I live I will not forget that the Beach Boys have a song called “God Only Knows.”

It was on the album with “Goat Vibrations.”

I am only kidding.  Hahahahahaha.  Get it?  Kid-ding.

It’s a baby goat, genius.

Goat Vibrations would also make a good band title.  Or name a syndrome often seen in rural areas of Appalachia.

Woooeeeeeewooooo-oooooo!  Woooeeeeeeeeewooooo-000000!