Let's face it: It's rare that a sequel is TRULY necessary. It's true for movies, books, and video games, and it's definitely true for music. Simply put, many musicians tell their tale in three to five minutes, and that's all they need.
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Others see "3-5 minutes" and decide "fuck hyphens."
Occasionally, though, artists feel the need to expand on a song's original vision, so they pen a sequel. Oftentimes it's completely rudderless, like the time Buddy Holly heard a rumor that Peggy Sue got married but was too lazy to find out for sure. Or when the devil returned to Georgia for a fiddle-playing rematch and he and Johnny played the same goddamned solos they had played years prior. Thanks for wasting six minutes of our already too short lives, guys.
Then there are songs with an actual clear second part, except they're so bad, so out of left field, or so depressing that they completely slaughter the original's intent. If The Empire Strikes Back had turned Darth Vader into a singing and dancing clown or killed Luke off in the first five minutes in favor of Vader and Leia ruling the Empire as husband and wife, nobody would be able to watch A New Hope with a straight face anymore. That's exactly what happened when ...
#4. "Big Bad John" Lost All Sense of Realism With "The Cajun Queen"
You've probably heard "Big Bad John" and probably assumed it was a Johnny Cash song, despite an entire Internet pointing your dumb ass to the real singer (Jimmy Dean). That's not to say it isn't Cash-y; it is. A gruff, deep-voiced narrator tells the story of a big burly man who rescued a bunch of miners from a collapsing mineshaft, only to be trapped inside and die alone. It's a sad, cautionary tale that implores you to tell captive miners to go screw, because if you help and the whole thing implodes, it's your ass.
"What year are you guys in? Have superheroes been invented yet? Cuz if so, one of them might help you."
The best part is how realistic it is. John was "six foot six and weighed 245," and he could punch a man to death. Well, shit, that sounds plausible. There are plenty of men out there that size, and a good hard punch can absolutely kill somebody. Even the part where he "grabbed a saggin' timber" to gain access to the miners makes sense. Sure, he moved a tree, but his adrenaline was pumping. And science has shown that the ability to lift heavy stuff because someone is trapped underneath it is actually very possible.
And then, once the mine completely collapses, he suffocates, just like an actual human would. Big Bad John could absolutely exist -- until the mine part anyway, when he would cease to exist. Jimmy Dean's dead now, so hopefully someone cool would write the tribute song to Real Big Bad John.
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All that gritty realism from the original is tossed out the window. In its place we get a bullshit tall tale that, if you told it to your grandchildren, they would immediately ask your doctors to up your meds. And they'd be right; clearly you need it.
In "The Cajun Queen," John's girlfriend (simply called the Cajun Queen, because Dean couldn't be bothered to sing "Linda") comes to town and demands entrance to the collapsed mine. Then, "without a sign of a light," and after single-handedly moving several tons of debris, she somehow tracks down the very-dead John and kisses his "cold blue lips." Two kisses later, John miraculously comes back to life and gets "the power of a hundred men," prompting him and the Queen to claw their way up and out of the mine like it was a damn carnival rock climb.
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"Man, what were those miner babies bitching about? This is easy!"
Remember how adrenaline can kick in when danger is afoot, effectively giving you super strength? Well, that doesn't happen simply because somebody kissed you, or if you're looking for someone who has been dead for Lord knows how long. And he was dead; cold blue lips do not lie, and unless she was telepathic and could teleport, she wasn't getting to him pre-death.
Oh, and she's incredibly fertile, too; she and John proceed to have "110 grandchildren" before kicking it for real at one point or whenever. Even if this were set in the Old West, that's a ridiculous amount, especially if Grandpa was legally dead for a while. Then again, he should have been legally dead forever, because Jimmy Dean should have left poor John to rot alone in the mines, instead of artificially resurrecting him for the sake of a happy-dappy-sappy ending.
Rose swims back to Jack, dives a hundred feet underwater, drags his body back up to the surface, and hugs him until he comes back to life. Then they rebuild the Titanic with their bare hands and sail around the world on it.
#3. The Narrator of "Him" Gets Brutally Dumped and Slowly Commits Suicide During "I Don't Need You"
Rupert Holmes is known mainly for "The Pina Colada Song," and thank God there's no sequel to that (if there were, it would probably be called "On My 10th Colada of the Night Because I Forgot I Was Cheating on You for a Very Good Reason").
But Holmes had another massive hit called "Him." In the song, "him" is the guy his woman is cuckolding him with (not "Him," but "him." Got it?). He discovers the affair because "over by the window, there's a pack of cigarettes / not my brand you understand." Since nobody ever switches smoke brands ever, Holmes surmises that there's a third wheel in the relationship, and he's actually right on the money.
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You're canoodling with that 120-year-old Russian man again, AREN'T YOU?
At this point, he stands up to his cheating woman and forces her to choose between her two men. He does so in the manliest manner imaginable:
Him him him, what's she gonna do about him?
She's gonna have to live without him
It's him or it's me, me, me
No one gets to get it for free
It's me or it's him
Good show, Mr. Pina Colada Man. Let her know you're not going to take this betrayal lying down, that she cannot play you any longer. She either chooses you or she chooses him.
She chose him. Oopsie doodle!
Yes, as we learn in the Holmes-penned sequel, "I Don't Need You," Holmes' lady decided to stay with the man she was cheating on Holmes with, leaving Holmes all alone. But that's OK, right? He's strong and independent, right? After all, the song is called "I Don't Need You"; Holmes is clearly looking forward to starting anew, hopefully with a new lady who will love and appreciate him for what he truly is.
One listen, though, and you'll realize that Holmes is full of crap. He's wasting away, not eating, not going out, and generally moping and pining for his lady all day, while sarcastically claiming he's fine and doesn't need her:
I thank my lucky stars
That you have freed me
Cuz I'm losing weight at last
Losing weight and losing sleep
And losing my mind fast
I don't need you
I don't miss you in the way I expected
I have time to clean the sink
And feel neglected
Later on, he claims that he already forgot her phone number, then proceeds to recite it from memory. Considering most of us can't do that with our own parents, we're guessing Holmes is trying to tell his ex-lady something here.
"Mom, I've TRIED to call, but those dang second through 10th digits keep throwing me off. Numbers are hard, Mom!"
If you liked "Him" because it was a powerful tale of a man done wrong and standing up for himself, then tough tits. "Him" turned out to be nothing but a bluff that Holmes did not expect to be called out on. His woman's gone and his so-called inner strength has atrophied into an incredibly slow suicide solution: don't eat, don't sleep, don't go out, OD on pina coladas, be sad all day, and never take your woman back ... unless she wants to come back. Which she doesn't. Because you're Rupert Holmes.
Cameron Diaz actually chooses Brett Favre in There's Something About Mary. Ben Stiller goes home and becomes a reclusive shut-in who starves himself to death while forever cursing the Green Bay Packers.
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Then the Jets ... then the Vikings ... then whatever other team Favre joins for his inevitable next final comeback.