Our elementary school teachers told us there are no stupid questions. Pop songwriters all over the world have been working overtime to prove them wrong.
Well, now that the stupid questions have been asked, we feel it's our job to answer them.
What you gon' do with all that junk?/All that junk inside your trunk?
For anyone who argues that American workers have become less competent than their foreign counterparts, we present: "My Humps," a song that Black Eyed Peas own Will.i.am has admitted to writing during a five-minute break. Considering the album version of the song is 26 seconds longer than five minutes, this makes Will.i.am the most efficient songwriter in the world! Eat that India!
And, if you can write a Grammy-winning, chart-topping, ring-tone selling hit faster than you can say the words of that song, you probably couldn't care less that the questions posed therein offer more proof of American stupidity than any standardized test our public school students can fail.
As this question was posed to Fergie, we already know the answer. She would take her junk on a solo career and ride it all the way to Innuendo City, where she could ask equally important questions like "How come every time you come around my London, London Bridge wanna go down?"
He was a boy/She was a girl/Can I make it any more obvious?
Give Avril a little credit, here. At least she hasn't been sued for plagiarizing this particular song. That's not to say she didn't steal it, of course ... it's entirely possible she did, and the original writer just has enough self-respect not to take credit for this affront to music.
Avril answers her own question here somewhat, since the very fact that she keeps singing indicates that she felt like she needed to elaborate. If the answer was "No, this cannot be made more obvious," then the song would presumably cut to abrupt silence at that point, which would improve it by a factor of 10.
Though, even after having listened to it, we're still not completely sure what was supposed to be obvious about the line, which merely stated the genders of two people. We had assumed the rest of the lyrics would be Avril backing up her assertion with detailed descriptions of their male and female genitalia. That's how the Black Eyed Peas would have done it.
Or, perhaps Avril's "obvious" message is simply that she's an atrocious songwriter. If so, then mission accomplished, Avril.
Saying "we eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast"/ Huh? Yall eat pieces of shit? What's the basis?
Here, we find Kanye West having an argument with the imaginary police officer in his mind. Like most imaginary cops we know, this guy's never seen Happy Gilmore and stupidly sets himself up by telling Kanye that he and his fellow mind cops eat pieces of shit like him for breakfast. Making the whole exchange even more bewildering than it already is, Kanye wiffs on the meatball he's lobbed himself, merely asking the officer to clarify his statement.
If Kanye's asking the mind police for the basis for their statement, the best answer is probably along the lines of: "The threat is based on our propensity to figuratively eat criminals, in this case referred to as pieces of shit, for breakfast. The entire statement is rich in symbolism implying that we are bad asses and you are a douche. We're sorry to have confused you, and appreciate the opportunity to clarify."
If Kanye is asking himself the much more pressing question, "What's the basis for my quoting an Adam Sandler movie in a rap song?" Well, we really don't have a good answer for that. Our best guess: "We'd just watched Happy Gilmore, and were under the mistaken impression that it's OK for adults who aren't developmentally retarded or time travelers to quote that movie."
Baby I'm confused/Well, wasn't that you in my bed? When love finally said good-bye/Where was I?
Hasselhoff tries to piece things together, on a night where he unfortunately didn't have video-taped evidence filmed by his weeping daughter to assist him.
It's times like these when an artificially intelligent talking car would come in handy to fill in the hazy gaps during the former Knight Rider star's blackout. Given that he hasn t had access to such a vehicle since the 1980s, though, we'll just have to guess: David, you were on the bathroom floor eating Burger King.
Are you Johnnie Ray ... Are you Fay Wray ... Are you Stingray ... Are you Jimmy Ray/Who wants to know?/Who wants to know about me?
In 1997, Simon Fuller, producer of American Idol, and manager of the Spice Girls, managed Jimmy Ray, who himself managed to confuse all nouns containing the word "Ray" or rhyming with Ray en route to a hit single.
While this song initially appears to be a game of Guess Who gone awry, it soon becomes clear that it's all about Jimmy Ray fishing for an opportunity to talk about himself. And after all that fishin', Jimmy Ray has little to tell us other than he's "meaner, leaner" and that he "ain't no in-betweener." With no reference point as to how lean or mean he was prior to the release of this song, this information is about as useful as a tour guide who, like Jimmy, can't tell the difference between King Kong star Fay Wray and a stingray.
Actually, we have a question for you, Mr. Ray. Why the hell are you so defensive? One, you're not famous or important or even useful. And two, you're the one who brought it up. It's your song, dickhead.
Do you know what it feels like to be the last one to know the lock on the door has changed?
In this song where Enrique describes the feeling of a bad break-up, we can't help but wonder how many people were in on this whole lock-changing scheme. The first person to know, the locksmith, probably feels good, like "another job well done. That ICS lock-smithing degree keeps paying dividends!" The second person to know, Enrique's former lover, probably enjoys the security of a new lock.
But, really, if Enrique is the last to know, then we're talking about an event that somehow spread across all of Central Asia without getting back to Enrique.
First of all, Enrique, of course we don't know what it feels like to be the last one to know the lock on the door has changed. She told us after she told her mailman but before she told her old college roommates. We re sure it probably feels pretty shitty to be the last one to know, but given what it would take for this to be the case, you should have other things on your mind. First, go down to the nearest VD clinic and second, count your lucky stars that you're locked out.
Honestly, Enrique, if every other guy in the world knows your lock has been changed before you, including but not limited to every member of the Cracked editorial staff, then -and we can't believe these words would ever be said to Enrique Iglesias-she's WAY too slutty for you.
Why you sleepin' with ya eyes closed?
No one would ever suggest that Destiny's Child should be bringing home literary awards for their lyrics, but they stooped a little low when they invited the master of mumbling to collaborate on a song. Timbaland goes on to remind Beyonce and company about how he took them "from dirt bikes to Hondas," leaving the listener wondering just how old the girls were when he first got involved with them.
Well, it's quite obvious why they're sleeping with their eyes closed, Timbaland. The real question is where you get your concept of sleep. Have you gone and confused your girlfriend and your goldfish again?
Hey is that the truth or are you talking trash? Is your game M.V.P. like Steve Nash?
Nelly Furtado makes a career switch, trying to convince us that she's moved on from a more up-tempo Sarah McLachlan to the type of bad girl that flirts with Timbaland in a bar. In doing so, she poses the above two questions after her potential suitor tells her "I got something that you gon' like."
So how about it, Timbaland? Is your game like Steve Nash, which is to say, is your game an incredibly talented Canadian point guard with laughably weak defense skills? Since we've already established that a night with Timbaland consists of a whole lot of sleeplessness due to nagging, we're guessing that talking trash is the more likely option.
Should I stay or should I go now?
The Clash's Mick Jones seems to be at a loss when it comes to this particular romance, even after he recognizes within the lyrics that "if I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double." With odds-evaluation abilities like these, we want to own stock in any casino that Jones gambles at. This, of course, begs the follow-up question: What kind of fucked-up romantic situation/existential nightmare has Jones gotten himself into, where bad results are guaranteed no matter what he does?
Really, it seems pretty obvious. If your options are "get into a bunch of trouble" or "get into twice as much trouble," how is this even an issue? Sure, a bunch of trouble is kind of a pain in the ass, but it is undeniably better than double trouble. How could Jones even ask the question without immediately recognizing the answer? "Guys I don't know what to do, if I go, my girlfriend is gonna dump me, but if I stay, she's gonna dump me and light my head on fire. What should I do?"
Hopefully for all involved, the song actually revolves around Jones hanging out with his girlfriend and one of her friends while the gals play the Milton Bradley board game "Trouble," and he's simply acknowledging that if he's going to stick around to watch them play, he wants to take on the winner in a second game.
Why don't we do it in the road?
This two-line song from the White Album repeatedly poses this question, along with the justification that "no one will be watching us." Perhaps the only thing dumber than doing it on the road is the idea that in the 1960s, thousands of screaming and crying teenage girls wouldn't follow the Beatles from the airport to watch whatever their idols did next, particularly on public roadways. According to Wikipedia, Paul McCartney wrote this song after admiring the simplicity of watching two monkeys do it in the road.
"Why don't we do it in the road?" Oh, gosh, a thousand reasons, Paul. Granted, we're thrilled you'd think of us, but we're not too excited about picking cigarette butts and bits of asphalt out of our ass for the next week and a half. Let's not forget that this is a road, Paul. Not everyone is going to use it the same way you do (specifically, take a bunch of mushrooms and bone). Some people, this may sound crazy, may be driving on it. Sex is already nerve racking enough, with the grim possibilities of venereal disease and being asked to take our shirt off. We'd rather not have to worry about an 18-wheeler, too.
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