George Thorogood and The Destroyers - “Bad To The Bone”

Note: This one was suggested by a blog visitor. I’m not sure if he was serious or just trying to torture me, but I gave it my best…

We start out with a shot of some folks playing pool, followed by little urchin boys telling secrets on some street, and then we finally cut to George and the guys playing a gig. Almost right away George is shoving his mouth up in the camera, with all those teeth, a signature move that I had mentally blocked since the last time I had seen him perform back in the day.

The lovely ladies in the audience don’t seem to care, rocking to the beat with lust and naughtiness on their minds. And even some of the guys seem to be lost in a frenzy of… well, I’m not sure what. They’re just really happy, let’s leave it at that for now.

Cut to George walking down a street, because no one’s ever done that in a video. We don’t know where he’s going, the only clue being that he’s carrying his guitar case. We also see those urchin boys again, whispering and glancing at George furtively. I think we’re supposed to believe they’re in awe of George’s bad boniness. But they could just as easily be saying things like “Hey, Mikey, that’s the man that’s always asking me if I like comic books in the shower at the YMCA!”

In fact, the whole length of the street seems to be filled with young uns. No adults. Are we trapped in a giant daycare? Is Big Bird going to walk out of an alley and quiz us about letters and numbers?

Back to the pool hall, where George arrives with his instrument, and spies somebody already there, sitting at a table with his own guitar, a man I should probably know but don’t. Whoever he is, he’s apparently the Big Kahuna in this place, with lots of people standing around him and waiting to do his bidding or get him a chili dog.

George doesn’t care. He marches up and flops his guitar case on one of the pool tables. (Guess those people are done playing now.) George opens the case and takes out… a pool stick. (I guess they have a different concept of proper luggage usage in The South.) Big Daddy at the kingly table thinks this is really funny, and reaches for his own stick.

Shots of George powdering his hands and Big Daddy really enjoying wearing his white jacket. They both approach a pool table, with George smoking a cigar the size of a Buick, and they commence to play.

Brief respite as we cut back to the band playing its gig, with George and his teeth and the ovulating sister girls in the audience. We don’t learn anything new or different, so I’m thinking somebody’s already making crap up to fill out the video. Just a guess.

Checking in back at the pool challenge, we learn that Big Daddy is pretty dang good. Which is probably why he gets to wear the fancy jacket and the cowboy hat. George is standing around with an attitude since he can’t even play what with Big Daddy really showing off. The rest of the crowd is mesmerized by Big Daddy and his stick dominance, so they probably don’t get out much.

Then we see some guy nod to another really old guy, and old guy turns and goes into the next room which turns out to be a gym where people are boxing. What the hell? I guess I don’t get out much either, because I’ve never been to a bar that featured both pool tables and boxing rings. Anyway, old guy makes his way to another old guy, who is standing next to a woman with barely-restrained breasts. Old Guy 1 whispers something to Old Guy 2.

The people in the this video are entirely too secretive. Just sayin.

Old Guy 2 and Tramp 1 head on over to the pool room, where Big Daddy has just racked up a new game. OG2 throws a wad of money on the balls (that’s a line I never imagined typing) and then he and Trampolina take a seat. (Well, she can’t really sit down without the emancipation of nipples, so she just sort of leans against the bench.)

Big Daddy and George Daddy do their thing, with nifty images of a clock spinning so us slower folk can understand that a lot of time passes. We also have images of big bills being snatched off the table, so somebody’s got a nice revenue stream. Oh, and there’s shots of some underling sliding those little round discs on a string in that old-timey way they did when people were too drunk to just write numbers down on paper.

This goes on for a long time. People play pool. A lot.

Finally, George Daddy runs the table and wins a game, ending with a shot that knocks his final ball and then the eight-ball into the same pocket. This is nice and all, but really, not that big a deal since it seems that George Daddy lost the 47 games before that. No matter, there’s happiness about, with one of the urchins who has been watching the marathon (do they not ask for ID in this place?) racing outside to slap congratulatory hands with other urchins, all of them wearing trashy and ugly clothes.

Back inside the house of sin and boxing, George Daddy keeps up his winning streak, getting all cocky and prancing around. (But, dude, you lost the first 47... Oh, screw it.) Big Daddy finally goes to sit next to Old Guy 2, all ashamed. George Daddy makes his final shot, with the eight-ball hanging on the edge of a pocket without dropping. No problem. George holds his cigar out over the filthy floor and taps it, and the thudding weight of the heavy ashes causes the eight-ball to commit suicide and leap into the pocket.

Really?

The crowd of homely urchins out on the street roars.

I don’t.


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Kesha - “Blow”

We start out with a disclaimer that “No mythological creatures were harmed in the making of this video.” Really? That doesn’t bode well. I hope she didn’t try to have sex with them, something that’s always a flight-risk in a Kesha video.

Cut to Kesha and some people with unicorn-heads (not kidding) sitting in a room, drinking champagne while Kesha babbles the details of how she was elected to the Parliament in Uzbekistan (still not kidding). Zip over to Kesha somewhere else, and she kicks off the song, bellowing “Dance!” (which comes as a total surprise, because her songs are rarely ever about partying, right?).

Cut back to Champagne Kesha as a unicorn butler presents her with a tiny snacky thing on a tray. Kesha, perhaps not recognizing food when she sees it, looks questioningly at the butler, who points out a man across the room, who turns out to be James Van Der Beek doing a bit of slumming. Apparently the sight of his unshaven face instantly inspires Kesha to shove the miniscule bit of cheese in her mouth in what she assumes is a seductive manner.

Zip over to Singing Kesha, who rap-sings the song while introducing her signature move for this video, which turns out to be holding her fingers in the shape of a gun and then waving that hand about like she’s Jackie Brown. Zip back to the Room of Unicorns, Cheese and Drinking, where James jumps to his feet, causing Kesha to jump to her feet, because ain’t nobody gonna steal the spotlight in her own video. They glare at each other with a mixture of lust, unfinished business, and high-end couture.

Singing Kesha again, who seems about to justify my fear of her having sex with the animals, as she paws one of the Children of the Unicorn in a suggestive manner, then she licks his snout. Oh my. This foreplay is interrupted so we can check on Champagne Kesha and James as they march toward one another, intentions unclear, as a new herd of unicorns arrive to just stand there and distract us.

Quick shot of a unicorn drinking a glass of champagne. I guess he’s heard the rumor that the Kesha in the other room wants to play naughty reindeer games, so he’s building up his courage. Meanwhile, Singing Kesha continues to wave around her fake hand gun and do an intimate inventory of all her body parts, paying special attention to her port authority.

Back to Champagne and James, where he reaches in his jacket and pulls out… a comb, and tends to his hair with the assistance of some fancy video editing. Champagne responds by caressing a nearby unicorn, and then frenching it. (What is up with Kesha and the need for some Dr. Doolittle Bang-Bang?) They even loop this little snippet a few times so we can confirm that, yep, we’ve got tongue action.

A revisit with Singing Kesha (yes, she still believes that her hand is an actual weapon, poor thing), then back to James, who is inexplicably ripping the sleeves off his jacket while glaring at Kesha, then he rips the rest of it in two and throws the mess on the ground. (He couldn’t just… take the jacket off?) Then he challenges Kesha by doing one of his trademark eyebrow-raises. Insert another cameo with Singing Kesha, who yells the line “it’s time to let the crazy out!”. Honey, that done happened when I pushed play on this video.

Back in the Room of Confrontation and Torn Clothing, Champagne Kesha and James have a short dance-off, with her wiggling her non-existent hips and him managing to thrust his crotch and shove his pecs forward at the same time. Then Kesha reaches into the top of her dress and pulls out… her bra, which she tosses to the side while she smirks and her alter-ego in the Uni-Sex Room continues to be inspired by all the horns everywhere.

James, not to be outdone, reaches into his own shirt and whips out a matching bra, although it takes him longer to toss it aside, so he must like his support garments more than Kesha does. Kesha briefly looks confused (we’ll assume that she didn’t have to take acting lessons for that), then decides the business with his bra was really hot so they rush to the middle of the room for further discussion and the possible appearance of additional lingerie.

They proceed to have a mystifying conversation where they taunt each other, make fun of each other’s names, and analyze muenster cheese. This is probably supposed to be erotic and sexy banter, but I’m distracted by the Horn People in the background who don’t really know what they’re doing in this scene and keep shifting about. Kesha ends the wordplay with “Shall we dance?”

But instead of clenching one another and moving to the rhythm, they go to opposite sides of the room, then suddenly turn and start shooting laser bullets at one another. Well, then, didn’t see that coming. So now it’s all about leaping around to avoid death and making snarling faces as they return fire. (Kesha uses one of the unicorns as a body shield, so I’m sure she got a call from PETA during post-production.)

Wait, it seems that quite a few of the unicorns are getting hit by the bad beams and crashing to the ground, so Kesha probably got more than just a phone call. There are also a few other humans that I hadn’t noticed before until they get shot and go flying through the air. And the most shocking thing of all is the destruction of a completely innocent glass of champagne before anybody got to drink it.

The frantic gunplay comes to an end when Kesha finally manages to hit James in the shoulder with one of the magic bullets, knocking his gun out of his hand and allowing her to waltz up and step on his arm so he can’t reach the gun. He asks for a truce, but she decides that she’s really not in the mood for that and kills him anyway. Cut to James’ head mounted on the wall (“James Van Der Dead”), while Kesha and her Pole-Head buddies are sitting around, drinking more bubbly, and laughing hysterically.

Note to Self: Never party with Kesha. Ever. Unless I have spare bras that I don’t care for anymore, can overlook the bestiality, and don’t mind getting shot.


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Britney Spears - “I Wanna Go”

We start out with Britney at a press conference where she is fielding questions while wearing high heels covered with spikes and a t-shirt indicating that something unpleasant may have happened to a famous cartoon rodent. Turns out the reporters are asking some really lame-ass questions, but it takes a while for this to sink in because we’re fascinated with the way Brit’s heavy mascara is making it hard for her to keep her eyes open.

Britney suddenly gets fed up with the stupidity (totally biting my tongue right here), instructs most of the reporters to sexually violate themselves in a rough manner, and then storms out of the room. Luckily she must have passed a changing room before she got to the front door of the building, thus allowing her to switch costumes before she tromps out onto the sidewalk, doing one of those “I’m a supermodel and you’re not” walks.

While the main story plays out, we also get jump shots of Britney performing the song, wearing fingerless leather gloves and unexplained pink streaks in her hair. Back to the sidewalk, where a crazed male fan runs up to her and begs for an autograph. Britney complies happily, first by tonguing a pen that was conveniently tucked between her boobs, then she scribbles her name on a CD, shoves it at the ecstatic adolescent, and grabs a handful of his booty. (I had to replay this bit, because at first it looked she might have gone for the kielbasa.)

Naturally, the boy-man stands there in shock, not really sure how to process this development, which will probably, and sadly, be the most important thing that has ever happened in his life. He finally expresses his excitement by doing a hands-free backflip. (Wow. Just what would he have done if she had sampled the sausage?)

Britney takes off down the street, flirting with a few more males as she does so, including a baby in a carriage. (A nod to K-Fed?) She comes across a policeman writing out a ticket to a man sitting in a strawberry-red Volkswagen Beetle. (I’d give him a ticket for picking that color, too.) Out of sympathy for the plight of the man in the car, or maybe just boredom, Britney rips open her top and reveals her hardware display. (We’re behind her and can’t see much, which is a little sad, but really, has she ever worn a top that didn’t allow us to visualize exactly what she’s got? I think we’re fully aware of her exact dimensions.)

The camera jumps around, letting us see that all of the males in the area are absolutely mesmerized by the mammaries, and then focuses on the reaction of the policeman. He seems to be a bit perturbed at first, but I guess he quickly gets over it, because next thing you know he’s got Britney sprawled over the hood of the strawberry car and is frisking her doggie-style. (This does nothing to stop her from singing, but it does allow her traffic cones to dangle and caress the curves of the hood.)

What The Man is hoping to find lodged somewhere we don’t really know, but he must be worried about something up in that skintight grill because he spends quite a bit of time on the hunt. Then apparently they have some quickie sex, because we cut away for a bit and come back to see Britney walking away, twirling his handcuffs while he buttons his shirt back up. Girl knows how to get things done and then get back to the shopping.

Next up we have Britney encountering some paparazzi guy, something I’m sure she’s familiar with since they hide in her trash cans and bathrooms and such. At first she’s real sweet, posing for him and blowing him kisses, because she loves everybody that will take a picture of her. Then she gets an attitude, snatches away his fancy camera, and hurls it to the sidewalk, shattered bits flying. (Honey, is your bustier a little too tight?)

Apparently this bit of destruction titillates Britney to some degree, and she decides that she needs more of that apple juice. She rushes out into the street, and climbs on top of a taxicab that is stupidly parked there. 4 other paparazzi appear out of nowhere and also hop on top of cars. (Is this a new line-dance craze? To the left, to the left, to the left, climb on a vehicle. Even though there’s no parking on the dance floor.)

Britney stares down the four guys, while we get jump shots of her belly button giving a performance somewhere else. Then she suddenly whips out a microphone on a really long cord. (Wow. Based on her minimal outfit, there’s only one place she could have been storing that.) Kill Bill Britney starts whirling the microphone around her, striking down the Evil People With Cameras, one by one. (Interesting to note: When the mike slams into them, the guys emit sparks before crashing to the ground. Oh?)

Once all the pins have been knocked down, Britney just stands there in a triumphant and saucy manner. Until she spies one of the photogs getting back up, his damaged face looking all Terminator and stuff. And the other dudes are the same way. Whoopsie, we have an issue. Time to dash, Brit. Run like the wind, girl!

Luckily, a guy with a convertible just happens to drive up. (We’ll overlook the fact that this street was entirely blocked off with cars right up to this magical point.) And he even knows her name, beckoning for her to hop in. Yay! They zoom down the street.

And decide to go for a ride in the country, because who wouldn’t want to do that when you’ve just killed four men and then they pulled a Lazarus on you. Anyway, the brisk country air convinces Britney that she needs to abandon even more of her clothing, as well as stand up in the car and wave her arms about like a sorority girl after her first experience with a beer bong.

They travel across the land, me and you and a… carton of milk? The driver whips out a container of the white stuff that he had stashed behind the seat, (what?), and then proceeds to pour the milk all over his face while still clipping along at 80mph. This goes on for a very long time, with Britney and her cleavage encouraging him. Then Brit notices that his cool leather jacket is smoking, so she rips it open and discovers that he’s a machine, too! Egads! Poor thing just can’t get a break.

Cut back to the original press conference, where Britney shakes off her daydream, and is still fielding questions from the asinine reporters. Suddenly, the guy with the milk fetish and the dysfunctional circuitry walks up to Brit, only now he seems normal and dry. Or is he? As he rescues Britney from the Bad People Who Write Stories, dragging her away, he hands her some seashells and then they waltz away. Just before they round a corner, he looks back, and we see the evil red eyes of a robot.

Which means he must be a music producer, right?


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