My husband must have been in the basement a few minutes ago. I know this because I was in the living room, (which is the room just above his creepy basement office,) listening to Spotify, and had an album by Mott The Hoople playing. They did a version of "Ready For Love" by Bad Company.
Hm. I should look that up. That's kind of a chicken/egg situation right there, but before I forget all the hilarity in my head, I will forego the looking up.
This song came on, and he asks me: "You trying to tell me something? You are playing Bad Company. You know what that means."
"You know... you must be feeling particularly amorous."
"Huh? Bad Company? Really? Well, first of all, this isn't Bad Company, and secondly, it just so happened to be on this Mott The Hoople Album I'm listening to. And for someone who acts like he knows, you should recognize that... no. This is not Bad Company. Do not sully the good name and music of Mott The Hoople, again with your poor ability to correctly identify artists. And for your information, I put it on for 'All The Young Dudes, because that is a fucking classic.'"
"But you know Starman loved Bad Company. Play that version."
"Do it for Starman. Do it for my balls."
"Come on. Starman and my balls loved this song."
"Fine. But I'll have you know that now I'm worried that this is going to open up some sort of supernatural portal that will allow Starman's ghost to come on in and start looking on at us through the wall while we do it. This is getting a little creepy."
So, I go and search for the goddamn song on Youtube, but of course my computer is being wonky, and it won't play the right version, or even the right song! It was FUCKING UP! There's no way it was user error at all. My computer, like my hair, has a mind of its own.
It does. You don't even know the half of it. Sometimes? It's just... inexplicable.
So I sit through the gawd awful Bad Company version...
* * *
.......................... oh, the torture.......................................
* + *
* * *
...and it ends...
and then of course, he has to come over here, and look shit about Bad Company up on Wikipedia, like the NERD HE IS, RIGHT WHEN I AM BEING BRILLIANT, and thinking of about eighty three thousand jokes, at his expense!
See, internet? See what I put up with?