How to Murder an Earworm

So I’ve managed to stick to my vow to write for an hour minimum every day, but all I’ve written is crap and I haven’t been able to edit it because I’ve been sick the whole damned week and my brain is fuzzy and no does grammar good. So without further ado, here’s a load of crap:

Don’t you hate being earwormed by a song you hate? My hatred for certain songs comes close to being full on misphonia. I mean, I get seriously enraged. It’s not healthy. I’m not going mention any songs in particular, because that would be like telling someone, “By the way, here’s my anti-Kryptonite, the thing that will turn me into the Incredible Hulk. Feel free to fuck with me for a laugh.” (By the way, the blog post will be extra sweary. This is unfiltered shit you’re getting here.) I’m exactly like this bear, and yes I even love Gary Numan so much that playing We Have a Technical is the secret sauce to chilling me out from an angry high.

Anyway, certain songs – mostly children’s songs – set my brain on fire and make me want to scream. I don’t know what it is about them. It could be their utter banality, their toxicly simple tunes that tend to repeat endlessly on a fucking loop – the very thing that makes some so damned catchy that when one worms its way into my brain it makes me want to pith myself.

So I was minding my own business today when a certain Christmas song started up in my head – in July – because I’m sick and my brain hates me, and boy do I ever hate Christmas songs. I blame years of piano lessons where I was forced to play the same goddamned Christmas songs over and over to prepare for the goddamned Christmas recital I didn’t even want to go to, and then play my embarrassingly horrible song in front of an audience and then have to sit through every other kid playing their horrible Christmas songs for two godforsaken hours. Every year. Until at 12 I told my parents I wanted to quit piano lessons, just because I hated the fucking recitals that goddamned much!

Anyway, this Christmas song is nutting me in the head like a Call of Duty teabagger, so I did with it the usual thing when I have to endure such torture: I yell, “Shut up shut up shut up!” to drown it out. Not out loud, because all I have to drown out is my own brain. It’s more like part of my brain yells at the other part of my brain until it stops singing like a bored inmate in a looney bin. But it doesn’t always work. I mean, I can temporarily block it out, but the minute I stop yelling “shut up” it starts back up again. If the tune’s not too bad, I can replace the lyrics (which I can’t remember anyway) with stupid ones, but more often I just sing “shut up” to the tune because I’m too annoyed to be clever about these things.

But if I hate the tune itself, I have to do something more drastic. I have to imagine myself murdering the fuck out of whoever is singing it. If it’s a known celebrity this is easy, but I don’t keep up with pop trends, so if it’s some top ten garbage I can’t get away from, I just have to imagine what the person looks like. Unfortunately, there’s only one kind of person I could imagine singing this gawdawful Christmas song, and that’s a little Shirley Temple-type cherub.

Now, I don’t condone assaulting children in real life, but I just had to beat this imaginary Children-of-the-Corn wannabe with a baseball bat until her head caved in. This was cartoon violence in my head, mind you. I’m not into gruesome shit, so when her head flew off like a t-ball off a post, it was more like knocking off the head of a doll.

But the singing wouldn’t stop.

There was a whole goddamned choir singing in there, on a stage, wearing little choir robes and coat-hanger halos with white fuzzy crap wrapped around them. To shut the twee little fuckers up, I had to gun the whole lot down with a machine-gun. In slow-mo, like some trashy sploitation horror film from the 70s with super fake special effects – like, you could tell these were really bits of mannequins flying everywhere. Again, because I don’t condone mass child murder in real life and imagining such a thing in any detail is super gross.

So finally. FINALLY. The song shuts up. So that’s how you murder an earworm.

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Sarah Dimento

The only thing interesting about me is my interest in interesting things – and sometimes I make cool shit.

2 thoughts to “How to Murder an Earworm”

    1. Being less silly than my blog post here, another good way to kill an earworm is by drowning it in catchy music you’d rather have earworming you. I’ve had the Talking Heads in my head for days after choosing them for my latest workout playlist, and I find it far more tolerable.

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