I walked into the kitchen this morning to find The Queen groggily gathering coffee-making accoutrements.
"Wha'cha gonna do wit all dat junk?" I asked her. "All dat junk inside yo trunk?"
She scowled at me as a reminder of the household's "no conversation before caffeine" rule, but then asked, "What are you saying?"
"No no, that was all wrong" I said, disappointed. "You are supposed to reply ..." -- I switched to falsetto -- "... I’m a-gi gi gi git you drunk, git you love drunk off my hump."
She looked confused. "I'm going to get you drunk?"
"Right," I confirmed. "Love drunk. You know, off your hump."
The Queen stared at me blearily.
"And then," I continued, "you emphasize this final point by saying: My hump, my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump. My --"
The Queen interrupted. "Is this that song you've been talking about on your blog?"
"Hang on," I said. "We've coming up on the best part."
"Okay," she said, resigned.
"Are you ready?"
"I'm ready."
I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and began again. "My hump, my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump. My lovely lady lumps."
There was a long, stunned silence.
"Check it out," I added.
"That's awful," said The Queen in horror.
"Now you understand," I said, nodding somberly. "And it's knowledge that can never be unlearned."
"Why?" asked the Queen. "Why did you do that?"
I shrugged. "That song is like The Ring," I explained. "You have to pass it on, or you die."
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