The Tubes had more than one single, thank you very much.

SUBJECT: Expanded Discographies of near-forgotten 1970s/1980s New Wave Bands.

COMMONTATOR: Wee Faybill, NOT the former lead singer of The Tubes

"She's a Beauty." Sure. Got it. Thanks, MTV.  Everyone's heard that damn song a billion times. But did you know we, uh, The Tubes had other singles and albums that demand attention? I mean, why would I l lie?

For the record, I am not the former lead singer of The Tubes. I am Wee Faybill. They guy you're probably thinking I am is Fee Waybill. Way different. Like, the first letters are totally switched. See? My first name starts with a W, and his starts with an F.  It's funny because my last name starts with an F, and his starts with a W. Kooky!

Anywho, we, uh, The Tubes were a new wave band from San Francisco. They opened for Led Zeppelin for pete sakes! Do you think a super-talented band like The Tubes would be allowed to open for Led Zeppelin if they only had one song? No way.

Heck we, uh, they had an album way back in the mid-1970s. I, uh, the lead singer was born in 1950 for crying out loud. He's probably being treated for diverticulitis and mild hip dysplasia by now. I don't know, I'm just guessing here. He's probably also paying a bit too much for car insurance.  I should — he should really remember to take care of that. Anyways, he's at least 65, which is getting up there in age. You would think a 65-year-old man would have more than one song to his credit, wouldn't you?

"White Punks on Dope" was our their first real single. They also had that other song, hold on, let me look it up ...  oh, yeah ..."Talk to Ya Later" which was kind-of popular for about two weeks in 1981.

All I'm saying is there's more music than you realize out there, kids. So check out our, uh, their web page at www.thetubes.com or look them up on YouTubes. Ha. Tubes.

Alexander Skarsgård is so turning me on right now.

SUBJECT: Spontaneous Celebrity-Fueled Arousal
COMMONTATOR: Missy Sepasko, Part-Time Scandinavian Starf*cker, Full-Time Co-Owner of Fauxto Finish Nail Salon.

Oh my God. Stop it. Just stop.  I'm trying to work here! Jeez. Oh boy, I'm just so ... excited right now. It's like he's here. He's always here. I can feel the hairs on my neck stand up, for chrissakes! 

I'm not even watching True Blood. I'm not watching anything! I'm not even looking at a picture. Not even the shirtless one on my cell phone, which, I left in my stupid car!

Ugh! Alexander Skarsgård is so turning me on right now.

I know, I know, like about a billion other red-blooded women out there.  He's probably doing something really sexy right now ... like ... sleeping. Or walking. 

Oh,damn. I think I need a smoke break. Damnit. I quit smoking three years ago. 

Let's face it. Life isn't fair. I'm not ashamed of this. I know you want me to be. You really do, but it's not going to work.  Yes, my inner thighs are quivering. No, I'm not going to do that down there.  Maybe later. After work. In the tub.  Sorry, I know ... TMI. 

I don't know how to do this anymore. It's just there, like, almost all the time. It's like an itch you can never really scratch.  He can see me from, like, a thousand miles away. How does he do it? Is it because he's from Iceland*? Maybe because it's cold outside makes them always warm on the inside. I don't know. Look. Now I'm just rambling. I know, I'm my face is red. I can tell. 

You know what? He's actually making me a little mad, too. I mean, what right does he have to ... do ... that. You know, that thing. Living. Flaunting his hotness like that.  Walking around places like New York City in a windbreaker. A windbreaker! 

Oh. F me. I'm balling my toes up in my ballet flats! 

I really need a drink, but this mall is run by Jehovah's Witnesses or something.  Christ. Sorry. There used to be a Ruby Tuesday's on the corner, but I think it's an iHop or something now.  

Ugh. I need to think about something else, like Glee. That doesn't turn me on at all! 

* — Actor Alexander Skarsgård is from Sweden.

Could this pharmacy be any slower?

SUBJECT: Apothecary Apathy/Lack of Timely Service 
COMMONTATOR: Ricky Benedict, Prescription Medicine Abuser

I hate to ask again, but shit, could this pharmacy be any slower?  I don't get it. I turn in the "prescription" and have to wait, what, like a hour to pick it up?

How hard is it to shuffle 30 pills into an amber-colored bottle, slap a label on it, and stuff it in a useless paper bag?

I didn't realize spending 14 years in higher education means you can take your God damn time getting people the medication they need to get high, uh, better.

If being a pharmacist promises I get to mill around on an elevated platform while you fidget in a plastic chair under the glare of fluorescent lights or waste time getting freaky with the blood pressure center, then sign me up. I can move with a snail-like pace like you've never seen. 

People are crashing ... err ... dying and you sloths in white coats are plodding around like it's no big deal. 

I mean, I go to a lot of trouble heading to the "doctor" to get this precious piece of paper, and you treat me as if I have nothing better to do than circle the block 56 times. Look at me ... I'm so strung-ou-uh tired, I can barely tie my shoes. Do you think I have other errands to run?  

It's sad that I take less time cutting ... err ... cherishing each sweet capsule that holds the blessed relief that only biscuits .. err ... Numprophan can provide, than you do filling my order, Merle Laggard. 

Before I pass out in a pool of my own urine in the snack aisle, let me ask again: Could this pharmacy be any slower?

Are there any good anti-white slurs I could appropriate for my latest hip-hop album?

SUBJECT: Sophisticated Bigotry, or lack thereof. 
COMMONTATOR: Derek Piatkowski (a.k.a. MCWickadPolack) 

Holla. MCWickadPolack in the house. Yo, all. What up?

I tell you what up wit me. I need to jack up my rhymes wit some dope slang, but all I got is lame-ass shit from way back when.

Black rappers are so lucky. They got the N-word. For reals. They've taken it, and turned that motha inside out. Preverterated that shit. Like a badge of honor.

But let's get real for a second.  I want my own n-word to throw back in your face. Problem is, as I see it, you people (that's right, I said "you people") have been frontin' on the white slur front.

Whitey? The best you can do is stick a 'y' on the end of white?

Cracker? Where am I, 1956 Atlanta? A Nabsico factory? That's the sexist equivalent of calling a ho a ho. Ninja, please.

Honky? Only if The Jeffersons were still swampin' teh televitz.

Listen, I'm gonna drop the shiz, so I can all gets real for you. Hardcore.

Let's face it. The whole anti-white bigotry scene is lame.  Minorities need to step up their race game — stop messing around at the low end of the racism Bell Curve, if you know what I mean.

Get out of the shallow end of the shallow thinking pool.  It's time for all you non-whites to bring it with some new, out-of-the-box insultage. Get hurtful. Take all that shit you've gone through for eons of time and turn it around. Channel it into a white-hot ball of white hate. And then, let if flow. Think of every champagne-colored Camry you've seen in your life. Think about baseball ... Malcolm Gladwell ... Old Navy ... TED Conferences ... Talbot's and Talbot's Petites.

Or just think about the last McDonalds' commercial you saw. I don't how you guys still put up with that condescending shiz.

Or you could just go on talking about my lack of dance moves or my ass inferiority. That's innovative and especially hurtful, believe me.

Go ahead, look up 'white racial slurs' at Urban Dictionary. Mothafucka's not even defined yet!

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Whites have teams of expert word scientists working round the clock in some Swiss village propagating new horribly derogatory terms for the more pigmented among us.  Millions of dollars are being funneled through Chik-Fil-A franchises and Aaron's Rental businesses into this diabolical global effort.

It's sad but true.  What do you have? Six guys on a stoop in Milwaukee?

Listen to me. It's not fair. But it never has been. It's going to take a special effort. Think of it as a Million Man March, only with a purpose.

So, get up, take off your bedroom slippers, put your marching boots on, and gets real with the white hatred. Bring it, yo, cuz I can't omnipotize my dope rhymes without that heavy-duty shiz.