Your Bad 80's Challenge

Age can be determined by the amount of pills one swallows in a given week, multiplied by the amount of lyrics one can recall from songs which made their debut nearly 30 years ago, and then divided by the square root of the year one graduated from high school.

We should never do anything INXS, right? The Cure might be worse than calling the Sheriff, who will arrive and serve a Warrant prohibiting you from owning that damn White Snake.

U2 can avoid The Clash by refraining from shooting yourself with a .38 Special. (The Police would not be amused by that Synchronicity.) But go ahead, Jump In The Saddle and Journey to Boston in your B-52s. Remember that Bad English is accepted by the Grateful Dead as well as the General Public.

Go West, I say, after Boston, and find that Golden Earring! Take Giant Steps to get there! You might have to burn the Midnight Oil to reach this New Order. It will put holes in your Nu Shooz… and ruined shoes do make for Violent Femmes! If The Vapors don’t do you in, stay Laid Back, look at the Landscape; you can’t always be Living In A Box!

Take that Loverboy out on that Love Tractor, beware the Los Lobos barking at the door. Always close your eyes when looking up at the Flock of Seagulls on the Beach, Boys. A Taste of Honey never hurts, the Art of Noise is never silent, and Cheap Tricks in a Crowded House won’t fly in The Church, so Cher and Cher alike.

If you do find yourself in Dire Straits, and the Dead Milkmen are competing with the Dead Kennedys in a Soul II Soul bout to take you across the river STYX, you can always beat The System by pulling off a few moves from the Spandau Ballet. Don’t have Suicidal Tendencies – don’t blow The Weather Girls to Smithereens.

Simple Minds fret over Stray Cats and if you don’t know how an Icicle Works, you never will. The Information Society has Pictures In Vogue but the Ministry has Madness. Men at Work (oh those bad Men Without Hats) throw a World Party. When In Rome, do as The Ramones do; if you mess up on the Expose, borrow my Erasure.

WHAM! You’ve just run into the Wall of Voodoo! Your head made a Pseudo Echo even as your eyes swam with Psychedelic Furs. Better a wall than a Power Station. I suppose I should KISS your wound? I simply don’t put Faith No More in a Foreigner. They’re just a bunch of Fine Young Cannibals but I prefer the Faster Pussycat, Fat Boy. That might cause a Quiet Riot.

While we are on that subject, I am the Tiffany Tierra wearing Queen of Talking Heads. Yes, Aut is a Twisted Sister; a bona fide member of The Timex Social Club, best friend to the Thompson Twins, at least ‘Til Tuesday. The bitter bees of life Sting in the Butthole, Surfers… fly fly buzzzzzz buzzzzzzZZ Top and buzzzzz bottom. (Hey asswad, you make a pun out of that band’s name! It’s a spaZZ TOPic.)

Well, wasn’t this a slice of Utopia? More like XTC for those who remember any of these bands. Have a Heart. These are only just Orchestral Maneuvers In The Dark played from The Outfield of my playful mind.

(Can you go through the alphabet and name one band for each letter? That’s your challenge for the day. I’d loan you some of Better Half’s meds to get you on your way, but then he’d keel over dead and I’d have to waste all my time chasing the dogs from his carcass with a big stick.)

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