The Oat Opera Lament

I don’t understand why country music is so popular. I had someone diss me on Facebook because I commented that a “beautiful country song” is an oxymoron, just as much as a “beautiful hemorrhoid” is.

In some ways my life would be easier if I could show country fans and artists some love- they tend to hold fast to traditional values at least to some degree, and I respect that, but if I have to hear that odious driveling song, “My Heart is Like a Truck” one more time I swear I will projectile vomit. I’m not an easy puker, but I can only take so much vapid drivel burning my ears.

Unfortunately, every workplace has at least one, if not more, country music fan(s) who will not hesitate to “crank up the Hank” much like Jerry would do to me in the wee hours of the morning when he was drunk, and I needed to sleep. It’s like fingernails down a chalkboard, or like that ratcheting hacking noise a dog makes right before he or she spews all over the carpet. If you enjoy that, please be kind and don’t subject that to others. It’s the auditory equivalent of the retina burning visual of a fat man wearing a thong bathing suit to a public pool. Just don’t.

I don’t know if it’s just a bad association with all the years of putting up with Jerry and his drunken stupidity that causes me to loathe country music or if it’s just loathsome to begin with. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

Thankfully I don’t have to endure much workplace country music abuse- most of the time I am in the office by myself and can choose to listen to proper old school rock and other non-offensive musical offerings, at a low volume so I don’t offend others with cranked up Led Zeppelin or Avenged Sevenfold.

Still, I don’t get how a whole section of a population can enjoy listening to music about drinking and vapid love stories gone wrong.

Intelligence is a constant, the population is growing.

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