With toast and with croissants,
With soldiers and egg,
Crusty rolls, bagels, and breakfast in bed!
Lunches and lunchpacks from Devon to Dundee,
Oozing on crumpets and melted on peas,
Oh we all love Clover,
All over this land,
Oh we all love Clover,
All over this land!
Is is sad that I know the entire Clover advert theme music off pat? I mean, wow. That's a good thirty seconds of music, right there. And not only the words... I can also sing it flawlessly to the music. So thats words, rythmn, tune and timing, right off there, stored in this brain of mine.
How many brain cells do I have devoted to the Clover music? Quite a lot. I mean, that's a lot of complicated shit going on in my mind to dredge that song out of the dim recesses of my brain. And yet, why can't I remember what year the Yalta conference was? I think it's February 1945, but I'm not sure, and you can't write 'the four heads of state probably met in Yalta at about Feb. 1995 but I can't be sure so perhaps they didn't' in a GCSE exam. Although I did write that the chef in my English exam was fully UFIA qualified (now that is an ESOTERIC JOKE that possibly only people who regulary go onto fark.com or have urbandictionary stored in their brains will be able to figure out, which is why I stuck it in the exam; any examiner who has the urban coolz to know what it means won't be enough of a jerk to mark me down on it).
But, coming to think about it, I have so much pointless crap stored inside my brain. Like the lyrics to countless songs. Do you know that I can lip sync perfectly to Comfort Eagle by Cake? Bet you don't. And I can remember perfectly the guard layout of the Dam level of Goldeneye. There's a sniper rifle in the first guard tower. And... FUCK... if I forget the date of the Yom Kippur war (1973, ha ha, fuck you) because the brain cells dedicated to learning it were already used up with learning the internet adresses of all the good porn sites on the web, I am personally buying a ticket to Los Angeles and I'm gonna drive Sanchez over with his fucking bus. The Dirty One my ass. Not literally. Eugh.
My brain is the equivalent of a water treatment. Lots of stuff passes through, but only the useless crap stays. Like the nomnative, vocative, accusative, genative, dative AND ablative of annus, puer, bellum and mensa. Why do I know this? I don't even do Latin any more. Fucking Latin. You know why it's a dead language? Yes, that's right, because everyone HATED IT, and by the time they could speak it fluently, they were dead. It didn't become a dead language by being spoken lots by everyone, now, did it? No. Therefore, I just ruined Latin's shit.
And now I look at it, I'm not sure if those are the correct lyrics to the clover ad? Does bed really rhyme with egg? Because the last time I checked, they were totally different words. And... "Lunches and lunchpacks from Devon to Dundee", that doesn't sound correct either. Aren't lunches the same thing as lunchpacks? Crap, I can't remember what it is, I just sing it because that's what it sounds like to me. I have partially forgotten the Clover lyrics.
Do you know what this means? Well, there are two possibilities:
1: My brain cells, realising that the Clover music is, really, not gonna get me that far in life, have started to wipe themselves clean. So soon I'll have some brand shiny new brain cells to spend wisely on learning something useful, like how to perform CPR or why I should want to. Or the birthdays of everyone I know except me.
Alternatively, my brain cells, realising how wasted they are on the CLOVER LYRICS, have had a mass suicide pact.
I can just imagine it in Brain Cell HQ:
Cell 938371: Cell 58493! What the blooming hell are you doing?
Cell 58493: I'm ending it all, darling! I just realised... I'm programmed with the second line of the Clover advert lyrics!
Cell: 938731: Please, don't jump! We all feel this way sometimes... just step away from the pit of death.
Cell 58493: What do you mean, we all feel this way sometimes? You have How To Operate A Fire Extinguisher in there. What do I have? With Soldier And Egg. What the fuck is that? It's just four fucking words.
Cell 938371: Yes, but... uh... they're important words, kitten. I mean, With Soldier And Egg, man. That's deep. A cell could run his life by that.
Cell 58493: Really? You think so?
Cell 938371: Sure, muffin. Those are good words. Hell, at least you're not that guy whose job is to remember What Naked Fat Women Look Like.
*Motions to a very depressed looking cell in the corner of the room who twitches spasmotically every now and again*
Cell 58493: Want to swap?
Cell 938371: Hahaha, fuck no. You're the second verse of the fucking CLOVER advert. Oh, crap.
Cell 58493: AAAARGH!
*Jumps to his death*
Cell 83758474363363829: He just landed on cell 272637! They're both dead!
Me: What's the second line of the Clover advert? And, indeed, what is my second name? This isn't a good position to be in when being interrogated by a Portugese death squad.
Wow, my brain cells sure are dirty mouthed. And this leads me to the second possibility:
2: I have wasted however many brain cells learning the Clover music INCORRECTLY. That is possibly the most depressing thing ever. Please, if anybody finds those lyrics online, please post it on this blog. Just so I have closure on the amount of brain matter I have wasted.
And the most amusing thing? I've never eaten Clover. Never have. Never will. Don't want to.
Is is toast? It might be toasties.
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