HERE WE ARE NOW, ENTERTAIN US

This is a vision of hell Dante never imagined. I just came across this and can't get it out of my mind. I feel like the Manchurian Candidate. Paul Anka, famous for singing "Diana" back in the Pleistocene Era, and for handing "My Way" to Sinatra, is shown on French television singing "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Evidently, this studio-tanned lounge lizard is into Nirvana. Not. This is schlock elevated to screaming nightmare surrealism.

Of course, I can't leave well enough alone. There is no closure. That slick bastard might rape the song, but there is still proof that a certain misfit kid from rainy Aberdeen on the muddy banks of the Wishkah howled like an earthbound ghost. Here is Nirvana, perhaps the greatest hardcore rock band in history, setting fire to the woods at the Reading Festival in England in 1992. This is an adult dose, a torch in the catacombs, a head-on collision, a rose in a shot glass.

NOW APPEARING IN THE VELVEETA LOUNGE

This is bad. Very bad.

Wayne Newton, looking like the perennial ex-husband, slides through a cheesy Vegas version of the most pretentious, overwrought song in human history, MacArthur Park. This sweaty lounge lizard bears his soul like a bowl of queso fundido, but alas some songs are impossible to sing. These lyrics could kill a man.

MacArthur Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down...
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, noooooooooooooooooo!