I am famously witty. As evidenced by my hairy hagiographer C--- who felt completed to illicitly record my wise ruminations the other night after I broke the emergency glass on Mikey Drunkenness then proceeded to hold court at a costume party, dominating discussions on the couch through the majesty of my intellect, undimmed as it was by the half bottle of Scotch I drank, and through sheer lung power. So much so that Xena, the Warrior Princess herself, apparently came out and told us to shut the fuck up because the birthday boy, The Mummy, had passed out two hours before and we were keeping him up.
As a recent hip operation survivor—and suck it cancer and / or domestic abuse survivors, us "hipsters" also claim the sobriquet of survivor—I have a wound site on my left thigh that requires sometime attention. As the layers of muscles re-knit the surface of the skin around the wound can feel "tight" or like a light burn. The solution? Rub moisturiser into the site after a shower to help the skin maintain elasticity. Only I often forget to do it.
Like many other people I take inspiration from the movies in how to direct my life. I'm certainly not the only one. Here's a fun fact. When D W Griffith's Birth of a Nation came out in 1915, a technical masterpiece for its day riven as it was with mind-bogglingly pronounced unfettered bigotry, its subject being the rise of the Ku Klux Klan following the Reconstruction period post US Civil War, it inspired moronic cock-spanks to resurrect the Klan Koncept. The movie also introduced the idea of terrifying would-be opponents through the setting on fire of the crucifix. Which, I would argue, would likely have added to Christ's misery, what with the nails and difficulty breathing after being up there for a few hours. But, hey, no one can accuse Klansmen of thinking issues like this through.
So I took a leaf out of Samuel L Jackson's book, the L stands for Logic, and decided that the best way to remember to rub the moisturiser on post-shower was to sing a little song to reinforce it in my head. For lo did Samuel L Jackson's character do the very same thing in the awesome movie The Long Kiss Goodnight, where, to remember the location of two important objects, he sang the ditty 'Putting the keys in my left pocket. Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm. Gun in the right-hand side.'
Like many things Samuel L suggests, such as the importance of a child sleeping through the night or the immediate removal of legless reptiles from airbourne transport, this is wise advice and the singing reminder is indeed a great way to remember things.
But ah, what to sing?
Then it came to me. And the clue lay in the very name of the moisturiser to be used to salve my wound, the same balm (1) we use upon the Chooky, whose skin is prone to eczema and thus each night before bed he must be greased slipperier than a frightened pig in a hill people organised 'catch the greasy pig' contest (2).
The name of this fine balm is Dermeze.
Without thinking too deeply, my tremendous brain rapidly sorted through its contents not unlike Sherlock Holmes in the latest (and most awesome) TV incarnation from Stevan "the Gawd" Moffat and Co set in the modern day, and picked an appropriate backing tune.
So here it is, as sung to the chorus from Dolly Parton's 'Jolene' (3).
'Dermeze, Dermeze, Dermeze, Derm-e-e-eze, don't forget to rub it on your wound'.
So why should the male half of the former The White Stripes suck it? Because he famously did a version of 'Jolene' and it is likely this version that the kidz today are aware of, as opposed to to original classic from Ms Parton. And my cosmetics-infused rendition of the chorus clearly kicks the tan out of his cute little cover.
And I likes to be relevant for the kidz ... because they're so easily distracted ... with their music.
So there you have it, Mikey's massive brain has once more come to the rescue and enabled him to properly treat his wound site with moisturiser through the majesty of song.
Record that on an iPhone, mutha-fukka.
(1) Quick, throw it in the tough!
(2) I once lived outside a town where for their show day they actually had a greasy pig contest. However I was very young and my parents probably said the pig's fate was merely to be eaten. They liked to hide concepts like bestiality by inbred mountain folk from us. Or in this case, plainsfolk, the town being on the flat terrain near Moree.