Politicians are dumb stupid idoit fart booger-butt dumby dootie heads

I've had it up to here [holding hand high above head] with the relentless political advertising on television. It's the same thing every voting season, and every voting season that passes, it pushes me one step closer to Andy Rooney-dom. Politicians sitting on benches in parks with old people who read their scripted lines poorly. Politicians in schools. In factories. Holding babies.

Sigh.

If your opinion is swayed by a 30 second spot where someone with a bad hairdo and Dockers pulled up to their man-titties slams their opponent and then turns around and talks about how bitchin' they themselves are, you've got diarrhea in your head.

In an ideal world, I would like to take all of these buffoons and tie them all to chairs in a stuffy, non-ventilated room. I'd set the mood by cranking my Barry Manilow's Greatest Hits CD. Then what I would do is assemble a team of big meat-and-potatoes construction workers and feed them the biggest, spiciest meal they've ever had in their lives, and I'd make damn sure everyone downed at least 2 servings of baked beans.

Then an hour later, once that meal starts to wreak havoc on their digestive tracts, I'd have them all file into the room full of politicians strapped to chairs, put their big beefy asses right in the politician's faces, and let them squeeze out as many hot, sweltering silent farts as they could muster. It's only right to violate the fuckers right back for all the years of violating me when I'm just trying to watch Entertainment Tonight. I'd have movie cameras filming all of this, and gladly provide masks and toilet paper for the construction workers. The politician who would make the funniest throw-up face would then MAYBE win my vote.

These days if the remote is close by, I instantly mute the telly when one of these ads comes on. Televisions now have that V-Chip dealie bopper in them which makes television viewing an even more edited and sanitary experience than it already is, sucking all of the awesome sex and violence out of the programming. To Hell with that.. I want a muh-fuggin P-chip in my teevee, knowumsayin? The Politician Chip. Every time a political figure is on teevee spewing the same mundane cookie-cutter drivel, The Jeffersons will pop on instead. And hopefully it will be the one where George is running in place on the bed having a total spaz attack. You know, the clip that they show during the opening credits.. I've never been fortunate enough to catch that episode, so that would rule ass.

My name is Micycle Tricycle, and Hells yes, I most certainly approve of this message.

Spontaneous combustion of a moist towelette

Recently the Misses and I were vacationing in a lovely little small town in Southern Minnesota.

I brought my Taylor acoustic guitar along as I like to do when away for a few days. Even if I don't play it, it's nice to know I've got it on hand should musical inspiration unexpectedly pop up. Plus it's a rather spendy chunk of wood that I saved up a long time in order to buy, and separation anxiety starts to set in if I don't see it over extended periods of time.

I had the guitar safely (or so I thought) in its hardshell case sitting on the hotel bed. I was getting ready to play and wiping my grubby hands down with a handy dandy moist towelette as I like to do. That's when the weirdest thing happened: Suddenly the damned towelette burst into flames right in my very own hands. I was like, all, what the hell, man? and felt my hands telling my brain that they would start to burn if I didn't let go. I threw the towel and it landed on the bed next to my guitar case, shook the pain off of my hands, and then watched in horror as the case started on fire. Well gawd damn.

I stood there watching the case start to melt and wondered how it could melt, because it was made of wood.. and last I heard, wood doesn't melt. I grabbed a pillow and smothered the flames, opening the case in cold panic making sure my guitar was okay. It seemed fine, and I was a little freaked out wondering how a moist towelette could burst into flames like that. They aren't made to do that; they're made to smell like Froot Loops and make my hands all nice and clean.

I picked up my guitar and played it for a minute. Something didn't seem right, so I checked the Yella Pages in the hotel room for a music store in town to have a looksie and get a professional opinion.

We walked down to the music shop I found in the phone book and I took my guitar in to see if someone would take a look at it. Behind the counter was Mike, the owner of Eclipse Concert Systems in West St. Paul! I wasn't sure what he was doing working at this other store smack dab in the middle of nowhere, but left my guitar with him to look at. I trust the guy and it was cool to see him again, as I was an avid Eclipse customer for a good 10 years back when I lived over there.

We left for lunch and stopped back in a bit later to see if Mike had a chance to look at my geetar, only to find him sitting with a really weird vintage looking instrument jamming with a band up at the front counter. Not missing a single note, he nodded his head sideways, sort of motioning me back behind the counter as if to say "I'm jammin', man. Your guitar is back there... you can go grab it."

I stepped through the band behind the counter to my semi-melted guitar case and opened it up. It looked fine to me. I ran my fingers across the edge of the body and my heart dropped.. on the front bottom side of the guitar, a good 2" chunk had been taken out of it. Even though acoustic guitar bodies are hollow, the newly damaged area was solid. It almost looked as if it was made of cheese and somebody had taken a huge bite out of it.

I hated myself. I'd had this guitar for almost 5 years and managed to keep it as well as the case in immaculate condition (the wooden Taylor guitar cases aren't made anymore and are highly coveted by Taylor guitar owners.) I'd saved up so long for this thing. It was my first "real" acoustic guitar after years of playing cheap knock-offs, and I was always took such pride in owning such a beautiful, nice playing instrument. But now I was standing there with tears welling up in my eyes.. looking at a melted case and a rather expensive guitar with a big eyesore of a chunk missing from the body.

My mind was racing. If only my dumb ass would have washed my hands at the sink with soap and water instead of using that moist towelette. If only I could go back in time and throw it somewhere other than the bed when it burst into flames. It's going to take me a few years to save up for a new one.

At that precise moment, I blinked a few times and couldn't see a thing... everything went pitch black. I heard a clock ticking. I reached down to my right and felt my cat Frank sleeping at my side. Goldie was on my left sleeping as well. My heart was writhing in disgust over what happened to my guitar, and I ran my fingers through my hair to try and calm myself down. It's just a guitar, I kept thinking.

I got out of bed, walked to the fridge, and pulled a big ol' refreshing gulp of orange juice from the carton. Temporarily blinded by the fridge light, I stumbled back into bed and let out a sigh of relief.. I wondered why I just can't just for once have a really awesome dream. Something along the lines of winning a lifetime supply of uber-soft Sour Patch Kids, or if my Pinto was made out of delicious milk chocolate that regenerated itself every time someone took a bite.

And back to sleep I went.

Clyders vs. The Pumpkin Innards

I ain't carved a jack-o-lantern in at least a good 5-6 years, and last weekend we had the rare opportunity to hollow out and carve us some punkins at our friend Marie's birthday party.

Every time I carve punkins, a charming little Halloween memory comes back to me and gives me the warm fuzzies. No, not the one in 6th grade where I was a punk rocker and put Vaseline in my hair hold my a mohawk (FYI: Vaseline really adheres to your follicles once it has been smeared onto them. We had to warsh it out with kerosene per doctor's orders and poof - my hair was back to normal and I got a free day out of school without even having to fake a cold.) I digress.

The memory that I speak of takes us back to 1985. I was in high demand as a babysitter on our block back in the day; mainly with my next door neighbor Jason. Jason and his owners lived in a white rambler with an enormous garage which basically left them with all of about 4 square feet of lawn once it was all built. Every Tuesday I would hang with Jason while his parents bowled, and it was 3 hours of as many blissful shenanigans as I figured I could let us get away with without him yapping any of it to his parents when they got home.

One Tuesday in October, his mum and dad left us 2 huge punkins to convert into jack-o-lanterns. They left to get to their bowling game as Jason and I started scooping out punkin guts into a large silver bowl. Enter: Clyders, the family English Bulldog.

Clyders was creepy, odoriferous, and would "slime" everything his cheeks would come in contact with. He hated basketballs. If Jason ever left them out in the yard, Clyde would run out and attack, pop, and lock his jaws onto them. Even if we left one in our backyard, Clyde would sit at the fence and aggressively run to and fro barking at the fucker as if it were making fun of him.

Clyders and his little happy boy-dog lipstick humped the couch cushions and throw-pillows all of the time, and because of that (and lord knows what else he did to them) they reeked of dried urine. We would often toss the pillows on the floor and point and laugh as he would approach them, sniff out the one he was most attracted to at the time, and engage in a passionate lovemaking session.

Clyde often was a key element in our shenaniganry (we made sure he never got hurt.) As Jason and I sat in the kitchen on the newspaper covered linoleum carving away at our huge punkins, the silver bowl overflowethed with slimy orange seedy innards. Being the incredibly smart and delicate creature of God he always was, Clyde moseyed on up, took one sniff, and parked it in front of the bowl. He started eating, and Jason laughed. Having learned from past ground-level encounters with Clyders, I got up off the floor and sat on a chair in lieu of getting a crusty dog spit stain on my grey corduroys, continuing to watch.

Jason picked a huge, gnarly glob of punkin guts out of the bowl and held it up in the air for Clyders to covet. I still have the visual in my head as if it were yesterday: His arm outstretched and silver ID bracelet shimmering in the light, and Clyde standing and gazing up at the glob of slime, huffing and trying to bounce his fat hammy body up to get a piece of it, never losing eye contact. His front paws even hit the bowl a few times.

Jason lowered his arm and Clyde nabbed the entire glob in one fell swoop. He stood over the newspaper chomping, and his cheeks made the most disgusting intermittent slobbery flapping noise trying to keep the mass contained in his giant basketball-slaying yap. He had that determined look in his eyes to keep it all in, looking at us as if to say No WAY you motherfuckers are getting any of this precious delight back! Jason let one of those raspy 5 second long out of breath exhale laughs, and continued to feed Clyde a great deal more of what was in the bowl.

That night I gathered my babysitting dues and left wondering what would become of Clyde. A cold wave of fear washed over me.. what if Clyde died from a punkin O.D.? Al and Avis would be at our doorstep in a second ready to tell my parents and throw me in jail.

As fate would have it, nothing really happened to him other than shitting like a fire hydrant for the next few days. I remember going back the next week to get all the gory details. Once the driveway was empty and the coast was clear, Jason told me that they couldn't figure out for the life of them what Clyde had eaten that would make him dump so many bushels of Squand out in the yard. They even thought about switching his food on them, but waited it out and forgot about it once his poo was of scooping consistency once again.

We had a good laugh over that. And all the while, Clyde was somewhere off in the distance happily making sweet love to his favorite olive green throw pillow.

Man, I sure as shit can tell that it's Friday the 13th.

It's been one thing after another today.

First, I woke up at 6:02am when my alarm was set to go off. When I got out of bed, the wood floors were slightly colder on my feet than the nice cozy warm temperature they were under the blankies. I was all like, what the fuck is this, man?

Once I was all dolled up and ready for work, I went out to my car and it was cold out. And worse yet, the door to my car was locked, so I had to unlock it. The sonofabitch wasn't already running and heated up for me like it would be in an ideal world, either. Talk about bad luck.

And now I'm at work, and I have to be here until the end of my shift, which is 3:45. I'm not very superstitious, but geez. I should have just stayed in bed today.

Pocket Water, Bob Dylan's severed head, Ruth, and 27 TVs

1. How tall are you barefoot?
Approximately 25.4 millimeters shorter than when my Chucks are affixed to the walking apparati located at the end of my legs.

2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
No, but I live with a heroine and she rules toadill ass.

3. Do you own a gun?
Yes, a purple Zero Blaster. You break in to our place or piss me off, I'll put a cap of incredibly slow moving dissipating fog in your ass, bitch.

4. Who's your best friend?
Aside from the obvious female one, I'd have to say whomever sells me a winning Powerball ticket. Any day now, SuperAmerica clerks; no need to take your time (preferably the one on Lyndale and 22nd, as that is most convenient for us.)

5. Do you get nervous before "meeting the parents?
"No. I have my own set of those that I've known all of my life, so I've had a lot of practice being around them and studying their behavior.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
It's like when I try new stuff at Indian restaurants: Chances are as long as I don't know what's in it, bring that shit ON.

7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
That Menards jingle. It's basically the same ball of cheese it been for the last 20 years, just with some sleighbells thrown in for good measure. It goes something like "Warm Seasons Greetings from us all... at... Menards!" It's over in 5 seconds - short but sweet.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Ice cubes.. or "pocket water" as I like to call it when I'm on the go.

9. Can you do push ups?
I'm very good at doing them upside-down. "It's much easier to push air than to push floor" as I always tried telling the gym teacher.

10. Is your bathroom clean?
Define "clean".. you mean, like, no poop on the walls and fixtures?
If so, probably not.

11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
The skin watch that I shaved into my arm hair. Hoo ha! I even got most of the numbers to be pretty legible.

12. Do you like painkillers?
Although it's good population control, killing is not polite in this day and age and could influence the user to think that killing is ok. Let's start calling them painreducers, please.

13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
A nice fake orange tan, lots of cologne, the latest Sean John apparel and bling bling from head to toe, and leaving several copies of bodybuilding magazines around the house. That's pretty much how I won Goldie's heart.

14. Do you have A.D.D.?
Is that one of those new flatscreen high definition TV sets?


16. Middle Name?
The one in between my first and last. It has 2 vowels and 3 consonants in it.

17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?
1. (something explicit) 2. I like music and food3. (something explicit again)

18. Name the last 3 things you have bought:1. 1 Kaki King ticket2. another Kaki King ticket3. 3 hours of parking next to the Varsity Theater, wherein the Kaki King tickets were redeemed.

19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink:1. Hummingbird blood2. Antifreeze (the blue Toyota kind)3. Gravy

22. Current worry?
Where did questions 20-21 go?
Are they okay?


23. Current hate?
The wind we've been having lately. Wind seriously pisses me off.

24. Favorite place to be?
Curled up in the fetal position drunk and smoking in a dark, musty basement wearing a stained wifebeater and tighty whiteys... wondering why Ruth and I had so many children. She couldn't even hold a god damned job back then, and now she's put on so much weight that she's out of breath just going out to check the mail to get our welfare check. And me?
I'm helpless on account of my back injury I got while trying out for professional rassling. I digress..

25. Least favorite place to be?
In bed at 4am while Ruth is in the living room watching QVC and chain smoking her generic cigarettes. What happened to my Baby Ruth I knew in high school?


26. Where would you like to go?
The basement of the Alamo, where the theif is evidently hiding my tricycle. Sounds like the perfect honeymoon, doesn't it Goldie?


27. Do you own slippers?
Yes, 2 Kleenex boxes that fit my feet perfectly (I leave some in the box for a little extra cushion)

28. What shirt are you wearing?
My hypercolor shirt.. always nice and dark in the pits and chest hair areas.

29. Do you burn or tan?
I wear a specially formulated lotion that actually makes me lighter when exposed to sun for extended periods of time.

30. Favorite color(s)?
Earwax orange.

31. Would you be a pirate?
No, pirates are the new cool thing to be thanks to Johnny Depp. Pirate-ism has now become Hollywood, therefore it is now lame. I'll start the next trend and be a Menshevik. I'm bringing Mensheviki back. (I guess I DID listen back in history class!)

33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
I play my theremin. The Misses accompanies me on wax paper and comb on weekends. Where did question 32 go?


34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?
Bob Dylan's severed head. Not a lie (hm.. good subject matter for my Hollerween blog!)

35. What's in your pockets right now?
My slingshot, a piece of twine, my pocketknife, some chaw, and a 17 year old rubber that I hope I get to use someday. The wrapper is pretty much deteriorated and the expiration date is 07/89, but I'm not giving up hope.

36. Last thing that made you laugh?
The movie of Owen wiggling his finger on John's neat cell phone that looks like a high tech hybrid harmonica with accordion buttons on it.

37. Best bed sheets as a child?
Good ol' tinfoil (dull side up.)

38. Worst injury you've ever had?
Back when I had really long hair, if I left it in a ponytail for too long and took it out, my scalp would hurt like a motherfucker.

40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
27. Rather than changing channels all of the time, we got a TV for each channel we like and just flip them all on at once.

41. Who is your loudeend?
To be honest with you, I have no idea what the hell that means. I'm guessing it means 4th grade teacher, and that would be Mr. Casey. He looked like Ric Ocasek of The Cars until he got a perm. Then he looked like a really scary tree.

42. Who is your most silent friend?
Tony. He's my friend that lives inside my mouth.

43. Does someone have a crush on you?
The Misses tries to crush me, but she's too skinny to do any sort of damage.

44. Do you wish on shooting stars?
No, I wish when I SEE one, for I am incapable (as far as I know) of being "on" one. Those things are going way too fast and I'd be dead before even being able to think about wishing for anything.

45. What is your favorite book?
Anything with lots of neat pictures of kids with bowl cuts playing with toys. MAN I miss being a kid and mining through the Sears and Pennys catalogs.

46. What is your favorite candy?
Dried up toothpaste from the bathroom sink (especially if it has shaving residue on it)

47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?
We were talking about "Endless Love", complete with afro wigs and huge phallic 1970s microphones.

48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
"Everybody Have FUn Tonight" by Wang Chung (seriously.) That or Fish Pudding's version of the Taxi theme song.

49. What were you doing 12 AM last night?
Not sure - I was sleeping at the time. I didn't wake up with a dull, bloody knife in my hands this time, so that's always a good sign.

50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up this morning?
Thank Gawd I'm still here and they haven't found me yet.. I always sleep with one eye open. They wanted me back at the Mothership with samples no later than July, however I broke the golden rule and fell in love with an Earthling. If they want me to leave Earth with them now, it's going to have to be in a body bag. Or as we refer to it in my native language, a "Rz__+PLLK}}$$)-=*".

Creative uses for tampon wrappers

As I was stumbling into work this morning feeling half dead, I noticed a tampon wrapper on the ground. It was not really near any secluded areas in which one would go to discreetly install a tampon, which I found to be a bit peculiar as well as a wee bit grody. I'm hoping that it just blew out of somebody's trash receptacle from the residential sector about a half a mile away and ended up there on the sidewalk due to the crazy-ass winds we've been having around here lately.

Back when I was oh, 4 or 5, tampons were amongst the many unknown wonders of the world to me. There was always a secret stash of Tampax in the back of the bathroom cupboard, and I never really knew what they were for or why they were there. I even referred to the fold-out instructions showing poor line drawings of chicks putting them in their slots, but never put 2 and 2 together. When you're a kid, you don't know a pachina from a hole in the ground.

I loved snooping around in the bathroom and always knew there were fresh tampons waiting there for me to dissect. I'd play "telescope" with the 2 piece tube and spy on our neighbors. I'd put it up to the faucet and run water through it. I always wanted to do something fun with the stuffing, but never really got too far with that. I had visions of putting googley eyes on the end of the string/cotton wad to make a pet mouse, but never found any googley eyes in Mum's sewing boxes.

Anyhow, I digress. Back to present time:

I sort of reverted back to my 5 year old self seeing this wrapper on the ground. I didn't pick it up and play with it, but sometimes when you see something out of its element like that, it gets the creative juices flowing (no pun intended.)

My first thought was: You know... that's sorta the same size of the packs of RainBlo gumballs I used to get when I was a kid. I wonder how many I could fit in there? I had a few blocks to go, so my mind started to take this a bit further. Tampon wrappers would indeed make great gumball holders. What else would they be good for?

They'd make great protective disposable covers for flushing levers on men's room wall urinals (and conventional lever-equipped terlits as well.) For those of you who like smoking doobies, you could stuff the things full of grass and twist the end shut. Instant Wonder Joint a la Booger in Revenge of the Nerds. They'd also be great cigar protectors. Or you could stuff the empty wrappers full of cotton balls and put the tube back in your purse.

They'd be great portable incense stick holders, covering the fragile "dipped" end as to not contaminate anything in your purse or backpack if you ever wanted incense on-the-go. They'd make great sparkler holders for that matter. I've always wanted to secretly replace someone's incense with sparklers, but will save that idea for my future Fun Things I Want To Do To Get My Ass Kicked entry I've been working on for some time.

If you had 10, you could paint them the color of your skin, put some LEE(TM) Press-On Nails at the ends, and wear them on your hands like long fake monster fingers. That's a great tip, as Halloween is right around the corner.

Hm, what else. AH! You know those new teeny Crystal Light powder pouches you dump into your bottled water? What if you're like me and like the bigger bottles of water? Problem solved - empty 2 or 3 of those pouches into an empty tampon wrapper, staple it shut, and you're all set when you need that extra flavor kick in your water.

Most of the time you see those huge bubble tea straws at coffee joints, they're unwrapped. Why not slip a tampon wrapper over them to keep off germs and dust? Give the bubble tea drinkers a piece of mind knowing that their straws are safe.

I'm sure I'm missing some other great uses for these thin little paper tubes - so please share if you feel inspired to do so. Millions of perfectly good tampon wrappers are going to waste every day and I think we need to stand up and do something about it! I'll keep my thinking cap on as well, and if there's enough material, heck.. maybe I'll submit them all to Heloise's Helpful Hints column in the newspaper.

My iPod favors the Brady Bunch.

I've used the "shuffle all songs" feature on my Pod a zillion times now, as it seems to always be the best way to listen to mine toons. I've got over 5,000 to choose from and counting, and it gets to be a bit overwhelming. Sometimes the best thing to do is to just let my little ebony 60G Pod do the thinking for me. I have to give credit where credit is due.. it does a great job of shuffling, as I don't think I've heard the same song twice yet.

Except for one.

"Time To Change" by the Brady Bunch.

I haven't heard it just twice; I hear it almost every time I tell my Pod to shuffle the songs! This is not a complaint.. I like the tune, otherwise it wouldn't be on my Pod in the first place.

But how interesting that out of all of the musics available for my Pod to pick from, it almost always throws that one into the mix, and usually within the first 20 songs to boot. This morning on my way to work I selected SHUFFLE SONGS and pressed the "go" button.

BANG! "SHA NA NA NA NAAA NA NA NA NAAAA... SHA-NANA-NA-NA!"

There I was, fresh out of the starting gates of my day at 6:20am being pumped full of cheerful, wholesome Brady goodness. It was pretty dern loud, too, as I must have inadvertently knocked the volume up out of the safety zone I usually keep it at (I don't want to be any more deef than I already am.) The guitars were going YEOW chickka YEOW-WOW, tambourines doin' the chingy changy chingy changy, crispy trumpets, and best of all, the sonic massage of Barry Williams and Maureen McCormick carrying me through the verses. For my fellow Brady enthusiasts, no, sadly Peter isn't in the recording doing his mid-pubescent "SHA NA NA NA NAaaaaaaaa!" I know. Bummer, man. I still see him in my mind, though, making that kooky, zany, wacky face of his with the headphones on in the isolation booth of the recording studio.

Is my iPod trying to tell me something? Does it want me to put my old Brady Bunch Top 8 list back on my MySpace page? I see the repeated plays of this tune as much more than just a coinky-dinky. Come on - this one song out of the some fitty two hunnit I have on there? You can "rate" songs as they play on your Pod and tell it to play only the ones you rate highest, however I have never dialed up the rating screen on this one (although it does deserve 5 stars.)

Is it time for me to change and rearrange?Because gah-dammit, you iPod, don't you know that's what I just spent the whole summer doing? I need a break from the change/rearrange thing, please. I just want to kick back and watch some fuckin' TV, man. Leave me alone!

Maybe my iPod just likes that song. That's cool, I guess. It is pretty groovy and all, and it gives us all a great message. Listening to the lyrics, they really don't make any sense at all to me, but I'm sure there's a good message in there somewhere. Save the trees, love yourself and everyone else, know that the weird smelling fur that's starting to grow in your nether regions is perfectly normal and just roll with it, and so on. Did anything ever make sense on that show? That is why I love it so. Cheers to you, iPod, for picking this tune to beat to death over, say, Cannibal Corpse's "A Skull Full of Maggots".

sha na na na, na na na na, sha na na na na!
sha na na na, na na na na, sha na na na na!

Autumn turns to winter and then winter turns to spring,
its not just a season to know its goes for everything.
clouds can turn to rain and then it just might snow
You gotta take lesson from mother nature and if you do you'll know.

[chorus]
Well its time to change
then its time to change
move by the time come along for the ride, dont you see
when its time to change you've got to rearrange
move your heart to what your gonnabe.
sha na na na na na na sha na na na na na

day by day its hard to see the changes you've been through
a little bit of living a little bit of growing all adds up to you
every boys a man inside
a girls a women too
and if you wanna reach your destiny its what you've got to do

[chorus]
Well its time to change
when its time to change
move by the time come along for the ride, dont you see
when its time to change you've got to rearrange
move your heart to what your gonna be.
sha na na na na na na na, sha na na na na na

[chorus]
Well its time to change
when its time to change you've got to rearrange
move your heart to what your gonna be.
sha na na na na na na na, sha na na na na