Okay, maybe it’s just me, but this had me in stitches, in the middle of an essay lamenting (or parodying the lamenting) of the state of the modern world, George Saunders writes:
I used to love music back when it had melody and chords and lyrics. But now it has no melody and no chords, just thwack-thwacking and they even seem to be cutting back on the thwack-thwacking, so sometimes it’s just thwa, and as far as lyrics, do you consider these lyrics?
Hump my hump
My stumpy lumpy hump
Hump my dump, you lumpy slumpy dump!
I’ll dump your hump, and then just hump your dump
You lumpy frumply clump.
The whole piece is on the New Yorker site, I believe.