Isn’t it ironic? A singer-songwriter scores a hydrogen bomb explosion of a hit in 1996 despite nOt kNoWiNg tHe dEfInItIoN oF “iRoNiC.”
But it’s time for you to shut the hell up, pedantic dickwads. I got paid, and still get paid, regardless. Trust me, this toilet I’m blogging from costs more than six months of your rent. It’s made of calacatta gold marble which is a phrase you’ll have to google because you broke semantic sticklers are shitting on run-of-the-mill porcelain covered in dust and pubes.
You know why this song still makes me cash money money? Because I can sing laps around you English major motherfuckers, and the song rips regardless. So once and for all, let me explain: I DON’T CARE IF YOU THINK SOMETHING I SAID IS NOT IRONIC, THE SONG STILL WORKS. Just ask my investment portfolio. Because I am rich. Unfathomably rich. Rich enough to beat the shit out of you with a first edition of the Merriam-Webster dictionary opened to words that start with I-R-O.
“It isn’t ironic for it to rain on your wedding day.” Oh ok, well guess what? I have one hand in my pocket with brass knuckles on, and the other hand’s choking the shit out of some Twitter shit-talker who thinks it’s oh-so-funny to correct every single line of my song. You oughta know that I can pay to have you killed. Easily.
I take shots of Pappy Van Winkle out of all my seven Grammy awards. I own one of the copies of the Declaration of Independence even though I’m Canadian. I might use it to wipe today. You cannot touch me. In the time it took me to write this post, I made more money than you’ll make all week.
And for the record, it absolutely is ironic to have 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife. Have you ever tried to cut a steak with a spoon? You’ll look like an idiot. 10,000 spoons? That’s way too many spoons. Not one knife? Irony. Checkmate.
