Freudian Slips: Eminem..Melt in Your Mouth, Stick in Your Ear

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Location: Irony, New Jersey, United States

Life takes us many places. It's a box of chocolates and a Hansel and Gretal trail of candy wrappers. I have filmed as an actor in The Happening, Invincible, The Lovely Bones, The Bounty Hunter, The Greek American, Bazookas, Limitless, TV's Its Always Sunny in Philly, Outlaw, New York, The Warrior, The Nail, Game Change, Cold Case, & commercial work includes The Philadelphia Eagles, Septa, Coors, Turbo Tax & Carnival Cruises. Freudian Slips spotlights irony in short story format.

June 17, 2009

Eminem..Melt in Your Mouth, Stick in Your Ear

My stepson hurriedly hooked up his Ipod to my swank car stereo. He wanted me to hear Eminem’s new album driving out on the road broadcasting thru Bose speakers. After a few minutes of listening to Eminem’s rap songs blurt out catchy hip but vile expressions, my hands uncomfortably gripped the steering wheel. It wasn’t just the sheer number of Eminem’s curse words that made me uneasy, it was the x-rated carnal knowledge that he was singing deep throated about. I was embarrassed for my stepson who accompanied me driving his young girlfriend home. As I drive,I realize that I am the only one who feels this way. His generation does not even blink at the streaming downloaded culture in which we live. It knows no taboo.

My stepson comments about the lyrical screaming overtop the music. “It’s just not rap without the cursing.” I muse about what the moral compass of Bill Cosby might say to all this: Talented Eminem diluted by his cesspool potty mouth.

Just the previous week I heard my stepson school me on the merits of heavy metal music…”It’s not heavy metal music unless they belt it out angry.”

My stepson knows infinitesimally more about music than I do but this seemed to be an issue disregarding of taste and deserving of tolerance. I harkened back to when I was just two years older than him. On a slimy spool of a cassette tape, we listened to Tom Petty with rolled down windows in my first car. The image of Tom Petty’s shoulder length hair locks made him anti-establishment in my vanilla world. We thought we were so coooooooool..

Thirty years passed me by like a petty concern. Somehow, the memories of the angelic soft voice of my best friend’s girlfriend got consumed by a radically changed world that now hung on my stepson’s girlfriend’s voice. “Could you please turn up Refugee?” had been brazenly voiced over by “Crank that shit!”

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Anonymous Missy said...

You should tell your stepson's girlfriend that if she wants to "crank that shit" that she should "hit the potty"

1:23 AM  
Anonymous et said...

Scream vulgarities to me, they will not be absorbed.
Speak softly to me; I’ll hear volumes of meaning.

It's not the words in and of themselves that are so offensive; it's when, where, how and to whom they are directed.

6:14 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It seems as though your stepson needs a class in sensitivity. This story just shows how immature he is....he's still wet behind the ears. No doubt he'll grow up to be a fine, upstanding, productive member of society.

Today's young people have no respect for the opposite sex...or for themselves for that matter. But, as time goes by, they'll build upon what they have learned and be better people in spite of it all.

6:23 AM  
Blogger Joe Tornatore said...

don't want to dump on him even tough it may be my

well put.

growing pains - so many, so little time.

8:18 AM  
Blogger mommanator said...

I simply would have said, my stereo doesnt listen to such rubble. Sometimes a line has to be drawn in the sand!
I cant believe you havent posted about the hail, dont you live in Wash twship?

8:39 AM  
Blogger Joe Tornatore said...

i was down the shore during all the terrible storms or maybe I caouldn't hear the hail with Eminem playing.

6:45 PM  
Blogger Pax Romano said...

I can not stomach good and plenty, or whatever the hell that punk's name is. That said, his music is not for my ears - just like Boston, Fleetwood Mac, and yes, even the Sex Pistols were not singing for my father.

Every generation has there voice - sadly, this generation is stuck with a moronic little twit with mother issues.

9:57 PM  

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