The 9 Most Impactful Pieces of Clickbait on LinkedIn Today

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content marketing, humor, linkedin, satire, social media

Do you spend some of the workday scrolling through LinkedIn? You’ve probably seen the following blog articles (or something similar) pop up in your news feed a few thousand times:

The Magic of “Friendly:” How Being Nice Can Shorten Your Sales Conversion Cycle

The Grass IS Greener: 11 Arguments for Quitting Your Job Today

The Three Things You Do That Make Coworkers Hate You

What [Warren Buffet/Bill Gates/Elon Musk] Says About [Company Culture/Innovation/Win-Win Situations]

How Smart People Work Fewer Hours, Get More Done and Have Less Blotchy Skin

What [Steve Jobs/Winston Churchill/Mother Theresa] Understood About [Brand Management/Outside-the-Box Thinking/Building a Better Sales Team]

Eight Mistakes Parents Make That Keep Children from Becoming Strong Leaders

How the Best Middle Managers Navigate their Way to Zero Accountability

Six Ways to Detach Yourself While Firing a Direct-Report

Children’s Books for the Age of Trump

Tags

children's books, congress, humor, literature, parody, politics, social media, trump, united states

Got an eager, young reader in your home? These new titles will entertain and enthrall, while heightening your child’s awareness of the current geopolitical climate.

We Survived the Government Shutdown of 2018

Jake and Sophia haven’t seen their dad in four days. He’s on Capitol Hill, trying to hash out a deal with his fellow senators to reopen the federal government. Democrats and Republicans can’t seem to agree on anything, but Jake and Sophia have an idea about immigration reform that just might end the shutdown—at least for a couple of weeks.

Fantastic Beasts and the Women Who Work for Them

Julie is young, smart and has a promising career at the headquarters of a major corporation. Her only problem is the VP of marketing, who uses his power to lure Julie into his corner office with the shades drawn. Does Julie stand up to this creep, risking her shot at landing a coveted middle-management role? What follows is an important lesson for youngsters who have the ill-informed notion that the adult world is fair.

To the Edge of the World in 80 Days

All her life, Samantha has been told that the earth is round. She never questioned it until she became old enough to have her own social media account. Now, Samantha is on a quest to prove the world is flat, with a daring plan to ride her bicycle until she tumbles over the edge into nothingness.

The Giving Spree

This timeless parable about loyalty and love involves a rich man and the United States Congress. The man goes to Congress in the 1980s and early 2000s, asking for tax reforms that benefit the wealthy. Each time, Congress dutifully meets his demands. Finally, in 2017, the rich man—now an elderly billionaire—asks a weary Congress for one last tax break. Will Congress say yes, adding $1.5 trillion to the national debt? The conclusion is sure to bring a tear to your child’s eye.

Tales of a Working Class Nothing

Peter is having a rotten year. His younger brother, Farley, has a computer science degree and now gets all the attention as a highly paid programmer. Meanwhile, Peter has been working carpentry jobs with a bad back since getting laid off by the local automotive plant. There is hope for the future, though: Peter stands to save $400 on his 2018 taxes, thanks to the Tax Cuts and Jobs Act.

Choose Your Own Adventure: Tweeting with Kim Jong Un

You’re president of the world’s largest economy with a massive nuclear arsenal at your fingertips. However, the leader of some upstart rogue regime halfway across the world wants to start trouble on social media. Infuriated, you take to Twitter, but be careful! Your next 280 characters or less could spell a quick end for humanity.

Donald Jr. and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Deposition

Donald Jr. has 24 hours to prep for what’s sure to be a crummy interrogation from the special counsel on what he knows about the Russians. Join our hero as he and his lawyers pore over thousands of pages of documents, and Don Jr. wonders aloud if it’s okay to ask his dad for a presidential pardon.

Oh, The Places You People Will Go!

This illustrated classic follows the adventures of an immigrant family that has lived in the United States for 20 years but now faces an uncertain future. Will they be deported? Can their children stay in the U.S.? How will the courts rule? What will the government do? Meanwhile, in a different neighborhood across town, a white-collar, politically moderate family seriously considers moving to Costa Rica.

Just Joking!

Tags

comedy, humor, jokes, six-year-olds, squirrels

After a few hundred attempts, my six-year-old son told a funny joke for the first time last night.

Here’s the joke:

Q: How do you catch a squirrel?

A: You act like a nut!

Our child has been trying for years to come up with a joke that will make us laugh. “Is that funny?” he’ll ask us after telling a silly, nonsensical knock-knock joke he just made up on the spot. We patiently explain to him that a good joke takes a little time and creativity. Perhaps he should start by memorizing a simple joke and tell that to his friends instead, we’ll gently suggest. We’ll also point out that if you have to ask your audience if a joke is funny, then it probably isn’t.

I know that the squirrel joke is not an original, but every young stand-up has to start somewhere, and our young son delivered the punchline with flawless timing. He is also very good at acting like a nut, so the humor fits his slap-stick comedic style.

The ability to make other people laugh is a formidable social skill and one our son already believes to be important. I hope his sense of humor continues to evolve. The world can be a pretty tough place if you don’t learn how to joke about it, and help others laugh along with you.

Three Ways to Tell Who Really Likes You

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do your friends actually like you?, humor, new york times, observations, parenthood, trump

Lost among this week’s media coverage of the latest asinine comments from Donald Trump was an intriguing New York Times article titled, “Do Your Friends Actually Like You?”

The thrust of the story is that not as many people truly like us as we imagine. Most “friends” are really just casual acquaintances. Others are friendly to us for their own selfish, manipulative reasons. The article quotes various academic experts who seem to agree that most of us each have, at best, four to five true friends who carry no agenda. These friends simply love us for who we are, and they genuinely enjoy our company.

I had hoped that the Times would provide some constructive ways to weed out your phony friends and identify the ones who really care about you. The Times is usually more than willing to tell people what to do with their lives, but this time it fell short. There were no tangible “next steps” for categorizing and managing one’s friends.

So I came up with some exercises that might help. Here are three simple scenarios you can create that will help you identify your real friends:

1. Have a Child

This exercise is particularly effective if you are among the first in your social circle to try it. Just get married, have a kid, and watch in amazement as interactions with some of your closest pals trickle down to an exchange of text messages every two or three months.

At your child’s first birthday, make a point of counting the number of non-relatives who call regularly, occasionally stop by to help with the baby, remember the baby’s name, and listen patiently as you ramble on about the baby. If you need more than one hand to list those friends, you’re doing better than most new parents.

2. Move Out

Plan to move to a new home or apartment. DO NOT hire professional movers. Instead, ask your friends if they would mind helping you out. Make a point of not packing any boxes before they arrive at your place at 7 a.m. on Saturday morning.

Also, make it clear early on that you are running low on cash, and you won’t be able to provide free pizza or beer after the move is complete.

Those two or three people who are still around four hours later to help unpack your grandmother’s china? Those are your real friends.

3. Do Something Crazy

Invite all your friends to meet up for drinks after work. Excitedly explain to them how you are going to quit your job, sell your possessions, and dedicate the next three years of your life to traveling the country in search of The Perfect Cheeseburger. Sure, you only have $530 in the bank, along with a mountain of debt. But you’ve got a pup tent, your trusty 1989 Honda Civic, and a list of the best burger joints along the East Coast. Anyway, life is short. It’s time to follow your dreams.

Those people smiling and nodding as they try to wave down the waiter for their checks? They aren’t your friends.

The handful of people who are with you four drinks later, calmly asking if you’ve really thought this all the way through? The ones who remind you about your spouse and kids, and ask what happens to them during your quest for The Perfect Cheeseburger?

Those people are your real friends. They always will be.

Your Password Has Expired

Tags

death, drops of jupiter, gmail, God, heaven, hell, humor, life, observations, pearly gates, satire, st. peter, timberland, train

Dale followed the light, which is what they always say you should do. His body was catapulted into some kind of cosmic vortex, where he floated around for what seemed like days.

Finally, he landed, his Timberland work boots touching a marble floor. Up ahead were six massive, ivory columns that reached into the clouds. A man with a long, white beard and a flowing gown approached him, and smiled. Dale knew he must be St. Peter.

“Hello, Dale,” he said. “We’re glad to have you.”

Dale nodded and blinked. Everything was very bright up here in the clouds.

“Just go over to one of the kiosks and sign yourself in,” St. Peter advised, extending a cloaked arm toward a battery of silver-plated work stations with glowing LED screens.

Dale walked to one of the kiosks and typed in his name.

“Do you have your confirmation number?”

“My what?”

“You need a confirmation number,” St. Peter said. “We sent it to you in a text message before you arrived. Do you have your phone?”

“Why would I have my phone?” Dale asked.

St. Peter shook his head. “People usually bring their phones. It’s okay. Let me help you.”

The apostle walked to the kiosk and moved his pale, perfectly manicured fingers across the screen.

“Can’t you just let me in?” Dale asked. “You obviously know who I am.”

“I do?”

“You called me by name when I got here.”

St. Peter looked at him dubiously. “That’s because it’s on your shirt.”

Dale looked down at the ironed patch on the left breast of his shirt. Dale had forgotten he was at work when the end came. His last conscious memory was scrambling across the floor, crab-like, as the underbelly of a Toyota Prius tumbled over him.

St. Peter squinted at the kiosk screen. “We just upgraded to a new system,” he explained. “To say that it has a few bugs would be a bit of an understatement.”

Dale nodded. He was extremely tired.

“What’s your gmail address and password?” the saint asked. “That might do the trick.”

Dale tried to remember his password. He gave St. Peter a combination of his first pet’s name and the year he graduated from high school. It didn’t work. Dale gave him the name of his first girlfriend and the year he lost his virginity. Still no luck.

“Cheese and rice! This new system! I wish I could just wave you through, but I can’t,” St. Peter said. “Look, it’s getting late, and you’re exhausted. I’m going to book you a night at a place near here, and we’ll try this again tomorrow. Sound good?”

St. Peter reached into his gown and pulled out an Android phone. He made the arrangements. Dale checked into the Pearly Gates Lodge, which billed itself as “The Closest Thing to Heaven.” The bed was rock-hard and the remote control didn’t work, but he was too tired to care. The breakfast buffet the next morning was pretty good, although the eggs were a little runny for Dale’s liking.

“Hello, Dale,” St. Peter said, glancing at his shirt. “We’re glad to have you.”

“I was here yesterday. I remembered my gmail password.”

“Very good. Let’s give it a try.”

They walked to the nearest kiosk. The password had come to Dale as he awoke that morning on the rock-hard motel mattress. FairLane#1968—it was the model and year of his first car.

“Oh, heavens,” St. Peter said, after keying in the password three times. “Not good. Not good at all.”

“What is it?”

“It says, ‘your password has expired.’”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Dale stood, a hand propped on his hip as St. Peter swiped through several brightly colored pages on the kiosk screen. Dale looked around. It seemed odd that he and St. Peter were the only two people at the entrance to Heaven. He crossed his arms and listened to a familiar melody playing softly over the PA system. After a moment or two, he identified the song as “Drops of Jupiter,” by Train.

“So, what’s Hell like?” Dale asked.

“Hell?” St. Peter said, still staring at the screen. “Oh, it’s a mess, total chaos. They run things on a paper-based system. It’s like being in the 1970s all over again.”

“Yeah?”

“The bars down there are all open until two in the morning, though. People need to self-medicate, you know, to deal with all the inefficiencies of being in Hell.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” Dale said. “How do I get there?”

“The saint gave him a disapproving look. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I think I’d like to give it a try,” Dale said.

“Well, there’s no easy way to transfer you. If you’re really serious about going to Hell, you’ll have to fill out a few forms. It could take weeks to sort everything out.”

Dale pivoted on the heel of his boot and gave St. Peter a wave as he walked toward the gold-hued cumulonimbus clouds.

“No thanks,” Dale said. “I’ll figure out a way down there myself.”

My Piano and Me

Tags

author, billy joel, humor, music, piano, piano man, Stephen Roth, yamaha

One of my unrealized dreams in life is to learn how to play the piano really well. As a kid, I took piano lessons from the 3rd through 8th grade, but I didn’t enjoy it. I never really learned how to read music, and I played most songs by ear.

As I grew older, I began to think about how gratifying it would be to just sit down at a piano and play whatever sheet music was in front of me. Shortly after we married, my wife and I bought a cherry wood upright Yamaha that we put in our front living room. For a few years, I would plop down at the piano and play the 10 or so songs I knew by heart, and work my way through a few new ones. I fantasized about having friends over for dinner and leading late-night singalongs from my Yamaha, playing the hits I knew from the Beatles, Joe Cocker, Aretha Franklin, Coldplay, Billy Joel and Elton John.

This never came to pass. Not quite, anyway. One Saturday, my friend Brad and I had plans to drive up to the College World Series in Omaha. We were going to meet very early in the morning at the home of a mutual acquaintance I didn’t know very well. When I arrived at the house, the man and his wife invited me in, and we chatted while waiting for my friend to show up. I admired the upright piano they had in their living room.

“We just got it,” the man said. “Neither of us knows how to play, though.”

“Brad told me you play,” his wife said sweetly. “Would you play a song for us? We’d love to hear how our piano sounds.”

They looked at me, smiling expectantly. I nodded and slowly made my way to the piano bench. It was about 6 o’clock in the morning.

I played a few chords from “Piano Man,” which is one of the easiest tunes I know. I began singing, because the song sounds sparse without the familiar words that are drunkenly crooned in every American piano bar every single night of the week. The couple gamely sang along. I missed a few notes. It is hard to play a musical instrument and sing at the same time, especially in front of other people. After the second round of “La-da-da-da-da-da-daaa,” my friend showed up at the front door, and I was allowed to stop.

“That was really nice,” said the husband, whom I have come to know better over the passing years, but who has never asked me to play the piano again.

Today, our busy family life means I no longer have time to play the piano. The cherry Yamaha mostly gathers dust in our living room, except for the occasional moments when our six-year-old wants to bang a few notes on it. I have tried to teach him “Chopsticks,” but he doesn’t have the patience for it. I would love for him to take lessons someday, but I think he would rather play guitar, if anything.

I feel guilty not giving such a nice piano the attention it deserves. I haven’t gotten it tuned in a couple of years. Someday, when things are less busy (maybe retirement?), I tell myself that I will sit down, re-master the handful of songs that I know, and learn a few more. Then we’ll have that dinner party with friends, and everyone will gather around my piano to sing along to a string of 1970s hits.

I am NOT a Granddad!

Tags

aging, author, children, grandparents, humor, parenting, Stephen Roth

NOT a photo of me and my child.

It’s only happened a few times, but I remember each one vividly and painfully, the way you might recall a bee sting or getting a really bad spanking when you were a kid.

The first time happened when my son was just a few weeks old. It was a warm, spring evening and I was pushing him around the neighborhood in his new stroller when we passed a plump, platinum-haired lady who lived across the street from us and whom we knew slightly. In fact, my wife had just purchased a photo print from the lady at her garage sale a few days earlier.

The lady stood before us, stooped toward the stroller to inspect my child, and cooed, “Oh, what a beautiful little grandson you have!”

My mouth dropped open. This batty old bird lived a hundred feet from our home. Surely she knew we had just had a baby. At the very least, she must have noticed the cardboard stork and blue balloons in our yard.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I stammered before pulling the canopy over my son and hurrying back home, frightened and ashamed.

The second time happened just a few months later. I was at home awaiting a service appointment, and I answered the door with the baby in my arms.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Roth,” said the handyman with the ripped Dale Earnhardt Jr. T-shirt and the slight stench of marijuana smoke. “Oh, hey, nice grandkid!”

“He’s my son,” I said tersely.

“Wow! My bad! I guess I just—”

“—That’s okay,” I replied. It really wasn’t, though. I felt a strange panic invade my body. Being a new dad in my late 30s, I expected to be the oldest person at my child’s Gymboree music circle and at all the daycare holiday parties. But did people really think I was a grandfather? Was this how it was going to be for me throughout my son’s growing-up years?

“It’s because you’re bald,” one of our less-tactful friends advised, giving me a pitying little pat on the shoulder.

Thankfully, several years passed before another well-meaning stranger mistook my perch in the family tree.

My son wasn’t even with me a few days ago when I purchased a little something for my wife for Mother’s Day.

“What a cool gift,” said, the chatty, 20-something clerk with onyx studs the size of nickels in both of his ears. “Somebody is going to have a very nice Grandmother’s Day!”

My first thought when I heard this comment was to say, “My grandmother is dead.” Then, it dawned on me that he wasn’t talking about my grandma. The clerk was implying that my wife was a grandmother—and I was a granddad.

I just smiled and nodded, anxious to complete the transaction and return to my office, where I will likely toil for 20 more years before reaching the age when most granddads can retire.

This case of mistaken identity is probably going to happen more frequently as I continue to age. Hopefully, at least, people will perceive me as one of the cool grandpas, like the Dos Equis’ “Most Interesting Man in the World,” or one of those grey-haired guys in a Cialis ad, driving his classic Camaro home and always finding that the light is on in the upstairs bedroom window.

10 Signs That You Have a Really Annoying Cube-Mate

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annoying, coworkers, cube-mate, humor, office, pop culture, Stephen Roth, workplace

In this world, you don’t get to pick your family—and you almost never get to choose which co-worker sits next to you in the office.

Here are some clear warning signs that you and your assigned cube-mate—the individual who spends more time with you each week than anyone else—may not be compatible:

• Your cube-mate is in sales, and his “phone voice” is about two decibels louder than the drunk who sat behind you that one time at the hockey game.
• Your cube-mate likes to slurp reheated Lo Mein and cackle at YouTube videos during the lunch hour.
• “You got a second?” is the verbal cue that your cube-mate is about to ask you for some marriage advice.
• Your cube-mate is an accomplished whistler of 1970s light-rock hits.
• When you ask your cube-mate to stop whistling, he switches to humming—usually “Can We Still Be Friends?” by Todd Rundgren.
• You never want to borrow your cube-mate’s pens, because those are what he uses to dig the excess wax from his ears.
• Your cube-mate checks his 401(k) balance daily, and loudly threatens to sell that crappy international fund they’ve got him in.
• Your cube-mate’s love for every episode of Seinfeld is second only to his love for the New England Patriots.
• It is well-known throughout the office that your cube-mate does not wash his hands after using the bathroom.
• After checking Donald Trump’s poll numbers for the day, your cube-mate taunts you by asking “Are you worried yet? Are you worried yet?”

Revisionist History: Trump in Gettysburg

Tags

1863, civil war, donald trump, gettysburg, gettysburg address, history, humor, lincoln, politics, satire, Stephen Roth

On the afternoon of November 19, 1863, Donald Trump stepped off the train in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, to deliver what would become one of the best-known speeches in American history. There to dedicate the Soldier’s National Cemetery just a few months after Union armies defeated Confederate forces in the nation’s bloodiest battle, the President approached the podium, unbuttoned his grey overcoat and removed an iPad mini, on which he had jotted a few “appropriate words” to honor the fallen.

Here is what the president said:

“This is really beautiful, really fantastic… What a crowd! What a crowd!

Eighty-some-odd years ago—I’m thinking 85, but it might have been longer than that. Anyway, a long, long time ago, some very great men got together and they formed the most powerful nation ever known in the history of the world. This nation was so great, nobody had ever seen anything like it. And you know what made it so great? Top-notch people, for one thing. The very best and brightest. Just fabulous, first-rate people. Also, freedom and this idea that everyone was equal. Even the lowliest street sweeper—some filthy guy who probably made in six weeks what I spent on my last haircut—was every bit as important as a very successful businessman with a huge, diversified real estate portfolio. This was the kind of thinking that made this nation so, so great.

Anyway, now we’re in a civil war, right? And not just any war, but the biggest, bloodiest war ever known to man, because this is the American Civil War. And, as you know, Americans don’t do anything half-assed. I wasn’t here back in July, but I understand this place was a real mess. Bunch of bombs going off, mutilated bodies all over place. Just a major, major battle. A real hell-hole, they tell me. That’s why I’m here today—to honor the dead and, you know, thank them for their service.

You know, I was thinking on the train how, even though these men lost their lives, they’re actually winners. Real winners. Because what they did here at Gettysburg really set the tone. We’ve had so many good things happen in the last few months, it’s been actually amazing. Did you see what Grant did to them at Vicksburg? Did you see that? We’ve got full control of the Mississippi now, which is huge. And we’ve got some plans for those Confederates next year. I don’t wanna to give too much away, but let’s just say it’s gonna be a very hot summer next year in Georgia. A very long, hot summer.

Look, I gotta go. You people have been outstanding. Southern Pennsylvania is a fabulous place. Let me just close by saying these lives were not lost in vain. We’re gonna take Richmond next year. W’re gonna take our country back, folks. We’re gonna remind them why government of the people, by the people, is the best way to do things. Because it’s the American way. Thank you, and God bless.”

The Nine Worst Songs to Play at Someone’s Wedding Reception

Tags

ben folds, billy joel, bruce springsteen, carly simon, eric clapton, fun, harry chapin, humor, music, r.e.m., rock, social distortion, Stephen Roth

9 .”Wonderful Tonight,” Eric Clapton

This soft rock “classic” makes the playlist at a lot of wedding receptions, and it shouldn’t. Here’s why: on the surface, “Wonderful Tonight” sounds like a sweet, loving tribute from Eric to his then-wife (and George Harrison’s ex-wife), Pattie Boyd. But listen to the words, and there is definitely something darker going on: “It’s time to go home now, and I’ve got an aching head. So I give her the car keys, and she helps me to bed.” In other words, Clapton tied one on at the party and is too drunk to make love to his beautiful wife, or even drive her home. He just keeps murmuring “You were wonderful tonight,” before finally passing out. Is that any way to start out a marriage?

8. “That’s the Way I Always Heard it Should Be,” Carly Simon

Ugh. Carly Simon is a beautiful, talented woman, so why did she have to record this grim number about shedding your identity and conforming to social norms? Was she trying to warn James Taylor that their marriage was going to be a dud? “You want to marry me? We’ll marry,” Carly drones sleepily, like someone who has been mixing their antidepressants with too much alcohol. A wonderful theme song if they ever decide to make another re-boot of The Stepford Wives.

7. “You to Thank,” Ben Folds

Ben Folds has been to the altar four times, which has enabled him to build an impressive catalog of songs about shitty marriages. The couple in “You to Thank” is doomed from the start. Their first Christmas together, they manage to put on a brave front for their parents, but both man and wife are already contemplating exit plans. “I’ve got you to thank for this!” Folds wails at his imaginary partner while banging out a few angry chords. If you happen to invite Ben Folds to your wedding reception, you might keep him a safe distance from the piano…and the liquor.

6. “Everybody Hurts,” R.E.M.

This 1992 hit from when the Athens, Georgia band was at the height of its powers reads like one of those brightly colored pamphlets you might find in your grief counselor’s waiting room. “Hold on,” and “Don’t throw your hand,” is Michael Stipe’s advice for us, even though the day is long and tomorrow’s going to be another crappy day, and there isn’t much worth living for. I listened to this song a lot after breaking up with a college girlfriend. It didn’t help.

5. “Cats in the Cradle,” Harry Chapin

Not specifically about marriage, but just an all-around downer about career pressures and family life. The CliffsNotes on this 1970s folk hit: Dad doesn’t make time to do things with his son, then gets all bent out of shape when the kid, now grown, doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. Karma’s a bitch, and Harry makes sure we get the point, over and over again, with a sentimental but catchy chorus.

4. “Carry On,” Fun

I threw this one in here because I heard a mom humming it to her three-year-old in the park today, and I was reminded of what a terrible, terrible song this is for any occasion. Yet another piece of unsolicited advice from a twenty-something pop star on how to endure this long slog through the muck called life: “If you’re lost and alone, and you’re sinking like a stone, carry o-o-o-o-on!” Somewhere out there, Michael Stipe is flapping his arms awkwardly.

3. “Ball and Chain,” Social Distortion

Title says it all, doesn’t it? The protagonist in this song copes with his failing marriage by holing up in a cheap motel, drinking all day at the bar, and telling anyone who will listen about his troubles. “You can run all your life, but not get anywhere,” he says, apparently too depressed or drunk to pick up the phone and tell his wife it’s over.

2. “Darkness on the Edge of Town,” Bruce Springsteen and E Street Band

One of the bleakest, most depressing songs from a man who has written a career’s worth of bleak, depressing songs. Deception, humiliation, unemployment, self-loathing, suicidal thoughts–“Darkness” covers all the elements that can turn a marriage into a living nightmare. Word has it even The Boss himself had to ingest a couple of Valium after recording this 1978 classic.

1. “Just the Way You Are,” Billy Joel

“Baby, don’t go changin’ to try and please me. Because, I’ll tell you, this is one hombre who ain’t changin’ for no one! What you see is what you get, that’s what I say! And what if you start changin’ too much, maybe tryin’ to improve yourself by going to the gym or takin’ night classes? Well, then, I’ll be forced to change into an angry little man who’s gonna need to know what his wife is up to every single second of the day. Nobody needs that, right?! So quit your yappin’ and let’s sit down and watch Rockford Files together, okay?”

Editor’s Note: No Pink Floyd, Nirvana or country music songs were considered for this list because, well, what would be the point?