Pop from the 80's means Sex with the Ladies

OR: 1984 called and it wants its Casio back

Have you been listening to the snythesized poundings of Eighties trash pop lately? Me too! Or maybe you just have 'The Final Countdown' as your ringtone. Either way, any intelligent person has come to the conclusion the the flawless combination of catchy riffs, blantant key changes, melodic bridges, and pointless (sometimes non-sensical) lyrics hit its peak in the Eighties. Football taught me that if you wanted an instant adrenaline rush you were supposed to listen to 'Enter Sandman' or 'Let the Bodies Hit the Floor.' Life has taught me not to take myself so seriously. Now, nothing makes my heart thump or my loins sweat like Scandal's 'The Warrior'. Makes me wanna go buy some leg-warmers and a hypercolor-t-shirt-cut-so-that-it-exposes-one-shoulder-ever-so-slightly just thinking about it. Why listen to actual trumpets when you can listen to trumpet-like keyboard sounds? When did the saxophone solo * get phazed out of pop music? YOUR FAULT, KENNY G!

*2 minutes, 45 seconds deep


The Eighties taught us that Starship is stellar, Phil is ill, you gotta heart Corey Hart, and Roxette rocks it. Who wears their sunglasses in the daytime? Who pronounces the word 'touch' with merely one syllable? Who doesn't tell their significant other, "hello, you fool, I love you?" Retarded people, that's who.

Asia, you get props for naming yourself after an entire continent.

You too, Europe.

Aside from getting yourself ridiculed for whistling Tiffany's 'I Think We're Alone Now' at a men's room urinal (true story) there is nothing bad that can possibly happen from listening to eighties music. I mean non-stop. We're talking 25/8.

I love you, Kim Wilde. Let's get wild. I love you, Pat Benetar. You are the only woman who can pull off the sexy androgenous haircut. I loooooooooooooooooooove you, Belinda. Smooches.