Songs of the Week 10/16/2022 (coming to you from 10/23/2022)

Hello and welcome back to Songs of the Every Other Week, where we enjoy biweekly songs between intervals where absolutely no songs or music of any sort is scheduled for discussion! Funny how even the strongest of traditions can have the strangest of schedules, but these are not the sorts of phenomena we here at Max Todd Dot Com (Max! Todd! Dot! Com!) find worth questioning. God’s plans are best left undisturbed, and it is thusly our only prerogative to further the succession of songs on alternate Fridays.

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Songs of the Week 09/02/2022 (coming to you from 09/10/2022)

Hey everyone! I’d normally have two things to apologize for, but since I’m working on not doing that, I’m going to only apologize for one. I am sorry for the absence last week— as you may notice, the shriveled dong banner art was made pretty close to this post releasing last Friday before that fell through. I am not, of course, sorry for the shriveled dong banner art. It’s art, okay? Be mature. There’s nothing funny about a man’s little brother. Look, nudity is obviously a metaphor, okay? And should be destigmatized anyways. We’re all grown ups here. Jeez. Weirdo.

As a side note, I’m almost glad I’m releasing this a week late— as I’m finishing up writing this, I’m wearing a sweatshirt for the first time since easily March, and you can still smell the cold rain in the air. People outside my apartment are all wearing beanies and red noses, and the edges of leaves are starting to fade to yellow, and that can only mean one thing: I am becoming more powerful. I never intended for these to be listened as playlists because they can be so eclectic at times, but this one is smooth listening no matter the order because the equinox creeps ever closer, and my cognitive capabilities are only increasing. Soon, I will unlock the hallowed secret of work-life balance, and as the veins on my temples crackle out like lightning and my brain inflates to Hindenburg proportions, there will be no one left to stop my ascension. Okay, songs, here we go:

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Songs of the Week 08/26/2022

Kiddos, folks, citizens: it is the listening time now. You must listen to me and my interests. You must. You feel compelled by my words, because you are the weak-minded sheep and I am the corgi at your heels. Okay, song time. Here are the songs. You like the songs. Dance to the songs! Read about the songs! Are you having fun? Are you having fun yet? Are you?

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Songs of the Week 08/12/2022 (Coming to you from 08/19/2022)

Hey everyone, it’s me, back at it with the time travel. Sorry again for the inconsistency— I think I made a New Year’s resolution to not be like this at some point, maybe a couple resolutions ago, but I’m still working on it. Life has been unexpectedly hectic this week and it may continue to be for as long as the next two months, but I will try to return to regular posting as soon as I can— I want to, but there isn’t always time. Anyways, blah blah blah, songs, here we go:

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Why The Sausage Was Made (IV-VI)

IV. At the Polyhedral Pizzeria.

At the Polyhedral Pizzeria, the restaurant in the thrift store in the plaster Roman ruins on a B-movie budget: peeling back places, unfairly priced. We climb to our raised table and keep climbing our raised chairs, guessing how offensively valued the shelved vases are because we’ve waited hours for our food. Why then are the newcomers, the group of gurgling girls, comet-tailed by a silver platter— an order they’ve barely breathed? We’re impatient partners, you and I, salivating over the next table’s salad branes— balsamic and basil, peppered tomato and mozzarella strata. At the Polyhedral Pizzeria, displaced in time and space: confusing ascension with amputation.

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Songs of the Week 08/05/2022

It’s that time of the week again, but not actually! I’m coming to you from the distant past, as I’ll be in Wyoming digging dinosaurs by the time the fifth rolls around. That unfortunately also means no Movie Friday again this week… sort of. I’ve never claimed to be consistent, and as such, I ended up watching Nope in theaters this weekend, and may be watching the Evil Dead movies while I’m gone, so we’ll have to file those under “bonus movies” on my next Movie Friday post. We’ll call it a double double feature. With all that out of the way…

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Say Your Prayers, George and Delilah

And so, driving down the parkway, George and Delilah talked to anyone but each other:

“I always think it’s crazy that we ended up with a blue sky,” said George.

“Eyes on the road, George,” said Delilah.

“And blue’s not even my favorite color, especially not this shade.”

“You don’t like my dress, George?”

“No! Yes! No, I do, because the blue complements the yellow, it’s a whole different thing. I just think, you know, when the plants are all September-dry and the sky gets more faded-airport blue, it just… I don’t know, an orange sky would be more fun, right? I don’t know.”

“You sound like you know, George.”

“Well, uh… I guess where I’m going with this is, like… the sky is blue because the atmosphere is, I don’t know, dense enough that it refracts the white sunlight and blocks everything down the rainbow up until blue—”

“No, no, everything with a higher wavelength than blue doesn’t bounce off all the molecules. It’s called Rayleigh scattering, George.”

“My name’s not Rayleigh, it’s—”

“I know, I know, Mr. Rayleigh was your father’s name, just call you George.”

“Well, uh… I guess where I’m going with this is, like… the sky’s only blue because of our exact atmosphere and its exact molecules, and it just has me thinking, I don’t know, we wouldn’t have evolved without all of those exact conditions, and if we did, we wouldn’t be the same George and Delilah, now would we? We’d have… lungs on our… brains, or. I don’t know.”

“Turn here, George.”

It went on like that; a trailing kite tail behind the car, winding up and down and around the asphalt anthill they call Humphrey Heights. Humphrey Heights, where sightings of spring chickens like George and Delilah were sparing at best. They call retirees who migrate south “snowbirds,” but there’s no ornithological designation for the more sessile types, like Delilah’s parents. Chickens, maybe, but certainly not the vernal variety. Their daughter may have flown the coop, but she wasn’t above a visit. Delilah owed her parents dinner; George owed Delilah a buffer. Say your prayers, George and Delilah.

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Songs of the Week 07/29/2022

Have you ever wanted to discuss music with someone, except it’s not a discussion and the someone is me and I talk for several uninterrupted paragraphs about what I’ve been listening to? Well that’s kind of weird and you need to be more assertive about your boundaries but we’ll talk about that later because right now I’m riled up and ready to talk for several uninterrupted paragraphs about what I’ve been listening to. That’s right Toddheads, Toddlers, Toddlings, it’s that time of the week again! Except not really, because there’s no accompanying Movie Friday because it’s Moving Friday. Housing crisis. Uuuuuhhh okay music go

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