“If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician. I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music. ... I get most joy in life out of music.” – Albert Einstein
You may have heard of Albert Einstein. I’m pretty sure he invented some stuff, said some weird things, whatever. I think it is possible that Einstein, a card-carrying member of the scientific community, would probably rethink the above quote if he had lived to hear “Miracles” by Insane Clown Posse (ICP). Had Einstein discovered that modern “musicians” (I will use this term for lack of a better word to describe what Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J actually are) spent their songs denouncing his profession, he may have instead said something like this:
“If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a plumber. I love the feeling of just getting under a sink, looking up at a leaky pipe, and wondering how I’m going to fix it. I see my life in terms of plumbing…I get most joy in life out of plumbing, and very little from music. Music is the worst.” – Albert Einstein
And you know what Al? I think I’m going to have to agree with you. Much of today’s music is the worst, and Insane Clown Posse is a perfect example. “Miracles” sounds like the brainchild of a band that was introduced to the concept of music and singing only moments before they recorded it. It is nearly impossible to make it through the entire song without convulsing and bleeding internally. I myself woke up in the emergency room recovering from severe head trauma, the lyrics “I fed a fish to a pelican in Frisco bay, and he tried to eat my cell phone, he ran away” being the last words that I remember.
During the seven-month coma that the song induced on me, I had a lot of time to consider the meaning of the above lyrics, and whether or not ICP was correct in that a pelican eating a cell phone can be considered a miracle. I have a hard time believing that Shaggy 2 Dope, a man who once sang “I'm wicked, I keep it horrifying, ax murdered some kid and his dad kite flying. I knock the f**kin mail man out on the grass, and burned holes in his face with the magnifying glass” would take kindly to a bird eating his cell phone. After all, the dad, kid, and mailman don’t appear to have even instigated him. They were just trying to fly kites and deliver mail. I have to imagine that America lost several of its best mail carriers after those lyrics surfaced. If the National Guard doesn’t spend time worrying about ICP songs like that, I’m moving to Mexico.
If a bird eating a phone is a miracle, then perhaps the following is a miracle as well: yesterday, after work, I was walking back to my house when I saw that traffic was backed up on the road I was about to cross. The cause of this delay was a turtle crossing the street. The lady in the first stopped car got out, and loudly proclaimed “Mothaf**king turtle!” among other hilarious turtle-related expletives. She then began to kick the turtle across the street while I watched in stunned fascination. Was this a miracle? I’m no theologian, but I’m thinking probably not.
So am I a believer in miracles? If there’s one thing the song has done for me, it’s that my answer is now “I’m not sure.” If there is one miracle I’m certain of, it’s the fact that ICP is allowed to produce records, while the sound of me farting into my own hand (a rough equivalent) has yet to receive a record deal.
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