elevator music

Every once in a while I catch myself humming Escalator Music to myself. If and when this happens, I immediately have to go and buy a Dairy Queen large tropical blizzard. This quiets my nerves enough to get the down escalator out of the way and me out to the car.

On the drive home I try to conjecture why I make my own music. I have come up with only one solution so far, and it fits together rather nicely: The Man is sending my brain wierd signals from satellites orbiting the earth.

The music that they play in my office building. It's real loud. "For the last time I don't want to hear a Britney Spears song, played by a flute! If I hear it again I will commit suicide or go Postal!"

This type of music is what produces insanity, psychotic rage, or manic depression. I can't turn the sound up loud enough on my MP3 player to drown it out. It's trying to get me. Even the loud tapping of my keyboard does not cover the latest Backdoor Boys song being played by a saxophone.

OH! NO! The music just switched to light jazz. Kenny G! AHHHHHH!!!

Pray for me! Please! I beg you!