Casting quarters into wells that hold our dreams

Syndrome..funny word...sounds like I have a particular ailment for which there is no cure. As luck would have it, I gave it to my friend today and she lives 600 miles away.

We were chatting about last song syndrome. A lovely term for a brain meltdown that happens when you get out of your car and the last song you heard gets stuck in your head and plays like a broken record all day long.

Sometimes it's a good thing. You wander around singing the song and sooner or later the whole office has the fever and you produce an acapella version in unison that would make Simon Cowell proud.

A good thing today? Not so much. Today the not so catchy but apparently contagious bad early 90s white boy reggae song otherwise known as Informer by Snow migrated into my brain from a co-worker whom I'd now like to beat with a shovel, Or tossing him off the Sears Tower.

Informer
Menika nahsteo dayuh I licky boom boom down

That concludes this blog because that's really all there is to say about bad white boy reggae.