Graduation Day

Hey Folks,

It's that time again. Time to worry whether rain will force Mom, Pop, and Aunt Edna inside a crowded, oppressive hot and humid auditorium, to forget to hold one's applause until all the graduates have been introduced, to hear Robert Frost (or Dr. Seuss) butchered again by this year's smartest kid, and THEN to enjoy the wit and wisdom of some revered politician, minister, or grain-elevator-operator.

If YOUR town is lacking in such luminaries as these latter-named orators, the Uke Man is ready to serve. I have included my most popular address below for your consideration.

- Uke Man


Generic Small Town/Rural* High School Graduation Speech

(as inspired by the underlying, but unspoken, reality of life in the small town of Ovalville, Ohio - where I live and where you will find Ovalville High School and its Fighting Merinos ).

Hey Graduates!!

Congratulations!! You made it.

Oh yes, I know that even as you wait excitedly to throw your caps into the air, you are wondering: “ Golly, what now? What lies ahead?”

Hmmmmmmm..... Two roads diverge in a yellow wood, and I’ll (yes, I’ll) take the one less traveled by, and that’ll make all the difference.”

Yeah . . . uh-huh.

Well, I’m here to say, like Yogi Berra, “If you come to a fork in the road, take it.” You see, Yogi lived on a street that forked before it reached his house, but it soon came back together. Whichever road you took, it really didn’t make any difference.

It’s the same for you, graduates (although most of you – not to mention your English teachers - have likely misread Frost’s poem - read the poem again when you’re forty, and if you’re still puzzled, e-mail me).

What I mean is, everything’s pretty much already been decided for you by now. And better yet, you don’t really have to worry about it. You’ve been to High School!!!

Just think back! All the answers to all the major questions are there! You know where the railroad tracks are; don’t you? And you know where you live; don’t you? Well, that’s the main thing.

That should tell you something, make my job today a lot easier, and help get your individual self on the road to adjustment and acceptance.

Now, you losers out there – you know who you are – you should, since you’ve had it hammered into your heads, probably since elementary school : “dummies, dorks, slackers, dopers, burn-outs, goths, punks, geeks, nerds, porkers, wallflowers, skanks, spastics, and speds."

Well, you’re on your road already, and the rest of the class intends to keep you there. At least, they’re not going to help you get out of that rut (yours is a tough life, but they insist that somebody has to live it).

Get used to it. Put your nose to the grindstone. Work hard. Save for a rainy day, take an entry level job, work your way up to bagger, and salute the flag!

No. Today I am not talking to you, you vast assemblage of losers, begrudgingly sitting out there in the sun – although I may share a few beers with you after the ceremony. You already know what you have to do: the same thing you’ve always had to do - for twelve years – survive! Get used to it. Embrace it. It is your destiny.

Ah, but you winners!! Fear not. You have the answers; you know the rules; you learned them in school.

Well . . . you certainly have assimilated them, but probably you didn’t actually learn them in any academic sense. So, just to be sure, let me enumerate them now:

Number 1. You were born to rule (remember the railroad tracks? count your dividends!).

Number 2. If challenged, point out how much better dressed and coiffed you are (let ‘em deal with that!).

Number 3. Failing that, your parents do have power, money, and influence. Have them crush the upstarts.

Number 4. Never forget that the socio-economic- political system will always support you in your efforts since it is run by people who are winners too - people just like you !

Number 5. (To state the obvious) Intelligence, talent, insight, energy, and altruism are unnecessary – and, perhaps, even counter-productive ( as everyone knows, a large portion of you cheated your way through “Honors” classes for four years and are still considered “gifted” ). Dexterity and cunning uber alis!

And, last but not least, a valuable corollary: While those sitting around you have muddled through in obscurity, you’ve done well for yourself here. . .

BUT: don’t over-reach!!!!

Raised in a small, conservative, heartland environment, you probably already appreciate being a big fish in a small pond and are understandably hesitant to expose your shortcomings by trying for too much more. Good idea!

The bigger fish, bigger than you, know the rules too and frown on "helping the world” - even more than you do (and they consider you – yeah, I know that’s hard to imagine -as part of “the world").

Now, hearing all this, a lot of you “gifted” folks out there may have gotten nervous and started asking yourself, “Does this jerk really know what he’s talking about?”

Yeah, it is hard to believe. You know that you’re not particularly special. You know that your parents and class-conscious teachers got you by while the system selectively ground down the “beaners” and “sweathogs” and “hippies” and “dweebs.” You know that you’ve had all the advantages that the losers lacked – through no fault of their own - that you’ve been arbitrarily lifted up while they’ve been relegated to obscurity. And you wonder if they resent you.

Of course they do, but they can’t do a damn thing about it. Can they?!! Remember “THE RULES”!!! Rules are rules, and as the ruling minority you’ve taken the road less traveled by. It’s your job to keep it that way.

Perhaps you find this new responsibility daunting, but don’t worry. Our great democracy is based on the principle: “You can fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, and - with control of the media - those are pretty good odds.”

That bedrock foundation will always sustain you. You might be - by any objective measure - an incompetent, a fool, and a failure; but with the right parents, the right attitude, the right clothing and grooming, and – perhaps – with a little golf; the system will take care of you.

You’ve got it made. Never forget that the world is run by pompous little self-serving bullet-headed winners - just like you - and they won’t let you down . . . (unless they can make a few bucks out of it).

Congratulations!! And may you always get what you so richly deserve!!

-- Thank You


* If you find this address suitable to your town (small, rural, or otherwise), I am available (fees may vary with location and the relative likelihood of facing angry mobs).

Ukulele Man Songs for the May 27 Kilbourne Concert

Ukulele Man Songs for the Kilbourne Concert


Crazy Old World

It’s a crazy old world
As crazy as it can be
If you don’t think so,
Just take a look at me.

It’s a crazy old world
I know it’s true
If you don’t think so,
Just take a look at you.

I’m just sittin’ on the world
Just watchin’ it go round.
I’m just sittin’ on the world
Tryin’ to keep my feet on the ground.

I’m just sittin’ on the world
And watchin’ it spin
Just sittin’ on the world
And tryin’ hard to win.

But I’m goin’ away
Yes, I’m leavin’ today
Yes, I’m goin’ away
‘Cause there’s nothin’ left to say

It’s a crazy old world
As crazy as it can be.
It killed the Romans once
And now it’s killin’ me

I’m just sittin’ on the world
Watchin’ the wheels go rounf
Just watchin’ ‘em spin until I leave this town.

And I’m goin’ away
Yes, I’m leavin’ today
Yes, I’m goin’ away
‘Cause there’s nothin’ left to say.

It’s a crazy old world.
It’s a crazy old world
It’s a crazy old world


It’s a crazy old world



Sunny day in Bagdad

F A min
Another sunny day in Bagdad,
F A min
Just another sunny day in Bagdad,
Bb C7
Mowing sand and slowly goin’ mad
F
It’s another sunny day in Bagdad,

Suni and Shii
say “Hello there GI. } same as 1st
We’ve got a cell phone call for you.”

Billy goes for a ride
Then all his buddies died } same as 1st
When that cell phone call came through -
It’s just a local call in Bagdad.

Bb
But everything’s OK
Bb min
In our sand-trap USA } Chorus
F D7
Yes, sir!! The sun shines every day.
G min C7
It’s always a sunny day
F
in Bagdad,


F A min
From his stretcher Billy cried
F A min
For all his friends who had died,
Bb C7
And his eyes clouded up with tears, it’s true.
F A min F A min
But in the end - you know the drill, my friend
Bb C7
In Bagdad the sun always breaks through.
C7
It’s always a sunny day
F
in Bagdad,



And everything’s OK
In our make-shift USA } Chorus
Yes, sir!! The sun shines every day.
It’s always a sunny day
in Bagdad,

Billy pulled R&R in Germany
But I don’t think he’ll be writin’ me
He left both his hands behind, you see.
On that sunny day in Bagdad.

But our leaders swear it’s true
That we must do what we must do –
And they know much more than Billy, you, and me;
They’ve spent a sunny day in Bagdad.


Bb
And everything’s OK
Bb min
In our make-shift USA
F D7
Just mowing sand and slowly goin’ mad.
G min
I wrote Billy yesterday
C7
Didn’t have much to say
F
Just “It’s another sunny day in Bagdad.”
D7 G min
Oh, I wrote Billy yesterday
C7
Didn’t have much to say
F
Just “It’s another sunny day in Bagdad.”





Jesus Chrysler

I got in my old LeBaron, and I drove to the sacred store,
and a fellah said, "Can I help you, brother?"
as I walked in through the door.

I said, "I think you can, my man, 'cause I've got a simple wish.
I want a chrome or plastic stick-on Jesus fish."

Well, the deal went down without a hitch, and I didn't have to pay no tax.
I slapped that baby on the back o' my LeBaron and sat down to relax.
I found the ignition, yeah and I turned the key,
gonna drive that Jesus Chrysler from here to eternity.

When you're drivin' a Jesus Chrysler, everyone makes way for you;
even at the Pearly Gates they just smile and wave you through,
and there is Michael the Archangel with a bucket in his hand
just waitin' to wash your car as it enters the Promised Land.

Well, I'm winnin' all my football bets with Jesus on my team
and the lord's lookin' over my liver - it's me, the lord, and Jim Beam.
The landlord he's forgot my name; he doesn't bother me,
and the US postal service sends my letters out for free.

I'm winnin' on the slots over at the casino,
and all of my bets out at the track
are win, place, and show. All my friends at the Seven/Eleven
say I'll win the lottery. And nobody cares if I show up for work;
they just mail the check to me.

When you're drivin' a Jesus Chrysler, you're bound to go far,
and it don't really take too much, just a fish stuck on your car.
When you're drivin' a Jesus Chrysler, that's a sacred car;
you've got the right credentials; you're a Jesus Chrysler super star.

I'm appearin' on the 700 Club; Pat Robertson's in love with me,
and I find myself at the top of the charts with my Christian rap CD.
All my Jewish friends have converted; my gay friends have gone straight too,
and I've even got the monkeys testifyin' to their trainers out at the zoo.

Since I've advertised for Jesus, he's been takin' care of me.
Now I can get my cable, and I don't have to pay no fee.
Yeah, I can walk on water (if the water ain't too deep),
and I even told the IRS to take a flyin' leap.

So if success and salvation are what you truly wish,
get a Chrysler, Dodge, or Plymouth and stick on a Jesus fish.
Oh you'll be drivin' a Jesus Chrysler, that's a sacred car.
And you're guaranteed a place in heaven.
You're a Jesus Chrysler super star.

Oh yeah, You're guaranteed a place in heaven.
You're a Jesus Chrysler super star.



Fascist Girl

Come on baby, give me a whirl; won't you be my fascist girl?
Come on baby, give me a try; I wanna be your fascist guy.
We can burn our torches bright and make a thousand points of light;
come on baby and be my fascist girl.

I'm so happy that I am so filthy rich.
I can be an aristocrat and you can be my bitch.
We can paint a swastika on our BMW;
come on baby and be my fascist girl.

Come on baby, we can spend our days bashing lesbians and gays.
At night we can get our kicks harassing Jews and Catholics;
we can leave a foreigner bleeding on the corner,
come on baby and be my fascist girl.

We'll surely get our pictures in The ColumbusDispatch,
citizen's award for removing trash.
Baby can't you feel the thrill of rubbing shoulders with George Will;
come on baby and be my fascist girl.

Oh fascist girl you are the best with the tattoo of Reagan on your breast.
Come on baby, join the master race; Limbaugh's saving you a place.
And I know you'll like my wienie; looks a lot like Mussolini;
come on baby and be my fascist girl.
Oh yeah, come on baby and be my fascist girl.




Pee Wee Where Have You Gone

Oh Pee Wee, where have you gone?
Have you run off with Miss Yvonne?
Reba Mail Lady says no forwarding address;
oh Pee Wee, we miss you I confess.

Cowboy Curtis still rides the range,
but his eyes look mighty strange.

Oh Pee Wee, won't you come home?
Chairy can't stand livin' here all alone.
We're gonna sit here every Saturday
'til you come home again to play.

Mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney ho, mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney ho, mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney
ho, oh oh oh oh oh - where did you go?

Did somebody say wish?

Oh Pee Wee, wish you were here,
to bring the Playhouse some cheer;
we're gonna sit here every Saturday,
'til you come home again to play. .

Mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney ho, mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney ho, mecca lecca hi, mecca hiney ho, oh oh oh oh oh - where did you go?



Holy Roller Polka

Well, you can’t be a Holy Roller if you’re rollin’ in the hay
Gotta thump upon your Bible, gotta thump it every day
You can’t be a Holy Roller, ‘less you walk the narrow way
You can’t be a Holy Roller if you’re rollin’ in the hay

But you can be a Holy Roller and vote for David Duke
You can be a Holy Roller and be a wild-eyed kook
You can be a Holy Roller if Limbaugh is your man
You can be a Holy Roller and a wizard in the Ku Klux Klan

But you can’t be a Holy Roller if you drink or smoke or chew
You can’t be a Holy Roller if you like to play cards or screw.
But you can be a Holy Roller – and still be true-blue
You can drink & smoke & chew & screw when nobody’s watchin’ you

So, I’m gonna be a Holy Roller. I know it will be hard.
I’m gonna be a Holy Roller and get myself straight with God
I’m gonna be a Holy Roller; I really hope I can
‘Cause I wantta be a Holy Roller and a wizard in the Ku Klux Klan
An’ a wizard in the Ku Klux Klan, and a wizard in the Ku Klux Klan

Oh, do the Holy Roller Polka as you dance around the floor
Find someone to kick and give ‘em “what for”
Find someone to blame your sins on then kick ‘em some more
Do the Holy Roller Polka and march right out the door
There ain’t nobody keepin’ score
Do the Hooooly Rolllllller Polkaaaaaaaa


Take Two Hail-Mary’s & Call Him in the Morning

If you were raised Catholic, you know the nomenclature
God made man to reflect his own nature.
It’s been the trouble since the world began
God used Himself as a pattern for man.

Oh take two Hail-Mary’s and call him in the morning
Maybe He’ll be in by then

Adam and Eve were kicked out of the Garden
Without any chance of a heavenly pardon.
He caught ‘em acting just like him
Told ‘em it was Original Sin.

Oh take two Hail-Mary’s and call him in the morning
But He’s hardly ever in by ten.

Why? Well, He’s got a little Angel
And she’s got an Angel ass
She’s got her Sugar; she catches on fast.
He made her to begin with and He’s made her ever since
If she wasn’t made so stupid she might take offense.

Oh take two Hail-Mary’s and call him in the morning
Maybe He’ll be in by then

When He caught his chosen people actin’ just like him
He gave ‘em the Commandments, one through ten
He told ‘em, “It’s my fault for makin’ you free,
But how was I to know you’re gonna act like me?”

Oh take two Hail-Mary’s and call him in the morning
But He’s hardly ever in by ten. (You know why)

Well, He’s got a little Angel
And she’s got an Angel ass
She’s got her Sugar; she catches on fast.
He made her to begin with and He’s made her ever since
If she wasn’t made so stupid she might take offense.

Oh take two Hail-Mary’s and call him in the morning
Maybe He’ll be in by then
But don’t count on it
‘Cause He’s hardly ever in by ten.


"Thank God for Toilets"

You've got your vacuum cleaner
You've got your microwave
And you've got your lawn mower that you borrowed from Dave,
But don't forget your toilet
'Cause when you think of it
It's the only friend you've got
That takes all your shit.

Thank God for toilets
'Cause when the shit runs down
If it weren't for toilets
We'd all be underground.

You've got your shrinks and politicians
TV evangelists too
Oh, they listen to all your shit
But hand it back to you.
Thank God for toilets
A throne behind four walls
Where if there's ever a problem
Plumbers make house calls.

Thank God for toilets
The sewage system too
About the only thing I've got
Connecting me to all of you.
Thank God for toilets
They treat us all the same.
They take all our shit
But they don't take names.

Thank God for toilets
'Cause when the shit runs down
If it weren't for toilets
We'd all be underground.

Interred side by side, so to speak.




I Wish I Were a Pirate

I wish I were a Pirate on the Ocean
Sailing ‘neath my flag of Skull & Bones
‘Cause if I were a Pirate on the Ocean
Everyone would leave me all alone!!

I wish I were a Camel in the Desert
Walkin’ barefoot there upon the Sand
‘Cause if I were a Camel in the Desert
I’d live Alone in a Deserted Land!!

I sometimes wish that I could be a Spaceman
Floatin’ through the Ozone in a Pan
‘Cause if I were a Spaceman in the Ozone
I’d truly be a Solitary Man!!

I wish I were an Island in the Ocean
Complete unto myself just like a Stone
‘Cause if I were an Island in the Ocean
Everyone could leave me all alone!!

* * *
I should have been a pair of Ragged Claws
Scuttling cross the floor of Silent Seas
And maybe some lost, storm-tossed Pirate
Would slow his Ship and drop a Line to me.

I should have been a Camel in the Desert
And set my Teacup there upon the Dune
And You could bring the Scones & Jam & Sugar
Pour the Tea and stir the Sugar as
We sit and sip Alone there ‘neath the Moon.

* * *

Oh, I wish I were an Island in the Ocean
An Island made entirely of Stone
A Harbor for storm-tossed Pirates
A sandy Beach a Camel could call Home.

Oh, I really wish I were an Island in the Ocean
And a Pirate rode a Camel into view
Then I’d know that I could be a Spaceman
And fly into the arms of love with You

Then I’d know that I could be a Spaceman
And fly into the arms of love with You



Kiss Me Son of God

F F+ Gm G7
I built a little empire out of some crazy garbage
F Bb C
Called the blood of the exploited working class
Bb
But they've overcome their shyness
Bbm
Now they're calling me Your Highness
F Dm Bb C F
And a world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God"
F F+ Gm
I destroyed a bond of friendship and respect
G7 F Bb C
Between the only people left who'd even look me in the eye
Bb
Now I laugh and make a fortune
Bb min
Off the very ones I tortured
F Dm Bb C F
And a world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God"
F Gm C7 F
I look like Jesus, so they say
Gm C7 F
But Mr. Jesus is very far away
A Dm
Now you're the only one here who can tell me if it's true
Bb C
That you love me and I love me

F F+ Gm G7
I’m enlarging my dominion and tightening my grip
F Bb C
You see, all the politicians work for me
Bb
And though it may seem stark it’s
Bbm
Just the magic of the Markets
F Dm Bb C F
And it’s all “just business” to me.




F F+ Gm G7
I built a little empire out of some crazy garbage
F Bb C
Called the blood of the exploited working class
Bb
And though Empire spreading
Bbm
Depends upon blood-letting
F Dm Bb C F
A world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God"



F Gm C7 F
I look like Jesus, so they say
Gm C7 F
But Mr. Jesus is very far away
A Dm
Now you're the only one here who can tell me if it's true
Bb C
That you love me and I love me


F F+ Gm G7
I built a little empire out of some crazy garbage
F Bb C
Called the blood of the exploited working class
Bb
But they've overcome their shyness
Bbm
Now they're calling me Your Highness
F Dm Bb C F
And a world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God"



Booger

I’ve got a booger in my nose
It just sits there and grows and grows and grows
I almost choked to death last winter when it froze
Oh I’ve got a booger in my nose.

Well, I’m from Circleville in the county of Pickaway
And the boogers that we grow there are the best in every way
And Booger Hospital sits at 600 Pickaway Street
And the boogers that they dig out there are good enough to eat.

Oh I’ve got a booger in my nostril
He’s a fun lovin’ booger; he ain’t hostil’
Hell, if Jesus were alive today, he’d make him an apostle
Oh, I’ve got a booger in my nose.

I’m goin’ down to McDonald’s and without a doubt
They’ll pay me for that booger, the part what’s hangin’ out.
They’ll slice it up and fry it and put it on a bun
Oh, Wendy’s eat your heart out, Mickey D’s is number one.

I’ve got a booger in my nose
It just sits there and grows and grows and grows
I almost choked to death last winter when it froze
Oh I’ve got a booger in my nose.

Oh yeah, I’ve got a booger in my nose.


Uncle Sam’s Lament

Sometimes I wake up in the mornin’
and I don’t know who I am
Then my grinning nephews all rush in
screaming “Good morning, Uncle Sam”

Then they all gather round me
And they play their fife and drum
And we all sing “God Bless America;
Screw All the Other Scum!”

Oh, sometimes I wake up in the mornin’
With all this money in my hand
And there’s all these gold-toothed financiers
Screamin’, “Sam, you’re the man!!”

Then I go out and read the paper
And check out the Fourth Estate
And read all the news that’s fit to print
And everything’s just great.

Then I go out and take a walk
And make my way downtown
And feel all the suspicious glances
Of faces black and brown

And I don’t think that they like me much
Oh no, not the way they should!!
Can’t they get it through their heads that
What I do is for their own good?

Sometimes I wake up in the mornin’
and I don’t know who I am
Then my pin-striped nephews all rush in
screaming “Get up an’ get at it, Uncle Sam”

Then they all gather round me
And they play their fife and drum
And we all sing “God Bless America;
Land of the Dollar and the Gun!”

Hey Cheney!! Eat this!!

Hey Jude

Watch Epic Hey Jude Sing Along and more funny videos on CollegeHumor

Shhhhh ! ! !

Shhhhhhhhhh ! ! !

(ruling) Class Warfare

Hey Folks -

Anyone who thinks that we are all equal under the law should give this some thought.

Recently the media has been filled with indignant whining about the plan to tax bonuses of derelict millionaire bankers. The argument is that to tax a small unpopular group in response to their misbehavior is not only punitive and confiscatory, but also unconstitutional.

Oh, the wailing and gnashing of teeth; the crocodile tears over the degradation of our American heritage; the unfairness of picking on a small group who, although unpopular, did nothing illegal.

I was really feeling sorry for these poor chaps until I picked up the paper and read a letter-to-the-editor from a doctor. He said that on April 1, the federal cigarette tax will increase by sixty-two cents and that this increase “should provide one more good reason for Ohioans to quit smoking.”

Well, smoking IS bad for one’s health, and many people find smokers repulsive; but repulsive Wall Street manipulators are bad for economic health too. Hmmm . . .

I guess it depends on who you know or, maybe, whose ox is goring the constitution. Then too, taxing the poor has always been preferable to taxing the powerful – and, according to some, more constitutional.

Have you ever rolled your own cigarettes? Mostly poor people addicted to tobacco roll their own – and twice as many poor people as rich people use tobacco. Poor people go to cheap tobacco stores and buy cheap, loose tobacco and roll their own.

Well, they used to. The recent tax doubled the cost of a roll-your-own bag from around $10.00 to over $20.00, putting it on a par with the standard brands; eliminating the savings. Poor people are up against it: go through withdrawal, skimp on other things, pawn something, or turn to crime.

The Republicans and Democrats who passed this tax justified it by spending the money it raises on uninsured children’s health care. At the same time, the Republicans and a few Democrats thought it unjustifiable to tax greedy, high-salaried Wall Street finaglers’ bonuses.

Whatever you think of tobacco, Wall Street, poor people, or taxes, it’s perfectly clear that here in America, the “Shining City on the Hill,” where “all men are created equal”; we are NOT equal under the law.

Some Americans are more equal than others.

- Uke Man

More Uke Man at the Elvis-a-Thon

Hey Folks - "Heartbreak Hotel" !!