Forget About Tomorrow? How about “Forget About This Band?” Ha! Ha! Zing! Take that Forget About Tomorrow! Take that you stupid band! Ha! Now that I’ve shown Forget About Tomorrow just who’s boss let me attempt to explain why I’ve just behaved the way I have towards Forget About Tomorrow by explaining the simple psychological concept of displacement.
Understanding displacement is quite simple. A guy has a horrible day at the office. He’s been chewed out by the boss, the car wouldn’t start in the over-crowded parking ramp, it took triple A two hours to send over their man with jumper cables and then when biting into that Burger King Whopper picked up at the drive through he finds they’ve accidentally given him a nasty BK Veggie. Now this put upon meatless fellow couldn’t be more steamed up inside so he goes home, beats his wife, ties her up, shoots off her feet and hands, dashes out her eyes with a fork, dumps scalding hot oil down her blouse, runs for president, gets his brother to rig the outcome, becomes a staunch advocate for promoting militarism and launches a full scale war to topple a foreign dictator who may or may not be thinking about someday possibly attempting to get in possession of materials that might be able to be used to manufacture weapons of mass destruction. And that’s displacement. If it wasn’t for the bad day at the office he would have never had his brother rig the polls in Florida.
So you see, that’s what’s happening here between me and Forget About Tomorrow. It’s over 100 degrees in my house, the hills are on fire, I’m gagging on the very air I breathe and I’m listening to super sugary, ultra-poppy pop punk which I normally dislike as it is, but under these conditions it’s unbearable. Thus, my zinger. So please, pardon my zinger.