80's Music Nightmare

OK, here's the story: We're getting a new email system at work, so I'm cleaning up my email archives to get ready for the transition. While excavating 12 years of electronic junk, I ran across this fun little item. I emailed it to a few people who seemed to think it was pretty funny, so I'm posting it here. It was sent to me with no author mentioned, but whoever wrote it was pretty clever.

80's Music Nightmare

I was working part time in a five and dime. My boss was Mr.
Magee. He was six foot four and full of muscles and walked
like an Egyptian, but I was happy to be stuck with him. One
manic Monday, while I was busy working for the weekend, I
overheard him make a careless whisper.

He told two of my co-workers, Jack and Diane, that I gave
love a bad name. Well, I got so emotional, baby. I told him
to say say say what he wants, but don't play games with my
affection. He told me it was hard for him to say he's sorry
and not to worry, to be happy. Then he blamed it on the
rain. He was so out of touch. It just took my breath
away. I couldn't fight this feeling any longer. I asked
him "What's love got to do with it?" He told me to get
outta his store and his dreams and into my car.

So I figured I might as well jump. I cut footloose, went
home and called my girl, Jenny. (You already know the
number) She was on the other line with Amanda. They were
talking about Mickey and how he was so fine. That blew my
mind! Was she really going out with him? I told her that I
had just called to say I love her. She told me she had been
saving all her love for me, but now she was looking for a
new love - asta la vista, baby. I thought "I can't go for
that - no can do! Bring me a higher love!" I called up some
of my old west end girls, hoping that one of them would want
to get physical all night long (all night). First I called

Billie Jean - she told me to beat it. I called Rosanna -
her sister Christian blessed the rains down in Africa and
then hung up on me. Come on, Eileen! ... no answer. Nobody
told me there'd be days like these! I was feeling like the
owner of a lonely heart.

Then, out of the blue, my best friend's girlfriend (she used
to be mine) Roxanne calls. Yes, the real Roxanne. She told
me she still hadn't found what she's looking for and that
she wanted to take on me. I said "I thought you were
Jessie's girl." She said "Don't you want me? You don't have
to put on the red light - I'm on my own." What a feeling! I
had the eye of the tiger. Who was I f-f-f-foolin? Roxanne
drove me crazy like no one else. She's a beauty! She blinded
me with science, and weird science at that. There was always
something there to remind me of her and I just knew that I'd
have the time of my life.

I wasn't about to la-di-da-di. I jumped in my little red
Corvette and rocked down to Electric Avenue. I got my mind
set on her. When I got to her house (in the middle of her
street) I ran. I rapped on her front door and to this
rapper's delight, i heard a voice say "Who can it be now?"
"Here I am, the one that you love", I replied. I let my
love open the door and was immediately lost in her eyes. I
felt like a virgin touched for the very first time. She
loosened her blouse and said "Rock me Amadeus!" Well, I
felt it was my prerogative to bust a move. I told her "I'll
tumble for ya!" as I pinned her on the stairs, hungry like
the wolf.

Just then I felt an invisible touch on my shoulder. "Turn
around bright eyes!" said a familiar voice. As I did,
Jessie hit me with a sledgehammer of an uppercut that spun
me right round like a record. He was hangin' tough and
continued to roll with it, knocking the wind from beneath my
wings - broken wings by this time. He rocked me tonight,
for old time's sake, beating me from head to toe, until my
true colors were black and blue and blood was spilling from
my mouth like red, red wine. "You don't owe me money for
nothing!" he snarled. At this point I was livin' on a
prayer. I crawled back to my little red Corvette and drove
home thinking about how my tainted love had cut like a knife
- how it seems that every rose, truly, has its thorn. No
longer do I want to know what love is. Love stinks.