I Want to Travel Through Time and Kill the Olsen Twins

     I know, who doesn't want to kill these spoiled, skinny, shallow, vapid, little rich girls, right? I am no exception to this nearly universal rule, but my reasons for Olsenocide may surprise you.

     I don't care that they are annoying, or vapid, or talentless, or fraternal, or possibly animatronic. I don't hate them for that. No one forces me to see their movies, I never watched the damn TV show (primarily because Dave Coulier and Bob Saget make me itch and cast about nervously for automatic weapons) and I am not compelled by law to join their official fan club. No one forces me to deal with the Olsen twins of our time era.

     But yet I want to climb into a time machine with a bent pipe, go back to 1992 and strike them about the head and shoulders repeatedly until they are dead. Don't get me wrong. I'm no sadist; I wouldn't do it happily, no. It would be hard on everyone involved, including their parents and myself. I might need counseling after I returned to 2005 with their Olsenite blood dripping off my hands and bent pipe.

     But at least I would never hear the records they made in 1992 when they were seven years old. A lifetime living with haunting memories of their pitiful screams for mercy would be worth it to never again listen to...well...

     See, we had this thing called Sirius Satellite Radio (we'll have it again when Heather gets work) and amongst the music and news stations it offers is a children's station called, "Kid Stuff." It plays nice songs by the Muppets, School House Rock, the Animaniacs, and all sorts of kiddie music acts you may or may not be familiar with. I'm fine with them all. Sam enjoys it enough that she might not constantly whine when the car ride exceeds ten minutes, and I can sing most of those songs along with her for extra parental delightedness.

     "Kid Stuff" has a dark side, though. Occasionally a painful exercise in tympanum torture emerges from the otherwise agreeable musical selection and you find yourself treated to *shudder* the Wiggles, Veggie Tales, or even Barney the Dinosaur. (I often fantasize about Barney and Dorothy fighting over the corpse of a Triceratops, but I digress.) The absolute worst thing I've ever heard, however, even when considering air-raid sirens and the mating calls of feral cats as logical alternatives, is the Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen singing "Brother for Sale," "I'm the Cute One," "Desperate for a Dog," or "Identical Twins." (The latter being filthy lie of a title, because Mary Kate and Ashley are actually fraternal twins. Lying little hussies.)

Sam, unfortunately, likes hearing their little voices tell us that their brother is only worth 50 cents, or lie about being identical twins. So I let Sam listen, and I slowly grind the enamel off of my molars and shake with barely contained rage.

If I had a bent pipe and a time machine......wait, found one!
...
      ...If I only had a time machine,