I've always been amused at how it's the very worst songs possible that're the ones that come and bore themelves into your head, unwelcome guests that stay for hour after hour. Do we secretly love these songs, but are too conditioned by society's prejudices to give them full vent? Or, just occasionally, do our cranial super-tuners catch a skip in the atmosphere and offer us an auditory glimpse into the realm of Satan?
Yesterday, for instance, it took all my powers of concentration to read and ruminate and NOT, as you must surely know by now, find myself, everywhere inside my head, singing Cher's "Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves." At such points, it is necessary to stand up and bellow out some John Philip Sousa or some other such banality until the warbles of Cher are safely flushed away.