Mony Mony Syndrome, A Pop Culture Theory Of Everything

I have this theory that I use the aweful Billy Idol song “Mony Mony” to illustrate. I refer to it as the “Mony Mony Syndrome”. Now don’t be offended if you’re a Billy Idol fan because I consider myself to be a Billy Idol fan. There really is no good explanation for his producing such a shining turd of a song as this “Mony Mony” number.
Alright, the theory is that every time I am at a dance or club or something and the song “Mony Mony” comes on everyone screams and rushes out on the floor and begins furiously dancing, as if their lives depended on it. Now we know that the song “Mony Mony” really, really, tremendously, in every way one can think of, sucks. Whoever talked Billy into recording it, whoever had a hand in arranging it or performing in it, whoever even lended him their support in the project should all have their asses removed to prevent them from spreading this kind of dump anywhere else, ever again.
I thought that recording a song involved some sort of high tech magnetic tape that captures the converted electrical signals fed through super sensitive microphones. But it seems that some times , if you leave some blank tape laying around and your cat takes a big old dump on it because you haven’t cleaned out the litter box in three months, a process can occur that distills the essence of those cat turds into magneticly stored information. Kind of like quantum tunneling or something. When you put the dumped on tape into a player out comes “Mony Mony”.
So knowing this, why do people pretend that it is one of the greatest dance songs ever written?
I think that somewhere along the line some person who was really popular but obviously tone deaf must have genuinely liked to dance to the song. Everyone else saw Mr or Miss popular going nuts over this song and thought that it must be the cool thing to do and, not wanting to be seen as uncool, they flocked onto the dance floor as well.
That was the seed incident and soon it spread to where everyone believed that it was a sign of coolness to flock onto the dance floor when this shi… I mean, song, came on.
If you had a device to read the minds of the people dancing to this song you would pick up stuff like, “Man this song sucks but hey, I’m cool.” and “Please, dear God, let me fall dead of a heart attack. I can’t take much more.” and “I’m almost to the point of accepting being a social outcast if it means never having to hear this sh*t again.” and “HOLY SH*T, did this guys cat sh*t on this tape or what?”
The meat of the theory is that in a room of a hundred people, if the percieved to be coolest person said that eating fecal matter was cool, you would have 99 people miserably eating fecal matter and pretending that it was prime rib.
This theory would explain why everyone pretends to even slightly care what Nicole Richie or Paris Hilton are up to. Why anyone would even consider purchasing any of that ugly F.U.B.U. garb. Why anyone would pay the asking price for Polo, Nautica or Tommy Hilfiger stuff. Why the Back Street Boys, 98 Degrees, NSYNC, Brittany Spears, Christina Aguilera, or any of their ilk, haven’t starved to death by now as they damn well should have. Why people fork over two dollars for a half liter of water in a plastic bottle. So on and so on, you get the point.
I don’t want it to seem that I am picking on this generation in particular, it’s just that this is the most recent setting in which Mony Mony Syndrome has chosen to raise it’s ugly head. To be fair, my own generation, the generation that fanned the flames of “Mony Mony” hell to begin with unfortunately, was just as guilty. We were Mony Monyed into wearing multiple bandanas tied up and down around our legs. We were Mony Monyed into wearing leg warmers and tights (the girls at least) (Oh, and Richard Simmons). We were Mony Monyed into wearing jelly shoes and Keds (again, the girls) (and maybe Richard Simmons who knows). We were Mony Monyed into not only buying a Swatch but also the little rubber “Swatch Guard” that protected the face from getting scratched. Some people were Mony Monyed into buying many, many Swatches and wearing them all at the same time. We were Mony Monyed into wearing red or black patent leather jackets with a thousand zippers all over them. We were Mony Monyed into Members Only jackets, Izod shirts, Bugle Boy jeans, The United Colours of Benetton, LA Gear shoes, Le Tigre clothing, Jams and clam diggers, MTV, Alf, Atari, and maybe most unforgivable of all, New Kids on the Block because they helped open the door for the above mentioned “artists”.
It is my deepest hope that now you have read and hopefully understand the theory behind Mony Mony Syndrome, you will be able to detect it’s onset and defend against it in yourself. Do not rely on the support of freinds and those around you because Mony Mony Syndrome preys on peoples silence about what they truly think and feel, and fear of others opinions of them. Most often your friends will believe you are testing their coolness if you express an opinion that goes against the Mony Mony mindset. Therefore, they usually will not express a true opinion for fear of being “found out” and will simply quote the widely held Mony Mony opinion. You must do it for yourself, by yourself.
Join me today, in this fight against a terrible and debilitating syndrome. The fight can be won but it will take the efforts of all of us. The reward is a world for your children where Mony Mony Syndrome has gone the way of Smallpox and Polio and the Dodo.
Remember, for yourself by yourself. And besides, it would be the cool thing to do. Mwah ha ha ha.