Poosh Poosh in tha Motha Truckin’ Boosh!

Is it weird that my mother used to rock out to this song when I was a kid? I came from a strict christian family where I wasn’t allowed to watch anything but Disney movies until I was 16, yet crankin’ this song in the car was no problem. Same goes for “Relax” by Frankie Goes To Hollywood. Did she not know the songs were about cutting through the vaginal underbrush with a throbbing flesh machete and some poor jizzlobber’s attempt to hold back while he’s balls deep in a mustachioed leather daddy’s hairy asshole, respectively? Or did she think I was so naive that I wouldn’t make a connection between the undulating rhythms and unsubtle euphemisms (although, Relax, don’t do it, when you want to cum isn’t really a euphemism, now is it?)?

Seeing ones sacred mother sing along to “In The Bush” is even more embarrassing than seeing Nicolas Cage as Donald Kaufman do it in Adaptation, which brought back all sorts of suppressed feelings from my childhood. Thanks, buddy. I had only just gotten past the trauma.

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