Listen, I appreciate your ability to exploit the fact that you give parents 5 minutes of alone time just as much as anyone else, but seriously, YOU WERE SINGING ABOUT FRUIT SALAD THIS MORNING. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. WHY IS THERE A PIRATE. WHAT IS THIS:
Also, what the hell is a Wiggly Waffle? When I hear wiggly, I think of Jell-O, and a waffle made of Jell-O sounds both disappointing and impossible to achieve. You men have no dignity, I can see the void in your dead eyes as you sashay and sing about playing one's guitar with Murray (is that a euphemism? If so, that is INAPPROPRIATE. This is a show for children).
I won't lie, Wiggle Men, there is a sick, dark part of me that wants to attend one of your live shows. Not for the brain-killing music, no. I am convinced that you have groupies. Sad, lonely, stay-at-home moms who are driving their children to futures filled with extensive therapy, all so they can breathe the same air as The Hot Wiggle*. Can you tell me, Wiggle Men? Is there a secret, underground movement of mom groupies? Do worn, stretched-out nursing bras get thrown at you when gallivanting about stages from city to city? Let me in on this. I want to know.
But seriously, fruit salad? Stop that nonsense. I hate you.
(and envy you and your dirty Wiggle money)
With love and revulsion,
MNAM
*I don't actually know if there is such a thing.
