Earworms

"And your wish?" the genie asked Brian. "Well," Brian mused, "there is something." "No!" Colleen cried, "Don't do it, Brian!" but he ignored her. "I wish," he said, "that every time I got a song stuck in my head everyone else in the world also got that song stuck in their heads."

The genie’s face fell. “Please think this wish through. Imagine what would happen. You could throw society into chaos with just one listen to ‘Walking on Sunshine’ or ‘Shake it Off’. I must grant your wish, but I demand you sleep on it first.”

“Sleep it Off” didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, so I flat out refused to do so. “I can’t grant your wish, then.” “I wish you could.” “That’s fair.” Now to use music as the ultimate weapon against humanity itself. Like it or not, it’s time to Get Schwifty.

If there was anybody who could weaponize music, it was Ian Schwifty. He had been working on such a project since CDs were invented. “I need your help, Ian,” I said plaintively. “Say no more,” he said in reply. “I have just the thing for the occasion.”

He whipped out those massive speakers pointed towards the heavens, to broadcast one simple message to the whole world. Not a message of peace, but that of war. War against the mind. Schifty began, “Aww yeah! It’s time to get schwifty!” He told the public to defecate on the floor.

“We will not get schwifty!” a lone voice cried out. “Nor thrifty,” screamed another. As it turned out, they’d picked the wrong planet to mess with. These were Puritites—proud, devout people. They swarmed the stage, ant-like in their dedication, devouring everything in their path.