Popular '80s Trend of Fearing Nuclear Annihilation Back

80s music and personalities have come back to the spotlight in recent years; '80s catchphrases, '80s TV shows have had highly-rated reunion specials. Now the ultimate '80s calling card is back in a big way: Nuclear annihilation.

Nothing quite summed up the '80s to those who remember it like L.A. Law, Richard Marx songs on the radio, the ever-looming threat of atomic destruction. With the fall of the Soviet Union and the end of the Reagan administration, however, the Cold War and the madness of nuclear annihilation passed into history, like razor-thin ties and Nia Peeples. Until now!

War on Terror, Sept. 11th, Al Qaeda, Terror Alert, India, Pakistan—all words that add up to a big return for atomic Armageddon. A whole new generation is experiencing the icy fear that, at any moment, the sky could turn red and rain death from above. A feeling most baby-boomers thought they would never live to feel again.

"I knew all the Reagan kids were communists or homos," said '80s nostalgia-lover and General Foods employee Ruby Tuesday. "Who knew there were more Bushes out there, even dumber and more terrifying than Reagan himself?"

But giving all the credit to one man for the resurgence in possible nuclear retaliation might be morally satisfying, but would be overlooking the heightened animosity throughout the world. Religious-based hate, intolerance, imagine or assumed grievances by the dozens, and we can't forget the re-emergence of decades-old historical-based conflicts.

The current heated debate between India and Pakistan over the disputed territory of Kashmir provides the biggest potential for nuclear destruction since the Bay of Pigs. Perhaps encouraged by the paranoia in the air following the Sept. 11th terrorist attacks, old territorial arguments over which country has claim to Kashmir sparked talk of nuclear war with the newly-nuclear capable countries.

But nuclear destruction fans aren't pinning their hopes on that bad blood alone; Osama bin Laden and his Al Qaeda group are possibly still out there, very active, and possibly capable of a nuclear assault of their own, and the likely target is on the continental United States.

"It's a fantastic new century for us '80s buffs," said '80s Preservation Society President Rold Hansard. "First there was that Laverne and Shirley reunion movie, then that Facts of Life reunion movie. Alf is back, even if it's just for commercials, but now that ultimate hallmark of the '80s—the threat of nuclear Armageddon—is back, and I couldn't be more pleased, as well as terrified."

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Sad, sad pity be to the lowly songsmith. Lord knows the songwriters and lyrical artists of our times need all the help they can get, the state of modern lyrics being what it is. For every brilliantly wrought "Pianoman," "American Pie" or "Horse with No Name" we get a half-dozen treacley "Ooh, Baby Babies" and the odd "Rock my Jock" thrown in for good measure. I, for one, have always been happy to lend a helping hand, though I must admit my aid is often of the accidental variety.

For who has never misheard the lyrics to a favorite tune, only to discover later that the song’s true verse is a decided downgrade from what one has been singing internally for years? I have! Or haven’t, if you choose to follow the proper grammar of the previous sentence. Previous to the "I have!" part, that sentence, which was pre-previous, technically speaking.

For example, few non-mouth breathers can honestly deny an overwhelming fondness for American folkstress Carly Simon’s incendiary classic "You’re So Vain," from its impenitrable opening bass meanderings to the deliciously mysterious identity of the song’s protagonist. Could it be Warren Betty? Mick Jagger? Charo? Regardless, this lamentably brief sprinkle of heaven masquerading as a pop song has always intrigued me with its Byzantine lyrics, particularly the line "There were clowns in my coffin," which I always found to be a terrifying and apt metaphor for the feeling of being trapped in a failing relationship. Imagine my surprise when CarlySimon.com recently reprinted the lyrics as "There were clouds in my coffee." Excuse me? Don’t take up my precious listening time just because you’re unhappy with Starbucks’ quality control, missy. Simon: 0, Pickles: 1.

Likewise, Ray Parker Jr.’s scabrous "I hate Mexicans!" sung during the staggering middle eight of his unforgettable theme for Ghostbusters long made this groovy classic one of my own all-time faves. Imagine my flabbergast when, during the trial over Parker’s justified "sampling" of the Huey Lewis and the News potboiler "I Want a New Drug," word came out that Parker Jr. was supposedly singing "I hear it likes the girls" instead! Shame on you, Ray Parker. And your son.

Granted, there is room for argument in any of these lyrical corrections. Some might find the originative message of Neil Young’s "Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World" preferable to the "Keep on Rocking at Marine World" I grew up with, as is their wont. I can’t be asked to understand the psychology of individuals who hate dolphins.

But who, tell me who, wouldn’t rightly prefer the jarring, surrealistic imagery of Elton John’s classic lyric "Hold me closer, Tony Danza," to some grotesquely undernourishing tripe about a midget doing the foxtrot? I fancy these as citizenry I’d care not to suffer.

Now, I truly am loathe to utter a singular unkind word about 80’s tunesmith Kim Carnes, a woman who has been rightly described, without exaggeration, as God. So I’ll just say a few words about her most preeminent of hit songs, "Bette Davis Eyes." I’ll not hesitate to admit I may have been somewhat guilty of lackadaisical listening habits or a minor Sudafed addiction when I decided that the chorus of this song read as "She’s Got 30 Days to Die," but regardless, the urgency and drama of my lyric is something I find it difficult to surrender, regardless of the fact I most certainly have been subverting the original intent of Carnes’ epic coloratura.

Drug use not my own has to be at blame for the Paul McCartney lyric "The magical mystery toad is coming to take you away," regardless of what any of the album’s erroneous liner notes say about some kind of "mystery tour." In the midst of an album chock-full of talking walruses and proudly singing, self-actualized Eggmen, a lyric about some boring bus tour really is vastly implausible.

And with all due respect to Jesus, and regardless of what the church says, I stand by my earlier stated claims that the entire religious experience would be improved with a recognition of my superior lyrics to "Cheese is Coming."

Lastly, I leave you all fondly with the immortal lyrics of one Louis Armstrong:

"I sees guys of blue, clowns of white. The bright plastic day, the dogs say goodnight. And I think to myself what I won: Der Fuehrer World..."

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Dr. Joyce Pickles, M.D.P.S.T., received her degree in psychology from U.S. Zoological College in Burnt Harbor, Maine. She remains hilariously ignorant of the commune’s status within the U.S. as an enemy combatant, as well as our status as the Worst Website Under $5*.

*Time magazine, 2005

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Here is a tale, well-learned, well-told,
about a girl of fifteen years old.
A girl nearly so old she could drive
with pretty brown skin and a look in her eye.
Between that and how she called the corn "maize"
everyone thought her and Indian babe.

Much props was she given, more than her share
for her leatherstocking dress and well-braided hair.
We thought her a mystic with powers bizarre
that she traveled by horse instead of a car;
wise and well-bred, with roots in the earth,
who knew what the wind and the rain were all worth;
that a teardrop would fall from one eye of brown
when someone tossed their litter around.

Maybe, someone said, she lived in a teepee
that's perfect for her, if not ideal for me.
It's possible someone has traded for deeds
this land all around for a necklace of beads.

So flooded with angst and white liberal guilt
we apologized for genocide and buildings we built,
but we found out later it was all for noit
and it turns out she actually came from Detroit!
She's black, not a Native, and now we have no doubt
a million other things to feel guilty about.

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