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Yeah, like you didn’t experiment in college? Remember that one night with those scallops? Woo! But that’s different from Katy Parody’s sitch here: She not only kissed a lobster but also liked it – so much so that she’s giving us ear crabs. Antibiotics can’t cure this burning.

Screw rolling over in his grave – I’m pretty sure our pal Francis Scott Key is clawing at the inside of his coffin right now. Oh, and as for those pesky lyrics, aren’t they right in front of you on the podium, fellah? Isn’t that what’s on the piece of paper you keep looking at? Or perhaps it just says, “Note to self: Don’t fuck this up.” Or maybe it’s a printout of one of those Hawtness ladies for inspiration. The world may never know.

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Once again, it’s our old pal Shane, looking like an air traffic controller and sounding like, well, Shane. And – wait for it – he brought sheet music this time, beyotches. The planes can wait.

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I remember my own wedding as if it were yesterday: my best friend getting wasted and then projectile vomiting after the rehearsal dinner, my mother’s third husband getting into a screaming match with my soon-to-be mother-in-law the morning of the big day, and my spouse’s drunken childhood friend giving the toast to end all toasts, chock full of f-bombs and air drumming.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have an Uncle Sal, aka Ashley, to make the day fully complete by devoting a song to us that may or may not have won the Grammy a couple of years ago. Does anyone else think this guy bears a striking resemblance to a cross between Harry Dean Stanton from his Pretty in Pink days and Boris Karloff as the monster in Frankenstein? Oh and, Ash – can I call you Ash? – methinks the DJ was trying to do you a favor by keeping the volume low on your mic.

With each note, the suspense builds. Nostrils flaring, eyebrows quivering. Is he going to burst into tears? Have an orgasm? Make his head explode? Attract a goose looking for a suitable mate? No. He’s just going to sing us five octaves on the pee-ana and then walk away, with his completely non-ironic facial hair and striped shirt fully intact, leaving us breathless and wanting for more.