Exit Sandman

Fair warning, for I am a fair blogger: if you didn't grow up listening to Metallica like I did, then this post will be meaningless and dumb. If, however you did grow up listening to Metallica like I did, then this post will be stupid and devoid of humor.

But it's simply not my fault that I keep running across the story of the Swedish couple who is being blocked by their government from naming the product of their intimate relations Metallica. Little baby Metallica. It seems odd to name a child after a band, particularly one with the most short-sighted name in the history of music. They might as well have been "Genre Which Will Live Forever" or "Hole Where Pigeons Live." Perhaps it didn't look good on a black tee-shirt.

I first saw the story around the beginning of the month, forgot about it, then just the other day somebody on Strollerderby brought it up again. Which is understandable since it's rife with weighty ramifications regarding personal freedoms, the importance of names, and um, other stuff I'm sure. But really, the immediate question that comes to mind is obvious, right? What folks around the world want to know is, Aspelund? Malm? Mörkedal? Perhaps Ånes? Tell us people, exactly which Ikea bed was this child patriotically conceived atop of?

And beyond that improper query, what are the musical possibilities? What Yankovic-isms can be made out of this story? There's the obvious bastardization of "One" that I came up with back when Henry was first born and he made the realization that his car seat was not in fact his best friend, that it was in fact a force to be rebelled against:

Carseat! Imprisoning me!
Hands and my feet!
Absolute horror
I cannot move, so I'm gonna scream
I'm gonna yell,
Make your drive into heeeeell.

And of course the Swedish government's own response to this couple's query, straight off the Black Album:

You're a Swede, so's your baby
So we dub that name rejecteeeeeed.

Or right off of Master of Puppets:

Master of Sweden is changing your naaaame!

And of course, a good birth story told to the tune of "Enter Sandman"

Eeeexiiiit womb, eeeenter hosipital room.
Whoooo's this maaaaan?
Oh fuck me, this guy's my dad.

Hey, I warned you this was stupid. But it gave me an excuse to burn too much time making this: