When Ryan, The High Supreme Editor-In-Chief buzzed me into his office, tearing me away from my 45th losing game of Solitaire, I knew something was up.

"James, I have something you must hear," he said. "Eh," I grunted, "Let me put in my Miracle Ear, hold on."

"James!" he shouted. "I have something you must hear!"

"You don't have to shout."

"Yes, well, there's something I'd like you to hear."

"I heard you the first time."

"Okay then," he grunted, scratching his sweatpants-clad buttocks vigorously under his massive granite-topped desk.

"What is it?" I asked. "It's something special. White Hassle; listen to 'The Beating Of My Heart'."

"Okay, sir." He solemnly handed me the disc, adding "I want that back!"

"What?"

"I want that back!" he shouted.

"I heard you."

"Okay then. And one more thing, Wisdom, no more of that potty humor in your reviews!"

"But, sir, the kids love it!" I beseeched him.

"Get outta there, ya scatallectual!"

"Yessir."

So I solemnly went back to my veal-fattening pen and inserted the disc into my 386 and waited for DOS to read it. Waiting. Waiting. Then it came on. My facial tic went crazy. The lyrics: "Well he drinks too much / And he hits you / He doesn't treat you right / Ya never know just when it will start / But there's one beating that will comfort you / And cause you no pain / Darling, it's the beating of my heart."

The guitar: absolute twang. The percussion: a hodgepodge of clatter. The credits: "Marcellus Hall-- Guitar, Vocals and Harmonica. Dave Varenka-- Pots and Pans, Backing Vocals and Trombone." Have you guessed yet? Yep, it's trailer- trash, white ghetto folk tunes and I hope to God that they think it's funny too. I massaged my tic and smiled. I imagined myself, having drunk 10 or 12 beers in a dive-bar somewhere when these guys set up and start twanging and clattering pots and pans. Yeah. That would work. Otherwise, I can't listen to it again anyway, Ryan wants it back.

-James P. Wisdom