Whoah! The dumb knob is pegged at twelve and it comes with its own party pants. This is making both the Spits and the Trashies look like, well, not like geniuses, but a bit smarter. It’s sorta like if Mad magazine came with a soundtrack or Alfred E. Newman started a band with Stir Crazy-era Gene Wilder and Joey Ramone. Stoooooooooopid with ten “o”s. And I love it, like I love pizza grease running down my arm, the twinge of unmistakable joy when a cube of Pabst is pulled from the supermarket cooler, and watching the opening credits to Blazing Saddles, knowing you’re going to be laughing and rockin’ at the same time for the next little bit of your life. Temporarily dissolve the gloom cloud of reality. Being this dumb and this catchy without being a joke? It’s way harder than it sounds. Direct hit, Mean Jeans.