Warning: You'll be singing this song all day.

Watch this:


(Sorry about the Nyquil commercial, it’s cold-and-flu season. Wash your hands, kids.)

Then read this:

A Narrative Explanation of “Party in the U.S.A.”

I arrived in the Los Angeles International Airport with my career aspirations (and a sweater that buttons down the front) in tow. I realized immediately that this city puts a premium on notoriety and indulgence. That realization sparked feelings of insecurity as to my ability to conform to the expectations of the local sub-culture.

I took a taxi from the airport, noticing the iconic “Hollywood” sign on my right as I made my way to my destination. I felt a bit overwhelmed, particularly by the ubiquitousness of celebrities.

Suddenly, I realize that I’m actually nauseated by the stress of my new environs. What I wouldn’t give to be back home at this very moment. Fortunately for me, the cab driver decided to turn on his car stereo, and a Jay-Z song was playing. A Jay-Z song was playing. Just to reiterate: a Jay-Z song was playing.

I begin to dance to the music in recognition of the fact that the song in question has an emotional connection to me. It reminds me of home and assuages my fears and self-doubts. My head bobs and my feet move in time with the beat. I am reassured by this music. This is a celebration of a uniquely American character. Indeed, this is a celebration of a uniquely American character.

When the cab arrived at the nightclub, I felt the judgmental stares of the Angelinos the moment I passed through their collective field of vision, their attention settling on my questionable footwear. They realized instantly that I was an outsider.

What a difficult night this will be without my friends from back home. I would feel so much safer were this party on my turf. Unlike me, all the women here are wearing stiletto heels. Word about this aspect of the L. A. dress code apparently didn’t reach me in time.

I once again feel nauseated by a stressful situation. What I wouldn’t give to be back home right now. Fortunately for me, the club’s disc jockey played a Britney Spears song. He played a Britney Spears song. In case I haven’t made this clear, he played a Britney Spears song.

I begin to dance to the music in recognition of the fact that the song in question has an emotional connection to me. It reminds me of home and assuages my fears and self-doubts. My head bobs and my feet move in time with the beat. I am reassured by this music. This is a celebration of a uniquely American character. Indeed, this is a celebration of a uniquely American character.

Despite all the foregoing, I nonetheless continue to long for a return flight home. That is, of course, until I hear a familiar song again, at which point I return to some feeling of normalcy.

I begin to dance to the music in recognition of the fact that the song in question has an emotional connection to me. It reminds me of home and assuages my fears and self-doubts. My head bobs and my feet move in time with the beat. I am reassured by this music. This is a celebration of a uniquely American character. Indeed, this is a celebration of a uniquely American character.

I begin to dance to the music in recognition of the fact that the song in question has an emotional connection to me. It reminds me of home and assuages my fears and self-doubts. My head bobs and my feet move in time with the beat. I am reassured by this music. This is a celebration of a uniquely American character. Indeed, this is a celebration of a uniquely American character.

via The Axis of Ego

And now, tell me you are laughing hysterically. If you’re not? Well, then, you’re humorless, and I can’t help you. Happy Friday!