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Click here. Do it now. Nobody knows who this is, or why this is. We don’t even know why or how it came this way. It just did. The lyrics are brilliant, and the off-key singing is even better. Oh, and what about the “whoa, oh, whoa” sections? Inspired. But wait, there’s more. Following his inglorious demise, a few of us here at claytoncountsdotcom tossed around the idea of impersonating Clayton and keeping his death a secret. None of us could agree on the direction this blog should take, however, or who was best fit to assume control. We’ve finally reached consensus, and it is probable that this website will be transforming very shortly into some kind of perverse shrine to the man and his legacy, as might be expected. It would have been much too difficult to keep up the charade, anyway. Clayton was undoubtedly the smartest and least assuming person I’ve ever met. In the final years of his short life, he’d taken a great interest in kinesiology and nonverbal communication, particularly in their relation to lie detection. He published several compelling articles on the subject, and was in regular correspondence with many experts in the field. On a few occasions, his own expertise was called upon to assist in the solving of crimes. He enjoyed success, and helped to bring serial rapists and child murderers to justice. Sometime in the near future, we may set this blog aside as the permanent online repository for his musings on topics ranging from abductive reasoning to neuro-linguistic programming. Stay tuned.
Clayton Counts passed away on Christmas Eve outside of Jamestown, Colorado. He was a vivacious, passionate, intelligent, caring person, and he loved to make others laugh. At his request, several of his friends will continue to update this blog semi-regularly. If you would like to contribute music, please email us by clicking 
Recently I was invited to be a part of a comedic mash-up collection entitled It is to Laff. The project was curated by DJ Useo, and it features 19 international 
Below is a heart-tugging CD’s worth of overtly earnest celebrity PSAs, courtesy of the National Jewish Center for Immunology and Respiratory Medicine in Denver. It’s quite a lungful, I know, but try saying it in Hebrew. After listening to this a few times, it really seems like Lloyd Bridges spent the better part of his career making love to small woodland creatures. I’m not sure when these were recorded, but since both Phylicia Rashad and Raven-Symone appear, I’d say that it was sometime between 1989 and 1992. Too bad His Cosbiness passed on this. It could’ve been one Hell of a funny collection; perhaps with a lung-shaped Pudding Pop tie-in, or even a pair of dancing Audio-Animatronic lungs that exclaim “Nyaw!” and “Gaw!” while rolling their eyes and making silly faces.
For a time in the 1950s, Louis Farrakhan was a calypso singer. He called himself “The Charmer,” a name which presumably has an origin similar to that of Jerry Lee Lewis’ self-styled “The KIller” nickname, which we understand means “Ladykiller,” because, you know, nothing kills with the ladies like making everybody refer to you by an idiotic name; perhaps something like LL Cool J’s abysmal “Ladies Love Cool James” nickname, or even crazy pinch-faced, squinty-eyed mushroom-head Claudia “Lady Bird” Johnson’s. In 1955, Elijah Muhammad demanded that all musicians in the Nation of Islam stop performing, and Farrakhan (then known as the very delicate Eugene Wolcott) subsequently turned down a lucrative offer from Pearl Bailey’s manager. It was for the best, however. His fake Caribbean accent is almost as racist as when he stated: “These false Jews promote the filth of Hollywood. It’s the wicked Jews, the false Jews that are promoting lesbianism, homosexuality. Zionists have manipulated Bush and the American government.” How charming. It’s the gay Zionists. They’re the ones wiretapping Americans and wiping their asses with the Constitution. Good thing we cleared that one up. Now we’ve just got to get rid of all the Jews. Khalid Abdul Muhammad wouldn’t have it any other way. 
Let me get this straight. Potsie was some kind of sex symbol? I thought that the whole reason Scott Baio joined the cast of Happy Days was because all of the other male leads appeared to have some kind of contagious flesh-eating disease. The intro to this song almost makes you think it’s going to be bearable, and then Anson Williams starts to sing. It’s not that he’s a bad singer; he just had some terrible luck attempting to make pleasant sounds come out of his throat. Fortunately, Ron Howard never fancied himself a recording artist, but I wouldn’t have complained if he’d done a cover of “Rock Around the Clock” with Pat Morita. Anywho, here are a few Happy Days extras courtesy of Otis Fodder. The Heyettes with “
I really hate people who think that Joe Pesci is some kind of great actor. All of his roles are identical, whether we’re talking about Once Upon a Time in America or My Cousin Vinny. He has no range whatsoever, but I’m still glad that he’s an actor. Let’s face it: no one plays the weaselly Italian runt better than Pesci. It’s in his blood. Long before his acting career, however, Pesci performed under the name Joseph Richie, cutting a record entitled Little Joe Sure Can Sing. The record also features the musical talents of Frank Vincent, who later fell victim to Pesci in both Raging Bull and Goodfellas, who starred as Phil Leotardo on The Sopranos, and whose voice should be instantly familiar to Grand Theft Auto fans as Salvatore Leone. I can’t share that record with you, I’m sorry to say, because this record is so much worse. It’s a dismal send-up of Blondie’s “Rapture” from his 1998 LP Vincent Laguardia Gambini Sings Just for You, and that’s all you really need to know. But also be aware that Pesci milks the Italian-American stereotype on every pitiful track. Not that we’d expect anything more. He probably doesn’t even realize that he’s been typecast all his life. 
Buddy Ebsen had quite a career. Best known as Jed Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies, Ebsen’s name became synonymous with “lovable millionaire yokel” in spite of his Latvian-Danish heritage. Prior to his work on Hillbillies, Ebsen was known for a vaudeville act he performed with his sister, Vilma. They went on to Broadway, where his erratic dancing caught the eye of Walt Disney, who employed Ebsen as a motion reference for the animators working on Mickey Mouse cartoons. Originally cast as the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, he agreed to switch roles with Ray Bolger, who had initially landed the part of the Tin Man. This ultimately cost Ebsen his place in MGM history, after a severe reaction to the aluminum dust used in the makeup almost killed him. During his two week hospital stay, Jack Haley was given the role, and Ebsen would spend the next several years taking parts in lesser known westerns and returning to Broadway in the fittingly titled Yokel Boy. He lost the role of TV’s Davy Crockett to Fess Parker, and ended up playing the forgettable George Russell instead. Ebsen’s touching performance as Holly Golightly’s estranged husband in Breakfast at Tiffany’s proved to be his big break, though, and within a year he was known throughout the States as J.D. Clampett. The Beverly Hillbillies was panned by critics, but enjoyed tremendous ratings. CBS canceled the show in spite of this, allegedly because of advertisers’ reluctance to buy airtime. Today it is considered the most watched show of the 1960s, having garnered top ratings for the majority of its nine season run. Buddy would later star in Barnaby Jones, another successful role of seven years. He was also good friends with Ronald Reagan. Ebsen died in 2003 at the age of 95, five years after his final performance, a voice role on King of the Hill. Oh, and click 
Laverne and Shirley—like Mork and Mindy—was one of the more popular Happy Days spinoffs. And like Joe Pesci, the show was desperately reliant on its hackneyed stereotypes. Laverne de Fazio was the trash-talking Italian-American tomboy, and Shirley Feeney her equally dimwitted foil. And the supporting characters were just as predictable. Lenny Kosnowski, 89th in line to the Polish Throne, and Andrew Squigman, their annoying horndog neighbors. And who could forget Carmine “The Big Ragu” Ragusa, another walking stereotype and Feeney’s main squeeze? This number is arguably the most accessible track on Laverne and Shirley Sing. It’s hard to imagine that many kids rushed out to buy this record in 1976, especially after one listens to the horrendous covers of “
Cassius Clay, better known as Muhammad Ali, is the single greatest prizefighter in the history of boxing. Some moronic people like to dispute that fact, but rest assured that Ali can still knock the living shit out of those imbecilic naysayers. This guy did everything. He made fun of his opponents, fought tooth decay, and made a guest appearance on Diff’rent Strokes. He floated, stung, and objected to Christian war. He married four times, divorced a few times, and fathered a slew of kids, some as the result of affairs. And he did it all with class. Incidentally, this Ben E. King cover isn’t so terrible, particularly for a guy who abused people for a living and denounced miscegenation. In fact, it’s really pretty good, as are most of Ali’s recordings. Don’t believe me? Have a listen: “
Corey Fucking Feldman. At least Corey Haim still has some dignity. Corey Feldman’s like the tranny hooker who won’t overdose on painkillers. Listen, Feldman—you’re a grown fuckwit now. It’s time you learned to stop reminding people that you exist. You know, I do feel sorry for you. No one will ever forget that you used to dress like Michael Jackson with that stupid pinstripe suit and matching hat. No one will forgive you for it, either. Nobody cares that you starred in Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter with Crispin Glover. It doesn’t buy you any credibility. Likewise, nobody gives a damn that you’re buddies with Ron Jeremy. Nobody remembers that you were on Eight is Enough or The Love Boat, and they wouldn’t care even if they did. Believe me when I tell you: nobody—and I mean NOBODY—recalls that you starred alongside Corey Haim in a movie called Busted where the two of you showered together with a bunch of nasty, saggy-breasted Playmates. Oh, and they don’t remember that you directed that piece of shit, either. Or that it was straight-to-video. Or that it looks like it was shot on a PXL-2000, and not in a cool way. Well, that’s it, I guess. You’re in my thoughts and prayers. Go die now. 
Lenny and Squiggy were the Larry Dallas and Ralph Furley of Laverne and Shirley. A lot of people like to give this record a pass, mainly because it features Christopher Guest on guitar and Murphy Dunne of Blues Brothers fame on keys, but the truth is: 99% of the jokes on Lenny and the Squigtones are funnier and more daring than anything on ’70s television. Take the intro to this song, for instance. The fact that they were able to get away with casual talk of murdering the Cunningham family is pretty astounding. The music’s somewhat interesting at times, but the lyrics are what really carry this record. Instead of churning out the expected horseplay, these two actually seem to be having a good time making as little sense as possible. And rather than resign themselves to the inherent unfunniness of these characters, they find ways to make their roles more unsettling. For the most part, it works. At one point in the record, an audience member is referred to as a “son of a bitch.” There’s a vaguely anti-authoritarian discussion about religion. And just when you least expect it, the love theme from a horror movie materializes. Still, it’s Lenny and Squiggy, so it’s bound to make you cringe every so often, but that almost seems like part of the fun. 
You know, I really want to hate Rick Moranis for all the crap movies he’s been in, but he strikes me as the kind of person I’d get along with in real life. This track is from his second album, The Agoraphobic Cowboy, which was nominated for the 2006 Grammy for best comedy album. As many of you know, I’m not big on comedic country music, but there’s something about Moranis’ delivery that helps allay my uncertainty. This song, however, is not one of my favorites. It’s a parody of Geoff Mack’s excellent “I’ve Been Everywhere,” and does very little to expand on the original. After all, if you’re going to satirize a country song, shouldn’t you pick a number that’s not already been aped to death? Well, I don’t want to be too hard on Rick. This version is better than most, but it seems a little too easy. Then again, this is a guy who starred in all three Honey, I So-and-Soed the Something-or-Other flicks. Yep, even the third one—straight-to-video. Now, if he’d get off his ass and make a sequel to Strange Brew, I might be inclined to nominate Moranis for exculpation. Or even if he just remade The Exorcist, Conan the Barbarian, or Flash Gordon. As long as Max von Sydow’s in it, I really don’t care. 
Here’s an extra extra. Bernice Frankel, known professionally as Beatrice Arthur, was one of the first women to serve in the U.S. Marine Corps. This song is from Bea Arthur on Broadway: Just Between Friends. but by no means was this Bea Arthur’s first stage appearance. Before starring in Maude and The Golden Girls, Bea appeared as Yente the Matchmaker in the 1964 Broadway premiere of Fiddler on the Roof, and ten years prior she played Lucy Brown in the Off-Broadway premiere of Threepenny Opera. She won a Tony for her performance opposite Angela Lansbury in Mame, a role she would later reprise in the film adaptation opposite Lucille Ball. It is said that while she was working on The Golden Girls, Bea Arthur couldn’t stand Betty White. Not altogether surprising, but apparently the two have since patched things up. Anyway, I’m not sure where the somewhat disturbing connection between Bea Arthur and nudity originated, but 
2007 looks to be a great year already. Beginning January 1st, 
This has been one Hell of a year. People who don’t know me called me a bastard. People who do know me said that I was being too kind to the people who don’t. And some dimwit named Mitsy even said that I was talentless, all because of some remix I did as a joke, and in spite of the fact that I’ve been producing melodic experimental music for more than a decade. The truth is: I am too kind. Occasionally, giving you people all the free music you can stomach feels like a full time job, but I’ll manage. Oh, people have complained about everything this year. From the fact that the followed links on this page don’t change color, to the fact that I like to make fun of people, to the fact that I’m not self-effacing enough. Well, let me clear this up, once and for all. I make more fun of myself than any of you ever could. I’m exceptionally friendly, as anyone who knows me will tell you. And believe it or not, I am ridiculously humble, unlike many of my detractors. Now, if you want to bitch about the quality of my work, super. It must be exhilarating posting to web forums all your life. Yawn. 152 Tracks to Take Along With You on Your Bloodsoaked—Ah, Fuck It, Just Have a Great New Year, Everybody! 