Chapter Text
Strong Bad sits at his computer, typing “STRONGBADEMAIL.EXE” with his boxing gloves as he gives his obligatory email song.
SB: (rapping) I never fail
To check my email
Unless for some reason I am unavail…
...able.
He sighs at the awkward rhyme, then hits enter. An email pops up onto the screen:
Dear Strong Bad,
Could you make fun of country music?
Thanks, Jeremiah from Pennsylvania
Strong Bad reads it out loud, except he reads the sender as “Jerylvania from Pennsylmiah”.
SB: Gee, Jerry, that is… confloozingly straightforward of you. I mean, the emails I typically get are more along the lines of, “I like country music. Do you like country music?” Or, “I want to be a country singer. Got any tips?” Or maybe, “I’m writing my doctoral thesis on the development and evolution of country music over time and how it reflects wider trends both in the music industry and society at large. Will you help me?”
And yeah, those would all still result in the making fun of country music by moi, but you’ve gone and stripped away all the pretense and verisimilitude in a way that, frankly, makes me uncomfortable. So I’m gonna go ahead and make pretend that you sent me one of those other emails. So with that in mind, allow me to present: The development and evolution of country music over time! The wider-trend-relating, that, I leave to you.
Now, country music got its start in the 1940s with a bunch of dudes singing about how lonely they were and how they couldn’t get a girlfriend, probably ‘cause they were country singers.
We cut to an old-timey version of Coach Z, wearing a cowboy hat and playing a song reminiscent of Hank Williams.
Coach Z: (singing) All I want is to marry a wife,
But that’s something I’ll never do;
‘Cause all the ladies in my life
Think I’m creepy and I smell bad too.
Smeeelll baaad tooo!
We cut to old-timey Marzipan, cheerfully grinning.
Marzipan: Pee-yoo!
SB: Then came the ‘70s and a development that made country music come the closest it’s ever been to being not totally lame: outlaw country. These guys were pretty much the forerunners to gangsta rappers and the aftrunners to operatic baritones in that they were constantly boasting about the many criminal activities they’d committed!
We cut to Bubs in a cowboy hat, playing a guitar in a Johnny Cash style.
Bubs: (singing) Well, I sell fake designer handbags and bootleg DVDs;
My autographed baseball cards are all clever forgeries!
I rip off all my customers and never pay my taxes,
And when I’m feeling bored, I’ll go and fix some boxing matches!
I’ll go commit some wire fraud or run a Ponzi scheme;
I’m the best white-collar criminal that you have ever seen!
We pan over to reveal the King of Town, looking angry; behind him, the Poopsmith, in full Municipality gear,
KoT: What was this I heard about not paying taxes?
Bubs: Er… skedaddle!
And he runs away.
SB: Then in the 90s, country music stopped being the exclusive domain of sketchy old men and started becoming the playground of a bunch of young, hot blondes in Daisy Dukes!
We see Homestar Runner, in a blonde wig and Daisy Dukes, smiling.
HR: Eh?
SB: Gah! Lady blondes! Hot lady blondes!
We cut to Marzipan in a cowboy hat, strumming Carol and playing a Shania Twain-like tune.
SB: These singers all seemed to be in a competition to see who could write the love song that had the most convoluted metaphor.
Marzipan: (singing) My love is like a washing machine;
You put in dirty clothes and it gets them clean.
It costs four quarters and it’s worth every dime;
It’s ready for the dryer in an hour’s time.
Don’t forget to use detergent
To give my love that heavenly scent.
Marzipan holds up a sock with a heart pattern on it to her lack of nose and inhales, then gives a contented sigh.
SB: So now we come to the present, where Nashville has finally realized that country music, by and large, sucks. So now it’s all just rock music with a bunch of country buzzwords thrown in! You know, stuff like pickup trucks, watching football, and various fried foods.
We cut to Strong Bad wearing a cowboy hat, backed by Strong Mad on bass and The Cheat on drums. They’re playing hard rock music that, if you squint, might possibly be considered """country""".
SB: (singing) Watching football in my pickup truck!
Eating french fries and chicken wings!
Hush puppies, corn dogs, funnel cakes!
Mozzarella sticks and onion rings!
Tub of ranch dressing on the side…
STRONGBADIAN PRIDE!
Strong Bad stops singing and addresses the camera.
SB: Oh, yeah, that’s another important part of modern country music: cheap, superficial patriotism. ‘Cause nothing gets an audience more amped up than hearing the name of the place they live in song form! Though I suppose it’s more efficient than the old method of listing a bunch of cities.
We see Strong Sad, reading from an incredibly long scroll as Homsar floats around a giant theremin in the background.
SS: (reciting, not singing) New Pantsburg… New Plantsburg… New Pleatsburg… Cleveland...
We return to Strong Bad at his computer.
SB: So, there you have it, J.P. Once you figure out what kind of country you want to play, just get yourself a cowboy hat, a rhinestone jacket, and a permanent sixth-inch of beard stubble and you’re be on your way to country music superstardom in no time! Now, I’m gonna head to Bubs’ for a corn dog. Hopefully the King of Town hasn’t confiscated them all for back taxes.
Strong Bad gets up from his computer and the Paper comes down. Preeyow!