Or so says Portland's premire blogger, Jack Bog. Apparently, he made the mistake of tuning into Jammin' 95.5 FM recently and was shocked by what he heard. A quick excerpt from his lengthy post about the station and the rap genre circa 2006:

If America ever really was the envy of the world, those days are coming to an end. You want proof? Check out Jammin' 95.

Strong words worthy of Bill O'Reilly. If this were the '60s, Professor Bogdanski might consider heading down to a local church to toss a copy of Rubber Soul on a pyre. The comments section at the bottom of the post are filled with comments from other Portland parents decrying the "filth" that the station airs. One parent claims it's one of the reasons he's making his child attend a private Christian school. Another parent recalls a recent conversation with her daughter about not using the word "pimp."

The echoing chorus was enough to convince me to jump into the fray and write a mini-tirade. With any luck this will lead to a spirited debate or, more likely, no will see it because it's currently 70 degrees outside and flippin' beautiful here in the City of Roses.

Still, this is the sort of nonsense every generation of parents have pulled since at least the '30s. They're more than willing to overlook the "shocking" aspects of pop culture during their own youth while lambasting their children's tastes in music, if not preventing them from listening to it altogether. The '60s had Jim Morrison moaning about wanting to kill his father and rape his mother in "The End." The '70s offered up Gene Simmon's blood-dripping tongue on the side of lunchboxes. The '80s had Madonna, parents in the '90s were ranting about Marilyn Manson. How many of the parents on Jack Bog's forum were rocking out to KISS in the '70s or Motley Crue's "Dr. Feelgood" in the '80s?

If I ever have kids I'll probably do the same thing but not for the same reasons. I'll lecture my kids for listening to lame music instead of albums with offensive lyrics. Sample conversation in the Welcome to Blog household in the year 2030:

Me: Honey, your mother wanted me to talk to you about the music she heard you listening to in the hovercar...

Uma*: But Daaaaaaaaaaaad.....

Me: I know, I know. You're growing up. All the other girls are wearing microfiber miniskirts with imbedded HDTV screens in the back and listening to the latest single by Darth Mothafucka. I heard it on the satellite yesterday. Something about... "I'm going to kill everybody in the entire universe and zoom away from the Astro Cops in my Mercedes SpaceMobile while simultaneously having sex with 16 Martian prostitutes...."

Uma: Yeah, it's quangin'!

Me: "Quangin"? What the hell does that mea...nevermind that. The beats on this song are uninspired and his rhymes are weak. Plus, he's a poseur. I looked up his bio on my Wikichip. He's not a member of the Sith, he's never even been to their training center. Darth Mothafucka has probably never even set foot on the bad side of space station # 16. He grew up in Malibu and his father was a pediatrician, for God's sake. You can do better. I've taken the liberty of uploadeding copies of NWA's "Fuck the Police" and the Velvet Underground's "Heroin" to your iPod Cerebral.

Uma: I'll play it now. "Fuckin' with me cuz I'm a teenager/with a little bit of gold and a pager, searchin' my car, lookin for the prod-a, thinkin' every nigga is sellin narcot-a..." wow, this is better. Thanks, Dad!

Me: Don't tell your mother I gave them to you. Oh, and, do your homework, brush your teeth, don't do drugs, don't get pregnant because, if you do, you're paying for the abortion, etc.

*: Yes, if I ever have a daughter I'll probably be dumb enough to name her Uma. Hopefully, my wife will talk me out of it.