Buy a 49-inch trampoline.

Choose one constructed of bungee cords rather than springs. Because, earworm aside, there is nothing worse than hearing that creak!

Make space in your living room, and set up the trampoline against a wall. Not by a window. You could bounce right through it!     

Should you have no tattoos, get “Hell” tattooed on one bicep and “Heaven” on the other. Because it’s hell with an earworm, and heaven without one. Being pain-averse, or one of those William Blake, “Hell-is-more-fun-than-Heaven” Dionysian-types, is no excuse!

For sartorial coolness (and to intimidate the earworm!), don thick black leggings, black sneakers with skulls, and a sleeveless black t-shirt—to show off those tats. 

Invite TWENTY friends over for “FREE” pizza and beer. If you have no friends or need to make up the numbers, visit your local sports bar and invite strangers. 

When they enter your apartment, make a beeline for the trampoline, and start to bounce.                 

Should your guests seem confused, tell them you’re serving FREE pizza and beer AFTER “The Performance.” They’re bound to grumble, but you’re the host.

Now dig a finger in each ear, and remove any earwax. A build-up of wax is often responsible for earworms. Whether grape pip or cherry-sized, roll earwax into a ball in the palm of one hand. Make a show of examining the earwax. Your job, as host, is to entertain, while cunningly preparing for the release of the earworm.

Nonchalantly, flick earwax into the air while shouting, “Be gone, vile creature!” Not at a guest, though, in case their mouth is open!

Sneer.

Announce that the trampoline is your stage, and you are “Johnny Rotten-Weiler,” lead singer of punk-metal band Sex-Sabbath-Spinal-Tap-Pistols. It doesn’t exist, but that’s not important. Flap that tongue around. However, not for too long, or it will ache.  

Savage your way through Spinal Tap’s satirical “BIG BOTTOM,” specifically focusing on Chorus 1:

“Big bottom, big bottom

Talk about bum cakes, my girl’s got ‘em

Big bottom, drive me out of my mind

How could I leave this behind?”

Should you find them demeaning and sexist, think “bum cakes” are some tasty treat purchased from a bakery, have no girlfriend (because you are humorless and sing-off key), or prefer SMALL BOTTOMS, this is of no consequence. The aim is to drown out the earworm—in the worse way possible!

Some in the audience may want a turn on the trampoline.

Others, concerned for your safety, may beg you to stop.

Neighbors may pound on the walls, threatening you with violence.

A psychiatrist may later question your sanity.

IGNORE THEM!

Still singing, keep torso stiff, arms by your sides, and, in the manner of “pogoing,” bounce-up-and-down. While airborne, bend forward into a “Pike,” and touch your toes—ONCE! 

Continue rebounding. Higher and higher. This increases blood flow to your brain, does wonders for your complexion, and releases the earworm. For those with low ceilings, please use “THE LOW CEILING TECHNIQUE,” in which you hop instead of leap!

Do this for one hour, or until exhausted. Understandably, MOST of your audience confused by your antics (or drained by your merciless repetition of “BIG BOTTOM”), may have left.  

From your vantage point on the trampoline, imagine your FIVE remaining, hungry, thirsty, increasingly impatient guests are a bunch of sweaty, aggressive fans crowding a mosh pit. Sniff the air, to absorb their foulness. Tell them you lied about the free pizza and beer. FOR THEY WILL GET NOTHING!

Sneer.

Now spring up high in the air, open your arms wide, and screech “BIG BOTTOM!” before swan diving off the trampoline and into a “crowd surf.” Do not warn them of this. Let it be a surprise. If they love you, they should automatically reach up to catch you. And if they don’t? Try not to land on any elderly persons. They have brittle bones.

Should you and your guests survive your crowd surf, hark! What do you hear? Listen closely. Has the earworm departed? Is everything quiet now—save for the pitiful moans of your injured guests, and the persistent ringing of your doorbell, by The Boys in Blue?

More importantly, has “BIG BOTTOM” now become your new earworm?

In which case, not to worry. Pick yourself up, get back on the trampoline, start bouncing, announce that you’re Doris Day, and sing “Que Sera, Sera,” this time. Unless, of course, “Que Sera, Sera” WAS your earworm!

Ronia Smits is an Anglo-American writer, artist and cat guardian who grew up in England, the Middle East and Africa. Their humor and salty satire have appeared in The Yellow Ham, Defenestration, Robot Butt, Points in Case and Little Old Lady Comedy. Ronia lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with their husband Professor Brovnik (and other wildlife!).