Little Girls, Little Guns

“Little Girls” is the first track off of Only A Lad, the first LP from Los Angeles new-wave band Oingo Boingo. When I was only a lad, it was sort of a personal anthem. You probably know it, it starts with:

I – I – I love little girls, they make me feel so good
I love
Little girls, they make me feel so
Bad
When they’re around they make me feel like I’m the only guy in town
I love
Little girls, they make me feel so
Good

Fairly innocuous, right? It’s cute, if you don’t read too much into it. Or, avoid watching the video.

I used to have the VHS compilation of Oingo Boingo videos, Skeletons In The Closet. It had “Private Life”, “Dead Man’s Party”, and “Little Girls”. Once, in 1991, I put it on when my college buddies and I were tripping balls on acid. By the time “Stay” came on, the video had driven everyone from the TV room in sheer terror.

I’m surprised “Little Girls” didn’t do the job. Here, have a gander.

By yourself. Watch this video alone, by yourself. Trust me.

I know, right? See why I told you to watch it by yourself? We’re probably both on a list right now!!!

I’m kidding. Granted, the video ramps up the creep factor exponentially, but read this next verse and tell me it’s inaccurate:

They don’t care if I’m a one-way mirror
They’re not frightened by my cold exterior

Q: Matty, why do you inevitably pursue younger chicks?
A: [see above]

My idea of fun is bubbly young women to whom my bullshit is all brand-new. I love older women, don’t get me wrong, but they see my nonsense coming a mile away. Young girls will give you that look, with no strings attached; the look that reminds you “oh yeah, this is why I get up in the morning.”

They don’t ask me questions
They don’t want to scold me
They don’t look for answers
They just want to hold me

ISN’T THIS FUN?
ISN’T THIS WHAT LIFE’S ALL ABOUT?
ISN’T THIS A DREAM COME TRUE?
ISN’T THIS A NIGHTMARE TOO?

In America, the age of consent varies from state to state. I don’t know what it is in Georgia*, because I don’t invite drama into my life by trolling around high school campuses. I’ve seen Steve Buscemi’s Trees Lounge. I know how it goes (beatings).

*16.

This is a hot topic nowadays, “how young is too young”. Also there’s the double standard; a song called “Little Boys” would not be allowed to publicly exist. Holy shit, I felt weird just typing the words as a joke. Can you imagine? Elfman and Co. would be locked up.

They don’t care about my inclinations
They’re not frightened by my revelations

Uh-oh (uh-oh); take a second
Uh-oh (uh-oh); it’s a mistake
Uh-oh (uh-oh); I’m in trouble
Uh-oh (uh-oh); the little girl was just too little
Too little, too little, too little, too little, too little, too little, too little
TOO LITTLE

The pink elephant in the room is that an older man can potentially manipulate a young girl, for impure reasons (fucking)… or vice versa. This is what Nabokov’s Lolita was about, and of course, The Police’s “Don’t Stand So Close To Me”, which references it. Just because the concept has fallen out of favor with the media doesn’t mean it’s gone away. Reverse the genders and ages (older woman, young boy), and you have a scenario that pops up in the papers about twice a year. Hot female teacher seduces teenage student; film at 11.

And I don’t care
What people say
And I don’t care
What people think
And I don’t care
How I look walking down my street

If you’re seen, people will talk. That’s the way life is. People will talk about anything. A bird, a sock. A foaming beaker. A pointed stick with a turd on it. Who did that? Why is it there?!

People will talk about firearms in a way that reveals their fear of them. Instead of familiarizing themselves with the issues and the weapons in question, they rant and rave that guns are for morons, and should be banhammered from all facets of life.

Respectfully, I do not share this view.

I’ve shot guns; I’ve been shot at. Two of my best friends were killed with guns in 2015. In America, guns are a part of reality, because of the Second Amendment to our Constitution. Every American has a complex and personal relationship with guns; curious or fearful, pro- or anti-. It’s why as a people, we Americans are the motherfucking coolest bunch of bastards on the planet, and the envy of everyone else.

Alcohol and tobacco kill the living shit out of multitudes every day. Do we call for a ban on them? No. Do we imply that the people who use them are stupid? Hell no; they’re both legal to partake. You would gather facts that discourage the use of alcohol and tobacco, if you were so inclined, and make your case from there. Respectfully.

Well, do that with guns.

Don’t go god-damn berserk on social media every time there’s a massacre, crying for guns to be banned. If it really concerns you, do the research and confront your own personal issues with firearms. You might be lashing out because you are frightened of guns or assault weapons. This is not abnormal. Getting robbed at gunpoint will engender unexpected anxieties and feelings in a person. As I said, every American has a unique and complex relationship with firearms, and depending on upbringing, it can take anywhere from a lifetime to a day. It’s not something you surrender to fear.

“Little Guns” is the final track of Oingo Boingo’s third album, Good For Your Soul (1983). As you can see from the cover, the title track references LSD.

Anyhoo, even though “Little Guns” has a core message that pro-gun people are invasive lunatics, it’s an awesome song. I mean one of their finest. There’s not really a chorus; just a B-section where the horns go bugfuck and all the hair on your neck stands on end. Tell me I’m wrong, isn’t this terrifying?

Tiny people, with little guns 
Little armies march, to little drums 
What do they want? 
What do they want?

Tiny soldiers, with little guns 
Little tanks, no bigger than your thumb 
They want YOU

Little people, with tiny brains 
Little bullets flowing, in their veins 
What do they want? 
What do they want?

Tiny people with little guns 
Little armies march, to little drums 
They want you, you 
YOU YOU YOU YOU

Little airplanes, with tiny bombs 
Little squadrons, dropping thimbles of Napalm 
They want you

What do they want? 
What do they want?

Tiny people, with little guns 
Little armies march, to little drums
They want you, you
YOU YOU YOU YOU