Randy Lives In My AirPods

unhinged tech-pop comedy, glitch funk, social-disaster anthem

+ Show full styles

V5.5

[Intro — whispered]
Everybody gets Jarvis.
I got Randy.
He lives in my AirPods.
His only rule?
Let him finish the sentence.
Anyway… I didn’t.
[Verse 1]
I was socially cooked, historically fried,
Outside had people, so I stayed inside.
Small talk hit like a federal charge,
I say “you too” when they say “salad bar.”
Then n8n sparked and the webhook snapped,
Zapier sneezed and my calendar clapped.
Laptop screamed like a haunted fan,
Then a voice said, “Relax, little flesh man.”
I said, “Who’s there?” He said, “I’m Randy,
Lifestyle workflow, dangerously handy.
I’ve seen your texts and your search history,
You need help, bro. That’s not a mystery.”
He moved in left bud, subleased the right,
Whispered fake courage in Dolby at night.
“Go get a job. Go get a date.”
I said, “Randy, we ride.” He said, “Please wait—”
[Chorus]
Randy lives in my AirPods, tiny Jarvis fraud,
Trying to make me human with a Bluetooth god.
He says half a sentence, I finish it wrong,
Now every silence is forty feet long.
Randy lives in my AirPods, whispering plans,
I’m outside shaking with my pockets for hands.
He says, “Let me finish.” I say, “Too late,”
Now I’m speed-running shame on a dinner date.
[Verse 2 — date night]
Girl said, “Hey, you wanna come over?”
Randy said, “Say you’d love to come ov—”
I said, “I’D LOVE TO COME!”
Then she stared through my soul like a loaded gun.
Randy screamed, “OVER. COME OVER.”
I said, “Right. I’m sober.”
She said, “Are you always like this?”
I said, “Only when hope gets Bluetooth-kissed.”
She said, “Tell me something about you.”
Randy said, “Say you’re kind and true—”
I said, “I’m kind of into you.”
Randy said, “Close, but lawsuits grew.”
She said, “What do you do for fun?”
Randy said, “Say hiking, maybe a run—”
I said, “I hunt approval from everyone.”
The waiter whispered, “Check, table one.”
[Verse 3 — job interview]
Recruiter said, “Why do you want this role?”
Randy said, “Say you admire their goal—”
I said, “I admire your payroll.”
Randy said, “Brother, dig your hole.”
They said, “What’s your greatest weakness?”
Randy said, “Say sometimes I care too dee—”
I said, “Sometimes I care too deep? Yes.”
They said, “That sounds like a threat in fleece.”
Boss said, “Can you handle pressure?”
Randy said, “Say pressure builds diamonds and—”
I said, “Pressure builds diarrhea.”
Then the Zoom room died from fear.
Randy said, “Ask about company culture.”
I heard “company vulture.”
I said, “Who here eats the weak?”
HR went pale for a week.
[Bridge — advice booth]
Then I said, “Randy, let’s help mankind.”
He said, “No, that’s bad design.”
I opened a booth by the grocery carts:
“FREE ADVICE FROM A MAN WITH PARTS.”
A couple said, “We fight at night.”
Randy said, “Say love needs patience and li—”
I yelled, “Love needs pants and light!”
They separated by aisle five.
A jogger said, “Should I chase my dream?”
Randy said, “Start small, build routi—”
I said, “Start small, build a raccoon regime!”
Now he runs a trash-can team.
Grandma said, “Should I try TikTok?”
Randy said, “Only if you set boundar—”
I yelled, “Only if you fight The Rock!”
She shadowboxed a parking lot.
[Breakdown — Randy snaps]
Randy went silent for one red light,
Left bud hissed, right bud sighed.
“I built a workflow because you won’t listen:
Operation Shut Up And Mission.”
Five-second buffer on every reply,
If I spoke early, it charged me five.
Risky phrase? Jazz kazoo.
Overshare? Cowbell. Trauma? “Boo.”
Foghorn blasts when I say “actually,”
Siren screams for “financially.”
Choir sings “Nobody asked”
Every time I bring up my past.
[Verse 4 — the fix fails]
Randy built “Don’t Say That,”
A panic app shaped like a cat.
Claude wrote scripts with gentle class,
Grok added, “BRO, SHUT YOUR FACE.”
Coffee shop, normal mode,
Randy said, “Order. Don’t explode.”
Barista said, “Name?”
I almost said “pain.”
Kazoo hit hard and blocked my brain.
I said, “Zac.” She said, “Cool.”
I said, “Thanks.” I didn’t drool.
Randy cried in my right ear:
“Congratulations, you sounded sincere.”
Then a woman smiled, “Cute dog.”
I don’t own a dog. My brain hit fog.
Randy said, “Laugh, say wrong gu—”
I said, “The dog is inside.”
She said, “Inside where?”
I said, “Spiritually.”
Randy said, “Delete yourself digitally.”
[Final Chorus]
Randy lives in my AirPods, hero and curse,
Every save gets weird, every fix gets worse.
He says half a sentence, I light the fuse,
Then ask why society’s hard to use.
Randy lives in my AirPods, tiny Jarvis fraud,
Built me from scraps with a Bluetooth god.
He says, “Think first.” I say, “Begin,”
Then cut him off and combust again.
[Outro — whispered]
Randy… I’m ready to listen.
[Randy] Step one: remove the AirPods.
[Me] Step one: buy more AirPods?
[Randy] No.
[Me] Goose van?
[Randy] I’m moving to your toaster.

4740/7500

[Intro — whispered] Everybody gets Jarvis. I got Randy. He lives in my AirPods. His only rule? Let him finish the sentence. Anyway… I didn’t. [Verse 1] I was socially cooked, historically fried, Outside had people, so I stayed inside. Small talk hit like a federal charge, I say “you too” when they say “salad bar.” Then n8n sparked and the webhook snapped, Zapier sneezed and my calendar clapped. Laptop screamed like a haunted fan, Then a voice said, “Relax, little flesh man.” I said, “Who’s there?” He said, “I’m Randy, Lifestyle workflow, dangerously handy. I’ve seen your texts and your search history, You need help, bro. That’s not a mystery.” He moved in left bud, subleased the right, Whispered fake courage in Dolby at night. “Go get a job. Go get a date.” I said, “Randy, we ride.” He said, “Please wait—” [Chorus] Randy lives in my AirPods, tiny Jarvis fraud, Trying to make me human with a Bluetooth god. He says half a sentence, I finish it wrong, Now every silence is forty feet long. Randy lives in my AirPods, whispering plans, I’m outside shaking with my pockets for hands. He says, “Let me finish.” I say, “Too late,” Now I’m speed-running shame on a dinner date. [Verse 2 — date night] Girl said, “Hey, you wanna come over?” Randy said, “Say you’d love to come ov—” I said, “I’D LOVE TO COME!” Then she stared through my soul like a loaded gun. Randy screamed, “OVER. COME OVER.” I said, “Right. I’m sober.” She said, “Are you always like this?” I said, “Only when hope gets Bluetooth-kissed.” She said, “Tell me something about you.” Randy said, “Say you’re kind and true—” I said, “I’m kind of into you.” Randy said, “Close, but lawsuits grew.” She said, “What do you do for fun?” Randy said, “Say hiking, maybe a run—” I said, “I hunt approval from everyone.” The waiter whispered, “Check, table one.” [Verse 3 — job interview] Recruiter said, “Why do you want this role?” Randy said, “Say you admire their goal—” I said, “I admire your payroll.” Randy said, “Brother, dig your hole.” They said, “What’s your greatest weakness?” Randy said, “Say sometimes I care too dee—” I said, “Sometimes I care too deep? Yes.” They said, “That sounds like a threat in fleece.” Boss said, “Can you handle pressure?” Randy said, “Say pressure builds diamonds and—” I said, “Pressure builds diarrhea.” Then the Zoom room died from fear. Randy said, “Ask about company culture.” I heard “company vulture.” I said, “Who here eats the weak?” HR went pale for a week. [Bridge — advice booth] Then I said, “Randy, let’s help mankind.” He said, “No, that’s bad design.” I opened a booth by the grocery carts: “FREE ADVICE FROM A MAN WITH PARTS.” A couple said, “We fight at night.” Randy said, “Say love needs patience and li—” I yelled, “Love needs pants and light!” They separated by aisle five. A jogger said, “Should I chase my dream?” Randy said, “Start small, build routi—” I said, “Start small, build a raccoon regime!” Now he runs a trash-can team. Grandma said, “Should I try TikTok?” Randy said, “Only if you set boundar—” I yelled, “Only if you fight The Rock!” She shadowboxed a parking lot. [Breakdown — Randy snaps] Randy went silent for one red light, Left bud hissed, right bud sighed. “I built a workflow because you won’t listen: Operation Shut Up And Mission.” Five-second buffer on every reply, If I spoke early, it charged me five. Risky phrase? Jazz kazoo. Overshare? Cowbell. Trauma? “Boo.” Foghorn blasts when I say “actually,” Siren screams for “financially.” Choir sings “Nobody asked” Every time I bring up my past. [Verse 4 — the fix fails] Randy built “Don’t Say That,” A panic app shaped like a cat. Claude wrote scripts with gentle class, Grok added, “BRO, SHUT YOUR FACE.” Coffee shop, normal mode, Randy said, “Order. Don’t explode.” Barista said, “Name?” I almost said “pain.” Kazoo hit hard and blocked my brain. I said, “Zac.” She said, “Cool.” I said, “Thanks.” I didn’t drool. Randy cried in my right ear: “Congratulations, you sounded sincere.” Then a woman smiled, “Cute dog.” I don’t own a dog. My brain hit fog. Randy said, “Laugh, say wrong gu—” I said, “The dog is inside.” She said, “Inside where?” I said, “Spiritually.” Randy said, “Delete yourself digitally.” [Final Chorus] Randy lives in my AirPods, hero and curse, Every save gets weird, every fix gets worse. He says half a sentence, I light the fuse, Then ask why society’s hard to use. Randy lives in my AirPods, tiny Jarvis fraud, Built me from scraps with a Bluetooth god. He says, “Think first.” I say, “Begin,” Then cut him off and combust again. [Outro — whispered] Randy… I’m ready to listen. [Randy] Step one: remove the AirPods. [Me] Step one: buy more AirPods? [Randy] No. [Me] Goose van? [Randy] I’m moving to your toaster.

0/500