#jg wentworth tune

[thedivaking]

@blackarrcw

— They're my jewels, and I want them now!

I am the best Elvenking, and I want my gems now! Call Bilbo Baggins! Steal those white gems now!

Thorin you're so greedy, give me my gems now! Call Bilbo Baggins! Steal those white gems now!

You have thousands, Thran wants some, too! One little white gem, Will make no dif to you!

♫♪♬♫♪♬♫♪♬

Thorin has my white gems, and I want them now! CALL BILBO BAGGINS! STEAL THOSE WHITE GEMS, NOW! STEAL THOSE WHITE GEMS, NOW!

[ylkcheeeks]

sometimes Aintgot-Dopamine-Disorder sometimes means I wind up in a flow state on jstor working on my literature review way too late even as the cats scream in shifts and knock my printouts akimbo

sometimes it means my flow is interrupted by the little earworm dj trying to set "SOCIAL CHANGE WHICH OCCURRED AS A RESULT OF LACE DESIGN EDUCATION FOR YOUNG WOMEN IN NOTTINGHAM, 1945–1960" to the tune of the jg wentworth jingle

[anonymousfury]

*to the tune of the JG Wentworth commercials*

it's MY corner of the internet and I'LL do what I WANT

[dikdikpronouncedxylophone]

Fran Bow, to the tune of the JG Wentworth jingle: 🎵I have a mental illness and I need cats now! Call JG Wentworth, 877-CATS-NOW!🎶 :D

[more-incorect-quotes]

Patton: *to the tune of the JG wentworth commercial* I have severe depression and I need hugs now! 

[loserchildhotpants]

i have a problem no one can solve

so that you understand how dire the situation is, my uncle wrote the JG Wentworth commercial jingles

when i was young, roughly ten years old, my uncle wrote a test jingle for a soda flavoring thing. it was basically gonna be an audition for the chance to officially write the jingle by giving it a go.

so, he gave it a real shot, and he had me record it, bc I’ve been singing since i was a really little kid, and i was readily available. he taught me the jingle, i sang it, we recorded it semi-professionally, and eventually i heard back that he was a strong contender, but someone else got the job.

the Problem is that i get this jingle stuck in my fucking head, the only copy that exists of it was probably on a floppy disk that was tossed in a trash can, I’m no-contact w that side of the family, and it’s such a catchy fuckin tune and it doesn’t exist anywhere.

I can’t satisfy the brain worms. I can’t even commiserate w anyone abt how torturous it is to have this jingle stuck in my head bc it literally never saw the light of day.

I alone am haunted by Saturday is Soda Day and i walk such a lonely road

[pussyvalkyrie]

read this to the tune of JG Wentworth 887 Cash Now

I Don't CARE About All This COVID SHIT!!!! I Need Pussy NOW!!!! (RUNS OUTSIDE AND IS THOROUGHLY CONSUMED BY A CARVINIROUS SWARM OF BUG)

[clocal]

Field Notes Journal #2

Brooklyn-bound C train from Fulton Station to Kingston Throop Station at 4:39pm on October 20th. 2017:

           The couple across from me scarfs down glazed donuts from Dunkin Donuts. They seem to be very high, self-interested, and very focused on eating.

The train car oddly smells of hot dog water, with no obvious explanation. I look around: turns out someone sitting a little way down from me has a giant tray of cured meats and mozzarella cheese. It looks like the scraps from an office party.

The train stops multiple times in the tunnel. Unknown traffic. No word from the driver. I refocus my attention on the still eating couple. The woman seems to be way more effected than her partner – either that or she is way more acentric. She shares one headphone each with him as she sings out of tune, something about holding it down. He complains loudly about her missing his mouth each time she tries to feed him a donut. The man rummages through his bag, pulls out an instant ramen noodle package and crinkles it in his hand for a minute before stuffing it back in. He pulls cereal bar out next and eats it.

Most other passengers seem focused on their phone screens, unbothered by their neighbors. The automated male announcer interrupts the semi-silence to talk about rider courtesy and taking off backpacks to make room. I think of all the times people have stuffed their backpacks in my face, violating so many unwritten codes on person space in public settings. The passenger to my right reads a kindle with a very bright screen. His headphones dangle off of his lap; he isn’t listening to anything. “This is Hoyt Schermerhorn…” announces a kind, disembodied female voice. “This is a Euclid Avenue Bound C Local Train… The next stop is… Lafayette Avenue.” The male voice politely warns, “Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” We roll slowly out of Hoyt. The car is quiet, albeit the sound of train wheels screeching and turning on the tracks below. The train bumps and wobbles, speeds up, slows down. Passengers sway as they sit side by side, bags in laps.

The man across from me who has replaced the eating couple is older, maybe late sixties. His female companion, same age, comments on the small book he pulled out of his breast pocket. They are wearing wool coats that remind me of the British television shows my parents always watched when I was growing up; his clothes are dark and business-like; hers, brown with a pageboy cap on her head. The older gentleman produces a zip locked PB&J from one of his bags, they both carry quite a few – all heavy looking. He offers her a piece but she declines in what sounds like a French Caribbean accent.

 Manhattan-bound C train from Kingston Throop Station to Fulton Station at around 11:30am on October 27th, 2017:

           This morning there’s a Bassett hound riding with us on the C train. He is the classic stereotype of the breed: droopy-eyed and perpetually old looking. He lays on the floor, chin resting flat, mournful eyes lazily looking around at passengers.

           A deep voice on the other end of the train talks loudly. I barely catch a glimpse of who it belongs to from where I’m sitting but one thing stands out: their lips are quite literally covered in white. There are a lot of passengers on the train, obscuring my view of this person. The seats are full and around 17 people stand, hanging on to the silver poles. It’s an older train so the announcer is muffled, and the metallic screeching of the train rushing through the tunnel is deafening. Various ads stretch across the overhead boards displaying smiling faces of people at technical schools, others encouraging New Yorkers to register and vote. One ad behind a woman’s head features the NSFW Female Gaze exhibition for the Museum of Sex. Another ad is an announcement for Ai Weiwei’s exhibition for the Public Art Fund, something I am currently covering in my New York and the Visual Arts class.

           The old C train to Euclid Avenue requires the train driver to announce the stops. His voice cracks into the overhead speakers again and notifies passengers that large bags and backpacks are subject to search by the NYPD. A high-pitched horn screeches past our train as we rush past. The brakes begin to jerk and the train starts to slow. We halt to a stop in the tunnel. The passengers are quiet. I have a better view of the white-lipped passenger at this point. The coke-white look stands out on their dark skin. I see their eyelids are also painted white and they are wearing a white “third eye.” They speak loudly to another passenger, who laughs in an almost sigh.

 Manhattan-bound C train from Kingston Throop Station to Fulton Station at around 10:19am on October 30th, 2017:

           The only sound in the train car is the murmur of people talking amongst themselves. At the moment, we are stuck in the tunnel before Hoyt Schermerhorn Station. A woman who earlier was hacking out a cough starts speaking to no one in particular. She is older looking and heavy set, with a silk wrap around her hair. Her voice is reminiscent of Chuckie from the Rugrats. “Psychic readings,” she repeats in random sentences jumbled with “I need a job… for a small fee.” At one point, she references a biblical passage. Suddenly her voice picks up and she seems to be aiming her attention at the man sitting quietly beside her. He stares at the phone he holds directly in front of his face. In a singsong tone, she yells out “I need cash now! J… JG Wentworth, I need cash now!” She repeats this over and over. “Have a nice day,” she says to the man beside her. He nods to her and she repeats a few more miscellaneous statements before leaving the train at Hoyt. She yells into the open train door, “JG Wentworth, I need cash now!” Other passengers with headphones in make quick, wide-eyed faces to themselves.

 Brooklyn-bound C train from Fulton Station to Lafayette Station at 8:48pm on November 20th, 2017:

           The train is semi-crowded, likely the last of the nightly rush home from Manhattan to Brooklyn. I am accompanied by my roommate and boyfriend. Everybody is on their phones. A baby, no older than 1, squeals loudly every few seconds. He is beaming, smiling at his socks that he has pulled off of his now bare feet. A man boards the train and begins announcing something. He asks for help with a raspy voice that does not match his appearance, like the voice of a 60-year-old with a 48-year-old body. The baby is unbothered and continues screeching over his exciting sock discovery.

           At the next station, most passengers get off and a woman boards with a push cart. There are a few blankets piled up in it and peeking out through the side is the head of a small white dog. My roommate finds this hilarious and takes a Snapchat video of the dog, who blinks back at him.  

[popc1650spring2017sec003-blog]

This video is a video advertisement for J.G. Wentworth. Over the years J.G. Wentworth has had some of the most popular advertisements and jingles. This is the one commercial that I can still remember from when I was a little kid. It uses a catchy tune and humor in order to stick its name in the minds of consumers. Even from a young age I understood that J.G. Wentworth was a financial services company, when I could not name you one other competitor's commercial in this this industry. 

#needcashnow #J.G.Wentworth #advertisement 

"An Industry Leader." J.G. Wentworth Commercial & 877 Cash Now Song - J.G. Wentworth. Accessed March 26, 2017. https://www.jgwentworth.com/en/about-jg-wentworth/commercials.

[nyominebula]

I totally read this to the tune of those JG Wentworth commercials