Evelyn "Champagne" King- Out Of Control (1984)

Whenever I kick something on the ground, the same thing resounds in my head. "No baby birds no baby birds please no baby birds", because nine times out of ten, it is a goddamn baby bird.
I love the fact that we have enough clean air to support urban wildlife and all, but the dead baby bird situation in this city is truly out of control.

Shalamar- A Night to Remember (1982)

My partner works on a rotating schedule that often leaves me making my own dinner for weeks at a time, which means cheese and crackers (better known as 'chackers'), mixing diet sodas to create new, cancer-causing flavors, and, in one particularly regrettable instance, frog's legs from a sketchy Chinese Buffet. Now, truth be told, I could have been less adventurous and left the slimy legs steaming in the tray, as it appeared they had done for hours prior, but I'll tell you this much: you don't get a night to remember out of not eating the legs. Am I right, folks? Am I?

Alvin Fields- Special Delivery (1981)

I love Japanese food and all, but I will not eat sunomono salad or cone sushi in a restaurant.
These are "delivery only" dishes. 
You see, I just can't figure out how to eat the cone sushi gracefully, and as the sunomono,  I have always been confused as to whether you are supposed to drink the sweet vinegar dressing, or leave it in the bowl.
To leave the broth in a bowl of soup would be rude, and would signal a distaste in the dish (which, I assure you, is quite the opposite when it comes to refreshing Japanese salads).
The waiter comes by, and always asks if I am finished, and, not wanting to look like an uncultured dick, I am unsure of how to reply. "Uhhhh, I don't know? You tell me?"

Gwen McCrae- Keep The Fire Burning (1982)

This year, I turn 31, which, I believe, is the exact year I start getting birthday cards with a picture of a cake burning down an entire building.

Leroy Burgess- Stranger (1983)

Although they were played in multi-national campaigns to millions and millions of children, I am certain that nobody was affected by the scare-tactic PSA ads of the eighties as much as I.
If you would have asked me, at a mere seven years old, where my life was headed, I would tell you about the almost-certainty of an electrical fire, in which I would be expected to save my entire family from our burning house, along with the fact that I would be absconded and raised by a creepy stranger with a giant moustache and a beat-up van full of candy, puppies, and drugs (which, on second thought, might not have been so bad after all).