Sunday, June 21

Your Favorite Band Sucks

I go on a lot of dates with younger girls. This makes me a total badass, but that's a separate topic for another day.

The main drawback of going out with young chicks is that you don't get to touch their taut nubile bodies until you've put in a decent amount of time listening to their shit. To say that this can be tiresome is like saying that driving a railroad spike into your ear can be uncomfortable.

The one conversation topic that I dread the most, and try with all my might to avoid, is music; once it comes up, invariably there ensues a cry of "OHMIGOD I am, like, SOOOOOO into music..." And then she's off to the races in a countdown against my ADD, in a battle between whether I will patiently wait out her blizzard of nonsense, or instead blurt out "so is everyone who has ears, you stupid fucking cunt!"

Almost as bad is when some hipster doofus pollutes your airspace by self-consciously advertising his preciously sensitive indie music soul. Nobody cares, bro. Go home and tend to your lovingly sculpted, faux-neglected facial hair. At least there you won't be bothering anyone.

I'm your huckleberry
"And you. Music lover.
You're next."
If you absolutely have to blather about your obscurist indie-rock fetish, please consider limiting your onanistic faggotry to a pointless music website of your own. If that doesn't provide sufficient release, I recommend checking what passes for a quad at the nearest state college, where you are sure to find a spirited hacky sack circle of like-minded toolsheds. At least the collateral damage is limited when you add a vigorous circle jerk to an already-extant circle of jerks.

Being the most abstract of the fine arts, music is also the most inherently subjective. There are many wildly different types of music, and it follows that people are passionate about all of them. Guess what? Our opinions are all equally informed; we are all equally correct. Inflicting yours upon innocent bystanders makes you the moral equivalent of the Silence of the Lambs prisoner who threw his rapist jizz in Jodie Foster's face. Seriously: leave us out of it. Just shut the fuck up.

And then there are the "foodies." Really? This is a thing that exists? Give me a fucking break. Just as everyone is "really into" music, guess what? Everyone "really likes" food, too. It's fucking FOOD. Nobody cares how pretentiously discriminatory your taste may be, or how many contrived adjectives you can conjure to describe a plate of hummus. That's like waxing poetic about how into oxygen you are. We all breathe, too. "Ohmigod I could, like, totally breathe this air all day. It's soooo good." "This oxygen here in the foothills is passable, but have you ever inhaled the rarefied air on Pier 38? It has a zesty scent of brine and the promise of a cool tomorrow."


1 comments [add yours!]:

Crispin said...

1. When did every band decide they should look they're made up of amish blacksmiths?
2. You're completely wrong about everything else.