eyeballkid

Gee golly, but I'm peeved. Some would go as far as to say down right pissed, coincidentally I am one of those people. Recently I have acquired an inquisitive little number, a c.d. intitled 'You Comes Before You' by a certain cinco-tet by the moniler of 'Poison the Well'. Now, admitedly I have indulged in this (as my dear father puts it) musical orchestra's prior achievements. Aye, even revelling in the spasmatically enchanting jaunts of rythmic entricacies and emotional electricity, which had never failed, save this recent title, in encompassing my musical and lyrical sweet-ear and giving my undercarraige a sadistically stirring slap with the raw ferociousness and vivacious vernacular accuracies, I had once identified the band with.
Upon listening to this new enigmatic experiment in equability (permit me to give myself props on that one) I was so let down I found myself looking up through thousands of miles of mantle and soil, upon the caskets of my fellow fallen metal meisters, and thinking, perhaps only six feet down ain't so bad. Okay, I apologise for that bad, albeit origional, analogy. How's this, it rocked about as hard as a shut-down log ride in kiddieland, with no wind on a calm day. Okay that sucked too, never-the-less, my spirit had fallen and for the life of me, I could not get it up.
Failing to recieve the proper musical epideral, I fell into a swirling nexis of guilt and inbriddled despair. To cure this emotional ailment, I needed 200 c.cs of metal, s.t.a.t., served up undercooked, on a dirty plate possibly with the proverbial 'hair' in it, I.E. offensive suckerpunches. So, I put on my chuck taylor all-star high tops, my goodwill slacks, and 'Republicans screw right' and took up flight to my faved music merchant, Borders in Dayton, where I planned to purchase, apart from a large caramel mocha, the new American Nightmare c.d., which after a grueling lawsuit, were renamed 'Give Up the Ghost' Unfortunatly, upon my arrival I confused this new name with another and accidentaly purchased a terrible excuse for a hardcore c.d. and band, 'Anatomy of a Ghost', which proved to be more Emo than Screamo, more wienie than meanie, if you will. At my second disappointment I was at a loss of my next move.
I contemplated many possibilities, turning on the radio for something harder, like, say, O-town. Maybe moving to Sweden to crash with 'The Haunted', or piercing my ears withthe cool steel of dual .44 Magnums. Ultimately I settled on this article. So I'll close with this...
If you shaggy-headed, low-fat crumpet munching, colon cowboys continue to turn equisite ear-splitting, harder than R.Kelly at Chuck E. Cheese, hardcore/Metal music into whiny pre-teen, medio-core, I shall have to resort to purging your anuses (if there is a plural for anus) with my size 10 chucks, whilst you cry into your light beers or mei teis (or whatever bitch drink you regularly consume) about your (ex, deal with it) girlfriend leaving you at Burger King for a real rocker, like, me. MMM, Yeah baby, a little lower.
-Peace and Chicken Grease.