That someone would select this photocopy-of-a-photocopy-of-a-photocopy-of-a-photocopy of the most stoned, most dreadlocked white boy in the fraternity's ass cheeks, with a "Dave Matthews Band" tattoo on one cheek and a "311" tattoo on the other... that is one problem.
That you, Joe, the old-testament god of this foul blog, would do so as some kind of cosmic own is explanation enough as to why children will roast ants with a magnifying glass or throw a bag of kittens into a river: because the weak are there, and so is power.
Anyway, this sucks. The indignity of selecting the O.A.R. album that doesn't have "That Was a Crazy Game of Poker" on it is perhaps the most indecent of all the indecencies wrapped up in this perversion. I know what it says about you, but what does it say about me that I persist?
Terrible album, I hated every moment. See you next week.
That you, Joe, the old-testament god of this foul blog, would do so as some kind of cosmic own is explanation enough as to why children will roast ants with a magnifying glass or throw a bag of kittens into a river: because the weak are there, and so is power.
Anyway, this sucks. The indignity of selecting the O.A.R. album that doesn't have "That Was a Crazy Game of Poker" on it is perhaps the most indecent of all the indecencies wrapped up in this perversion. I know what it says about you, but what does it say about me that I persist?
Terrible album, I hated every moment. See you next week.
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