Hey you fat fuck! yes i mean you. Your voice is like a piece of metal sliding across broken glass. Every carefully chosen word drips off of your lips pre coated in egotistic day after shit. You understand that is my favorite band you are talking about. The singer who can not sing, or write music, or play guitar, he fucking wrote the anthems that I live by. I nod and smile because I respect our mutual friend. The one whose house we both happen to be drinking at. Fly off to your foreign country and learn its customs because I say you are not welcome here. The music you praise I consider to be pulp. Squeezed and juiced and strained till the originality is gone, forced down my throat like the grove stand that birthed it. Your heros are clippings, rubbed with white stuff and stuck into strained earth. I don’t care about the “screamer” who left your favorite band. To be good you don’t need a screamer. You don’t need some scrawny fuck who know one liked in high school, the one so immature he hated every charismatic character and strove to mimic the sounds of swine in the name of music. I weep for your sorry excuse for a genre, but I don’t belittle your hero so don’t you fucking dare belittle mine. Just because he didn’t wear jeans so tight his balls rotted off, or die his hair every shade of the dark side of the moon. He was dark and angry in his own way. He was a fuckin martyr. So take your bullshit fuckin ideas out of here. My hero started a movement and yours followed the crowd. Fuck your couch you pale skinned fat nigger. Every word makes me want to scrape a stone nice against the skin of your scalp and claim it for my own. You play an instrument, but that does not make you an expert. Every fucking johnny come lately and his mother can strum tunes of a guitar these days. You are not special and neither am I. So fuck off with your attitude. You are a bigot and a fatty. No one will ever think of you as a gentleman and a scholar. Leave my heaven alone. I do not punch holes in your nirvana, so leave mine the fuck alone, it has a fucking capital letter. They were visionaries. They paved the way for your bullshit. How dare you. How fucking dare you. If you speak one more mal-word against my inspiration so help me. I never asked for your fucking holier than thou opinion. Your fat fucking face makes me want to cut my lifeline to this generation. I really hope the rest of my peers do not think the same way as you. Nevermind. I will just drench my memories in bleach. You reek of fat kid angst when I know I smell of teen spirit. I want to wash your stink out of my pores fatty, as you rape my heroes harder that the record companies ever could. You represent the death of music. The step out of the wilderness to follow the beaten path. I hope that I die before I become like you. Fuck off. I hope I never see you again.
Peace, love, angst, respect, and most of all, dry socks,
Me
