Yesterday I was in a pretty shitty mood, so I decided to take a trip down to the liquor store so I could score some scotch and get really fucking hammered. When I started up my car, I was greeted with the obnoxious sounds of Gnarls Barkley. I immediately changed the station, hoping to escape their crappy overplayed psychedelic soul music. After enduring ten horrible seconds of "Crazy", I was willing to listen to anything. The first radio station that I came to was a classic rock station. Just as I tuned in, Joe Cocker's voice came through my speakers asking me if I was feeling all right. My mood brightened almost immediately; Joe Cocker had taken time out of his busy day of being a shitty ass singer to check in on me and see how I was doing. I was touched by his concern. But then, before I could answer, Joe informed me that he "wasn't doing too good [himself]". I suddenly realized that Joe Cocker had never really cared how I felt, the egomaniacal prick had just used the question as a lead-in so that he could talk about himself. I was fucking pissed. So Joe Cockhead, I have some things I want to say to you. In your most famous song, a song which you didn't even write, you ask the following question:
What would you do if I sang out of tune, would you stand up and walk out on me?
Yes Joe, I would. And since you can't even fucking sing in key on your goddamn studio recordings, I would never waste my time and money to see you live. You are a worthless fucking hack. The only reason that anybody gives a shit about you in the first place is because you sang the theme song to The Wonder Years. So Joe, I want you to do me a favor. I want you take your shitty voice, your lameass Beatles covers, and your receding hairline, and I want you to fucking kill yourself. You suck hardcore.
1,756,829 people are wondering why the fuck anyone would wear that ridiculous jacket.
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© 2006 by Haddox