Sunday, June 9, 2013

If a Vagina Could Sing... would sing Coldplay. The queefs would belt the words of "Yellow" and "Viva la Vida," bringing tears to your eyes and vomit to your Coldplay always does.
Look at the chunks I just blew, look how they shine for you, and everything you do... yeah, the chunks were all yellow.

Today, I raise an important issue. This is an issue that has always been critical in my life. Growing up in Westchester around a lot of ignorant, upper-class white kids has always been rather confusing. Rich, white Westchester people seem to have a language that only rich, white, Westchester people can understand. As someone who is somewhat of an outsider to this "culture," so to speak, it took some time to fully understand just what these shit dicks were speaking of. Specifically, their music choices, choices that I have found both disturbing and disgusting.
Coldplay is just the tip of the iceberg. Ignorant folk near and far have listened to Coldplay with some kind of inexplicable belief that they are different, or "Indie." Chris fucking Martin, would you like some cheese with that whine? His high-pitched voice complains throughout every song. It as if he is begging, pleading to be cooter punched by yours truly.

Then there is a beast of a different nature. That beast is called Dave Matthews Band. Dave Matthews Band is a disease somewhat comparable to Taylor Swift. In some ways, the Dave disease is a lot more dangerous and perilous. I hope you do not mind me referring to him on a first name basis, his fans seem to think it is appropriate and...totally not confusing.
"Yo bro, wanna see Dave with me this weekend?"
Dave Franco? Dave Chappelle?... Dave your next door neighbor? Dave your drug dealer? Dave your pet hermit crab? "Who in the fuck is Dave?" was the question that I asked myself for years on end. Facebook statuses would refer to this mysterious Dave and people would respond with complete understanding of who he was. Now that I know who "Dave" is, I would like nothing more than to go back in time and personally cunt punt every single person who has ever referred to Dave Matthews Band as "DAVE."
...and that's for reaaaaaal.

That's like me saying, "I'm gonna go see Nick," when I saw the musical geniuses that ARE the Jonas Brothers in concert. Despite what I may say sometimes, Nick Jonas and I are not on a first name basis... and I think it is a fair assumption for me to make that most likely none of you idiots know Dave Matthews personally. He doesn't know your name. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't love you.

...and, no, if Dave is anything like Nick Jonas, he will not give you a vile of his urine for "scientific purposes." Believe me, I have tried.

Dave's raw and powerful quotes about life can be seen on every single shit dicks "About Me" on Facebook. Or perhaps, if you so please, you may just take a gander at my Senior Yearbook. Weirdly enough, every single graduate in my year had the same thought! Again and again we were reminded for nearly twenty pages that "Life is short but sweet for certain."
Not even true. Life is not short, it's long as fuck. It just goes on and on... and on. And "sweet" you say, Dave? I'm not so certain about that. Life is a struggle every fucking single day. People will crash into your car, people will cheat on you and your iPhone will fall out of your pocket and shatter for fuck's sake. Dave Matthews Band will never prepare you for those hardships. Never. That's what we have Miley for... and Avril Lavigne.
You can find my picture in the yearbook with the quote "Life is long...and complicated... and horrible." That's an original. You may quote me.

Also, one more thing, Dave wants you to "Take what you can from your dreams, make them real as anything." Make sure you do that. This kind of reminds me of that quote from my fourth grade class "Reach for the moon, even if you miss, you will and amongst the stars." So fucking true.

Basically, think back and try to remember every cliche line you have ever heard. Dave probably said it. (And if it was not Dave, then you probably read it in The Perks of Being A Wallflower).

Some other honorable mentions are: Jack Johnson, John Mayer and Jason Maraz. They are a disgrace to J names everywhere.

Questions, I pose them:

How does Jack Johnson not bore himself to sleep while singing his own music?
How does John Mayer not kick himself in the ass for being such a douche? My body is a wonderland? Daughters will turn into mothers?
...And Jason Maraz, your music either belongs in an elevator or at a ritual sacrificial ceremony, I can't decide which.

Now, time for a little One Direction to lighten the mood. A little 1D, if you will.


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