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Oh, damn the post that prompted this narrative seems to have disappeared, so to give it some context, picture, being stuck in a car, mid-rejection by a bitch, with feelings still "ambiguous", then THIS pops up on her playlist.
Feelings were ambiguous, huh? Okay, well this song would have cleared things RIGHT the fuck up. Shit would have gone Emo to 100, REAL quick for this listener.
I've never jumped out of a moving vehicle, but the only thing moving faster than my ass outta that shit heap would have been the cloud of "mustard gas" spewing from its speakers. Fuck waiting til' we stop.
Accidental exposure to this song usually isn't fatal, as long as its muted within a few seconds, but what you have survived here, being held captive, immobalized and forced to breathe it in for an extended period sounds like a stroll through Dante's Inferno.
I'm having visions of the old war movies. You're strapped to the passenger seat, blindfolded with a cig in your mouth, sweating bullets, while she babbles on about her feelings. Charlie's got your balls hooked up to a set of jumper cables, about to flip the switch, decides it's not quite sadistic enough, hits the play button on the CIA grade torture device.
What sounds like the elevator music you would hear upon making your final decent into the Pits of Hades, begins to fill the airwaves, your eyes bulge, and your ears begin to bleed. Engulfed in toxic sound waves, that would have killed a lesser man. Yet, there you stand. JOHN. FUCKING. RAMBO!!!
I'm still trying to cleanse my conscious of the 5 seconds that I endured of that song, and you've heard it more than once? FUCK. I cant imagine the torture you've been through, buddy. I almost slit my wrists just hearing the story.
You're out here like a POW with PTSD.
Post
Traumatic
Shittyfemalevocalistbutchersaclassicsobaditnearlykilledme
Disorder
The fact you made it out of that fucking Hanoi Hilton on wheels is a testament to your strength and perseverance and for that, I salute you, Sir!
I, for one, would have swallowed the cyanide.
Wow Jimbo, busting out the big guns are we? Isn't that special? Anybody else's radar rhyming with GAY (NOT that there's anything wrong with that), spiking in detection of his desperation to gain your acceptance and validation? "How come nobody gnars me? Why am I a bigger kook than Pho", as if destroying someone else's work would improve his own "shitposting", by some "osmosis". Imagine being this dense.
See, there's clueless, then there's "Jim Stolz", military grade clueless.
My only question Jimmy baby, sweety, is how did your parents react when you came out? Or have you? I would ask your mom directly, but her mouth is pretty "busy" at the moment. When she comes up for air, I'll ask.
You see boys, along the road to success, you will encounter bitter, envious people, threatened by your glow, spewing their hatred, trying to "steal your thunder". But it's not until you attract the hatred of someone with REAL clout, that you'll know that you've truly "made it".
Now, does anyone on the planet scream raw fucking clout louder than Jim Stolz? Jim Fucking Stolz, man! You all may look at Lil' Jimmy and see a complete bozo. A Putz. A bumbling buffoon, dancing around like a circus monkey, seeking your praise and "treats".
You may humor him with a chuckle, pat the little mush bucket, perched atop his scrawny little, pencil shaped neck. Paying him little, if any, mind, but to shoo him away.
I, on the other hand, am amazed by this man. His ability to unite people should be revered by all.
For the first time since joining SLAP, I find myself agreeing with the general consensus on something.
Hate to break you the news Sport. The village has spoken.
*cue Maury Povich sample:
You ARE a kook. And apparently a closet homosexual with a promiscuous mother possessing a stunning gulp.
Listen Sailor, I like my boxers starched and creased. Please dont fuck it up this time.
Topic: Today I listened to... (Read 1786849 times)