Tuesday afternoon, I was on Twitter. Writing jokes. Reading jokes. Like many of my fellow comedians, I use Twitter as a virtual notebook to jot out zingers and pithy observations that might or might not be useful in front of an actual audience. Because I live to delight people.
This band is like if Mötley Crüe was a hardcore band or something. I don’t know. Its fucking sweet though. Listen to it or be a fucking little baby. I don’t care.
I didn’t even finish listening before I hit reblog with the thought of “Punch every goddamn whimsical horseshit twee butterfly fucktwat of a band in the face all the time forever” blossomed in my face. I wish music wasn’t this non-denominational prom for the brightest blazing pussy lips these days. I hate people that like everything and love nothing. You’re a goddamn drag and I hope you fall off your fashion bike.
Listen to Cheap Girls. I wish I had this as a soundtrack to every night spent driving around the salt-blanched streets of suburbian Chicago winter, wondering what the point was of going to another year of college.