Not Exactly a Cure Song:
More Like a Really Shitty Incubus.

             Hello again my friends of familiar fornication. Okay, some of you have never fornicated, and as of this moment I don’t think I know exactly what fornication is. I think it means fucking, or is it promiscuity as a whole? Either way some of you haven’t done it, but that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that I am back to my sickness of bitching in text form and I am sure I have learned a few more insults to add to my ever-growing talent to put down something within a fifteen-word sentence.

            As a matter of facts, sentences have a bit to do with what I am pissed about. In fact, it’s practically a direct lead-in. You see, for our Kentucky readers, a sentence is a collection of words to form a complete phrase or thought. It is the sentence that we authors use to express our selves in the most fruitful of ways. However there is a dark race of mutanagenic creatures (mostly female, go figure) that find it necessary to massacre the English language and the art of writing while posing as authors.

            These dark ones are becoming an epidemic, a plague if you will. They are reproducing by the hundreds every year. Their numbers are growing wildly, and the chance to defeat them is dwindling significantly. These monsters are everywhere. Some of you may know a few, or might even be one yourself.

            Terrified? No? Oh you will be, and when you are here is a few tips on how to spot such an evil hideous being.

            These shit-kicking no talent MTV rejects often travel in a pack of poser rockers and republican background punk fans. And often put themselves down in order for their fellow assholes to feel pity for them and perhaps one day fuck them only to end up in broken hearts, r even worse, pregnancy. (I bet you found one already). But these aren't always true, as stereotypes are great; they are only 50% effective. To truly find the Faustian creature one must actually go through the undying pain of actually reading their writing.

            You must be careful however, as in some cases it has been found that a person reading such shit will go into vomiting fits and eventually pass out only after the victim has an aneurysm and their reproductive organs explode after they grow a head that looks like Louis Gosset Jr. that usually dies after singing every song from Grease 2, or worse; actually think its good. The latter almost never happens as it is later found the menacing writer of the piece stole the line from an Incubus or Hoobastank song.

            Ending the scientific report of this commentary and entering my familiar (there’s that word again) ways and randomly spewing out dirty words and unmentionable phrases in order to get just the slightest but of a chuckle from you credibility sucking assholes, I have to say that these writers truly are the downfall of all literature. Fourteen year-old, ugly teenagers with memories of Strawberry shortcake and a few encounters with marijuana penning some quintessential piece of dolphin shit so they can show they friends in English class how “cool” they are. Fuck that. So you can rhyme, bug fucking deal, so can a retard that washes dishes in a lunchroom. It doesn’t take that much of skill, for fuck sake Raffi does it!

            But its not the fact that they can rhyme that pisses me off, its that it’s the same goddamn thing over and over again (don’t start) with the same rhyme scheme and the vocabulary of Screech from Saved By the Bell: the College Years. Oh wow, you can use the word translucent in a sentence, but you still have the overall intelligence of a pygmy’s infected nipple. Just because you can write, doesn’t mean you should. Just because you can bitch, doesn’t mean you should (I said don’t start).

            Actually, you can start on that. I bitch because I can I am damn good at it, as a matter of fact I am so god at it, that it transcends bitching and enters philosophy. I make good points, use big words, and I rhyme. Beat that asswipes.

            Anyway, back to the current point. Teenage writing is and always will be the pivotal source of poetry and journal entries but you have to keep something in mind. Most teenagers are schmucks that have no goddamn clue what they are doing, or what they are talking about. So when some floozy twit with a twat writes that she wants you to “Light here candle because her flame is run out” you better pour some gas on that bitch, and light her up like the fiftieth floor of the World Trade Center (God, I wish I could take credit for that joke).

            So I end with a rhyme, for my heart is in a dark room for which only you can light up with your candle of love so we can one day be together in the harmonic values of our translucent abilities. See, I haven’t the slightest fucking clue what I said, but I guarantee if it had some shitty beat behind it and a ratty kid in dreds singing it on MTV2 some bitch would steal it and give it to my friend matt to read so they look like a better writer than me. And just so you aren’t confused, I am not arrogant, I know I write better than them, that’s why I write things like this, so the fuckers have to try harder, maybe if they’re lucky they’ll get published on a website (and don’t get me started on that snail-fucking corpse of a subject because I will make like a Catholic priest on a choir boy and fuck that shit up)