Pitchfork

Ironically, this makes me want to go back to college. Despite my firm belief that college radio keeps awful, gimmicky music like this alive in both art-school-steps Camel klatches and the rooms of weird engineering kids who listen to "Weird" Al. Hell, that drunk Delta Gamma guy flossing a toilet seat around his neck like bling singing "Big Pimpin'" in a kiddie pool of PBR has more musical integrity than this atrocity. No, I want to go back to college to learn about worms. Computer virus worms. Wormholes. Genetically breeding worms that gnaw through guitar strings. PK Dick my reality and pop me a pill that downloads instant hacking ability into my brain. Fingers don't move fast enough for a virus to be written out RIGHT NOW to dig into the Pitchfork database and delete everything I ever said about The Dismemberment Plan. Yeah, this is that fucking embarassing.

I'll drive a Delorean through a wormhole, park in front of the Pick Me Up Cafe, 2002, and doppleganger myself on the night Travis and I last ate pancakes together. I'll just flat tell him, "Look, T, we go back. I flew to another continent for you. But don't fucking cover a Ludacris song. Especially don't hyperventilate the lyrics over a broken toy guitar like a bush league Batman villian selling Micromachines." Speaking of bush, this headnail was recorded for a political Anti-Bush compilation. Way to stick it to W when you say "hurt" like "haourt" and "three" like "tree" like those funny black people on 106 & Park.

Fortunately, the powers that be at the Anti-Bush Comp Headquarters 86'd this track, saying they "didn't want to pay usage for a cover," which is the polite industry way of saying, "Holy fucking shit, dude, we can't even associate this with RX Bandits and Pennywise." The soundtrack coordinators at the Garfield movie would know better than release this to the public. Travis instead uploaded this Audio Ghraib on his website for whatever remaining fans have made it through the gauntlet of solo material to date. He pokes his broken guitar strings like POW genitals. If the terrorists hate our freedom, just wait until they hear our independent "rock." Imagine a CGI talkin' cat in a trucker cap throwing up gang signs in Other Music asking where the Sung Tongs be at, then imagine how much you want to just kill that thing. Travis, it hurts me more than it hurts you.