Megan and I have been talking about making another video soon, something about a slumber party and prescription painkillers. The soundtrack is going to be way better than that pussy Gayplosions in the Sky shit your guys' dreams are cut to. We're thinking a little Deep Sleepover (see what I did there? It's one of them double entenders!), a little Bat For Lashes and definitely a metric fuckton of GG Allin.
The reason I am talking about making the video instead of doing it is 1. I have a rager of a headache and have to wake up in the middle of the goddamn night tomorrow (6 a.m.) and 2. I am too pissed about Jason Mraz to do anything besides complain about him on the internet.
I work with a girl that has some shitty Mraz-ak as a ringtone and it makes me want to slam my head in the freezer full of half-finished vanilla frappucinos (going to In-N-Out- for a vanilla shake makes too much fucking sense). I'll be honest, dude's got some pipes. Unfortunately for humanity, he hasn't quietly committed his life to professional musical theatre. He done committed himself to this:
I already didn't like the little mole man for threatening to hug one of my best friends in the entire world with his mind on the internet after a large-scale finance related scuffle but the Mraz is like Sublime: Not just terrible music. Jason Mraz's music embodies everything I hate about dudes in San Diego that aren't bros. It's the Seven jeans and flip flops in winter lifestyle. It's the dumb hat (includes newsboy caps and straw fedoras) in 5,000 degree weather lifestyle. It's the none of this makes any fucking sense yet you're telling me to "relax" and "go with the flow" lifestyle. It's the "if you tell me to just chill out and enjoy the jams one more time I will shove my foot so far up your ass you will shit in the shape of a size 8.5 platform Victorian oxford for a year" lifestyle.
Size 8.5 sounds a lot less intimidating than 10. Maybe I should have fudged my shoe size a little. Welp, that settles it. Off to stretch my feets.
In hate we trust,