Rock 'N' Roll Will Never Die. It Just Has A Degenerative Mental Illness.
Fuck your scene. And don't pretend you don't have one. First of all, you're on the Internet, which means you're either on your way to complain about the new Raconteurs album at Pitchfork media, or to lurk around private message boards to find out if it's still cool to like Franz Ferdinand. Second of all, just look at yourself, and your second hand corduroy pants and your oh so fucking ironic Skid Row T-shirt, and try not to vomit, you annoying little trend-head. You suck, your music sucks, and you don't even need to wear those stupid glasses. And The Arcade Fire sucks.
Oh, sorry, what's that? You don't like indie-rock? Your scene is techno, or dance, or rave, or whatever the fuck you call it when you're not too flipped on ecstasy to talk? Well, then you don't even need me to tell you how goddamed gay you are. The whole world does it for you, and that fucking PLUR shirt doesn't help. Yeah! Vinyl rules! And the more of the Ninja Tunes catalogue you have on 12", the less likely you are to catch AIDS by getting so fucked up on coke you let one of the Chemical Brothers pork you in the ass!
Oh, sorry, what’s that? Your scene is goth? Then shouldn’t you be posting an Anne Rice quote on some website that spells ‘vampire’ with a ‘y’? Don’t read this site, it won’t piss off your Mom enough. But do try to crank the Marilyn Manson up a little louder. If your eardrums burst you won’t have to listen to Siouxsie and The Banshees anymore and strain yourself trying to pretend it isn’t awful. And that Nine Inch Nails brand isn’t fooling anybody. You’re about as tough as your dragon belt buckle.
Oh, sorry, what's that? Your scene is hardcore? Then how are you even reading this? Everyone who like hardcore is retarded, because everyone who makes hardcore is retarded. Have you ever seen Hatebreed live? It's like Adam Sandler got bitten by those rage monkeys from 28 Days Later. American Hardcore tries to tell the story of the birth of hardcore in the early 80s, but there isn't a story to tell other than a bunch of kids too stupid to play punk and not stupid enough to play metal. The music all sounds like the bridge to a Slayer song, the lyrics are grade 4 rhyming couplets mixed with all the attitude of a school yard bully, and people in the scene are instantly identifiable by their pleated khakis and overhanging Paleolithic brows. The scene went from street kids to frat boys in a heartbeat, which is like shifting from piss to shit at a lunch buffet.
Oh, sorry, what's that? You don't have a scene? That’s pathetic.
Underage? Read a PG-13 review at The Comic Book Bin. Then come over to my house and let me watch you touch yourself. Girls and effeminate boys only need apply.