Here’s another little gem of a band I’ve discovered with the help of lastfm.com and is about the fourth or fifth, and one of the last couple of bands on my list, that you probably haven’t heard of. That’s not to say you haven’t heard of them, but let’s face it, you probably haven’t heard of them, but you should.
Because I am unfortunately sick again I don’t really know what to write about this band or this song which is the only song from this band on my list. I was sick last week and then got better and now I’m sick again. Last week was one of the longest periods of days in a row being sick I can remember, and then I felt better for about five days or something – I’m becoming horrible with recognizing how much time has past – and now here I am on my third day in a row being sick again. This is bullshit. Whoever the God of sickness is needs to lay off me. I like the idea in Greek Mythology of having so many Gods. Being the God of masturbation sounds like a good job, but in actuality it’s one of the worse. Right up there with being the God of sex.
I imagine as Gods they have to keep track of their specific specialties at all times. I wonder if the God of masturbation ever feels sorry for me. Like one day he goes up to the God of sex and says, “Come on, Gerald,” as I imagine he’d be called, “throw this kid a bone, I’m tired of watching him masturbate all day. It’s getting sad.” And then the God of sex would say, “No can do, God of masturbation” God of masturbation is so low on the God list that the God of naming hasn’t gotten to giving him a name yet, “this kid doesn’t deserve to have sex. Look at him, lying in bed at three in the afternoon wearing nothing but a funky smelling bathrobe and Scooby Doo boxers that have more than one noticeable hole in them, and wrapped in a tie-dye blanket writing a blog about a conversation between two mythical beings, this kid hasn’t done anything to make even the most desperate nymphomaniac find him appealing.” Hey, I’m not wearing Scooby Doo boxers.
I guess the God of sex is right though. I write and complain about not having sex a lot, and make convoluted arguments while maintaining that all women are whores, just whores who are picky when it comes to me – I’ve never actually said that, at least not that I recall. The God of sex can only do so much towards getting me laid, at some point I need to help him out, perhaps by inventing a time machine and genetically altering my genes while in my mother’s stomach so I could be born more attractive, and definitely taller. Or maybe I could watch shows like Jersey Shore or American Idol, that way I’d have something to talk about with girls who tend to put out more easily. Or I could become friends with a guy who has a big stash of roofies….and out him to authorities and then girls will flock to me for protecting them from potentially being raped. Little do they know that being raped is actually more appealing than consensual sex with me (I can’t believe you made that joke) well no one can help being raped, but if a girl chooses to sleep with me that’s a decision she has to live with for the rest of her life (and you wonder why girls don’t like you) no I know, I just choose to continually forget.