i made this video!

damn, i am so stoked for this usher album.

Jesus, etc.

i’d like that sentence crocheted on a throw pillow, please and thank you. life motto 2012.

as a complete aside, i’ve never understood dylan being held up as somebody who totally exemplifies songwriting ability>playing ability. there’s some great fingerpicking stuff on his solo stuff and when he played with a band he was playing with The Motherfucking Band. Some great playing (in addition to great songwriting, obvs) all around.

COTY

5 new xx tracks with the xxiest titles possible

and of course the two rap songs to crack the top 20 are by white dudes. and no jay, biggie, nas?

Dave: I’ve always had a thing for 00s pop punk. There was something about the way the nihilism was wrapped up in sugary hooks that made it go down so easy. I could get down with pretty much all of them: Blink, Green Day, NOFX. But dude, Offspring are Blank.

Fats: Offspring are the best of all those bands. Remember the way Noodles used to coax that axe? The Kids Aren’t Alright! You’re Going to Die!

Amber: Dave, I’ll save you! Here — er, this Gun Has No Trigger!

Dave: Only God can save us now. O, Swing Low, Sweet Chariot…

Fats: Didn’t you mean –

Amber: Who cares what he meant!? You’re really going to kill us because Dave made some stupid comment about the Offspring? He was just kidding! Our car broke ran out of gas, we were just coming back from the gas station to fill it up — Just From Chevron!

Fats: I don’t buy it, not for a second. If you were coming from Chevron, where’s your gas can?

Dave, Amber (in unison): Shit.

Dave: Fats, could you give us one second?

(conspiratorial whispering between Dave and Amber)

Amber: OK, Fats. A deal: will you let us go if I Dance For You?

Fats: Hmmmm… What kind of dance?

Amber: Can-can?

(Fats raises a shovel, anger ablaze in his eyes)

Dave: Wait, wait, wait! Amber, didn’t you mean a pole dance?

Amber: Uh, no?

(Dave elbows Amber in the ribs)

Amber: Ah, yes. Maybe That Was It…

(Amber walks over to a tree and begins spinning around it)

Fats: She’s kind of a fox, isn’t she?

Dave: Don’t you think that’s kind of an Impregnable Question?

Fats: What does that even mean?

Dave: I went to Yale.

(Amber gyrations grow more and more erratic. What began as an alluring if slightly awkward display has evolved into something much more grotesque)

Fats: Dude, what the fuck is going on?

Dave: Try to See What She’s Seeing…

(Dave reaches in his pocket and pulls out a bowl packed full of salvia, arching one eyebrow towards Fats. Fats is happy to oblige. Fast forward 30 seconds…)

Fats: Oh my God, it’s all so clear! The proletariat, the bourgeois, the politicians, the radical chic, The Socialites! I said it’s all so clear, they’re all –

Dave: Amber! Quick, let’s get out of here before he comes down!

Amber: Unto Caesar!

(They scamper off. At first they are diligent and quiet, so as not to be seen or heard by any of Fats’s minions. As they make there way further and further away, Dave begins to grow bored. He knows it could get them found, but he can’t resist whistling the melody to “Stillness is the Move,” just to pass the time. It isn’t long before Amber joins him, harmonizing that Irresponsible Tune…)

“And so then I said, ‘Hey, that’s not Henry Rollins, that’s my grandma!’”

or the greatest ever, Tity Boi–>2 Chainz

sigh, nevermind.