Like CHL's imaginary third uncle always said, "If you gonna eat shit, make sure it's some nice, glitter-covered fancy shit you would buy from one of those kiosks at the mall next to Hot Topic." Truer words were literally never spoken, and it speaks to something that has been following CHL for the better part of the past year: musical cognitive dissonance.
"Whatever, dude. You like bad pop music and you need to admit," says our Rdio account, frightened by another spin of Ke$ha's Cannibal album for "research" ahead of her sold-out show here on Friday night at Verizon.
Almost a year ago CHL compared Kesha Rose Sebert to a gas station burrito and now we make half-drunken romantic pleas to her on Twitter while wallowing in the darkest parts of our heart. Desperately wanting her to like our beard, just like in that one song that we knows all the words too.
For every Kesha lyric that CHL remembers, out goes a nugget of information about The Clash, the name of a distant cousin in El Campo, and the combination to the first locker we had in sixth grade. Thanks, a lot, Kesha. How will CHL survive when he makes a wish on his 40th birthday and gets whisked back to 1994 and can't open his locker?
CHL assembled a list of songs, including a particularly jolly one from Ms. Sebert, featuring cuts that we will turn up in the car, play by ourselves at this desk, and get stuck in our head until the end of time.
Lord knows how much cash we've thrown into local Internet jukeboxes at these songs, playing them anonymously and blaming someone else, like so many unclaimed farts after Thanksgiving dinner.
Read 'em and weep...
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