C’mon and Pride Tiger: 45 For A Day When Everything Fucking Pisses You Off

Fuck the way you look. Fuck the way you stand. Fuck the way you dance. Fuck the way you sound. Fuck the way you dress. Fuck what you say. Fuck what you don’t say. Fuck how many records you sell. Fuck how many records you don’t sell. Fuck your bullshit anxiety. Fuck pretending that you don’t care that people care. Fuck your concert tour. Fuck your appearance on Q. Fuck your put-on modesty. Fuck your arrogance. Fuck your desperation. Fuck kissing that ass, licking that one. Fuck telling me or her or him about your stupid fucking album and fuck the piece of shit product that is using your song to sell it YOU WHORE. Fuck being embarrassed about being so rich. Fuck pretending you were once poor. Fuck pretending that you invented music, Toronto, Canada. Fuck your back handed compliments. Fuck your empathy, which isn’t actually empathy, but pity. Fuck your stupid friends. Fuck your stupid band. Fuck your stupid house and the stupid parties you have in your stupid house. Fuck your beard. Fuck your bicycle. Fuck your long hair even when it’s short. Fuck how you write about sex like it’s “cutting edge” because everybody fucks you moron even poor people who secretly disgust you even though you pretend that you feel the world’s pain. Fuck your snide halfway glance across the room over people whom you think want to be you. Fuck your phone conversations that you have in crowded places to prove how busy and important you are. Fuck your stupid hip words and phrases that become less hip because you are saying them. Fuck your piano. Fuck your guitar. Fuck your guitar on drugs. Fuck you on drugs. But most of all: Fuck you because you hate anything that isn’t you.

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