Vinyl

What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in music journalism, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret vinyl digging raids, and I have over 300 confirmed LPs. I am trained in music reviewing and I’m the top critic in the entire US. You are nothing to me but just another normie. I will put you in your normie place with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of record labels across the USA and your adress is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your musical taste. You’re fucking deaf, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can show you how you’re objectively wrong in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in music journalism, but I have access to the entire back catalogue of the IRAA and Pitchfork, and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ears off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit true patrician music all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking deaf, kiddo.


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