Hey, Digital Natives tape on Beer on the Rug… dude, you are DRUNK. Woozy, warped and wobbly, and what is up with your hair? And actually, are you a werewolf or what? And how are you still so damned sexy right now? That is, how are you sexually invincible, man? You’ve seduced and destroyed me from the inside of my ear canal out, and it’s seeped into m’boots, and I have this odd, uncontrollable boogie deep inside me and it’s your bad because you are so, so bad. Confounding really, these lurching humps of scratched-lens-filtered funk, bizarrely discordant but fresh and fly with that slap-bass, and the flutes and the horns too, and the worst (best) part is that you know all of this. You fuckin’ know it, man, all quick witted with that crooked smirk on your face, that bead of sweat dripping down your rolled chin. Cop car chases and tiki bars, and vintage Penthouse pornos and everything. Just stop. Or, well… wait ‘til you finish that next track up, and then stop. Or, you know what? Just don’t stop. Also one more question, and that is why do you have a sample of a reading of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” on you, oh Digital Natives tape on Beer on the Rug? The confusion mounts, the plot thickens, and you bet your sweet ass I’ma watch the next episode.
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