cheetos for the brain

We've previously asserted that music is and will always be what we're made of, the metaphorical engine, nescessary for all functions. Its better than the spa in making us look and feel good. But recently, it has been hijacked by gangbangers, convicts, stoners (the trashy kind), and single whitetrash females (snaps for B. waldorf). Everything now seems faker than Taylor Swift's girl next door persona. Even the clever quips on gossip girl seem almost as lacking in vitality as their incoherent plotlines. We need someone to rouse us from our misery and this terribly trashy era where certain blonde females, who can be described to the blind only as "biohazard,"prance around covered in glitter, grease, ripped tights, and every polyblend concievable. Pop culture has become a skizophrenic's wet dream (at least when they're Crystal, the Vegas stripper from 1991.) We need another renassaince, or an 80s revival, or maybe even something of our own.   If when you listen to a song, you think the EXACT SAME THING the artist was thinking when they wrote it (which is nothing in most cases), then the music has failed you. If you don't even know who wrote it, but you like the way the singer wears their face paint, have fun trying to get your GED. The world needs something new and stunning and inspired, something that doesn't exist in the head of oscar, vera, karl, kate, marc, or herve. The world needs more Jack's Mannequin.