Saturday, January 7, 2012
IN DEFENSE OF...TEEN MOM!?
My iPod broke. This particularly sucks, because I commute into the city from Long Island each morning, and there’s a handful of new music (Ryan Adams, Wilco, We Were Promised Jetpacks) that I’d like to listen to. Anyway, as my iPod has iShitTheBed, I was reading a book on this morning’s train ride. And while I read (Encyclopedia Britannica, J-M), I couldn’t help but to overhear the conversation going on in the row directly in front of me. It was two bitchy, old women discussing MTV’s Teen Mom, and blasting the show for its glorification of underage pregnancy.
Yes, I work for MTV. I have for the better part of the last six years. Be that as it may, I am by no means someone who champions all things Music Television, and I use the word “music” as loose as humanly possible. I don’t have it in me to be a smiling, blind soldier for a multi billion dollar conglomerate, regardless of if they pay my bills or not. In past Antenna columns, I’ve called Jersey Shore’s Deena a less sexy Jon Lovitz. I’ve equated her to a mentally challenged velociraptor, which in truth, just isn’t fair to mentally challenged velociraptors. Not speaking facetiously in the least, Paris Hilton’s My New BFF and Brody Jenner’s Bromance may honestly have been two of the biggest piles of shit to have EVER aired on national television. I’d sooner DVR a cable access reality show about an actual pile of shit. Having said that, I, a 30 year old man, feel the need to actually defend the Teen Mom franchise, as well as its sister show, 16 & Pregnant.
My point here isn’t to prove the entertainment value of these shows. That’s up to you to decide for yourselves. However, these shows are NOT the televised glorification of underage sex and teenage pregnancy, quite the contrary. These shows, plain and simple, are birth control, and are intended to be taken as such. If I were in high school and watching one of these shows, which are far more documentary than reality show, I would beg my parents to let me be the first 14 year old with a vasectomy. I’d wear a condom to earth science just in case I tripped and fell into the girl next to me, dick first. Sure, these issues wouldn't have affected a young Peter Hoare per say. Back in high school I couldn't get laid if it were well known that directly after consummating the girl would be granted three wishes by a magical sex genie. But that's a whole other story unto itself. Watching Teen Mom and deciding that it’s cool to have a baby is like watching Titanic and immediately booking a trip on a cruise ship. It’s like watching the third act of Marley & Me and running out to buy a puppy. It’s like watching Saw and…buying a saw? Is that what those movies are about? Malfunctioning table saws? I don’t know. Never watched one. Not into carpentry. But I digress. Back to Teen Mom. This show’s intention is so kids can see how utterly fucking hard it is to raise a child when you’re still, by and large, a child yourself. Because the show is on MTV and titled Teen Mom doesn’t mean that it’s out to make teenage pregnancy cool. The show actually, without directly saying so, promotes abstinence. It's more or less a weekly half hour dedicated to one of high school's worst case scenarios. My point, if you’re going to complain about something, which is a hobby of mine, know the facts. Annoyingly loud old ladies on my train, consider yourself schooled. Now eat your hard candies, stare out the window, pipe the fuck down and let me read my book.
Now sure, is there some hillbilly sitting in a Chatanooga Waffle House saying to his buddy, “Hey, Skeeter, you ever see that Teen Mom on the TV? If you sperm in Betty Lou maybe you could be a millionaire! Uk yuck! (Spits tabacky into his grits)”. Probably. But Betty Lou is also probably Skeeter’s cousin, and Skeeter’s uncle Jeb probably told him that God hates birth control. I’m not trying to defend the inept and inbred. I’m just pointing out that, while a TON of reality shows are sickening, Toddlers & Tiaras for one, the Teen Mom/16 & Pregnant franchise doesn’t actually have bad intentions.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
Yes, I work for MTV. I have for the better part of the last six years. Be that as it may, I am by no means someone who champions all things Music Television, and I use the word “music” as loose as humanly possible. I don’t have it in me to be a smiling, blind soldier for a multi billion dollar conglomerate, regardless of if they pay my bills or not. In past Antenna columns, I’ve called Jersey Shore’s Deena a less sexy Jon Lovitz. I’ve equated her to a mentally challenged velociraptor, which in truth, just isn’t fair to mentally challenged velociraptors. Not speaking facetiously in the least, Paris Hilton’s My New BFF and Brody Jenner’s Bromance may honestly have been two of the biggest piles of shit to have EVER aired on national television. I’d sooner DVR a cable access reality show about an actual pile of shit. Having said that, I, a 30 year old man, feel the need to actually defend the Teen Mom franchise, as well as its sister show, 16 & Pregnant.
My point here isn’t to prove the entertainment value of these shows. That’s up to you to decide for yourselves. However, these shows are NOT the televised glorification of underage sex and teenage pregnancy, quite the contrary. These shows, plain and simple, are birth control, and are intended to be taken as such. If I were in high school and watching one of these shows, which are far more documentary than reality show, I would beg my parents to let me be the first 14 year old with a vasectomy. I’d wear a condom to earth science just in case I tripped and fell into the girl next to me, dick first. Sure, these issues wouldn't have affected a young Peter Hoare per say. Back in high school I couldn't get laid if it were well known that directly after consummating the girl would be granted three wishes by a magical sex genie. But that's a whole other story unto itself. Watching Teen Mom and deciding that it’s cool to have a baby is like watching Titanic and immediately booking a trip on a cruise ship. It’s like watching the third act of Marley & Me and running out to buy a puppy. It’s like watching Saw and…buying a saw? Is that what those movies are about? Malfunctioning table saws? I don’t know. Never watched one. Not into carpentry. But I digress. Back to Teen Mom. This show’s intention is so kids can see how utterly fucking hard it is to raise a child when you’re still, by and large, a child yourself. Because the show is on MTV and titled Teen Mom doesn’t mean that it’s out to make teenage pregnancy cool. The show actually, without directly saying so, promotes abstinence. It's more or less a weekly half hour dedicated to one of high school's worst case scenarios. My point, if you’re going to complain about something, which is a hobby of mine, know the facts. Annoyingly loud old ladies on my train, consider yourself schooled. Now eat your hard candies, stare out the window, pipe the fuck down and let me read my book.
Now sure, is there some hillbilly sitting in a Chatanooga Waffle House saying to his buddy, “Hey, Skeeter, you ever see that Teen Mom on the TV? If you sperm in Betty Lou maybe you could be a millionaire! Uk yuck! (Spits tabacky into his grits)”. Probably. But Betty Lou is also probably Skeeter’s cousin, and Skeeter’s uncle Jeb probably told him that God hates birth control. I’m not trying to defend the inept and inbred. I’m just pointing out that, while a TON of reality shows are sickening, Toddlers & Tiaras for one, the Teen Mom/16 & Pregnant franchise doesn’t actually have bad intentions.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
FUCK MY LIFE
I returned home from a camping trip yesterday, and minutes after I stepped in the door at my palatial estate, Hoare Manor, I, like most of us probably would, decided to check my Facebook. When I did so, I noticed something disturbing. Roughly 50% of what I was reading were people's horribly depressing status updates.
You all know who I'm talking about here. We all have these Facebook friends. I'm not talking about people complaining that the Mets suck or that they're too hungover. Those are normal, albeit problematic, topics of conversation. No, I'm talking about the people who write on Facebook what other people would tell their therapist. That, to me, is simply bizarre. If your life is in shambles, I feel for you, I honestly do. But do you really think fucking Facebook is the place to get it all off of your chest? And some of these complaints are far from standard. Some of these are dark, cryptic, and downright weird.
"I don't even know why I get up every morning anymore. I just can't win."
"With friends like these, who needs enemies. I hate you all!!!"
"I'm over it. I don't need anyone. I hate this shit!"
These people, for lack of a better term, suck. Mark Zuckerberg isn't your goddamn shrink. A wizard of some sort? Perhaps. But a shrink, absolutely not. You really don't think there's a better outlet to vent about the cesspool that has apparently become of your life? How about you visit another website if you're so perpetually troubled. May I suggest dontkillyourself.com. You could always Ask Jeeves what the meaning of life is. He's gotta be kinda lonely and bummed these days himself. At the very least you should poke Dr. Phil. And think about this. If you're a consistent source of virtual depression, you're most likely writing to an audience of one at this point...your super cheery self. Newsflash Dr. Happypants, the majority of your friends have probably hidden you in their news feed by now. It's like that old saying goes, if a tree bitches and complains in the woods every day and no one's around to hear it...
Then there's that three letter combo that pisses me off even more so than the loathsome LOL, FML. Fuck My Life. These are the nitwits who in the winter write "I'm so cold! FML!", and then in the summer write "It's too damn humid! FML!" Sometimes it's like I exclusively accept the friend requests of elderly Jewish women. "Best Buy doesn't have season 3 of Designing Women on DVD! FML!" People, seriously, enough. Life is great. Learn to appreciate every damn day of it. Don't believe me? Head down to the hospital and talk to a terminal patient or two. Go ahead and swap FML stories. I'd say "My T cell count is plummeting! FML!" trumps "It's too cold for flip flops! FML!" any day of the week. If you die tomorrow, I bet you'll be irritating all your Heavenbook friends with posts saying "Ugh, haunting is so hard! Fuck my afterlife!".
Want some situations in which an FML IS warranted?
"My dick just exploded. FML!"
"Shit! Klansmen lit a gigantic wooden cross on my front lawn. FML!"
"I can't remember which color wire diffuses the bomb attached to grandma! FML!"
"My girlfriend accidentally got her tits tied in a knot! FML!"
"Got drunk and woke up naked next to Magic Johnson. FML!"
My life is far from perfect, however my Facebook posts consist of jokes about movies which star monkeys, music I feel people should hear, and then the occasional picture of a puppy dressed like a unicorn (Unipuppy. Patent pending). Now is me taking the time to complain about complainers kind of like the pot calling the kettle annoying? No, sir, it is not. Why? Because I'm funny, so fuck off. You bitch and moan about your boyfriend telling you that your services are no longer needed in an entertaining manner, then I'll eat every last one of my hilarious yet scathing words. Until then, if you truly feel that your life is so awful, have an actual conversation with an actual friend. Buy a self help book. Visit a goddamn monk. Do something. Just don't post constant sob stories on Facebook. No one wants to fuck your life, it sounds awful.
I'd write more, but I'm watching Wheel Of Fortune. I can't get this puzzle! FML!"
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
You all know who I'm talking about here. We all have these Facebook friends. I'm not talking about people complaining that the Mets suck or that they're too hungover. Those are normal, albeit problematic, topics of conversation. No, I'm talking about the people who write on Facebook what other people would tell their therapist. That, to me, is simply bizarre. If your life is in shambles, I feel for you, I honestly do. But do you really think fucking Facebook is the place to get it all off of your chest? And some of these complaints are far from standard. Some of these are dark, cryptic, and downright weird.
"I don't even know why I get up every morning anymore. I just can't win."
"With friends like these, who needs enemies. I hate you all!!!"
"I'm over it. I don't need anyone. I hate this shit!"
These people, for lack of a better term, suck. Mark Zuckerberg isn't your goddamn shrink. A wizard of some sort? Perhaps. But a shrink, absolutely not. You really don't think there's a better outlet to vent about the cesspool that has apparently become of your life? How about you visit another website if you're so perpetually troubled. May I suggest dontkillyourself.com. You could always Ask Jeeves what the meaning of life is. He's gotta be kinda lonely and bummed these days himself. At the very least you should poke Dr. Phil. And think about this. If you're a consistent source of virtual depression, you're most likely writing to an audience of one at this point...your super cheery self. Newsflash Dr. Happypants, the majority of your friends have probably hidden you in their news feed by now. It's like that old saying goes, if a tree bitches and complains in the woods every day and no one's around to hear it...
Then there's that three letter combo that pisses me off even more so than the loathsome LOL, FML. Fuck My Life. These are the nitwits who in the winter write "I'm so cold! FML!", and then in the summer write "It's too damn humid! FML!" Sometimes it's like I exclusively accept the friend requests of elderly Jewish women. "Best Buy doesn't have season 3 of Designing Women on DVD! FML!" People, seriously, enough. Life is great. Learn to appreciate every damn day of it. Don't believe me? Head down to the hospital and talk to a terminal patient or two. Go ahead and swap FML stories. I'd say "My T cell count is plummeting! FML!" trumps "It's too cold for flip flops! FML!" any day of the week. If you die tomorrow, I bet you'll be irritating all your Heavenbook friends with posts saying "Ugh, haunting is so hard! Fuck my afterlife!".
Want some situations in which an FML IS warranted?
"My dick just exploded. FML!"
"Shit! Klansmen lit a gigantic wooden cross on my front lawn. FML!"
"I can't remember which color wire diffuses the bomb attached to grandma! FML!"
"My girlfriend accidentally got her tits tied in a knot! FML!"
"Got drunk and woke up naked next to Magic Johnson. FML!"
My life is far from perfect, however my Facebook posts consist of jokes about movies which star monkeys, music I feel people should hear, and then the occasional picture of a puppy dressed like a unicorn (Unipuppy. Patent pending). Now is me taking the time to complain about complainers kind of like the pot calling the kettle annoying? No, sir, it is not. Why? Because I'm funny, so fuck off. You bitch and moan about your boyfriend telling you that your services are no longer needed in an entertaining manner, then I'll eat every last one of my hilarious yet scathing words. Until then, if you truly feel that your life is so awful, have an actual conversation with an actual friend. Buy a self help book. Visit a goddamn monk. Do something. Just don't post constant sob stories on Facebook. No one wants to fuck your life, it sounds awful.
I'd write more, but I'm watching Wheel Of Fortune. I can't get this puzzle! FML!"
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
THROWING UP ON THE KARDASHIANS
This morning, before I left for work, I happened to catch Star Jones on The Today Show. Star, who I still maintain may actually be Al Roker in a wig, was talking about Kim Kardashian’s failed marriage. Jones said that it’s a shame the marriage was as ridiculously brief as it was, because Kim Kardashian is a role model to little girls all over the country.
Say what?
I don’t care if Kim Kardashian had a 37 minute three way lesbian marriage with the Olsen twins. Her wedding is NOT why she shouldn’t be seen as a role model!
Lest America not forget, the only reason that Kim Kardashian became famous in the first place is because she had a sex tape! Yes, before she was endorsing shitty fragrances for tweens, Kim Kardashian was known as “that chick in the sex tape with Brandy’s brother.” This retard went and gave Ray J a high def blow j, sold the tape for 5 mil, then somehow, to her credit, parlayed that knob job into a multimedia empire. Was she smart enough to make the absolute most out of her opportunity? Undoubtedly. But anyone who endorses this dope as a role model for the children of America either is nuts, or is advising their daughter to play with nuts. An amateur pornographer with a huge ass, a role model does not you make.
And now, since this country has a gross fascination with all things celebrity, Kim and the rest of her awful family have somehow oozed their way into the American pop culture lexicon. They’re everywhere. I’ve never seen one episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. In fact, I’d like to Throw Up On The Kardashians. However, even having never seen one episode, I sadly know the entire clan. Brody Jenner, her brother-in-law (I think?), has all the charisma and talent of a broken dust buster. Her mom, the one who may be responsible for the pimping out of her offspring, looks like the combination of Justin Bieber and Magda from There’s Something About Mary. Her sisters, Kourtney and Khloe, are pretty much the real life version of Timon & Pumbaa. Hell, I’ve even seen her little sisters on TV. One of them, who had to be no older than 15, was on the news (I swear, the news) talking about how she wants to grow up to be just like Kim. Well, Christmas is coming. Better ask Santa for some kneepads and a flip cam, Sally.
The only one in the family with any actual discernable talent is the father-in-law, Bruce Jenner. Ol’ Bruce is a bona fide Olympic gold medalist. He was on a goddamn Wheaties box! He set a world record for the decathlon in Montreal. Bruce, how the fuck did you get wrapped up with these celebritards? I’d give you a mulligan if you were married to Kim. She’s stupid hot. But your wife? Bieber/Magda, remember? So, Bruce, here’s my advice. Save yourself. You’re an Olympic athlete. Swim, Bruce. Swim until you can’t see land! Get the hell out of there! Don’t let your legacy be tarnished by shitty reality shows and the semen of B list R& B singers.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
Say what?
I don’t care if Kim Kardashian had a 37 minute three way lesbian marriage with the Olsen twins. Her wedding is NOT why she shouldn’t be seen as a role model!
Lest America not forget, the only reason that Kim Kardashian became famous in the first place is because she had a sex tape! Yes, before she was endorsing shitty fragrances for tweens, Kim Kardashian was known as “that chick in the sex tape with Brandy’s brother.” This retard went and gave Ray J a high def blow j, sold the tape for 5 mil, then somehow, to her credit, parlayed that knob job into a multimedia empire. Was she smart enough to make the absolute most out of her opportunity? Undoubtedly. But anyone who endorses this dope as a role model for the children of America either is nuts, or is advising their daughter to play with nuts. An amateur pornographer with a huge ass, a role model does not you make.
And now, since this country has a gross fascination with all things celebrity, Kim and the rest of her awful family have somehow oozed their way into the American pop culture lexicon. They’re everywhere. I’ve never seen one episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. In fact, I’d like to Throw Up On The Kardashians. However, even having never seen one episode, I sadly know the entire clan. Brody Jenner, her brother-in-law (I think?), has all the charisma and talent of a broken dust buster. Her mom, the one who may be responsible for the pimping out of her offspring, looks like the combination of Justin Bieber and Magda from There’s Something About Mary. Her sisters, Kourtney and Khloe, are pretty much the real life version of Timon & Pumbaa. Hell, I’ve even seen her little sisters on TV. One of them, who had to be no older than 15, was on the news (I swear, the news) talking about how she wants to grow up to be just like Kim. Well, Christmas is coming. Better ask Santa for some kneepads and a flip cam, Sally.
The only one in the family with any actual discernable talent is the father-in-law, Bruce Jenner. Ol’ Bruce is a bona fide Olympic gold medalist. He was on a goddamn Wheaties box! He set a world record for the decathlon in Montreal. Bruce, how the fuck did you get wrapped up with these celebritards? I’d give you a mulligan if you were married to Kim. She’s stupid hot. But your wife? Bieber/Magda, remember? So, Bruce, here’s my advice. Save yourself. You’re an Olympic athlete. Swim, Bruce. Swim until you can’t see land! Get the hell out of there! Don’t let your legacy be tarnished by shitty reality shows and the semen of B list R& B singers.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
PETE vs FOOD
This morning I signed online and read my friend Drew’s Facebook status. In the status, he wondered if today was National Bacon Day. I, without so much as a Google search, was able to let him know that National Bacon Day is actually closer to Labor Day.
Who the fuck knows off the top off their head when National Bacon Day is!?!?!
Peter Hoare does.
My eating habits, and excuse me if I’m using the term incorrectly, suck a dick. My diet rivals that of a diabetic latchkey kid. My breakfasts look like most men’s desserts. I ordered my first salad at age 30, and hated it. If it’d make my breath minty fresh, I’d brush my teeth with fluff. I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth. I innately love things that are god-awful for me, and if I don’t change that, I genuinely feel like my heart may explode at 35. In fact, if all of a sudden this article turns into “ruwhrgiutghiu4vg tiu4wgtiugiu43ug4”, that’s just the result of my dumb, dead head thumping down onto the keyboard. My apologies in advance.
Now if you’ve met me, or seen any of the many erotic calendars I’ve released over the years, you know that I’m kind of a slender dude. Not skinny per say, but thin. The kind of weird skinny where you’re also simultaneously kind of fat. Unfortunately for me, sexy as that may be, being thin a healthy guy does not you make. I’ve come to realize lately that there’s simply no way that I could technically be determined as being healthy. I’d imagine at this point my blood must resemble the peanut butter sauce at Friendly’s. Is it delicious? Yes. Will it keep me alive long enough to see my grandson ride his hoverboard to the inauguration of our first black lesbian president? Presumably not.
I used to joke about this kind of stuff…until I turned 30. People ask if you feel different after turning 30. By and large, in my opinion, the answer is no. Grey hairs be damned, I'm still a large child. Always will be. And the changes that have come about, I’ve been able to embrace. But one thing that I can't wrap my head around is the fact that I absolutely HAVE to learn to eat better. I’ve had a rough time coming to terms with the fact that grown men probably don’t need their daily rocky road milkshake. I loathe the fact that baby carrots are simply not as good as Nutter Butters. Some people like doing yoga and pilates, I like doing Mallomars. But I also like living. So, if any of you out there are anything like me, may I suggest you do what I’m doing and actually stick to a New Year’s resolution for once. I, after 30 years, am vowing to change my diet. In fact, a big reason I’m writing this is to ask for your help. If you ever hear me ordering extra bacon on something, you have full permission to immediately kick me in the junk. That kind of stuff can only help.
Actually, what am I saying? This article is all for naught. I forgot, I’m a Mayan. I just need to make it 12 more months. To Burger King I go! Chicken fries, Dr. Pepper, Reece's Pie.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoarejhuahefa803r8 2yr2838gheeoamnavcieewa26y391y4c2 y71r1e3c1e74c124168c4687ayuvanhalen91716161nja9a81n181n1nd98110101msaya0
Who the fuck knows off the top off their head when National Bacon Day is!?!?!
Peter Hoare does.
My eating habits, and excuse me if I’m using the term incorrectly, suck a dick. My diet rivals that of a diabetic latchkey kid. My breakfasts look like most men’s desserts. I ordered my first salad at age 30, and hated it. If it’d make my breath minty fresh, I’d brush my teeth with fluff. I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth. I innately love things that are god-awful for me, and if I don’t change that, I genuinely feel like my heart may explode at 35. In fact, if all of a sudden this article turns into “ruwhrgiutghiu4vg tiu4wgtiugiu43ug4”, that’s just the result of my dumb, dead head thumping down onto the keyboard. My apologies in advance.
Now if you’ve met me, or seen any of the many erotic calendars I’ve released over the years, you know that I’m kind of a slender dude. Not skinny per say, but thin. The kind of weird skinny where you’re also simultaneously kind of fat. Unfortunately for me, sexy as that may be, being thin a healthy guy does not you make. I’ve come to realize lately that there’s simply no way that I could technically be determined as being healthy. I’d imagine at this point my blood must resemble the peanut butter sauce at Friendly’s. Is it delicious? Yes. Will it keep me alive long enough to see my grandson ride his hoverboard to the inauguration of our first black lesbian president? Presumably not.
I used to joke about this kind of stuff…until I turned 30. People ask if you feel different after turning 30. By and large, in my opinion, the answer is no. Grey hairs be damned, I'm still a large child. Always will be. And the changes that have come about, I’ve been able to embrace. But one thing that I can't wrap my head around is the fact that I absolutely HAVE to learn to eat better. I’ve had a rough time coming to terms with the fact that grown men probably don’t need their daily rocky road milkshake. I loathe the fact that baby carrots are simply not as good as Nutter Butters. Some people like doing yoga and pilates, I like doing Mallomars. But I also like living. So, if any of you out there are anything like me, may I suggest you do what I’m doing and actually stick to a New Year’s resolution for once. I, after 30 years, am vowing to change my diet. In fact, a big reason I’m writing this is to ask for your help. If you ever hear me ordering extra bacon on something, you have full permission to immediately kick me in the junk. That kind of stuff can only help.
Actually, what am I saying? This article is all for naught. I forgot, I’m a Mayan. I just need to make it 12 more months. To Burger King I go! Chicken fries, Dr. Pepper, Reece's Pie.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoarejhuahefa803r8 2yr2838gheeoamnavcieewa26y391y4c2 y71r1e3c1e74c124168c4687ayuvanhalen91716161nja9a81n181n1nd98110101msaya0
LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO LISTEN TO BAD MUSIC
I know in one of my recent columns I was preaching about the power of positive thinking, but in the context of these columns, I’ve come to realize that, in the words of one of my favorite bands, Cursive, ‘I’m at my best when I’m at my worst’. So, without further adieu…
Remember when you were young and first discovered rap music? It’s probably not a sucker’s bet to say that your parents were like mine and simply threw their hands up in the air, rolled their eyes, and said “I don’t get it”. It wasn’t for them. Chalk it up to a generational gap. Well, for me at least, that generational gap has once again reared its ugly yet logical head.
LMFAO. Really, guys? Really?
Being that I own a television, I’ve unfortunately heard the mind-numbingly bad music of the band LMFAO (Party rockers in the house toniiiight). Whoever licenses out these guys music deserves not only a hefty raise, but also an all expenses paid trip to Blowjob Island, because they’re on just about every commercial I see now a days…and I don’t get it! I really don’t. Put as succinctly and maturely as possible, they stink. Watching an LMFAO video is like watching a circus clown having a seizure at a foam party. Listening to an LMFAO song is like jacking off with a sandpaper glove. Painful. I’m sure I’m not endearing myself to many here. I’m no dummy. Music, much like comedy, is subjective. They’re wildly popular. I’m sure many of you reading this are actually card carrying LMFAO fans. And yes, I’m sure it’s good music to dance to, fine. I don’t dance, and if I did it’d probably resemble that poor, epileptic circus clown. But unless you’re mentally challenged or are, oh, I don’t know, 3 years old, you don’t dance to a commercial. My internal jury has reached its verdict. In Peter Hoare’s court, LMFAO = Guilty…of sucking.
And speaking of music that makes me want to eat bullets, at last month’s American Music Awards, Hot Chelle Rae took home the trophy for Best New Artist. Yet to hear the sonic abortion that is Hot Chelle Rae? Lucky you. Music is subjective. One man’s opinion. Yada yada yada. Yes. I get it. But AMAs, you mean to tell me that absolutely no recording artist emerged in 2011 that was better than the highly esteemed Hot Chelle Rae!? Bullshit! I call bullshit! This is what’s become of pop punk? In my day (Yep, I’m old enough to say that) we had Blink 182, NOFX and The Ataris. Now this? If you’ve illegally downloaded their album you should call the cops on yourself. All their songs sound like they should be the theme to a Teen Nick show. They sound like they should be playing in the background of the pool party where the chubby kid from Modern Family feels his first tit. But, in a nutshell, therein where the problem lies. Sadly, I am not the fat, Latin, 12 year old from Modern Family. I’m the 30 year old bearded guy from Long Beach.
Yes, I’ve recently reconciled to the fact that I’m by no means the target demographic for televised music. I’m simply too old. Record labels and advertisers aren’t trying to get ME to like this stuff. And that’s fine. It’s for folks a decade or so younger than I. And I’m not knockin’ the kids. Trust me, I listened to my fair share of crap when I was their age. At a party I went to in the 6th grade, I was in charge of bringing the new Kris Kross CD. In the 8th grade I was actually arrested for stealing M.C Hammer’s “2 Legit 2 Quit” from a local Kmart. (Regrets? None!) 12 year old Peter Hoare’s C&C Music Factory cassette tape is these kid’s LMFAO mp3, and that’s fine. This morning my Ipod chose to shuffle between The Pixies, De La Soul, and Lou Reed…and I was psyched. Now I’m not some old man who’s not finding new music, quite the contrary. But I have reached a point where I simply just don’t get some stuff. Dubstep? What the fuck is dubstep? I keep hearing it referenced, but I honestly have no idea what it is. If dubstep were arrested for murder and I were asked to pick it out of a lineup, there would be no justice serviced. The murder spree would continue.
Now I’d like to write more, but I just ate a big lunch. Time to go take a Hot Chelle Rae.
Cheers,
Peter Hoare
Twitter.com/PeterHoare
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)