Holy Jesus Christ. What the hell have you done to yourself, son? You’re telling me this giant hole in your earlobe with the metal ring in it is on purpose? Not the result of an accident or birth defect? Mother of god. Ok, here, let me clear a few things up for you, dreadlocks. First, as far as I can tell by your fair skin and perfect English, you are not a member of an African tribe or a goddamn aborigine, so don’t throw me any bullshit that you’re connecting with some culture somewhere with this. You’re a hippie, and a deluded one, because your regimen of pain and disfigurement puts you in no closer touch to the earth than my cat – who got holes in his ears the old fashioned way: by fighting. In fact, the only acceptable way I for you to get that hole was if I shot you with this .357 and intentionally maimed you. Not a hippie? Ok, I get it, I see what you’re going for: I rock hard in a hard rock band and I’m committing to living the life. Your extensive tattoos speak to that. But you should realize that these holes say something about you, and it’s not, “I’m hard core.” It’s more like: “I’m a misguided white kid who smokes cheap weed and rants about music and who is maimed for life.” Congratulations. Listen, if you were in a place where people gain respect via the length of their lobes, you wouldn’t have the money for all that hair product and being “alternative” would mean, “doesn’t carry a machete.”

Take it from me, there are only a couple of ways to acceptably get scars on your face, and that is through bare-knuckle fistfights with hardened criminals or staring into the sun stoically for 30 years. Now give me the change for this album, I want to leave your record store.