You make me, you make me, you make me, you make me wanna...
This one's intent was to flip the script. Change it up a bit and get those likes down from 4 to 1. If only I had a hate button option, I'd absorb your wrath and rule the world. Let's see if I can still make it happen. Back to the story, I was sure Logic would break your hearts but then...damn man, then the universe left me no options. So I'm changing channels, thinking about half of America drowning their sorrows in Donny T, Mattie G, and Marjorie TG's hate speech like it's a 40 piece bucket of KFC. Chicken is getting expensive. Maybe the process isn't efficient enough. They're crammed so tight in the pens, can't we just leverage all the assault rifles to speed things up? Then I am reminded the AR's aren't for chicken littles, just little ones. I know, don't fuck with your rights, right? Unless you are a woman.
Finally, something catches my eye, a documentary called "Meet Me in the Bathroom". Seems like the kind of shit I may be able to get behind. It plays...The Strokes, Interpol, LCD Soundsystem. Did I fall asleep and get transported to Phil's dream, Wtf? Then, there she was...Karen fucking O. yeah, this isn't a family fucking friendly blog. Put your picnic basket and bible away. It's wild how I can be in the purest state of disappointment with humanity, then one single vision and/or sound can allow a small sliver or hope to shine through. When I think about the Yeah Yeah Yeah's I think about 11 hour overnight drives between Pittsburgh and Montreal. I think about strapping my infant son into a car seat when he refused to sleep and cranking Maps. Nick Zinner's mesmerizing guitar intro...by the time the drums hit his eyes big and the tears faded. Wait, they don't love you like I love you -- his eyes were heavy. I guess at some level we are one in the same. I present to you Fever To Tell. Click the image to listen.
You make me wanna...ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh.