If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.
bought my dad a copy. Because I don't like my dad very much.
12 year old girls will buy it...should you? No.
I've shat better, more interesting things than this amazingly dismal waste of non-renewable petrochemical resource. The amount of energy required to suck up countless gallons of OPEC gold to press tens of thousands of soon-to-be coasters which this CD is sure to become boggles the mind. My favorite part is the 3 seconds of blissful silence between each track, which does not lessen the fact that a dozen feces-throwing Rhesus monkeys could manage to create an epic far superior to what Mr. Federline invested so little time in producing.
K-Fed is breeding his own "Federline Nation" one Mickey Mouseketeer at a time. Annette Funicello, watch yourself!
DIAF, slow roasted in gelatinous porcine fat, you never-was, talentless, redneck mooch. As the M*A*S*H theme song said, suicide is painless, much unlike listening to more than 2 seconds of anything on this "album".
Relative to a pool of vomit, this album is pretty solid. I'd rather have this album thrown at me at high speeds than a chainsaw. If I was stranded on a desert island, I'd rather have this album than a tumor. If I had to lick something, I'd rather it be this album than, say, a ferret's balls. At my next birthday party, I'd much rather you sing than a man that could make Earth explode with his voice. If I needed a drinking buddy, I'd rather it be you than someone with an uncontrollable bladder that also happens to be a recovering alcoholic whose wife is only giving him one last chance before she kicks him out of the house and takes his kids, that being the final straw before he flips out and murder's my grandfather.
I take back everything I ever said about Vanilla Ice.
I was in an 'alternative' bar in Rangoon minding my own business at the bar, sipping on Crystal Pepsi and kahlua cruising for a Clevland Steamer when a short asian boy came into the club. He was covered in babyoil and wearing a acrylic shower curtin and a fez. He brazenly ordered my favorite libation and announced he was he filling in as the house DJ. "I'm going to burn this house down" he announced as he produced a CD from his fanny pack.
At the time I am embarrassed to inform that I had no idea who Kevin Federline was. My world was about to be changed forever.
As soon as the mesmerizing sounds of "America's Most Hated' pulsed out of the PA system, the whole club just seemed to stop. Surrounded by what faintly sounded like booing, I was transported into utter bliss. After 'Dance with a Pimp' began, the club patrons were trying to break the door down to the DJ booth to anxiously inquire as to who was this genious of modern music. As I rushed to the dance floor, a few of the dancers became violently ill they were so overcome with emotion.
By the time 'Middle Finger' began, it seemed like I was the only one on the dance floor. As I whirled around and around, a mass of people had formed a crude battering ram out of a bust of Liza Minelli and had smashed the glass of the DJ booth to have this wonderous gift all for themselves, I believe. Then the tempo reached a fevered pitch when the sounds of 'World Is Mine' washed over me like elephant urine at a golden shower convention. My knees buckled, I passed gas and hit my head on the floor. I came to in the alley next to Shemp's Landfill and Croissants the next day with 'Playing with Fire' playing over and over in my aching head.
It's very good. I never saw the asian boy again.
The sheer cacophony that this album exhudes is a declaration of war against all which is good and pure in this world. Skies will rain blood, virgins will be spontaneously defiled, and there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The drum machines in this necronomicon of pain are wrought from the realm of Baalzebub himself, their metallic drone bores holes within the eardrums - sweet mercy comes from this.
The unholy union between K-Fed and music television will ensure that this demon seed is poured forth upon the masses, burning them with unescapable torment.
Can't wait when this gets into the "worst albums ever" awards...
FM
"Nowadays everyone is a fucking DJ." - Jack Dangers
What record did you loose your virginity to?
"I don't like having sex with music on- I find it distracting. And if it's a mix cd- forget it. I'm stopping to check the beat mixing in between tracks." - Tom Stephan
We process personal data about users of our site, through the use of cookies and other technologies, to deliver our services, personalize advertising, and to analyze site activity. We may share certain information about our users with our advertising and analytics partners. For additional details, refer to our Privacy Policy.
By clicking "I AGREE" below, you agree to our Privacy Policy and our personal data processing and cookie practices as described therein. You also acknowledge that this forum may be hosted outside your country and you consent to the collection, storage, and processing of your data in the country where this forum is hosted.
Tweet
Comment