GOD DOESN'T CARE
Sometimes an album is so bad, it makes banging a parapalegic one-finned grouper seem like fun. Sure, they might blink rapidly in protest, but I rather be charged with a Dick-crime than have to interrupt my shooting schedule to listen to INSTRUCTION’s
God Doesn’t Care.
My latest movie is called “Stream-Challenged Cripples Learn A Lesson” and the plot has Big Dick as their horny tutor. The best scene so far involves this mute bass who takes it in the mouth because she doesn’t speak up in class (ironic, isn’t it?).
If I have to take time out before I blow a load all over her hook-riddled twat to talk about a less amusing kind of INSTRUCTION, I’d sum up these NYC first-timers by saying this: A tree frog’s anal cavity has more depth than their collection of 12 shit-bombs.
You might be fooled by the Geffen label, the same way I was when this smokin’ Sturgeon turned out to have no glory hole (where do they find these extras?). This is the same label that signed ASHLEE SIMPSON, who in my opinion is ripe for a Big Dick underwater ramming . . . and if I was a humane, socially conscious Dick, I’d keep her down there. A pouty teen brat as a fluffer???? Pure heaven.
Spawning with the disabled and keeping a stiff rod in a stiff current is hard work, but flaccid lyrics like “It’s the time of my life, so let’s get started” and “I’m not wasting my time again” doesn’t exactly inspire a show-stopper. I get it that the lead singer is doing his best Scott Weiland impression, but he should have done a little more heroin before going into the studio.
It’s also a bad sign when you type their band name into a search engine and get “Public Schools of North Carolina” as your top 5 results (yeah, that’s right, salmon search the net too, bitch).
Another bad sign? Finding out that your dick’s so big it can cause brain damage in a “special needs” Paddlefish. Ah, but like my daddy always said to me: bang her hard now, worry later.
God really doesn’t care.
