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Oh, I get it. You're one of those "emo" kids. It's ok, son, you'll grow out of it.

Hosoi wrote:

Oh, I get it. You're one of those "emo" kids. It's ok, son, you'll grow out of it.

I wish. Then I'd have emotions. And a dink.

Hosoi wrote:I didn't mean to make fun of your heroes, Maury. I'm just jealous of their lifestyle. I'll write a poem about it and send it your way.

Hosoi wrote:Modest Mouse - Second worst band in America.

HEY, LAD, YOUR FRIENDS ARE STUPID.

You take all the desserts in the world. I hope you die in a cave filled with cats where children come to throw rocks at you.

*

Eating snow flakes with plastic forks
And a paper plate of course, you think of everything
Short love with a long divorce
And a couple of kids of course
They don't mean anything
Live in trailers with no class
goddamn I hope I can pass high school means nothing
Taking heartache with hard work
Goddamn I am such a jerk, I can't do anything


*



Two one eyed dogs, they're looking at stereos
Hi-fi Gods try so hard to make their cars low to the ground
These vibrations oil its teeth
Primer gray is the color when you're done dying
I'm trying to drink away the part of the day
That I cannot sleep away

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it was all the rotating eyes
it was all on the same postcard
it was all on the same damn shirt
said to sleep in the same Sear's camp house
it was all in the great state parks
it was all on the same Greyhound
it was all so many miles
beneath the dirty brown dirt
twenty miles down the islands
the biggest mall on Earth
it was all in the same rest stop
it was wall on the same damn shirt
it was all on the same Greyhound
sunspots
in the house of the late scapegoat
be aware the paint's still peeling
all muscle cars made of lead
I got myself a fine fine fine fine friend
it was all in the next gray ghost
it was all in the same damn place
the parts to pound attractive


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Their custom concern for the people
Build up the monuments and steeples
To wear out our eyes
I get up just about noon
My head sends a message for me
to reach for my shoes then walk
Gotta go to work, gotta go to work, gotta get a job


*






Well aren't you feeling real dirty
Sitting in the parking lot
Waiting to bleed on the big streets
That bleed out on the highways and
Off to other cities built to make and
store these (plastic) rocks
(x20)
*


let's all have another Orange Julius
Thick syrup standing in lines
The malls are the soon to be ghost towns
so long, farewell, good-bye


*


A memo left on the forehead of God
Sent sealed and signed by the saints who sang this song:
"We're going union like they say
We'll buy the congregation
Then one day, you'll find us sitting
in your chairs with big ideas of stocks and shares."

*

Every sick, fickle fucker
Childhood's what makes ya

*

Hosoi wrote:
You cannot take the lyrics to that song and pretend they are the only ones Neil Young ever wrote.

You and your argument are weak.