Caution: This, in its entirety, is one giant complaint that does not even deserve proper grammar.

Besides NPR, there is only one good station to turn to when I'm sitting in the smoke shop, selling phillies to wicked annihilated townies while wishing bad things for the woman who cannot remember the brand of her husband's cigar & could I please just run off some names for her until one sounds familiar?

But I've got beef with metal these days.

Not only do I choose to make my own Lizzy Borden tee shirt, but Axel's gone completely mad this time & I personally know that Overkill are a pack of total pusses from back in the day when Bobby "blitz" Ellsworth chastised me for pushing Sean slightly into the road in front of his motorcycle. But atleast they had New York metal fired up for a little while.

What happened to the days when the lyrics of a first-degree murderer would be ripped off and thrown in as the last 'secret' track of an album?

A smarter person would stand in the middle of a field with a tin can to the sky during a lightening storm. I just spin the radio dial forward & quickly back, typewriter-style, to catch the last riff of "Back in Black."

If I only I had been born ten years earlier. If only we weren't left with tiny crumbs.

If only the laser metal station would get the net.