Don't like The Clash? Fuck yourself.

I love menthols...more than alot of things really. They rank somewhere above chocolate chip waffles, finding four leaf clovers, sucker punching a homeless guy, and just slightly below air-drumming to Genesis on blow. Hypocritically enough, I can't include them on this list because I don't prefer that my friends smoke them (yes, I do care, and the idea of watching people that matter to me ingesting fiberglass into their lungs is not an appealing one.) The items featured below, however, are simply musts if you intend to lead a life of anything other than bitter shame and sorrow. It really all came about as I was people-watching in the food court.

I overheard a cluster of guys determining where they were going to eat. One suggested Taco Bell, located about a two minute's drive away. The others, without hesitation, shot him down and they proceeded to wait in the hellishly long McDonalds line...for the sake of convenience. If I had had a bag full of baby otters at the time I most likely would have begun flinging them at these shit stains relentlessly. McDonalds? Here's the thing: Taco Bell isn't Mexican food and I know this. However, somewhere along the line, in the same tradition as Funions, fanny packs and swivelling office chairs, a stoner managed to break into the corporate world and invent something designed exclusively for us, and our entertainment. There is no better fast food to gorge yourself on when the need to munch out consumes your soul...Don't disagree; it'd be an unwinnable argument. They invented fourth meal, for God's sake! Needless to say, this seemingly uneventful McDonalds fiasco had me perturbed, and I realized: It doesn't have to stop here. There are so many more things that I love, and everyone, absolutely everyone should share in their adoration with me.

That, my friends, is where the Clash comes in. Joe Strummer was actually the embodiment of Christ, and the Clash was the greatest band to ever grace the music industry with it's presence. Imagine if you could combine only the very best qualities of The Beatles, Bob Marley, The Sex Pistols, and Mozart, creating a mind-blowing supergroup. This would turn out to be slightly less than half as wonderful as the Clash is. Come to think of it, "band" is really not a suitable term for something so ultimately perfect. I'll call them "Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod-YESSSS!" (it's not really the sound I make when I orgasm, but I can't imagine how to phonetically spell the real thing.) In case you were curious, The Clash's opposite would be Yanni, a sick joke put in place by a hateful God.

Moving on, also wonderful is "Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back." The other two originals are sub-par at best, and the new three are abominations. "The Clone Wars?" Well that was really just the result of a relatively creative dump taken by George Lucas and John William's less talented cousin, collectively. "Empire" is proof that elsewhere in the universe, every planet consists of only one thing; some ice, some clouds...hell, theres a swamp planet; who won the fucking lottery and moved there?! I'll tell you who. Only the greatest jedi ever, who happens to share a striking resemblance to Kermit, the frog. Billy Dee Williams practically owns the show as Space Pimp Supreme, and lives up to his name with a ballin' cape and some Dutch shoe-looking hovercrafts. This movie is flawless.

As for the new three, there is an explanation. It was assumed by some that maybe George Lucas, at some point, had a soul. This is a lie; he's always been a soulless prick, just not a soulless money-grubbing prick. Soulless pricks are capable of great things and decent art, but as soon as money enters the equation, fuck it. Having no regard for most others or myself I realize this, and know that while my values remain in tact due to poverty, the minute I'm offered money for what I do, I'll compromise any view I have to to become filthy rich. Hell, I'll star in public service announcements defending O.J. Simpson if that murderous bastard pays me well enough. Lucas, in essence, did just that by taking a nostalgic piece of classic American cinema and lubing the tired old whore up for another solid reaming and a Burger King deal. Congratulations George, you pissed away your artistic integrity with what can only be described as a disastrous splooge of special effects. Well, at least I still have the old videocassettes, because God knows, nobody wants to watch that special edition bullshit with added scenes that "enhance the depth of the film." Well fuck me. I always try these things and realize at about this point I dislike more things than I enjoy. Taco Bell and the Clash are entities powerful enough to eclipse the negativity of my other statements though. In that regard, fuck also: The Book of Mormon, Richard Simmons, Knight Rider, Aquaman (again,) Wikkans, Karl Rove, Pontiacs, Lifetime Television, "Dancing Queen" by ABBA, Hiraldo Rivera, any movie with Richard Gere, pushy Christians, pushy Chinese people with sample trays, telemarketers, and fuzzy posters. Fall off a bridge into a river of railroad spikes please.