If you like Nickelback, then you don't really like music.
If you think Nickelback makes seriously kick ass rock n roll music, then you obviously believe Mcdonalds makes a tasty, gourmet burger.
It means you've been programmed by soulless cockhats who decided for you what kind music you like. Nickelback produces heartless, douch-inspired frat-felch-rock. And if this kind of talentless drivel amuses you, then God bless you for being as easily entertained as a dairy cow which will stare at a plastic bag caught in a tree for weeks.
It also probably means that you liked "Friends" or "Napoleon Dynamite".
It means, in fact, that you like shitty music. And while that doesn't make you a bad person, it may be an indication that you can't think for yourself and would prefer if other people did all that hard, time consuming thinky-stuff for you.
You see, I'm biased. By my calculations, since late 2006, I've listened to Nickelback songs roughly 10,000 times*. And that's a fuck of a lot. Even if it was my favorite song ever, anything past a couple of hundred times and I'm done. When I start hearing a song as a soundtrack to my infrequent meth induced psychotic episodes, its time to retire that song.
But I can't dispel* Nickelback. I had the opportunity back in 1999 to cancel their evil by garotting Chad to death with his microphone cord in front of 25 people, but I lacked the foresight. I lacked the knowledge of how prevalent their brand of Canadian choad-rock would become.
I could've saved the world. Instead I watched as it got way more lame.
"I hate Nickelback too, what can I do to help?"
I'm glad you asked fellow music lover. Here are some ways you can combat the evil that is Nickelback:
1) Kill Chad.*
2) Totally by accident force their tour bus off a cliff of 75 feet or more.
3) Pay attention to which stations play them and religiously boycott their advertisers. Never buy anything from a business which runs commercials on a Nickelback-infected station.
4) Destroy the Earth with you Illudium P-36 Space Modulator. Its for the greater good.*
5) Pray for a new Ice Age that envelops Canada overnight while Nickelback is playing there.
6) Send me money. I'll take care of it.
*************************************************
I've come to the conclusion that people who are assholes in the present have probably been assholes throughout the entirety of mankind. This subscribes to a sorta buddhist way of thinking, and I'll do that for narrative necessity. I'm all like that.
2 Wall of Fame customers and a bar back.
So this presumes that all of us have led past lives. We can't remember them except in very special cases of people who are probably crazy, but supposedly we've had them.
In order to illustrate my point I'll go with this.
The current theory I'm working with is that someone who was a shit eating goat fucker in his previous lives will, in fact, return as a shit eating goat fucker in this life and there isn't a goddamn thing karma can do about it. History loves repetition so it figures if there's a fucklog shaped hole in causality, the by God a new fucklog will fill that void.
Humanity can go stick its collective genitals in a meat grinder, history will always win.
*******************************
Installment Addition 1.0:
"How About I Just Keep Hitting You Until It Looks Like Someone Spilled some Italian catering?"
I had originally meant to stop after that bit about reincarnated spunk bongers, but I am aggravated and therefore I will drink vodka and write more.
A brief history of tonight.
6PM: All quiet on all Fronts.
7PM: Still quiet as a tomb. Subtle feeling of impending asshattery begins to creep up on me.
8PM Still dead. I wonder if its going to be a quiet night...
9PM Drains at bar back up with something that smelled like a pot of week old shit that had been poured all over a decomposing corpse that was stuffed with Indian food. Customers and staff are quite literally staggering away from the bar gagging. It was fucking Appalling.
So being the helpful little Floor Slave that I am, I grab a bottle of bleach, dump a half a cup or so into a mop bucket with plenty of hot water and set to mopping. In minutes the smell of rotting feces is nearly gone. Drains goes back down and while what we were left with wasn't particularly pleasant, it was unbelievably better.
I then proceed to immediately get chewed out for using bleach because it made some poor widdle peoples eyes burn. That was the thanks I got for preventing a mass exodus on a trail of regurgitation.
Can't wait for the next time. I'll just go with plain ole hot water. We'll see how that contends when the Gates of the Unholy open again and spew forth some more nature.
10PM: Oh. Here's all the assholes. Hi assholes.
11PM: Kitchen staff implodes. Over 2 hour wait for the simplest of things. "An extra ranch dressing? Add an hour motherfucker."
12PM "We have a dancer down. I repeat. We have a dancer down." And naked in a stall semi coherent in a puddle of her own vomit. Not only fun, but classy too.
(I searched for an appropriate picture for this one but couldn't find one I was happy with then I got tired of looking at passed out chicks. SO supply your own image. I shouldn't have to do all the work all the time.)
I told her I was going to pick her up and haul her drunk carcass back to the dressing room, but she insisted she had to puke more so I just told her to get on with it while I thought about ways I could handle this bile-slick sideshow while attempting to get as little barf on me as possible.
Her hair would've been my first choice but that might be misinterpreted by some customers. In the end she was able to move with me and another Floor Slave supporting her from either side. I hope she shit herself too.
1AM: Has been edited by author."Everything is fine. Nothing to see here."
2AM: The light at the end of the tunnel turns out to be the Douchetrain hurtling towards me. No one escapes the wrath of the Douchetrain.
2:30AM Go The Fuck Home. Go away.
Pile hammered strippers into ton and a half killing machines, pray God's forgiveness, count the fucking cash.
3:30 Arrive home and start drinking irresponsibly.
If you really loved me you'd share with someone else who will really love me. This readership isn't gonna grow itself people.
-The StripperHerder
5) Pray for a new Ice Age that envelops Canada overnight while Nickelback is playing there.
6) Send me money. I'll take care of it.
*************************************************
I've come to the conclusion that people who are assholes in the present have probably been assholes throughout the entirety of mankind. This subscribes to a sorta buddhist way of thinking, and I'll do that for narrative necessity. I'm all like that.
So this presumes that all of us have led past lives. We can't remember them except in very special cases of people who are probably crazy, but supposedly we've had them.
In order to illustrate my point I'll go with this.
The current theory I'm working with is that someone who was a shit eating goat fucker in his previous lives will, in fact, return as a shit eating goat fucker in this life and there isn't a goddamn thing karma can do about it. History loves repetition so it figures if there's a fucklog shaped hole in causality, the by God a new fucklog will fill that void.
Humanity can go stick its collective genitals in a meat grinder, history will always win.
*******************************
Installment Addition 1.0:
"How About I Just Keep Hitting You Until It Looks Like Someone Spilled some Italian catering?"
I had originally meant to stop after that bit about reincarnated spunk bongers, but I am aggravated and therefore I will drink vodka and write more.
A brief history of tonight.
6PM: All quiet on all Fronts.
7PM: Still quiet as a tomb. Subtle feeling of impending asshattery begins to creep up on me.
8PM Still dead. I wonder if its going to be a quiet night...
9PM Drains at bar back up with something that smelled like a pot of week old shit that had been poured all over a decomposing corpse that was stuffed with Indian food. Customers and staff are quite literally staggering away from the bar gagging. It was fucking Appalling.
So being the helpful little Floor Slave that I am, I grab a bottle of bleach, dump a half a cup or so into a mop bucket with plenty of hot water and set to mopping. In minutes the smell of rotting feces is nearly gone. Drains goes back down and while what we were left with wasn't particularly pleasant, it was unbelievably better.
I then proceed to immediately get chewed out for using bleach because it made some poor widdle peoples eyes burn. That was the thanks I got for preventing a mass exodus on a trail of regurgitation.
Can't wait for the next time. I'll just go with plain ole hot water. We'll see how that contends when the Gates of the Unholy open again and spew forth some more nature.
10PM: Oh. Here's all the assholes. Hi assholes.
11PM: Kitchen staff implodes. Over 2 hour wait for the simplest of things. "An extra ranch dressing? Add an hour motherfucker."
12PM "We have a dancer down. I repeat. We have a dancer down." And naked in a stall semi coherent in a puddle of her own vomit. Not only fun, but classy too.
(I searched for an appropriate picture for this one but couldn't find one I was happy with then I got tired of looking at passed out chicks. SO supply your own image. I shouldn't have to do all the work all the time.)
I told her I was going to pick her up and haul her drunk carcass back to the dressing room, but she insisted she had to puke more so I just told her to get on with it while I thought about ways I could handle this bile-slick sideshow while attempting to get as little barf on me as possible.
Her hair would've been my first choice but that might be misinterpreted by some customers. In the end she was able to move with me and another Floor Slave supporting her from either side. I hope she shit herself too.
1AM: Has been edited by author."Everything is fine. Nothing to see here."
2AM: The light at the end of the tunnel turns out to be the Douchetrain hurtling towards me. No one escapes the wrath of the Douchetrain.
2:30AM Go The Fuck Home. Go away.
Pile hammered strippers into ton and a half killing machines, pray God's forgiveness, count the fucking cash.
3:30 Arrive home and start drinking irresponsibly.
If you really loved me you'd share with someone else who will really love me. This readership isn't gonna grow itself people.
-The StripperHerder
*7 times a night x 5 nights a week x 52 weeks x 5 years + 900 other times.
*I put this in for my D&D geek friends. Love you little scamps.
*For legal reasons I can't advocate this. (But it would end their reign of evil. So if you were feeling like going out all supernova and shit, and they happened to be playing your town, you know...)
*The Greater Good.
