Thanks to file sharing panic, lately the recording industry is like a giant pair of clenched asscheeks. Only when the inevitable squeeze-fatigure sets in do the mastercheeks relax and part to spit out some compact beige turdlets of product; simultaneously, all the creativity-challenged middle management types scramble to ram their dicks in before the brown hole of glory is again slammed shut. O! the countless wangs that have been violently detached by the spiteful, merciless undercarriage of the music business. It's a wonder that good music ever makes it to its public for the scared busybodies charged with delivering it. But anyway, I aspire to be one of those scrambling dicks/scarybodies (?) but am currently too peonic to even sniff the all-powerful Big Buns and their chocolate secret. If I had any juice at all believe me Hypocrisy would be a much bigger band. Tagtgren would be co-hosting with Leno and the cover of Newsweek would read 'Hip-ocrisy?' and to USA Today I'd suggest they run a snappy infographic titled 'Hip Hip Hypocrisy!' Patience, Monty.

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