I went to a birthday party last night that was almost entirely populated by half-baked emos in band t-shirts.
The birthday girl had an awesome mix of music on, from The Beatles to The Spice Girls, Zep and System of a Down, all sorts.
Every time anything but metal came on, some dick in a black tee who looked like he hadn’t bathed in a month would skip to Tool or SOAD or Zep. I think he was trying to prove how hard-core he was.
For my part, I reckon the party really started when he got too drunk to operate the computer, and I got to watch twenty-five trashed try-hard rockers dance to Lady GaGa.
“CANREEMAH, CANREEMAH, NOooOOoo CANNAREEMAH Ah Pooohkuh FAAAAAASSSSSSSS”
GROW A SENSE OF IRONY, DOUCHE.