The Decline of the Record Industry and the Disappearance of Pubes

Let's clarify one thing. Napster did not ruin the record industry, they did it themselves. The "boy band." What a crock of shite this is. Well, it goes back a little further to the disappearence of pubes, no, I mean real, live, playing bands. "How could that happen? How could a band play live and not play?" Enter the Simpson family. Enter pop, corporate bullshite. Enter the deterioration of music education as we formally know it. Years of piano lessons for little Johnny. Singing in the church choir. The high school marching band. Theory courses as a Freshman in college. Years of listening and practising by oneself. Solo. No pharming parties. No reality TV. Just real live music education, in the traditional sense. Not some bullshite notion that a corporation like Time/Warner, just because it owns everything that walks and talks, can all of a sudden just by the sheer will that it needs to make money, can create talent, creativity, soul, experience, vision, and charisma. The demise of the record industry began with the advent of the live use of the "sequence." I do not admonish the use of the personal computer as a useful tool in substitution for an expensive, multi-track professional recording studio. What a beautiful creation. A personal computer that can record MIDI data and digital audio. But......... using that crutch, that very product as a substitution for a live band performance. Hmmmmm. That was the beginning of the end for live music. "We have to have the track playing, because we can't risk the consequences if the band can't handle the groove." Enter Rap, Hip/Hop, Boy Bandism, bullshite. Let's let the 'track" play live, while the puppets mimic the live performance of a normal band. Jesus H. Christ. You did it to yourselves. TV shows about putting a band together, like it is some kind of corporate training. "You must produce or you will be fired! You must sell yourself to the masses, or your soul will be condemned to hell forever!" Music? Music this is not. This is the antithesis of musical creativity, a freeing of the soul, a release of the natural endorphins building in the human body. In democracy, the ultimate form of govenrment, the planned and in the works process for a new Iraq, we are all salesmen. Born to be....salesmen. Born to sell. Born to sell. Who the frack decided this preposterous notion? I never wanted to sell, although after I learned how it became easy. Is that the definition of democracy? Born to sell soap? I think not, and a lot of Red's would agree with you. Music is not about that. Enter the punk scene. If you ever accepted a record contract with a major label, you were a sell out. Greenday. Lose your fans, temporarily, until you prove yourself yet again. Try, win, fail big time, resurrect, try, save Rock 'n' Roll, earn Grammie. The record industry, by their sheer attempt to control every aspect of the creative spirit, ruined themselves. The Jacksons and the Osmonds, they were the only boy bands. They played and sang. So people began to rely on that sequencer for their live performances. You just shoot your musicians in the foot. Play with a click track? Play with a prerecorded sequence to assure the product will reap the greatly desired rewards... money. You did it to yourselves. Enter the dilemma of the shaved pussy. Larry Flynt said it best. Who decided that a shaved pubes were best? Bullshite. God didn't put hair on your crotch to humor himself. He put it there as a priviledge for the human being to enjoy? "I can't imagine a John picking hair out of his teeth." Well, as a novice in the field of sex, that is what you would think. The wiser you get and the more you understand sex, the more you appreciate the funcion of hair. I shaved my head once in 43 years, and the immediate sensation is..... no feeling on the top of your head. Hair feels. You can feel through a hair folicle. No hair, no sensation. M.S. Carnival Sensation. Hair, ladies and germs, is meant to be involved during the sex act. Hair on your head, under your arms, on your crotch. You rub your penis in it, you stroke it, your brush it, your touch it, you carpet munch it. That is the purpose! Without it, a pussy is not really a pussy. It is a possum, a whiteish pink blob of undefined flesh with no purpose except to raid garbage cans. A vagina on the other hand is meant to be much, much more. A runway. Shite man, what more disgusting thing can you think of than a little strip of hair that has no meaning or purpose? You are misinformed ladies. Men do NOT want this. It is ugly, foul, and disgusting. A big patch of natural hair, all puffed up and alive, now that is a pussy. Live bands, live pubes. That what life is about.