Centipede Hurtz My Ears
They turned me down, those cult freaks! I slaved for hours on end, tweaking my resume and cover letter. Then I sent them to Animal Collective, requesting to join their profitable business venture as a “fat cat.” You know, someone who could take their cult to the next level with loads of money and fancy feast gatherings to satisfy their tycoon leaders. The days of Charles Manson cults are over. You gotta take control with dirty money and crony capitalism. The mafia is IN.
Those Animals didn’t even entertain my professional request to join their Collective. They sent me back a generic letter, thanking me for my interest in their “music” and enclosed a free CD. I was thoroughly insulted and vomited profusely. It’s like they didn’t even consider my resume and cover letter, which I spent countless hours pawndering. HISSSSSSSSS!
I’m certain they turned me down because they already have an animal in the band with black and white colored features: THAT DAMN PANDA! Why are they not extinct yet? Only the most retarded of animals would snap a stick off of a tree and call it lunch. Pandas are the clowns of the bear community. Not the kid’s birthday clowns. The even creepier clowns…the god-forsaken Juggalos.
After watching the video for “Today’s Supernatural” I said in my head “Hey juggalo! Why are you hanging out in the middle of the desert? There’s no water here, dumb dumb. And you’re too busy riding a go-cart and playing Jimmy Buffet’s version of the Twisted Metal soundtrack.” Also, how is the juggalo’s makeup not running down its sad clown face like My Chemical Romance tears on a sweaty Sahara day?
Let’s talk about the album, cause I gave it a chance, as opposed to the chance that the collective DIDN’T give me. The first thing that enters my kitton ears when I listen is the “creative stutter.” I don’t think it’s creative, but they seem to. This isn’t the stutter that Rainman uses before he does computer-speed math in his head. Nor is it the stutter that Phil Collins used when he wrote about his studio. This is the hiccupy stutter that infects me before I vomit. Literally, I do this three times a day. My behavior is personified in the song “Today’s Supernatural,” but I don’t call it “music.” It’s a horrible organized noise army that reminds me of my worst tendencies. Their last album, meowy water post paw-vilion was bearable, but this album is panda-bearable, and by that I mean TERRIBLE.
Also, jocks are not suddenly cool because they have relocated to the moon. The first track “Moonjock” sounds like a panda slurping, gargling and spitting out mouthwash in space and then getting sucked into a black hole of pig snorts. I guess the black hole miraculously transformed the panda into a juggalo and sent it to the desert, where it just happened to find go-carts. Mario Kart creators are probably scratching their confused heads somewhere.
It sounds like the Collective did all the wrong drugs when they made this album. I mean, I like to huff some catnip every now and again, but you don’t see me thinking that a bird-chirping loop effect is acceptable background noise, do you? No, you don’t. Birds are annoying. And so are pandas.
This is my impression of a panda…