This record’s songs about sex and drinking and smoking joints should appeal to any junior high school students who haven’t ever drank, smoked dope or fucked. The music is a wasted mish-mash of punk and nasty hopped up rock. The vocals are of the snarling scratchy throated redneck variety. If someone is going to write songs exclusively about how much they want to get some pussy and how much they love whiskey, then at least give me some fucking insight into the human condition. This album is the equivalency of puking up a liter of $7.99 whiskey. I’d enjoy it if at was as pleasurable as, let’s say, drinking a liter of $7.99 whiskey. Every song is more or less indistinguishable from the one that came before. The humor, if the lyrics are supposed to be humorous, is so unbelievably sub-par and base that even Andrew Dice Clay would pass on this shit.
I’m taking this bullshit out of my CD player now and finishing the review in silence.
There, that’s better. The album is an insouciant foray down the halls of puberty. That full-grown adult men can stomach this foul degradation of humanity, let alone write it, speaks poorly of men in general.
Let the cleverness of a couple of the song titles speak for themselves: “Kneel Before My Cock” and “Kiss My Fucking Ass.” I guess if you have absolutely nothing better to do and are too cowardly for suicide, then an album like this one is what you end up with.