Yawn, yawn, yawn. This is meaningless pop-punk mundanity. It’s a bigtime sonic snooze-fest from start to finish. The vocals are flatter than a dried-up old strip of dirt in Death Valley, and the instrumentation is as cohesive as my next upcoming bout of strained flatulence. I’d rather drink my own piss than listen to a moment more of this moronic melody-mush mediocrity. Hell, at least my brew-saturated wee-wee has substance!
–guest (Mutant Pop)