Admittedly, they look like scary motherfuckers and could stomp me in a heartbeat. Admittedly, Roger Miret has been around since, well, before 1984. Admittedly, the Hellcat design lackey that did the album art definitely knows how to use InDesign. But these things do not necessarily a listenable or enjoyable record make, you know? I mean, I have some serious fucking problems with this piece of sonic catshit, even apart from the fact that at its core it’s essentially a third-rate streetpunk record that wouldn’t have been interesting two decades ago. Miret is apparently still flying the same street-thug bonehead flag that he’s been flying for the past twenty-five years, if the lyrics are any indication. Openly homophobic since his early Agnostic Front days, he’s still spewing the same tired old shit, with meditative, thoughtful lyrical gems like, “Suck another dick! Kiss another ass! How’s your bed feel? You pathetic bitch!” Other lyrics are so blatantly similar to Clash, Ramones, and Rancid lines that you can’t tell if Miret is doing some weird homage to them or if he’s just really at a loss when it comes to writing songs about anything other than fighting, rioting and, uh, fighting. Miret’s supposed legacy, to me, is questionable at best, considering the narrow-minded, arrogant, violent, homophobic, sexist lifestyle he’s spent fucking years espousing, and when the music has about as many hooks as a sheet of Saran-Wrap, the lyrics sound like they were culled from a second-grade English primer, and in the liner notes they thank three clothing companies for the sweet hookups, it’s painfully apparent that the time has come for the guy to just hang it up.