Now, I don't want to go on a tear right here, but I just want to point out that walking 3/4 of a mile to the train station, then an additional 1/2 mile to work after that is the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. This is America. I shouldn't be walking around like some A.I.D.S.-afflicted transient; I have a job. I should be driving my car around the block for another pack of cigarettes, or failing a car, using a Rascal-style scooter. I'm losing weight. I'm looking more and more like a...*groan*...European. Oh, I'm sorry, I thought I lived in the land of the free and the home of the brave, not in some faggy Scandinavian country full of fit, well-toned people. I know a guy who lives in a house by himself and has four motorcycles to drive to work on for when he doesn't want to drive his truck with a fucking DODGE VIPER ENGINE IN IT. It should be me!
Hey, fags, where the hell is your truck that can go 190 MPH? Yeah, that's what I thought.
Now, since we all agree that using you own legs for transportation is worse than being forcefully buttfucked by a gang of Prince Albert-wearing bikers when you stop at the Tiger Market to pee, let's talk about something that we can all agree rules: Doomriders. I came across Doomriders for the first time when I bought their split with Disfear, which I wrote up already, and I liked the song that was on there pretty well (it was "Crooked Path"). Then, just a few days later, my good buddy Luis messaged me on Facebook and was all like "OmGz, hv u lstned to dooomrdrsz? Their sooooo gud lmfao." To which I replied "Lol." But he made a good point; I hadn't yet stolen this great album so that I could enjoy it for little or no monetary investment on my part. So I immediately changed that, and it turns out that I like Doomriders a great deal.
Nate Newton from Converge does something for this band; I've been told that he's the guitar player, but I'm not going to Google it, because I'm a badass. But he is in this band, you can bet your sweet bippy. The music is (like all of my new favorite things) hardcore, but this is unique in the sense that this hardcore doesn't *horrified recoil* DOESN'T get my hallowed D-boner to leave tiny wet stains on my underwear. It's disgusting when that doesn't happen. However, the mid-tempo attack is refreshing and fun, and the vocals are a little bit more subdued compared to something similar like All Pigs Must Die, Converge, or D.I.S. It's the kind of hardcore that you feel like you could bring out for Grandma's birthday, but will be shocked to find out that, despite your best efforts, your crappy music still killed Grandma. But that's okay; Grandma was really more of a 90's Florida Death Metal fan, and those people are insane anyway.
My new schedule has thrown the proverbial wrench in my literal works, so I can't make up any more jokes about the genitals for today. Tune in tomorrow when we check in with the Married Metal Man and find out how the hell he ever gets to leave the house for shows.