taking a mental dump| dear ke$ha.

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Yesterday I downloaded KeSha.

I am ashamed of myself. I don't know what's wrong with me. I mean it's against my religion to listen to people that have dollar signs in their stage names. After one too many drunken sing-a-longs to her annoyingly catchy tune "Your Love Is My Drug" (barf), I stupidly decided to give this self proclaimed garbage chic 'artist' a chance. I mean, there couldn't be any harm in at least giving the girl five minutes of my time and a little space on my hard drive. It's not like she's Satan. Or Hitler. Or George W. Bush. She's just a really bad singer with pop songs that have the power to make me dance like I don't have a brain cell to depend on. I thought I needed to be open minded. I thought I needed to give her a chance.

I was dead ass wrong.

Listening to Ke$ha in my bedroom after an evening of intense alcohol consumption, I felt instantly dumber. It was like my brain was on FIRE. I couldn't understand how listening the same song at a bar could sound so different in the confines of my home. Where did the magic go? What happened?! It was at that moment I learned a valuable lesson; one not only pertaining to Ke$ha, but also to the laundry list of artists I don't listen to or even like unless there is an alcoholic beverage involved. I realized that I only enjoy this music when I'm in the right atmosphere. And by atmosphere I mean bars, bars, bars, and more bars. No wonder Ke$ha made me want to drop down and twirk something. No wonder I can recite practically every single syllable Gucci Mane has ever uttered after a shot of tequila. NO WONDER I KNOW HOW TO SHAKE IT LIKE A SALT SHAKER.

From now until the end of time I need to stay the hell away from cocktails.
It's causing me to make questionable musical choices.
And I can't have that.

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