Everything is beautiful

Longtime readers of this site know that along with a hatred for most local bands, I also have shitty taste in music. Honestly, I'm lucky that I've been such a ruthless critic of the Sprint Center or I'd be down there begging for Barry Manilow tickets this weekend. To wit, I don't really have any business criticising anything music related since I don't stray far from early 90's alt metal, disco, R&B and rap produced before 1995. Still, music criticism isn't really about music, it's about proving that you're smarter than everyone else like that stupid Kevin Bacon game that got inexplicably popular . . . As always it's better jut to make your own decisions and never listen to anyone else.

If you're favorite song is a ballad dedicated to Leawood, so be it OR if you actually like going out and listening to local music . . . That's on you . . . Self confidence is a great thing along with divorced broads (who have none) and being comfortable with your idiosyncrasies . . . But not celebrating them like every hipster d-bag who listens to Wilco and thinks they're unique . . . (also, if you can make any sense of this post you're a genius, it's really just a starting point and an excuse to reference that Ray Stevens' song which I'm not embarrassed to admit I've been humming all day) . . .