Okay, first things first, if you consider Chris Carararararararaba your personal god or have Good Charlotte on your playlist, BAIL THE FUCK OUTTA HERE.
You might ask me... "Christa, why do you hate emo?"
I'll tell you.
The year was 2004. Teenagers were jubilant for their first year of high school, and I was as well. I would be embarking on a journey... a journey of friendship, happiness and other shit like that. I really don't know. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH HIGH SCHOOL STARTED.
Okay, so I walked into school. Familar faces greeted me and I greeted them back, but one particular face was different. I surely knew him, but, what the hell had happened to him? We'll call him Shithead. Okay, Shithead used to be the average-boy type. A little on the insane side, but an average-boy nonetheless. His hair was greasy and slicked with gel. His complexion was extrasuperpale and blemishes covered the surface of his skin. When Shithead smiled, his braces were so metally you were blinded. Okay, that was normal apart from the pale skin and the greasy (DYED BLACK!) hair. But his outfit...
His outfit... he was wearing these highhighwater tight jeans... seeing as he usually wore very baggy skater pants, I was curious. Why the hell was he wearing those ridiculous jeans? He had on a very tight sweater. A very tight cosby sweater. Okay, he probably borrowed the pants from a tomboyish sister. I can't see why she wanted her pants to be that short... so they must have been his. The sweater looked like it came out of some old guy's closet and into the Salvation Army.
Now we're in the middle of the year. I guess that was Shithead's "post-emo" stage. Now he walks around the school with this strange haircut, tighter sweaters, the same pants, and sometimes band t-shirts. Avenged Sevenfold. Coheed and Cambria.
Poor, misguided child...
But the music. Overdone and overplayed guitar riffs, THE HIGHEST FUCKING VOCALS EVER, and the worst lyrics imaginable.
Hope dangles on a string
like slow-spinning redemption
What the fuck is that shit?
I am vindicated
(voice reaches I-got-my-balls-grabbed pitch)
I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
I swear I knew it all along
I am flawed
But I'm cleaning up so well
Okay, MAKE UP YOUR MIND, CAREBEAR. Not only did that make any sense, but it proved you're not good at making decisions. Damn fucking skippy.
Anyway, more rants later... join up, people! We can start an anti-emo revolution. Or not.