all this crap was only being called art because the personalities around it had been advertised as artists and how by proxy it was accepted as art, when in fact it was utter shit. That class was all about memorizing pictures. The only cool part was the African fetishes. Lots of nails and stuff, totally edgy and dark. The rest was for shit. So, I call up mom to see if she got a new fridge. She's got this old fridge that's all putrid and nasty, taped up and such. She just got the house renovated and the damn thing sticks out like a sore thumb. I hate that fridge. Growing up we always had a messy house and that fridge is the best symbol of it. The house is all cleaned up, but I wish we could axe that fridge ASAP. But, of course, she didn't get the new one and I'm a little disappointed and she doesn't understand. Oh, well.
I'm done with the phone. I go into Tower Records and decide to purchase anything that's not ridiculously overpriced – which isn't much. As I'm entering I come upon this sign on the door from the RIAA. It's all about illegal downloads and how it's hurting the industry and they have the name of all these shitty bands who support anti-piracy. What a fucking joke. Was there this big of a scare with cassette recordings? These shitty bands like Metallica don't realize the truth: there shit isn't selling because they suck now. Plus, they
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