Jumpy's Music, submitted by Jake Plummer. Frolixo here bringing your daily dose of electronic pain. Some of you might have noticed I didn't write a article today. Well don't get your panties in a knot, I have a perfectly good excuse. I happened to be walking across the room earlier this week and hit my knee on the coffee table. It hurt really, really badly so I went to the doctors, and he said I had a bruise. Then I bought a case of beer and played Madden 2004 all week. I played as the Kansas City Chiefs and took them all the way to the superbowl but sadly lost to the Falcons in a 38-7 blowout. Also Priest Holmes gave me a hickey. But I digress.
The site we are going to take a look at today is a German furry music site called "Jumpy's Music". Furries playing musical instruments is just one of many bad ideas that the internet spawns daily. In fact I think the government should track musical instruments like guns, and anybody who wants to buy them must prove their mental competency, as well as sign a pledge that they will not use these instruments to craft love songs about squirrels. These songs are deadly to brain cells, and if you listen to them long enough you can be afflicted with a severe case of retardation (trust me). Most of these songs are just flaunty synthesizer pieces, about foxes running too and fro, but it's the ones with lyrics that are really terrible. We will be looking at three of these songs, and discuss how much they want us to pour hot molten lead into our ears. I am truly sorry for what you are about to hear.
Winged Angels (How Come I Can't Find You)
"This song was inspired by a story called "Learning To Fly" which I read a long time ago in a fanzine. A vampire bat gets into trouble with the local powers of a small village and ends up fleeing to the city together with her lover. Cities can be dangerous if you don't know your way around, and at the moment when it finally looks like everything will turn out just great, they get mugged and her lover is shot."
After listening to this whole song I opened up my window and leapt to my death. Unfortunately the screen kept me from going through, so instead I just laid on the ground for an hour screaming. The neighbors called the police who rammed my door in to investigate the screaming, and found me in a troubled state. One of them foolishly clicked the play button on my winamp, causing "Winged Angels (How Come I Can't Find You)" to play again. Two of the policeman shot themselves, and a fireman who chopped his ears off with an axe. Then my computer couldn't take it anymore and exploded.
Rating:: 9 out of 10 yiff encrusted synthesizers.
"My second song with lyrics, a driving rock'n'roll piece. And yes, I know it has some Meat Loaf in it."
The whole time I was listening to this song I pictured some German guy in a fox fursuite dancing around with one of those gay keyboard guitars with some cheesy 80's Toaster effects. This is proof that something is wrong with Germans. First WW1, then WW2, and now this! They must be stopped!
Rating:: 10 out of 10 yiff encrusted synthesizers.
"A vocals-only song about the happiness and troubles in the lives of squirrels. Recording done together with Chama of FMF fame."
I'm a pretty big fan of squirrels, especially Sammy the Safety Squirrel, but this song puts all songs about squirrels everywhere to shame. It hardly reflects the daily lives of squirrels, and I severely question their personal knowledge of squirrel lore. Again, this song is pure suck and makes me want to harm everyone and everything.
Rating:: 8 out of 10 yiff encrusted synthesizers.
Well that's all the songs I dare listen to, but if you think you are bad enough, go ahead and try some more. It is a very slow method of suicide, but it does work. Tune in next week when I ask Shawn Alexander to go steady!
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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