1369
11-01-2006, 03:37 PM
Yes, he's capitalizing on who he married. Yes, he doesn't have much talent. Yes, I'd rather spend a week in one-bed jail cell with Star Jones than listen again. Yes, I wanted to cut my ears off and feed them to my iguana. Yes, my baby won't stop crying and my dog looks at me differently after I played it (with less respect) know what I mean?
I don't begrudge him success, but it's pretty unlikely that his skills will get him even a glimpse of the spotlight. He reminds me of a less-talented Chris Judd, right?
He also reminds me of this guy who used to clean the bathrooms in my office building, what ever happened to that guy? He was a great dancer. He did the robot and the moonwalk and he could spin on his back for hours. He said he got a job as a back up dancer with someone and we never heard from him again.
As a life coach, I'm obligated to give KFedUp five stars just so he can keep some of his pride. he's going to need it after the lambasting he's taking. He should look into a different field like maybe raising rabbits or being a breader at Long John Silver's.
Kevin if you need my professional advice as a life coach or just a friend to talk to, don't hesitate to get in touch.
I've tried to think of something positive for 3 days, but all I can say is this, I've shat better, more interesting things than this amazingly dismal waste of non-renewable petrochemical resource. My favorite part is the 3 seconds of blissful silence between each track. K-Fed is breeding his own "Federline Nation" one Mickey Mouseketeer at a time.
DIAF, slow roasted in gelatinous porcine fat, you never-was, talentless, redneck mooch. As the M*A*S*H theme song said, suicide is painless, much unlike listening to more than 2 seconds of anything on this "album".
I'll be nice.
Relative to a pool of vomit, this album is pretty solid. I'd rather have this album thrown at me at high speeds than a chainsaw. If I was stranded on a desert island, I'd rather have this album than a tumor. If I had to lick something, I'd rather it be this album than, say, a ferret's balls. At my next birthday party, I'd much rather you sing than a man that could make Earth explode with his voice. If I needed a drinking buddy, I'd rather it be you than someone with an uncontrollable bladder that also happens to be a recovering alcoholic whose wife is only giving him one last chance before she kicks him out of the house and takes his kids, that being the final straw before he flips out and murder's my grandfather.
I take back everything I ever said about Vanilla Ice.
So bad your soul will ache
The sheer cacophony that this album exhudes is a declaration of war against all which is good and pure in this world. Skies will rain blood, virgins will be spontaneously defiled, and there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The drum machines in this necronomicon of pain are wrought from the realm of Baalzebub himself, their metallic drone bores holes within the eardrums - sweet mercy comes from this.
The unholy union between K-Fed and music television will ensure that this demon seed is poured forth upon the masses, burning them with unescapable torment.
It must be stopped.
I don't begrudge him success, but it's pretty unlikely that his skills will get him even a glimpse of the spotlight. He reminds me of a less-talented Chris Judd, right?
He also reminds me of this guy who used to clean the bathrooms in my office building, what ever happened to that guy? He was a great dancer. He did the robot and the moonwalk and he could spin on his back for hours. He said he got a job as a back up dancer with someone and we never heard from him again.
As a life coach, I'm obligated to give KFedUp five stars just so he can keep some of his pride. he's going to need it after the lambasting he's taking. He should look into a different field like maybe raising rabbits or being a breader at Long John Silver's.
Kevin if you need my professional advice as a life coach or just a friend to talk to, don't hesitate to get in touch.
I've tried to think of something positive for 3 days, but all I can say is this, I've shat better, more interesting things than this amazingly dismal waste of non-renewable petrochemical resource. My favorite part is the 3 seconds of blissful silence between each track. K-Fed is breeding his own "Federline Nation" one Mickey Mouseketeer at a time.
DIAF, slow roasted in gelatinous porcine fat, you never-was, talentless, redneck mooch. As the M*A*S*H theme song said, suicide is painless, much unlike listening to more than 2 seconds of anything on this "album".
I'll be nice.
Relative to a pool of vomit, this album is pretty solid. I'd rather have this album thrown at me at high speeds than a chainsaw. If I was stranded on a desert island, I'd rather have this album than a tumor. If I had to lick something, I'd rather it be this album than, say, a ferret's balls. At my next birthday party, I'd much rather you sing than a man that could make Earth explode with his voice. If I needed a drinking buddy, I'd rather it be you than someone with an uncontrollable bladder that also happens to be a recovering alcoholic whose wife is only giving him one last chance before she kicks him out of the house and takes his kids, that being the final straw before he flips out and murder's my grandfather.
I take back everything I ever said about Vanilla Ice.
So bad your soul will ache
The sheer cacophony that this album exhudes is a declaration of war against all which is good and pure in this world. Skies will rain blood, virgins will be spontaneously defiled, and there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The drum machines in this necronomicon of pain are wrought from the realm of Baalzebub himself, their metallic drone bores holes within the eardrums - sweet mercy comes from this.
The unholy union between K-Fed and music television will ensure that this demon seed is poured forth upon the masses, burning them with unescapable torment.
It must be stopped.