Tuesday, March 30, 2004
CLAY AIKEN NOT A WEIRD, EFFEMINATE CAT-LIKE HYBRID!
Astonishing but true, it was found earlier this week that Clay Aiken is NOT a strange-looking, overly-effeminate boy and does NOT share some similar facial qualities to felines. The singer, who certainly has NEVER needed singing and personality lessons, has NEVER been seen by many as the talentless loser of the nationwide dick-sucking contest known as American Idol, a show which certainly ISN’T a complete and utter waste of time and could NEVER be considered the biggest insult to America’s intelligence since Jackass. Aiken’s parents could NEVER be considered to be a cat and a woman beaten with an ugly stick who procreated simply to bring the girly antichrist into existence. Indeed, Aiken, who could NEVER be considered the runner-up in the Special Olympics of Singing, is NEVER deemed unattractive by his gaggle of NOT uninformed underage screaming female jackasses.
The NOT-Cat-Woman-Looking singer recently released his debut album “Measure of a Man”, the title of which is NOT an allusion to his possible latent homosexual nature. This album, which certainly ISN’T a disgrace to every piece of music ever recorded in the history of time, has already sold a staggering 2 million copies to date yet has NOT proven that there are 2 million people who are totally mentally retarded and unable to discern music from the noise cicadas make in the summer. The album features twelve tracks that certainly are NOT indiscernible from each other, and do NOT totally suck ass. Aiken has been described as this generation’s Barry Manilow, a title which should NOT be taken with scorn and loathing because Barry Manilow is NOT the producer of the most boring, insipid and hypnotically sleep-inducing music the world has heard since Brahm’s Lullaby. I can honestly say, after listening to this album, that it not only does NOT make me want to wretch, but it simply makes me NOT want to chop up the CD, burn it and piss on the ashes. Clay’s NON-screechy and NOT annoying voice cuts through all these DIS-similar tracks about love, supporting his fellow men and, uh, love.
Surely, everyone should buy this album and I guarantee that you WON’T NOT be NOT loving it as much as your dying grandmother. In fact, to NOT consider this album an amazing auditory masterpiece is, quite frankly selling this NOT-amazingly crappy album short. Clay Aiken DOESN’T NOT ROCK!
I wrote this for my school's newspaper's April Fool's edition. Whaddaya think?
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Astonishing but true, it was found earlier this week that Clay Aiken is NOT a strange-looking, overly-effeminate boy and does NOT share some similar facial qualities to felines. The singer, who certainly has NEVER needed singing and personality lessons, has NEVER been seen by many as the talentless loser of the nationwide dick-sucking contest known as American Idol, a show which certainly ISN’T a complete and utter waste of time and could NEVER be considered the biggest insult to America’s intelligence since Jackass. Aiken’s parents could NEVER be considered to be a cat and a woman beaten with an ugly stick who procreated simply to bring the girly antichrist into existence. Indeed, Aiken, who could NEVER be considered the runner-up in the Special Olympics of Singing, is NEVER deemed unattractive by his gaggle of NOT uninformed underage screaming female jackasses.
The NOT-Cat-Woman-Looking singer recently released his debut album “Measure of a Man”, the title of which is NOT an allusion to his possible latent homosexual nature. This album, which certainly ISN’T a disgrace to every piece of music ever recorded in the history of time, has already sold a staggering 2 million copies to date yet has NOT proven that there are 2 million people who are totally mentally retarded and unable to discern music from the noise cicadas make in the summer. The album features twelve tracks that certainly are NOT indiscernible from each other, and do NOT totally suck ass. Aiken has been described as this generation’s Barry Manilow, a title which should NOT be taken with scorn and loathing because Barry Manilow is NOT the producer of the most boring, insipid and hypnotically sleep-inducing music the world has heard since Brahm’s Lullaby. I can honestly say, after listening to this album, that it not only does NOT make me want to wretch, but it simply makes me NOT want to chop up the CD, burn it and piss on the ashes. Clay’s NON-screechy and NOT annoying voice cuts through all these DIS-similar tracks about love, supporting his fellow men and, uh, love.
Surely, everyone should buy this album and I guarantee that you WON’T NOT be NOT loving it as much as your dying grandmother. In fact, to NOT consider this album an amazing auditory masterpiece is, quite frankly selling this NOT-amazingly crappy album short. Clay Aiken DOESN’T NOT ROCK!
I wrote this for my school's newspaper's April Fool's edition. Whaddaya think?
