Alright, alright. I gotta “analyze” a poem. What the hell does that mean? I’m not an analyst, I’m a Phi Theta Kappa, bitch! Arggg… Whatevs man, let’s just get this done so I can go watch Anchorman with my frat brothers.

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME
by Robert Herrick

Virgins huh? Alright, alright. I like where your head is at Robbie.

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying :
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

I guess this guy plants flowers or something to get virgins to like him. So I guess he’s saying, like, you better get that flower to that virgin chick before it dies or she’s gonna get with some other dude with a flower that is all alive or whatever. Good call with the flowers Robster, I’m gonna use that.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

Here he’s talking about smoking out I think, based on the fact that he says higher. Also, since he mentions the sun I’m gonna go ahead and say this dude is a 4:20 supporter. The last two lines are about doing the nasty, I’m pretty sure. It’s a race to get the freshman virgins every semester. Really liking this Rob guy. He speaks my language.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer ;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Man, this part reminds me of this one time we were hazing this total sissy frosh pledge, and right when he was about to start crying we made him drink some goat blood. Pushed him over the edge into baby-crying. I heard his dad tried to sue the school. Totally not PTK material.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry :
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.

Okay dude, this guy lost me here when he said “marry.” I’m never getting married unless I can somehow marry myself. You know my motto: “Why buy the cow if you can buy milk at the grocery store?” I don’t care who Tarry is or how hot she is right now, she’s gonna get fat eventually and I’m not going to waste my “prime” on that.

In conclusion, me and Robtastic were on the same page, but then he performed a Rob-erry on me and stole the broness from this poem in favor of being whipped. Two thumbs down.

PTK 4 Lyfe!

CHAD

Have you ever taken a dump that the toilet just couldn’t seem to choke down? I feel like that toilet when I’m forced to listen to Jason Mraz’s scattin’, be-boppin’, skiddlywink warbling. I could be anywhere– walking down the street, in my grandmother’s car, at the TJMaxx– when my ears are suddenly spewed upon. It’s funny that “scat,” the obnoxious jazz-influenced vocal riffing that Mrass-clown utilizes, is also a homonym for droppings, feces, or crap, typically of the animal variety. The latter kind of “scat” is exactly what falls like little black pellets from Mrass-goblin’s mouth. After spending some time percolating in the artistic cesspool of Los Angeles, it is rerouted to the ears of consumers, which then become toilets, which then must choke down the wretched aural blob with a mental flush or two.

Here’s the deal: I just fundamentally reject Mraz’s entire ethos. Honestly, Mr. A-Z is just Jimmy Buffet for Generation Y. It’s cleaned up and made to sound intelligent to the average Delta Phi Kappa bro just learning to play some riffs on the guitar, but at it’s core it’s the same swill. And the worst part is, he’s one of several unconscious Buffet memes; an all-star lineup that includes Jack Johnson, John Mayer, Matt Nathanson, G. Love, Gavin DeGraw, so on and so on.

Don’t believe me? Let’s compare lyrics, shall we? First, some standard tripe from Mrass-hole:

The remedy is the experience.
This is a dangerous liaison
I say the comedy is that it’s serious.
This is a strange enough new play on words
I say the tragedy is how you’re gonna spend
The rest of your nights with the light on
So shine the light on all of your friends
When it all amounts to nothing in the end.

I challenge you, reader: examine the lyrics to the rest of this song and tell me what the hell it means beyond, “Screw it, man. Let’s just chill.” Now, as a fine segue, some lines from a Jimmy Buffet classic, “Why Don’t We Get Drunk (And Screw).”

I really do appreciate the fact you’re sittin’ here
Your voice sounds so wonderful
But yer face don’t look too clear
So bar maid bring a pitcher, another round o’ brew
Honey, why don’t we get drunk and screw

Chorus:

Why don’t we get drunk and screw
I just bought a water bed, it’s filled up for me and you
They say you are a snuff queen
Honey I don’t think that’s true
So, why don’t we get drunk and screw.

You can’t make this crap up, folks. The Sacred Writ mentions the sins of the fathers being visited upon their children. Well, Generation Me of the 1960s must have ravished the soil with a Troy-Bilt tiller of crap to sow the poop crop we have on our hands today. And the ethos is exactly the same: it’s all about the experience, man (or bro or dude or babe).

Lets just drink a lot, smoke a lot, just get absorbed in the music and watch the change happen. Yeah, man. We’re changing things. We’re changing things through the power of music and positive energy. Yeah, bro. Jason Mraz and Jimmy Buffet are so, like, environmentally conscious and charitable. When I go to this concert, I’m making a difference. Don’t bother me with your politics, your organized religion, your book-learning. I just want to live my life, man. I just want to smoke this weed, bounce around like a palsy patient at this show, and have unprotected sex with this chick. I just want to “be,” man.

Get the plunger.

This graphic, slightly nauseating review was penned by Mr. Ryan K. Hodgen.  Mr. Hodgen is a fairly misanthropic malcontent who cannot abide convesations with people possessing less than two Ph.Ds.  He gives voice to our generation’s silently suffering minority: the literary elite.