way more awesome stuff.
Lets face it: many of us will be spending a good 5 hours of our lives tonight on LOST. But then there are some that need more on the final day. Here are a few videos/readings to prepare you for the long awaited finale!
Planning a LOST party tonight? Bust these babies out and spend more time laughing than crying!
Note: there are no spoilers in any of the links below.
Including 25+ LOST special videos to sink your dirty teeth into.
Jacob and “Big Smoke” both make it to the regular world and get 9 to 5 desk jobs. Watch them attempt to photocopy their butts and Jacob get in trouble for touching everyone in the office. Six short videos that include interviews with both actors and hilarious improv comedy.
Casting tapes for many of the main characters surfaced, including videos of Jorge Garcia (Hurley) and Matthew Fox (Jack) auditioning for Sawyer (seen below), Yunjin Kim Kim (Sun) auditioning for Kate, and Michael Emerson’s (Ben) awkward auditioning tape for Hurley.
I hate amateur rap songs. I usually have to cut it out after 10 seconds. But this is the only video I stuck around because it’s actually well done – lyrics in sync with key moments in Lost on video. Kudos, white kids.
Apparently this guy made this video in 36 straight hours, immediately after watching Jacob and Smokey’s episode. He also got props from the creator of LOST for it.
I’m not much of a cat person, but this was kinda cute.
CRACKED: 8 (Terrible) Ideas for Shows to Replace ‘Lost’
I love reading this site. It only made sense for me to add it in here.
Yes, I left the saddest one for last. The cast from LOST give their farewells and force people from all over the world to shed a wet one over slow melodic tempos.
If you have any more LOST links, shoot them my way.
Are you a full six season follower like me? From season one, I was 22 – freshly dropped out of university, unsure about what to do in life, had a big-ass goatee, wore baggy ass clothes, and most likely worked at a call center. Where were you when you first discovered LOST? Leave your stories below in the comment section.
Guess it’s time to close my chapter off on Amsterdam. Lord knows I’m already two blog posts overboard.
Ever read anything by Douglas Coupland? One of my favourite authors. I just finished jPod while I was midway through my trip (which sucks because finding used books in English is a rather daunting task while traveling abroad) and I must say, that book isn’t as long as it appears. Half of it is jibberish – for instance, at one point he puts 58,000 random numbers spanning across 20 pages. It’s part of the random things he talks about, and I can’t get enough of it. I could only wish to be 0.0003451% random and bright in intellect as he when I write. Practice makes perfect, and that’s why I write. About meaningless stuff usually.
So I’ve covered the city. Covered the hostel. Day two in Amsterdam involved actually leaving the hostel at night in search of something that wasn’t food – ass. I actually wrote a massive blog on my iPod on the train between Amsterdam and Munich, which I just deleted. Nobody gives a crap about the little things, so I’ll try cutting to the chase.
Day 2 involved the Pitts rounding up a group of hostelmates, including Boston (or Ryah; she actually has an awesome name but I stuck calling her by her place of residence), three really hot indian girls, a blonde asian girl, a buncha random dudes, and The Other Toronto Guys.
Let me just vent for a second. I don’t like my asian women with blonde hair. It doesn’t look right. I’m all for being unoriginal, unique, and sticking out of the crowd, but it just looks too… try-hard. It looks unasian. Kinda like asian people with blue contacts. I put it on the same level as skin whitening cream (which is all the rage in Asia). There are only two oriental women I’ve accepted to have blonde hair: DJ Heavygrinder in California (because she’s half anyways), and my fashionista friend and stylist Elaine of Elle Canada (because she can make it look good). They’re both hot as fuck in any kind of colour hair.
From here on, the blonde asian girl in Amsterdam will not be mentioned. She was busted anyway. Her three hot Indian friends (and the mysterious fourth one, whom we called the Brown Mila Kuniz) were all that really mattered there.
The Other Toronto Guys were actually pretty cool, but since we were the ones everyone met first, they got the “Other” title. We actually hit the same electro parties last year in Toronto, including the endless AD/D parties at CiRCA and Boys Noize at This is London.
Everyone was supposed to meet at a club called Bitterzoet (pronounced Bittersweet), which obviously didn’t happen. With the hot indian girls, The Other Toronto Guys, and the onslaught of random dudes gone MIA, us, the Pitts, and Boston planned our route for the night at a local bar and met some of the Dutch locals (all of whom, exceptionally nice people), and headed to Rembrandt Square.
My assumption is that it’s the commercialized club district of Amsterdam. Our primary destination was Escape, a massive nightclub that, in the even more massive television screen above it, played reruns of security footage of random people picking fights with ambulance drivers who were trying to help someone else. I could be wrong, but I was told it’s a routine problem in Amsterdam. Actually I really hope I’m wrong, because it just sickened me out to watch it. Over and over again.
So we walked into Escape, except it wasn’t actually Escape. We went in the wrong door and ended up in another club next door. After being hit on by the bouncer guy (he actually hit on all four of us at the time, 3 guys 1 girl), we went inside. I called it The Vampire Club. Because everyone looked at us like we were fresh meat. All dressed well (like vampires do), sipping their martinis (presumably filled with a mixture that included blood), and eyeing us like wolves to a bunny. We lasted about 30 seconds before leaving.
We then came up with this great idea of going to Coco’s, based solely on their tag line: Lousy Food and Warm Beer. How wasn’t this place going to be the shit?
It was grand. Easy going, good looking and friendly people, decent music (although a little heavy on the soca), and an active dance floor. I spent most of the night slamming beers back, pretending to breakdance, and chattin’ with some of the lovely locals. Dutch girls are really nice. Hot too. I also confessed my undying love to a girl who looked feverishly close to Sloan from Entourage.
Only Jed was left around 3am, along with Ross and Eric from the Pitts. While we were all unsuccessful in getting some tail, we did what any strapping, young fellas would do: The Red Light District.
This area of Amsterdam is one like no other. Up until midnight, it’s a tourist pit where couples, families, and creepy old men walk amongst the cobblestone paths, looking at beautiful women in near nothings behind glass windows and doors – waving, smiling, knocking on the glass for attention, looking to catch an eye and a few coins out of your pocket. After midnight it’s no holds barred: mobs of drunk, horny guys, most of whom are too chicken to give it a shot. Like kids at Toys R Us. The Dutch rarely take part in this – it’s entirely tourists.
These hookers were perfect 10’s. Everything from their face, body, body language, style, everything. There were even interest-specific areas: alleys of asians, blacks, bigger girls, and trannies – all encased in little rooms with windows that you just have to walk up to and open.
Forget strip clubs, in the RLD they have live sex shows. Watch five couples do it for 30€ (45€ includes two drinks) with a whole daily line up of lesbians, straight couples, banana shows.. you name it. Sucks that we didn’t get to watch one. Where else in the world could you watch something like that without getting arrested?
There’s also a reason why I don’t have pictures there: one of the biggest rules of the RLD is that you aren’t allowed to take photos or video. One of The Other Toronto Guys tried filming with his video camera in his pocket. He didn’t last a few minutes before one of the hookers were pointing and screaming at him and a madame emerged and ran at him, with full intention of destroying his camcorder. They don’t play around.
Hookers are 50€ for 15 mins and cost extra for any further pleasantries. For the record, I did not have sex with a hooker there.
And yes, as I’ve tweeted before, I did get kicked/chased out of the Red Light District that night. However I’ve decided it’s not one of those stories I’d like to post on a blog – at least for a year. When it comes to my crazy adventures, I usually like to let it marinate a while before putting my life out there.
But I do have a counter offer.
Here’s the deal. I’ll put this poll up, and everyone can choose which story they’d like me to blog. And I promise I will blog it. These are all things that have happened over a year ago, so I’m a little more comfortable dropping these ones on you now. The poll will close in a week, so cast your vote now.
I know I’m cutting this short but I’m pretty hungry and I have sheppard’s pie waiting for me in the fridge. Don’t you all find it really bland? Who makes this shit anyway? I got it for free so I don’t care, but I mean if your preferential food taste is bland, what does that say about your life?
After the RLD we headed to Wok to Walk, which became our must-go-to-place after the bars. 6€ for a heaping scoop of fried noodles with beef, can’t go wrong! Ended up back at the smoking room at the hostel until 6am with Mona Lisa. Passed out.
The next night we headed back to Rembrandt Square (minus Boston but with The Other Toronto Guys and one of the Surfer Dudes) to Escape. Not much to say about that place other than it was a sausage factory. Left and went back to Coco’s across the street. Tried to find a fat girl for Pat (picture Rick Moranis but younger – I’m not the one who came up with that comparison) but we couldn’t find any fat girls – a good and bad thing. Wasn’t feeling the bar and just wanted my noodles. Strolled through the RLD while hiding my face. Wok to Walk then bed.
And that concludes Amsterdam. While I will not be writing a post on Munich, I will confess my love for the city and plan to visit it again. Spent most of my time drinking lots of beer at the beer house, falling in love 30 times, and eating a brontosaurus sized leg called a haxn. Check the pics of Munich below.
Next up, Barcelona.
The Beauty of Munich
I really, really would’ve liked to write this last night but I’m still tremendously jet lagged. For the second straight day I’m up, two hours before I’m supposed to get up, and with absolutely nothing to do. So I figure, why not, and try to write something creative about our hostel in Amsterdam.
I’m done with hostels. I’m getting too old for this shit. University dorms were fun in university, but you get to a certain point where it’s just a little creepy to be sharing rooms/floors with folks that may or may not have been born until after 2pac died. It helps that I’m not exactly an old looking guy; I could easily pass for 21 with my trusty Asian genes (and my uncanny ability to look almost any other race to some folks), but lying about my age to get some ass just isn’t my steez. When pigs fly, I’ll stay at another hostel.
And then came the Flying Pig Hostel. Yep, I probably just said the most redundant joke in Amsterdam. However, this popular hostel will be the only hostel in the world that I will ever stay in. Ever. Even the customs officers entering Amsterdam were smirking when we mentioned it.
Maybe it’s the ultra friendly staff. Maybe it’s the down to earth people from across the globe. Maybe it’s their 2€ Becks or 9€ pitchers at happy hour. Maybe it’s the great music they played 24/7, from Nirvana to dubstep. Maybe it’s their always lively, death-bed-comfortable, meet & greet smoking room (complete with a pillow tower that’s obviously short of a few pillows, mainly from our souvenir-shopping hostelmates). Maybe it’s because there always seems to be a great rotation of eye candy. Actually that might be a big chunk of it.
The accommodations vary in wide numbers, anywhere from 4 to 32 person rooms, with cages & locks to hide your valuables. There’s nothing really more to add than there’s a bed with a pillow, decent room temperature and air circulation, and again, friendly roommates who are also eagerly looking to make new compadres. We stayed in the 12 person room for a couple days (which isn’t as bad as it sounds), and the last day in a four person room, which proved to be an optimal choice based solely on a private washroom and shower.
The three of us were in the 12 person room, where we had some really awesome roomies. There were Mona and Lisa, or just Mona Lisa (they had to be named this way so I wouldn’t forget), two good looking Austrian girls who we partied with most of the time with. There were the Surfer Dudes, two guys from Cali who were actually skiiers, but we just gave them this name because they fit the surfer description a helluvalot better. There were a couple from Toronto whom we didn’t really get to hang with much – they weren’t here to party, but I did get to small talk a lot with them about the number of great museums in the city (be sure to check out the Anne Frank, Van Gogh, and Sex Museum). There was Andre the Friendly Malado Giant in the corner who I initially only nodded to in fear that he would wind stomp my head into the ground, only to realize he was just another dude who I should not jump to conclusions about. And there was an Australian couple who always seemed to sleep. Like literally 24 hours a day. The girl must have been high as hell though because I kept hearing female giggles everytime I said some retarded shit.
The four person room was shared with Ugo, a black Scottish guy (which I still can’t get my head wrapped around), who enjoyed watching movies a lot and raved about his monthly pass in the UK that lets him watch any movie, all the time. I was jealous.
After a brief walk through the city & 40+ hours without sleep, we took full advantage of the happy hour deals listed above – starting from the afternoon on. Hammered and walking around Amsterdam is great.. until you have to pee. We also popped into a coffeeshop before heading back, to complete the Amsterdam experience and see what the fuss was all about. For our first night we stuck around at the bar in the hostel, which was pretty sweet. We spent the early part of the night (read: everything before 3am) slamming back endless beer, taking repeat visits to the smoking room with Mona Lisa, and getting to meet many of the hostels worldly travelers. As per usual, this portion of the night was a big blur.
The Pitts were a group of skater-looking dudes and one of the first groups of people we met in the hostel and based completely on personalities, they quickly became part of the team. I met them at like 4am when I was drinking by myself at the bar (bed was not an option at the time), with a gang of guys from Montreal on my left, the Pitts on my right, and Game 3 of the Penguins/Canadiens game in front of me, streaming online from atdhe.net (the only source for the best live streaming). As a life long Penguins fan since the Lemieux days, I of course sided with the Penguins, and mainly because the Montreal guys were rather unfriendly with me. Actually that’s exactly why I sided with the Pens. Who am I trying to kid, I don’t follow hockey.
So as we cheered on, and threw our carnivorous banter back and forth with Bloc Québécois, a couple of Toronto guys stopped over to see what the score was (who I will call Mohinder & Friend because well, one of the guys looks like the brown guy from Heroes), and of course, join in on the Habs pile up. Then Slaughterface walked up to the bar and shattered a glass against the wall, probably aimed at the bartender.
You know when you’re at a house party, and there’s always this really drunk lass who is way beyond hammered, can barely stand, needs to be put in bed but her friends abandoned her, and wants to hump anything that has a pulse. Yeah, that’s Slaughterface. Oh, and she’s really ugly.
Slaughterface actually worked at the hostel – she did that free food/stay for work deal. Word has it that every night she gets plastered out of her mind and tries to fuck everything, nightly.
So after the bartender turned and gave a sneering eye & mild interrogation to Ross, leader of the Pitts (Ross: let me know if I’m way off on this assumption), Slaughterface proceeded to lick behind Ross’s ear. It was a little creepy. Up until this point they hadn’t even made eye contact.
Actually back to a fun story about Slaughterface. There was also another really drunk & horny fella by the name of Chaz (from Minnesota I believe) who forced himself into conversations with people only to make creepy and suggestive comments to anything with a set of tits. At one point he locked in on Slaughterface (with his beer goggles on, I really hope), and had to hold her body up and tilt her cow face just to try and make out with her. Being a true Slaughterface, she did, just as she toppled to the ground with picture perfect precision. Chaz, looking down at her, walked away to find his next victim. A true gentleman, Chaz.
For the rest of the trip, we called such behaviour chazzing.
By the way, I met an absurd number of Torontonians traveling abroad. If they weren’t from Toronto, which seemed like the majority I met, they were from BC or Quebec. If not Canadian, then they were American. What’s up with that. I’m trying to have an out-of-country experience and apparently everyone here stole my ideas.
In case you didn’t get the message, I’m suggesting you stay here, even for a few nights, just to meet a fantastic group of people to share your Amsterdamic experience with.
Next up, I’ll tell you all about our next few nights out at the bars/clubs of Amsterdam and the ever popular Red Light District.
Written on May 11th in Munich, Germany.
I’ve been trying to do this blogging thing from my iPod Touch.. how do you people do it? I can barely get a few words in before I lose my train of thought.
I’m presently in Munich, Germany at my cousin’s place, finally taking a breather for tonight before causing hell in Barcelona tomorrow. Wait, plans changed. Going out tonight. I’ll type til I have to leave.
I know I already tweeted this:
@reggieramone: I’m definitely gonna blog this trip.. first post: “How I spent 450€ in two days in Amsterdam & Getting Kicked Out of the Red Light District”
…but I don’t think I want to encompass the entire trip into one blog post. I might as well publish something that size. So I’m breaking it up. Into mini novels.
Last night as I pondered whether sleeping 8 hours during the day here was really going to help my jet lag and was the imminent cause for non-sleep last night, I decided I’d better include my opening post on the Amsterdam life, before I begin to document how I trashed it.
Ok, disclaimers over – let’s begin. Bookmark this if you plan to visit Amsterdam one day.
The Amsterdam Lowdown
I spent a good while reading the Lonely Planet’s Guide to Amsterdam app on my iPod a few weeks before jetsetting. As fun as it is to go out and get slammed and toke til you croak, it’s important to learn a bit about the city. And while I won’t try to bullshit you by copy pasting crap from Wiki and make you think I’m some historical genius, I’ll just stick to the functional stuff.
brb, going for beer
Ok, I’m back. Munich is such a beautiful city. I love how friendly people are, how clean the city is, how painfully beautiful the women are.. but most of all, how great the beer is. Hopefully this write up makes some sense from here on in. Also, the bar we went to had ads printed on the paper towel. Ingenius.
There’s a big ass canal right down the middle of it. At the top is Centraal Station, which has multiple rings that form away from it, like a wave or an RSS symbol.
So the rings have assignments – each one helps designate which road you’re following along. Down the middle of the big ass canal is the Damrak, which is the north side of Amsterdam’s major aisle. Eventually, as you head further south, it turns into Rokin, which is the more upscale side of the horizontal canal.
Most of your tourist journeys will end up on the eastern side of the divider, which is called the Old Side. The Nieuwe Zijde (or New Side), which is in the west, contains more coffeeshops, cafes, restaurants, and places of less commercial appeal (ie. on the Old Side of Amsterdam, across from the H&M was another H&M. Followed by a third H&M one block east). The funny thing is, the Old Side is actually newer. It’s because the church on that side is called the Oude Kerk (or Old Church) and the church on the New Side is called the Nieuwe Kerk (you guessed it, New Church). I must not have drank enough if you actually understood that.
Our hostel was the Flying Pig Hostel, which was on the eastern side of the middle incision. You know you’re in for some shit when two different customs officers make a smirk when you mention it. The place was a fucking gong show. But more on the hostel later. We’re city talking right now.
If the bikes, which devour the Amsterdam streets, don’t run you over, the cars will. If the cars don’t, the streetcars/trolleys will. And pile that on to a narrow, one lane street, and this is what you get – a daily attempt to not die a less horrible death than Jack Bauer (if he ever actually died).
I’m super effin’ jealous of the bike handling in Amsterdam. Makes our city (of Toronto) look like we love sniffing pollution. Just look at this awesome bike rack on the right.
Gangster. I mean the whole city is basically fueled by these two wheeled demons. And if that doesn’t impress you, me being the marketing guy, I definitely dug the guerrilla marketing campaign that put flyers shaped as bike seats (or shower caps) on people’s bikes. Wacko.
So if the bikes/cars/trains aren’t the one to drive you insane on the road, imagine the people! I live in Queen West – home of Toronto’s marching army. It’s like running against the current out there. But imagine tripling that, throwing in like x30 hot women, and you’ve got a tsunami of human all over your ass. It’s wild! This city is buzzing from day to night to day. It’s somewhat electrifying.
And the reason why I’m not totally 100% about this whole walking-in-a-tsunami-of-humans thing, is that the “coffeeshops” sure do make it harder to function. Coffeeshops in Amsterdam hold the weed. If you actually want COFFEE, you need to go to a cafe. Coffeeshops aren’t as seedy as you think they’d be. Picture a really nice drug dealer, who you’ve known forever, and put them in the most comfortable, low lit living room ever. Now imagine that drug dealer (who may or may not be a really hot chick btw), let you buy his/her weed off a menu, and this menu had possibly the best chron you’ve ever smoked in your entire life. AND the people around there, if any, were cool as hell.
But hey, for formal reasons I cannot say I smoked anything illegal at such establishments in the real sin city.
If you’re looking for actual coffee, forget it. Starbucks is on the eastern side of Amsterdam. Maybe.
Speaking of which, like most of Europe, food is $$$! If you do go for a sit down restaurant, stick with the lunch menu at restaurants, and move towards the take out places for dinner. Shit gets expensive if you try to tally it up. We woke up ridiculously late every day (past our hostel’s free breakfast hours) and had to get our egg fix for 5€ to 9.50€ at each place we stopped in. And by the way, bring a bottle of water or your own drinks to a restaurant. You may get a crabby look, but it sure beats the 3€ bottle of juice-box-size water/pop. Don’t drink tap water there. If you do, do it in small doses. You’ll hurt yourself.
Wok to Walk was our regular fix for cheap dinner/late meal spot. 6€ and you get a big fix of noodles/rice with beef/chicken/whatev. Keeps you alive and is literally the perfect after-bar food. And if you’re like us, who tend to crash from 4pm to 8pm everyday (jet lag or just from being out all day in the human tsunami), a lot of food spots close. And I’m pretty sure for some of you, avoiding Burger King and McDonalds is a primary concern.
By the way, I tried both and ordering is a little strenuous. Let me give you an awkward questionnaire they tend to ask you at the ol’ Kingdom.
This is what I’m used to:
Me: Whopper combo with cheese, with a coke.
Now this is what I had to go through:
Me: Blue Cheese Whopper combo please
Server: Small or large size sandwich? Like that one *points at the next guy’s burger*. Combo or no combo? Medium or large size combo? Medium or large size fries? Small or big drink? What kind of drink? Ketchup? Mayo?
I just want a damn burger.
Also, they charge you for condiments at a lot of take out restos, so be wary. I like to splurge on ketchup, mayo, and glasses of water, but apparently we waste a lot of crap in Canada.
Speaking of waste, I don’t know if there was a garbage strike going on, but the streets were filthy. Like look at this crap:
It made the Toronto Garbage Strike look like a walk in the park (pun intended). Clean yourselves.
Update: There actually was a garbage strike going on and apparently the streets are immaculate again. Thanks to @hotelv and @teunvanrooij on Twitter for pointing this out!
But what was amazing while I was out scouring the streets for more shit to blog/vent/shit talk about was the amazing street performers. Best music I never had to pay for since Napster first released his industry-crushing software on IRC. Bands would start at Nieumarkt and travel along different areas of the city. And I actually wanted to follow for more. For instance:
Dude is wearing a fire helmet! And the other dude has speakers on his head! And it sounded collectively epic! It was nothing but awesome music from an awesome, tasteful city. And for that, I will prost (the German toast – tap from the bottom of your glass).
As for bar hopping, clubbing, and the Red Light District, I will have to leave that for another day. I’ve already taken your whole day with this blog post and I really don’t want to see you fired (kidding, I don’t give a shit). Next post will be about style, the shopping, the hostel, and nightlife.
In the meantime, here are some of my shots from around Amsterdam.
Everyone that’s seen my Twitter page knows that I’m a huge Banksy fan. Anyone who shares the same sentiments should be reeling in excitement like I am!
Exit Through the Gift Shop is the Banksy docu-disaster movie on street art. I love these kind of films. Like Justice’s A Cross the Universe movie. It’s probably online right now actually, but I was too excited by this trailer to look it up. If I find it, I’ll post it on Twitter.
You’re all super rad.
Unless you’ve been living under a digital rock, or just flat out suck at keeping up with the next big thing, Chat Roulette and it’s crazy world of penis strokers have been taking over the lube-tube by force. And without remorse, as many people are aware of.
For those not in the know (and haven’t seen my Facebook profile photo on the left), Chat Roulette is as simple as this: Talk or type to random people on webcam, and if they bore you, move on to the next (branded getting “nexted”). Aside from being screenshot’d for participating in something retarded, it’s completely anonymous – no user account names, no track backs, all random & anonymous fun. One comment I saw put it in perfect light for me: It’s Youtube commenters on video.
If you haven’t already, log in for one minute and you can already see the general idea of who the average internet user is. (1) Everybody looks bored and depressed. And by everybody I mean a lot of dudes. To be exact, Mashable puts the number around 74% – that’s a lot of “Next” clickings if you’re looking for poon.
15% would be the opposite-yet-desired sex; the ones who rarely get nexted. A true to life phenomenon, providing another generic statement: (2) women don’t use the internet. Except on Twitter and the middle-aged housewives of Second Life.
The unfortunate number to see is that another 14% prefer to let you see them wacking off – the ultimate cock-block if you’re a dude looking to mate with that 15%. Within that first minute you’re nexting, you’re almost guaranteed to see at least one jolly fella gettin’ a stiffy from having thousands of other guys watching their penis. That’s what I don’t get. Do they get off having other guys seeing them frictionate their penis? Is it worth it for them to have 10+ guys cringing before eventually landing a girl who’ll watch for 5 seconds, only to prematurely ejaculate and head back to WoW for another raid? Whatever. All I know is it serves another point: (3) The internet is full of perverts.
I invited two of my black friends to check out Chat Roulette. Keep in mind, in some parts of the world, they’ve never seen a black man – let alone interact. You know where this is going: (4) there are closet racists all over the world, and will let it out under full anonymity. They got their share of N-bombs and watermelon comments.
If there’s one good thing I can say about this site, its that (5) the internet is full of creativity. No, I’m not talking about the signs saying “Boob 1, Penis 315”. I’m talking about the funny shit people to do get a kick or gain internet notoriety. Kinda like the Jerkbeast in the video about. Who wouldn’t want a guy to improv sing you a song in autotune? Ingenius!
I’d like to finish off by tallying your opinions, because I’m a little baffled between the four. I honestly cannot put a #1 to these choices. Maybe I’m just annoyed by everything. What do you think?