Last minute trip to NYC popped up and now I have one of the worst relics of the eighties stuck in what's left of the gelled gray protein sloshing around in my skull. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to have Glenn fucking Frey shit out a song about living in "the city"? It's the dentist office version of "In the Ghetto". I was up for hours last night with this goddamn earworm and flashing back to some asshole wandering around pre-boom South Beach in espadrilles without socks. There are German homos in sequined thongs and ermine capes rollerblading past, eyeing up ol' Don Johnson and thinking, "No belt? That shit's tacky." At any rate, Glenn Frey? The muse of the Urban Hipster? Wasn't he in some shitty fake country seventies band? Flat bed truck may ass, that man has grit! Concrete under his feet! Makes me want to jam a Blade Runner DVD down Michael Mann's throat... That's urban desolation motherfucker! And don't give me any shit. The Eagles suck. The only man I've ever killed in anger was a shithead who said this song ROCKS! when "Life in the Fastlane" hit the muzak while I was taking a shit in the airport bathroom. I followed him home and force fed him Spaghetti-O's until his colon spontaneously jumped from his body and went out for some KFC. The Eagles don't rock. They don't roll. The Eagles are nothing but the Washington Generals of the music world (and NFC Playoffs). Rich Kotite could have written all of their songs. The only people who like the Eagles are the jackasses who want you to be calm in the dentist chair and fat, bald men who own fat, slow, expensive motorcycles. Most have a beard they think makes them look dashing or tough, but when people look at them all they see is a talking vagina. Like Glenn Frey and the black guy he had to hire to pretend to play his fucking computer-generated saxophone solo.