Shut Up, And Don’t Sing…

James Taylor, who dedicated his song “Brighten Your Face With My Fist” to Darryl Hannah, may be the single worst bald, mullet-headed ‘folk’ singer to have ever clogged the airways with his drek like a tertiary AIDS patient’s phlegm-clotted lungs.

Nobody really liked him for the ten minutes he was hip, and then he whupped on Darryl Hannah, and showed the world what a hypocritical fag-rod he was. It’s difficult to listen to anyone’s love ballads when you can only picture them whacking some hottie in the face…regardless of whether she asked for it or not.

No, he is just an awful singer. What is he, in his fifties, and his testicles still haven’t dropped? Fuck me, but he sounds like an alto castrati.

Even setting aside his awful politics, he being the idiot-minstrel for every lefty politico and cause that spatters from the DNC’s diseased, distended, and well-travelled fart-pipe…he is just a slimy looking reptile, who looks like he slithers into nurseries and sucks the breath from newborn infants.

Do not encourage or allow any empty headed acquaintance of yours to buy his CD’s when the ad comes on TV…as a matter of fact, as they begin to focus on the TV and his sitar-like voice, excreting that nasal yodel of his, whack your friend or family member solidly on the head with a rolled up newspaper or magazine and say “No!” sharply as you jump in between them and the TV, frantically trying to change the channel with your other hand from behind you.

It’s for the children.

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