Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman is fucking hilarious. I've read one chapter so far and he completely rips on Coldplay. Mind you, I enjoy Coldplay at times, but I can see exactly where he's coming from.

Fake love is a powerful thing. That girl who adored John Cusack once had the opportunity to spend a weekend with me in New York at the Waldorf-Astoria, but she elected to fly to Portland instead to see the first U.S. appearance by Coldplay, a British pop group whose success derives from their inability to write melodramatic alt-rock songs about fake love. It does not matter that Coldplay is absolutely the shittiest fucking band I've ever heard in my entire fucking life, or that they sound like a mediocre photocopy of Travis (who sound like a mediocore photocopy of Radiohead), or that their greatest fucking artistic achievement is a video where their blandly attractive frontman walks on a beach on a cloudy fucking afternoon.

Just fucking hilarious. It's so true. Also, I cannot believe a person would fly to a far off city to see a band play their first show in the states. Oh, the desire to always be a part of something. Everyone wants to be a part of something. Everyone follows the red flashing lights in hope they can be a part of something they have entirely no control over. They want to witness "history." They need it. It's an addiction. Someone could sit there and punch someone in the dick for two hours and people would flock just to say they witnessed it. They witnessed a unique event! They watched a man's tears fall down his face while he took jabs to his penis for 120 minutes. Actually, now that I think about it...That is something I'd have to see.