With 2014 right around the corner and my obsession with music showing no signs of slowing down, I thought it might be prudent to put together a list of my favorite songs from 2013. I should note that the songs on this list weren’t necessarily released in 2013, but 2013 happens to be the year I enjoyed them most, and isn’t that the point of any song?  If that’s a problem, feel free to not read any further, but know this: you’ll be missing out. (You probably won’t be, but for the sake of my ego, let’s just pretend you are.)

Let’s get started.

Actually, you know what? I might list a song, I might list an entire album and pick one song from that album to represent it. DON’T CALL ME WORTHLESS, I’M TRYING MY BEST.

Queens of the Stone Age: “…Like Clockwork”

I’ll admit, I haven’t always been a big fan of QOTSA. I’ve always respected their music, but some of their albums are incredibly uneven; for every incredible song, there is another song that’s so weird and abstract that it detracts from the great tracks on their albums. “…Like Clockwork” has moments like that, but they’re a lot fewer and further between than on previous albums, which is a step in the right direction, I think. Maybe they’re not being as “conceptually daring” as on prior albums, but they’re a lot more “fun to listen to” on this one, and “Smooth Sailing” is a great example. I’ll avoid breaking down exactly what I like about the song since that’s kind of subjective, but you have to love a track that features the lyric “I blow my load over the status quo, herewego.” Josh Homme is the fucking man.

Other suggested songs by QOTSA: “Kalopsia,” “If I Had A Tail,” “Feel Good Hit Of The Summer,” “Monster In The Parasol.”

Savages: “Shut Up”

I had never heard of this band until a couple of months ago, when my friend Harley got us tickets to see them at Terminal 5. For those of you who are unfamiliar with music venues in New York City (and shame on you), Terminal 5 is a shitty venue in Midtown. How is it shitty? Well, picture a rectangle. Now, take one of the short sides off (that’s where the stage is) and imagine trying to find a good sight line anywhere except the first 10-15 rows directly in front of the stage. Now imagine there are multiple floors of this, but keep in mind that on every floor above ground level, you can’t see anything unless you’re standing directly against the railing. Now imagine that even though there are only 3 levels, one of them is always closed for “VIP access.” Got all that? Now imagine paying $8 for a bottle of Bud Light. Terminal 5 is the worst.

But yeah, Savages. All-girl band, tons of energy, phenomenal musicians all around. This song starts with an intro, so fast forward to about the 0:40 second mark if you want to skip it. It’s a fantastic track.

The Walkmen: “The Rat”

I got to see The Walkmen this past summer at Firefly, and I was thoroughly impressed with their live performance. It sucks that they broke up, especially since I just started getting into their music. WAIT UNTIL I GET TIRED OF YOU BEFORE YOU BREAK UP, BANDS. “The Rat” has a lot more of an edge to it than some of their newer stuff, which I think is why I like it so much. It’s also an excellent breakup/shitty-weather song, which I’m sure will come in handy for you soon. Because your significant other is leaving you.

Other suggested songs: “Postcards From Tiny Islands,” “Heartbreaker.”

Arctic Monkeys: “Fireside”

I think I’ve gone into sufficient detail regarding my Arctic Monkeys fandom. (This is normally where I’d provide a link to that article, but I wrote it, like, last week, and I don’t update this blog all that often. You should be able to find it.)

Other suggested Arctic Monkeys songs: All of them.

Justice: “New Lands”

I know Justice gets a lot of shit for sounding like a watered-down Daft Punk, but this song is awesome. And the breakdown halfway through? Just magical.

Broken Bells: “Holding On For Life”

I’ve been waiting for the second Broken Bells album ever since they released the last one, and if this song is any indication, their sophomore album is going to be goddamned wonderful. For those of you who’ve never heard of Broken Bells: get out. I SAID OUT.

Broken Bells is comprised of James Mercer (best known as the frontman for The Shins and for a cameo on “Portlandia”) and Danger Mouse (best known for his Beatles/Jay Z mashup “The Grey Album” and for being one half of Gnarls Barkley.) They make wonderful music, and that’s all there is to it.

Other suggested Broken Bells songs: “The Ghost Inside,” “October,” “Vaporize,” “The Mall and Misery.”

Toro y Moi: “Say That”

Toro y Moi is a guy named Chaz Bundick who makes awesome beats. I’ve also previously stated my appreciation for individuals who give themselves band names even when the “band” is just them, so that’s really all the convincing you should need.

Other suggested Toro y Moi songs: “Still Sound,” “New Beat,” “Go With You,” “Low Shoulders.”

Washed Out: “New Theory (RAC Mix)”

Washed Out is awesome, and RAC does amazing remixes of indie songs. The combination of the two? Orgasmic.

Other suggested Washed Out songs: “Feel It All Around,” “Amor Fati.”

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: “Windows”

I saw BRMC at Terminal 5, and I was pretty disappointed with their performance. It was one of those uneven shows, where every good, hard-driving song was followed by a ballad; to make matters worse, they didn’t play my favorite song. AND it was at Terminal 5. They actually finished their set with “Windows,” which totally pissed me off (you’ll understand when you listen to it- who ends a set on a ballad and then doesn’t do an encore?!) After my disappointment subsided, though, I gave it another listen, and now it’s one of my favorite songs of theirs. The moral of the story: I’m terribly closed-minded.

Other BRMC song suggestions: “Six Barrel Shotgun,” “Weapon of Choice,” “Teenage Disease,” “Conscience Killer,” “Stop.”

Kavinsky: “ProtoVision”

I think I’ve said all that needs to be said about Kavinsky.

Other suggested Kavinsky songs: “Blizzard,” “Rampage,” “Odd Look,” “Pacific Coast Highway,” “Suburbia.”

Black Strobe: “I’m A Man”

Remaking a Muddy Waters song with a heavy-metal/industrial sound? Yes, please.

Sinkane: “Jeeper Creeper”

Sinkane is the solo project of Ahmed Gallab, who has worked with Of Montreal and Yeasayer, among others. I saw him at Mercury Lounge, and guess who else was there? Haley Joel Osment. Yep, THAT Haley Joel Osment. I’ll give you a moment to recover. (Side note: he’s kind of a squirrelly dude. Go figure, right?)

The Drums: “Money”

The rest of their album kinda sucks, but this song is great.

And last but not least:

The Sonics: “Have Love, Will Travel”

The opening riff alone should make you fall in love with the song. If you don’t, then I don’t know what decisions led you to this point in your life, but I just feel sorry for you.

So that’s it: my list of favorite songs of the year. Happy New Year, everyone.

Apparently, December is Music Month here at AHopelessCynic, because that’s really all I’ve been in the mood to discuss lately, and I plan on following this post with a list of my favorite songs of 2013. I would imagine that isn’t a problem for most of you, but if it is, I don’t give a shit I sincerely apologize. I’ve been wanting to write something about Arctic Monkeys for a long time now (roughly three weeks), and since they just recently released “AM,” widely acknowledged as their best album to date, I figured now would be a good time to do it. So today, we’re going to investigate how Arctic Monkeys have managed to gain mainstream popularity without sacrificing one iota of critical acclaim or the indie cred that got them there in the first place. So take my hand, little one- we’re going on an adventure.

I discovered Arctic Monkeys almost purely by accident; in fact, I can recall with almost astonishing clarity the moment I thought to myself “Well, I know what I’m listening to for the rest of my life.” I was playing Guitar Hero 5 in my apartment in Charlotte, trying to find new, fun songs to play. I had continually scrolled past the Arctic Monkeys’ song “Brianstorm” because I thought it would suck (I’m adventurous like that,) but eventually I had no choice but to give it a shot. And I was blown the fuck away.

On a purely musical level, the song is amazing; the drumming is complex but not overdone, the guitars have just the right amount of distortion, and the bass pulls it all together. At first, I didn’t even listen to what Alex Turner was singing- experience has taught me that most bands who play this well are usually lacking in the lyrics department, so I figured that would be the case here. After all, there had to be a reason why this band wasn’t super-famous, right?

I was wrong. Hopelessly, laughably wrong. AH, THE NAIVETE OF YOUTH. Not only were the lyrics serviceable, they were good. Turner’s lyrics are one of the biggest strengths of a band already overloaded with them, and they’re probably the main reason why Arctic Monkeys have been able to evolve musically without sacrificing quality. On their earlier records, the lyrics were tongue-in-cheek and almost punkish in content, which perfectly mirrored the band’s sound. Take, for example, “From The Ritz to The Rubble “:

The lyrics are somewhat indecipherable on first listen; as drummer Matt Helders describes Turner’s Sheffield accent, “when you talk between songs at a gig  and you’re speaking English in our normal accent, it seems a bit strange when you burst into song like you’re from California or summat…it looks a bit  daft.” Anyway, Turner essentially criticizes the indie culture, describing a shitty night at a rock club with asshole bouncers and too-cool-for-school hipsters:

Last night there was two bouncers
And one of them’s alright
The other one’s the scary one
His way or no way, totalitarian
He’s got no time for you
Looking or breathing
How he doesn’t want you to
So step out the queue,
He makes examples of you
…
Instilled in your brain,
You’ve got something to prove
To all the smirking faces and the boys in black
Why can’t they be pleasant?
Why can’t they have a laugh?

He’s criticizing the types of people who buy their albums, but he does it in such a good-natured fashion that he gets away with it. It’s a testament to their winsome qualities as a band, and it’s that affable cynicism that most resonates with me. (Naturally.)

Normally, most bands would be thrilled with the spot that Arctic Monkeys occupied in the mid-to-late 2000s: indie darlings with commercial appeal and critical acclaim. But that wasn’t enough for the band, and 2009’s “Humbug” was an artistic step in a different direction. Produced by Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme, the album marked a dramatic departure from their earlier sound. While their first two albums were centered around devil-may-care lyrics and fast, aggressive tunes, “Humbug” showed a darker, more brooding side to the band. The tunes (in particular, Helders’ drumming, which once bordered on the absurd with its complexity and pace), began to take a backseat to Turner’s lyricism. There were still elements of Arctic Monkeys’ older albums present in “Humbug,” but there was a shift in the presentation of those elements:

To be honest, “Humbug” wasn’t my favorite at first- I missed the more lighthearted, whimsical Arctic Monkeys from their earlier albums. But as time progressed, the album grew on me. It was evidence of a band striving to create more meaningful music instead of resting on its laurels and continuing to churn out songs based on a proven formula, and though I was initially reluctant to embrace the shift in content, that shift has been a boon to the band’s long-term vitality. As Arctic Monkeys grow older, so too do their fans. At a certain point, we don’t want to hear about going to rock shows and the self-absorbed folks who populate those places, full of the unwavering arrogance of youth. Sometimes we want to hear about the quiet bars where you think you saw a former flame:

“Cornerstone” is a shining example of Turner’s lyrical eloquence; when he talks about giving a girl a ride home but not wanting to let her go, instead of saying “I took the long way home,” he says “I elongated my lift home.” Now how much better does that sound? The answer is a lot better. A LOT BETTER.

After “Humbug,” Arctic Monkeys released “Suck It And See” in 2011. “Suck It And See” took the menacing swagger of “Humbug” and paired it with the whimsical lyrics found on “Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not.” A prime example of this was the lead single “Don’t Sit Down ‘Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair”:

I’m gonna be honest, though- this one is my least favorite album. It lacked the Josh Homme magic, and though Arctic Monkeys were endeavoring on this record to break new ground musically, the result was less cohesive than their past efforts. It almost seemed like the band found themselves at a bit of a crossroads from a creative standpoint, and instead of choosing one direction and forging ahead with confidence, they tried to straddle the line between creative growth and maintaining the status quo set by their earlier work. This is understandable: “Humbug” was their worst-selling album, so it’s possible that they saw the diminished sales numbers as an indication that their fans wanted to hear music that was more similar to their earlier work. Whatever the case, their effort to recalibrate their sound failed, as “Suck It And See” sold the fewest copies of any of their albums.

After the disappointing sales of “Suck It And See,” Arctic Monkeys went back to the studio and redoubled their efforts, releasing  “AM” in September of this year. With “AM,” Arctic Monkeys embraced the change of their sound rather than continuing to fight it, and the result is their strongest album to date. The whimsy hasn’t left the lyrics, per se, but it’s slightly more brooding, though not as dark as in “Humbug.” (I suspect Josh Homme had a lot to do with the lyrical content of “Humbug,” though I could be wrong.) The songs on “AM” have a late-night feel to them; it almost seems inappropriate to listen to the album while the sun is out. Take, for example, “Arabella”:

It has an edge to it, but instead of the blunt edge featured on some of the songs from “Humbug,” it’s sharper and more purposeful. Without a doubt, “AM” is their strongest album to date; the same mood permeates every song, without any of the up-and-down of “Favourite Worst Nightmare” (which, despite its inconsistency, is a fantastic album.) It’s not surprising that “AM” has outsold “Suck It And See” and “Humbug” combined in just three months, as well as why it’s been so well-received by critics in addition to fans of the band.

The question now is, can Arctic Monkeys continue to walk the fine line of (relative) commercial success and  critical praise without suffering from the common hipster refrain of “Yeah, I liked their first few albums, before they got big”? As long as they continue to push themselves to new heights creatively, they can avoid that fate. And if they can’t? Then, as Turner once challenged us: “Bring on the backlash.”

And I’m back. Sorry for the delay in posting new shit, but I’ve spent the better part of this past week re-learning how to type on this phone, and the results have been a mixed bag. I never realized how phenomenal the iPhone predictive text and autocorrect were until I started using this piece of shit. You know how if you forget to hit space between words on an iPhone, it does it for you? NOT SO HERE. Also, if I write “tl” instead of “to” on this phone, it doesn’t correct it to “to. ” It uses what is apparently the second most-popular option: “Tlingit.” Another treat: “ylu” autocorrects to “Ulises,” but when I tried to write “Ulises” just now, that autocorrected to “hours.” Texting on this thing is like being in a fucking David Fincher film. Plus, since the screen on this phone is smaller, I need a fucking electron microscope to see the keys, and whatever the finger equivalent of an electron microscope is to type my messages accurately. I want this phone to turn into a human just so I can hear it scream when I set it on fire.

But I digress.

I’ve been listening to three albums in almost constant rotation lately: “AM” by Arctic Monkeys, “…Like Clockwork” by Queens of the Stone Age, and “OutRun” by Kavinsky. I’m going to refrain from discussing Arctic Monkeys and QOTSA today, because I want to give them a proper post in the future, so today I’ll just be discussing Kavinsky; namely, how fucking cool he is.

Kavinsky is the alter ego of Vincent Belorgey, a French DJ, actor, and overall badass. But I don’t care about Belorgey the person right now- I care about Kavinsky. You might recognize him as the artist behind “Nightcall,” the song that played during the opening credits of “Drive” (and if you don’t, pay attention to the music in movies for once, you ape. It’s there for a goddamned reason.) The song is awesome, so I did a little research about Kavinsky; with or without your permission, I’d like to share the story of Kavinsky with you.

In 1986, a man named Kavinsky was racing his Ferrari Testarossa on a dark, winding road when he crashed. The car was instantly engulfed in flames, and Kavinsky died in the wreck. 20 years later, however, he came back from the dead…to cruise around in his ’86 Testarossa all night and make techno music for the people. As a zombie.

HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT?

That’s what “Nightcall” is about- he goes to see the girl with whom he was in love when he died, but things between them have changed forever. His girlfriend recognizes that he’s not the man she once loved, so he leaves,destined to cruise around this planet for all eternity in his Ferrari.

In the hands of a less-creative individual, this whole backstory would come across as meaningless nonsense, but Belorgey commits to the story of Kavinsky so completely that it works. He also uses a lot of equipment from the 80s to make his beats, so you sort of feel like they were created by a guy who died in 1986 and doesn’t know about new technology. It really underscores the whole backstory.

The other cool thing about Kavinsky is the image of the character: he looks like a zombified Billy Zabka, right down to the old-school high-tops, stonewashed jeans and letterman’s jacket. That’s exactly why the whole character works so well: because Belorgey has crafted  the story of Kavinsky so thoroughly. When I listen to the music, I don’t think I’m listening to Vincent Belorgey, a French DJ who tours with Daft Punk and Justice; I think I’m listening to Kavinsky, the guy who died in ’86 and doesn’t know anything other than driving and music. Oh, also, his latest album is called “OutRun,” named after the Sega racing game which features (what else?) a Ferrari Testarossa. Yup.

It may seem gimmicky when I describe it, but listen to “Nightcall” and you’ll see what I mean. And if you listen and say to yourself “What the fuck is Ryan talking about? This guy sucks,” then you’re not a person I want in my life at all.

Think about that.

My phone was stolen out of my pocket while I was asleep on the train on Friday night. Some of you may be saying “Well, you do live in NYC, Ryan! This is what happens!” NO. BULLSHIT. This shouldn’t happen anywhere, and it’s ludicrous to suggest that we’re all living on borrowed time when it comes to holding on to our possessions before they’re inevitably taken from us. Like people who steal are owed the shit they’re stealing, and they’re just collecting on a past-due balance. This sort of shoulder-shrugging indifference only comes into play when the location of the theft is a crowded metropolitan area, and it usually comes from the type of people who “went to NYC once, but that Times Square was just so crowded! I’LL NEVER GO BACK AND YOU DESERVE IT FOR LIVING IN THAT DEN OF SIN!”

Isn’t that a ridiculous thing to think? That a crime’s impact varies based on where it’s committed? If somebody steals a car in Bumblefuck, Kentucky, the owner of that car is just as screwed as someone whose car is stolen in Los Angeles. Both victims are still going to have a hard time getting to work the next day, and no amount of bullshit rationalization as to why the crime occurred is going to help them. But I digress.

So I realized my phone had been stolen, I filed a police report, and I got home around 8 AM. I slept for a bit, then headed into the city to the AT&T store, where I found out that I could either A) pay a $200 deductible through my insurance to get a replacement phone, or B) pay $500 for a new phone. Great fucking options, right? At that point, I was so fed up with the whole situation that I got a new SIM card and went to Radio Shack, where I purchased the underwhelming device I currently hold in my hands. All in all, a rough day, but I did have plenty of time to think about the fate I would like to befall the man (I’m assuming it was a man) who stole my phone. After much thought, I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t decide on just one fate; as such, here is a comprehensive list of things I hope happen to the cocksucking, asshole piece of shit who took my phone.

Fate 1: I hope you stole my phone to help raise money for your dying mother’s medical bills. Unfortunately, because my phone is pretty much outdated, you aren’t able to raise nearly enough, and you can do nothing but watch helplessly as death comes for her, that sweet woman who did her very best to raise you only to be reminded on a daily basis through your actions that you’ll never achieve the heights she hoped you might. Oh, and I hope her last breath is spent lecturing you on stealing from other people instead of telling you she loves you.

Fate 2: I hope you stole my phone to fund an out-of-control drug habit that, revitalized with a sudden influx of cash gleaned from the theft and sale of my phone, results in your procurement of a higher-grade bag of heroin. Unused to such quality, you immediately nod off and crash through a plate-glass window, landing in a dumpster four stories below that happens to be filled with broken glass iPhone screens that slice your body to ribbons.

Fate 3: I hope you have children who desperately want iPhones for Christmas. Knowing that you can’t afford the 5S, you did the next-best thing: you stole my phone, thinking it would be good enough for your children. However, since you spent your children’s formative years stealing from people instead of instilling proper values in your kids, they have grown into materialistic monsters. Christmas morning comes, and you watch as the children open their gifts, only to roll their eyes and sigh. “Dad,” they say, “this is an iPhone 4S. We wanted the 5S. You are a terrible father.” Distraught, you trudge upstairs, draw up a warm bath, get in, and slide a razorblade across your veins, just one final selfish act in a lifetime already jam-packed with them. Nobody attends your funeral.

Fate 4: I hope you were staring at the screen of your new iPhone, elated at the prospect of finally having a decent phone. And then you got hit by a bus.

Fate 5: I hope you develop an ulcer from the guilt and you have to sell my phone to pay your medical bills, but on your way to meet the potential buyer of the phone, you fall asleep on the train…and a homeless man cuts your throat.

Fate 6: I hope you hate yourself for what you’ve done, and I hope you live to be 150 years old with the guilt weighing on you.

So to whoever stole my phone: enjoy it, you piece of shit, and may any (or all) of the aforementioned fates befall you.

I was reading an interview yesterday with Robin Pecknold, the lead singer of Fleet Foxes, and it was…well, it was actually pretty boring. Apparently the quality and depth of an artist’s music is inversely proportional to the quality and depth of their interviews, because I ended up giving up on that thing after five questions. Anyway, as I was reading, a thought popped into my head, so I figured I’d share it with you.

You know what we rarely see these days? Popular bands in which many (or all) of the players are charismatic personalities in their own right. Take, for example, Nickelback; whatever your opinion of them, they are one of the better-selling bands of the last decade, which probably says more about us than it does about the quality of their music, but I digress. I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who can name a non-Chad Kroeger member of Nickelback. Compare that to, say, The Beatles (that might be the first and only time Nickelback and The Beatles will be compared in such a fashion)- everybody knew the names of all the Beatles, and each Beatle had their own subset of fans. With the exception of boy bands, that hasn’t happened with a modern musical act in a long time; in fact, even if you include boy bands, the last time it happened was over a decade ago.

(Note: I’m obviously excluding modern “supergroups” like Them Crooked Vultures. I’m talking about bands whose members hadn’t achieved any significant level of fame on their own prior to the band’s formation.)

When I listen to The Rolling Stones, KISS, Led Zeppelin, etc., I come away thinking “These distinctive personalities came together and created a record”; conversely, when I listen to, say, Fleet Foxes, I don’t get that impression. Their music is just as great as that of the bands mentioned above, but it doesn’t have the same evidence of being a collaborative effort because, aside from Robin Pecknold, I have no idea who’s contributing to the music. When The Beatles were at the height of their popularity, people claimed that they could tell which Beatle wrote a song depending on how the song sounded, and they could do this because they had a good idea of each band member’s personality. (They could also tell by reading the liner notes, but let’s not let facts get in the way of a good story.) Nowadays, I don’t think that happens. It’s just assumed that each band member contributed equally to the creation of that song, whether they did or not. That probably means fewer arguments between band members who want to be recognized for their accomplishments; capitulating to the creative goals of the band is more important than individual acclaim. I think the flip side of that coin, however, is that we feel more of a connection to the band’s product than to the members of the band themselves. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but it does change the way we listen to and appreciate today’s music. Of course, plenty of bands have recognizable lead singers, but without the aid of Google, I doubt very many people would be able to name the bassist from Metallica. (His name is Robert Trujillo, and he’s the man.) As far as current music is concerned, just knowing all the names of a band’s members qualifies as intimate knowledge.

The more important question, then: Does it matter that we don’t feel like we know the people who make the songs we love? I feel like I know Justin Bieber, and as a result, I have ZERO desire to listen to his music, because the kid is a grade-A dipshit. It’s the law of diminishing returns: let us into your private life a little bit, and we love you for it (hi, Justin Timberlake!) Let us in too much, and your music loses its mystique and a large part of its meaning (fuck you, Chris Brown!) We tend to ascribe our bias toward the artist to their music, which makes it a very delicate balancing act for the people creating the art. Something to consider on this quiet December morning.

And speaking of Fleet Foxes:

“I live in New York, and in my neighborhood, a lot of dudes have handlebar mustaches. Which is cool if you want to have a handlebar mustache, but don’t try to have a conversation with me like you don’t have a handlebar mustache. Try to talk about regular stuff like music and politics? Nah dude, if you got a handlebar mustache, all I want to hear you talk about is Slinkys and kazoos and that’s it. Talk about kazoos for a few minutes, then hop on your unicycle and juggle, you carnival-faced motherfucker.”

-Hannibal Buress

As I’ve said before, I use Tinder. One of the many things I’ve noticed while using that site is an alarming amount of girls who think mustaches are still cool/charming/whimsical. You wouldn’t believe how many pictures girls take with one of the following:

1) A pint glass with a mustache drawn on it;
2) A pair of fake glasses, affixed to which is a plastic mustache that hangs above the wearer’s upper lip;
3) A mustache drawn on the outside of the subject’s index finger in Sharpie (which: why?), or;
4) A mustache tattooed on the inside of the subject’s index finger.

Now, the first three are slightly irritating, mostly because it’s just a fucking mustache. I don’t get the obsession with mustaches. I’ve grown one out before, and based on people’s reactions, you’d think I was the first person in the history of Earth to grow hair on their face. It’s an unwillingness to shave the entirety of my face, not sorcery. But for some reason, people always look at me and go “OMG I LIKE THE ‘STACHE!” and squeal with glee like they won’t see 60 more mustaches by the time they go to bed.

Even so, those who take pictures with fake mustaches pale in comparison to the members of that fourth category: the women who went to such lengths as to tattoo a mustache on their finger. Think about that day in their lives. They woke up, excitement and nervous anticipation gnawing at their insides. Maybe they brushed their teeth, took a shower, all that jazz. Then, they headed over to a tattoo parlor, where someone said “Would you like to look at our design book?” And they said “No no…I know exactly what I want. An 1850s-style mustache tattooed on the inside of my index finger so that, when the mood strikes, I can curl my finger over my upper lip. And in that glorious, fleeting moment, I will be more than a mere mortal. I will have a fake mustache.” Is that not the most idiotic thought process you’ve ever heard of? How do tattoo artists not look at them and go “Sure…and since you’re so interested in fads that are way past the point of being cool, you want to play Pogs while you wait?” If I were a tattoo artist, I would turn away every individual who requested a finger-mustache on the grounds that I wouldn’t feel comfortable giving a tattoo to a mentally retarded person. The first few people to get it were undoubtedly clever, there’s no denying that. But every other idiot who saw it on someone else and went “OOH I GOTTA HAVE THAT!” should be fucking ashamed of themselves. I get fad hairstyles or fad clothing, but fad tattoos? I know it sounds like an oxymoron, but that’s exactly what they are, and it needs to stop. I know some of you are thinking “BUT RYAN, #YOLO!,” and if that’s the case, please flush yourself down a toilet.

Another thought: you just know 90% of these people are going to be super pissed with themselves in, like, 10 years when they look at that tattoo. There’s no way they’re gonna look at it and go “Time for me to bring back the mustache-tat picture trend.” At best, it’ll be the kind of tattoo that they look at and go “God, I was fucking stupid when I was younger.” Don’t get me wrong, I think tattoos (when properly executed) can look very cool, but getting one so you can pretend to be Festus T. Botherington IV in pictures is the diametric opposite of cool.

This, of course, doesn’t apply to my friends who have these tattoos. Actually, yes it does. Shame on you.