Everyday, someone comes up to me and says, “OMG, you have to listen to this new band I found. They are the best.” Yes, they actually say “OMG” but that’s not the most annoying factor here. I swear the next person to use an internet acronym anywhere, even on the internet, is going to fellate my knuckles for a good six hours. Fucking morons. Anyway, I’m always approached by someone claiming they have listened to or discovered the best band ever. There’s another thing I hate: people who say they discovered a good band like they were some lost and locked away treasure. You didn’t discover them, ass clog. You happened to overhear their music at one of your trendy parties with people who wear collared shirts with the collars popped up. Dumbasses. Add people with popped collars to my list of people to force oral intercourse upon with my fists.

Before this turns into a simple list of things I hate, which would go on forever (otherwise known as Rigolega’s sex drive) allow me to articulate, in plain English, which band of all the musical talents out there is the greatest of all time. The greatest band of all time, apparently, is Weezer.

Wow, look at them. Take a good long look. Then ask yourself, based simply on looks alone, “How can this be the greatest band in the universe?” If your answer consists of anymore than the words, “It can’t be” in that order, you need to step back and re-evaluate your life.

I hate Weezer. They’re just like every other bleeding heart band out there, except they had the opportunity to do it before everyone out there decided to take a large hacksaw and gracefully separate their balls from their bodies. I read a review a few months ago which stated that Weezer may be the greatest and most influential band in the last decade. The article stated that “Weezer essentially introduced teens to the brand of music known as emo.” That right there is enough to qualify them for the worst band of all time award. The article also said that Rivers Cuomo, lead singer and guitarist of this traveling troupe of travesty, caused teens around America to pick up a guitar or pen and express themselves. There’s another thing no one needs: more teens being a bunch of cry baby pussies who think their life is worse than anything out there. Now before you say, “Well, you’re just basing this on how they look and that one article,” think again, dumbass. I, the Great Rigolega, I have listened to the entire Weezer “Blue Album” several times. This is considered by many to be their greatest triumph. I must say, that after listening to the album all the way through just three times, I couldn’t be any more convinced that Weezer was more an infectious respiratory disease rather than a band. There’s no substance to the music. The lyrics blow whale ass. All Weezer represents is untalented whiners who happen to make it big because they hold a guitar in their hands. I could go on and on. But, believe it or not, this is only the tip of the iceberg. While I hate Weezer, there is something that bothers me much more than a group of nancy boys who moan on and on about their deepest and innermost feelings. No, the problem I have is with people who say that [enter band here] is the greatest band of all time as if it’s a proven fact.

Looking at this as any intelligent human would, with logic, one would realize that it’s impossible to dub any one person or band as the “greatest of all time,” simply because there are way too many genres of music to judge. Every branch of music has its own criteria as to what makes it a success. For example (and take these definitions as they should be taken, as my opinion, asshole), to be a successful “punk” rocker, all you have to do is play the same three chord riff over and over and bitch about one of the following: government, having your heart broken and/or having your heart broken by the government. Examples would be: The Ramones, Sex Pistols, The Clash. To be a successful jam band musician, you have to have one or more of the following talents: a complete understanding of your instrument, the ability to improvise on the spot, the ability to make a two minute song into a twenty minute marathon. Examples would be: Phish, String Cheese Incident, Umphrey’s McGee. To be a successful blues musician, you have to combine the exact same riffs played at different tempos with a short story about how “Your baby left you,” or something similar. Examples would be: Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker. Rock and roll is essentially the same as blues, just with a harder sound. Or is it? Who cares? There are too many genres and a lack of criteria to choose one band that simply trumps all other bands.

Before you begin to argue about my short analysis of what I believe you need to play in a given genre, ask yourself, “What constitutes something as the best?” When you actually stop to think about that question critically and not with a simple passing, headstrong glance like your thick skull normally would, you’ll realize that opinion alone simply does not constitute something as the best. There has to be some sort of basis behind why something is the greatest.

Let’s say two men have a disease. One guy’s disease causes his skin to catch fire and rot and his anus to expel a foul, thick fluid which is actually his liquidated organs, in such a fashion that the expulsion sounds like he is grinding up a baby for lunch meat. The other guy’s disease causes him to ooze his organs in solid form throughout every orifice in his body while his skin sheds off with a sound similar to a feminist trying to argue a point. Both men are in a terrible position, as they will both soon die. While each disease will lead to the same result, death, both diseases are slightly different. There is no way to say which death is more painful, as the only way to know is to gauge the opinions of both of the men with the disease. And since both men are seemingly in a ton of pain, each will try to convince the other that their pain is immeasurable compared to the other’s pain. When both men die after a short time, everyone will look back and realize that arguing was pointless because there was no concrete way to gauge the pain the two were in other than by taking into consideration the opinion of each man. While almost everyone will agree that both diseases sucked big time, they will always disagree over which sucked more, based on their opinion. Eventually, everyone will agree that both diseases sucked just as much as the other. Now apply this to music. Both punk rock and emo rock suck, and can be considered diseases like the two mentioned above. Each camp will argue their case as why their music is superior, trying to outdo the other. In the end, they both go away and everyone realizes that they both sucked big time, based on nothing more than opinion because there is STILL no concrete evidence or criteria as to what makes music good other than one’s opinion. Get it now, dumbass?

Since opinion is the only thing I base my quality of music on, allow me to shed some light on one of the most trivial things to ever be argued about. Music.

1) A musical group must be able to put together music that is held together by the member(s) of said group being able to coherently and cohesively play their instruments like experts (i.e. sans lame impotent riffs that produce a mighty yawn from Rigolega) be it guitar, bass, drums, voice, banjo, beam to the skull of a panda, etc.

2) Lyrics should never be the crux of a band. While they might aid the music in getting a point across, never should the music suck for the sake of some sappy lyrics. If lyrics don’t fit, or straight up suck, don’t use them.

3) Lyrics should not consist of whining, bitching or moaning about the government, love lost or why no one loves you even though you grew up in the suburbs as a spoiled asshole but simply couldn’t adjust to the world because you considered yourself a non-conformist and wanted to stand out because you know in reality that you truly do suck yeasty vagina.

4) Exceptions to rule 3: The music absolutely rules huge amounts of ass to the point where the lyrics don’t matter; the singer happens to have such a great voice that you listen less to the lyrics and more to the sounds coming out of the singer’s mouth (Very rare. Example: Freddie Mercury)

5) All emo sucks. We’ve gone through this too many times. Men should not have the right to bitch and moan about their problems to the chorus of three chord riffs. This goes for every emo subgroup as well. Allow me to define the three I’ve heard of to date:

a) Emo- Grown men whining and crying about petty matters such as breaking up with one’s girlfriend, being betrayed by one’s girlfriend or boyfriend (interpret as you wish) and/or thoughts of suicide over something as insignificant as the aforementioned combined with a shitty excuse for musical compliment. Simply put by Maddox, emo is short for loser. Face it; if you consider yourself emo, you’re a loser. Grow a set and fix your problem instead of bitching about it in hopes of getting people to pity you and/or solve the problem for you.

b) Screamo- Same concept as emo, just with more screaming.

c) Emocore- A combination of “Emotional” and “Hardcore” synonymous with complete fucking loser and whiny, post-menopausal sack of dried vagina.

There is no such thing as a single greatest musical group. No matter how much you may think a band may rule, there is no basis other than opinion to judge what makes music “good”. Stop being a dumbass. Stop trying to logically explain why any one band is the greatest, because there is no universal standard on what is deemed good music. Face it, the only music that is acceptable is what Rigolega listens to. And you are not worthy, nor ready for that yet. So until then, feel free to marinate my beef beam, jag bag.

-Assholes popped their collars said LOL after having their asses handed to them with this analysis.

Everyone’s experienced it. You’re driving along, minding your own business, pondering how awesome Rigolega is and why you should sacrifice your first born to appease the Great Rigolega, when suddenly you hear an obnoxious hum and notice a blur traveling past you on your right. Flummoxed and angered at the interruption of your thoughts of Rigolega pounding sweet virgins, you immediately reach for a 12-gauge shotgun. But since you suck, you don’t have a 12-gauge. So instead you shake your fist in anger at the blur. Then you can only help but wonder, “What was that thing that just passed me? Was it a cop? An ambulance? My worthless and otherwise pointless existence?” But to your great disappointment, and my disgust, none of the preceding is true. The blur was not an emergency vehicle doing its job. No, you have been passed by the annoying and dreadfully common dick who thinks the streets are his race track. He (yes, he, because all women drive like shit) drives his hunk of shit like it’s something to behold, something to be impressed with. But in all actuality, he fails to realize that his car is more a box of camel shit on wheels than a car, let alone a race car.

The last time I checked, the main streets of Chicago hadn’t been converted to a NASCAR speedway. Stop acting like you own a race car and drive your piece of shit like it’s supposed to be driven. I’m sick of watching assholes weave in and out of traffic to try and impress everyone else out on the street. Oh, look at me, I just cut you off and am now ahead of you. Thus, you are impressed by my driving ability. No, cock jockey, I’m pissed because you cut me off. I don’t think you’re a good driver, I think you’re an asshole who needs to have his scrotum stapled to his forehead just for being such a douche. What’s the point of trying to fly though heavy traffic anyway? You get a good 20 feet from where you started and you have to stop again. What does this accomplish besides cementing into everyone’s mind that humanity isn’t worth preserving? Nothing. You’re not impressing anyone, you don’t look like a bad ass and you aren’t doing anything to convince me not to cut your brakes.

Then there are the assholes who think everyone wants to race them. They’ll pull up at a stop light and roll down their windows, trying to make eye contact with you. They’ll most likely blast some shitty European techno and style their hair as they try to get you to look their way. Whether or not you make eye contact, the ass goblin will slam the accelerator and pass you at top speeds when the light changes, proving that he can beat people he isn’t racing. Congratulations dumbass, you beat me. By screeching your tires and shooting ahead of me, you’ve proven that you are indeed a more skilled driver than I. Because we all know how hard it is to beat someone in a race where you’re the only one racing because only complete douche bags like you try to race people in your shitty Honda Civic. And take that obnoxious muffler off of your shitbox or I’ll shove it so far up your ass you’ll be coughing up exhaust for a year.

One of the common mantras I’ve heard from people who drive like Dale Earnhardt on the street (but tragically don’t meet the same fate as the aforementioned hillbilly) is “Drive fast, think slow.” The phrase clubs you and any shred of logic like a truncheon to the testicles. It’s like saying, “Turn on the lawn mower and stick your hand in the blade,” or “Open and consume a liter of paint thinner” or “Listen to an entire Dashboard Confessional album,” because no one in their right mind would do any of these previously stated tortures. Who the fuck comes up with these stupid sayings? “Drive fast, think slow.” How about I just save you the gas money and beat you to death with a bag of doorknobs you overflowing sack of suck.

I simply cannot go on. The thought of morons driving in their Passat or their Geo or their [enter car brand that is everything but a race car] like their shit doesn’t stink rekindles my urge to scoop out my neighbor’s eyes with a wooden spoon. So the next time you feel the urge to drive fast in heavy traffic, the urge to cut me off or have the ridiculous yearning to race me, remember to step back, take a deep breath and realize that you are a dumbass. You’re acting like an asshole and are impressing no one. No one in their right mind would drive fast and think slow[ly] because if you do that, you die. Either way, if driving fast and thinking slow[ly] doesn’t kill you directly, you’ll perish when I toss my spam javelin through your skull and impregnate your brain. Man do I rule.

-People tried to race me and had their scrotums stapled to their foreheads.