Dirty Music

When I get the need for a fix, there is only one thing that really satisifies it. After months of listening to MP3s, the time had come to bust out some vinyl. My record player was top notch, one of the best you could buy back in 1981, and the diamond tipped needle hasn't ever been changed. Every pop, tchik, and hiss is pure dirty bliss. And for some reason I always grab Alice Donut. Dirty, fuzzy, hissing richness in full analog glory. Like the first trickle up the vein hitting the brain, I collapse twisted and tickled. Fuckin MP3s are like snorting sudafed.