Pony Bones Talkin Thangs Wrong Today With Country Music
by Matthew PonY Bones

The pervasive darkness of the United States has noticeably darkened the past few weeks. If ya shoot yerself in tha throat, they will still get you to talk. The dragnet will never cease. The pressure is on. Randy Travis’s metaphysical tractor of oblivion is upon Pony’s very soul. Nashville needs some explainin!

Pony got struck sick and the ghost Quaker farmers who invisibly haunt Filthadelphia almost dragged the pony out to a far away place to put him down with a bullet for the dog food factory or the European meatball factory. I did not eat for over a week. I ate popsicles. I talked to Dostoyevsky who told me in novel length conversations about his after life drinkin buddy, Hank Williams Senior. There was a cowboy hat that contained a black hole. Existentialism twanged the nervous system near total collapse.

The most important thing to keep in mind is that Miranda Lambert carries a box cutter with her at all times, especially on stage. She has a severe phobia of beach balls. Lambert explains that beach ball phobia is okay. For instance some other folks “have a fear of mom.” Some have a fear of Miss Miranda Lambert, Cuntry superstar sensational. Embrace your neural trepidations with visceral catharsis! Carve Miranda Lambert upon your bare titties with box cutter. Let the blood drool out the lacerations, then go masturbate. Go tell your parents or your children. When I was getting raised by society, you couldn’t go tell your parents or your children bout all the evil dirty things you do in secret.

So let’s talk about the Brad Paisley. He is symptomatic of the whole stepping in the horse shit in yer scuffed up funeral shoes syndrome. I almost enjoyed one of his songs which is, “ I'm Gonna Miss Her (The Fishin' Song).” The song is catchy, breezy and stupid. The enjoyment comes from getting sideswiped by the banal reality lived by the song’s protagonist. Basically, Paisley links contemporary country to the cornpone of the past. He also wrote that song about ticks and sex. Does the tick actually get stuck in the cock hole or the cunt hole in this sexy epic? We will never ever know!

Unfortunately, Paisley the pansy also is symptomatic of the country artist attempting to maketh a coherently cohesively topical. Embarrassment, TOTAL EMBARRASMENT. He has none of the hard livin honesty Merle Haggard or Kris Kristofferson. He does not have the empathy of Joe South. He is also does not approach the grandeur grotesque of Lee Greenwood nor Toby Keith. The problem is Paisley is sincere.

Has Paisley the pansy suffered a brain clot stroke of liberalism? No. He is unknowingly crushing folks with his morosely misguided Wheelhouse. One must suffer this towering white man among white men. Paisley knows contemporary country music is like a chupacabra that has drained all of the billy goat’s blood (tha billy goat be conservatism). So, the pansy struts out his revolutionary side. Didactic liberalism is bull shit mixed with heifer shit and horse shit.

Paisley was obviously inspired by SpuckY Spielberg’s Lincoln to write “Accidentally Racist.” The song is supposed to explain the necessity of honoring the confederate dead and drive by shootings. Everyone gets a good talkin down to and a pansy hug. Exploitive, L.L. Cool J. raps bout the Robert E. Lee. Cool J. is decked out in white face. Paisley is playin them electric getar chords with soot face fancy upon his watermelon grin.

Horrifically, not only L.L. Cool J graces us with hard hickin rhymes. One must suffer the wraith of Charlie Daniels rappin to the kids on the pansy concept album. Go suckle upon this gratuitous gift grotesquery. You get a middle aged black cock and a wrinkled shriveled elderly white cock stroking to get NASCAR hard to be relevant to the jack ass “common redneckin pecker or pecker deprived” whom collectively stagger and drool in despondencies due directly to the violence of being jack dropped out of the wrestling ring called economic class warfare. The problem is Paisley the pansy is absolutely sincere. Paisley should’ve written bout what it’s like to be dogged around in poverty, though the pale pansy rock star bumpkin wouldn’t know what that smears like.

Paisley is a pansy and is truly successful as the manifestation of the fatal disease wracking country music and rural culture. He propagates the problem, for Paisley the pansy is severely sincere. Banality is the highest form of sincerity!

Well a God damn fox broke into the hen house and plucked it on fire! Does sincerity have decency? Terror suddenly escalates. Paisley, the necrophilia, rapes and pillages the corpse of Roger Miller by sampling him on the new album. Yes, Cuntry music is officially busted dead for the common man and woman. Once upon a time, a heartfelt eccentric weirdo like Miller wrote songs that spoke for all of humanity. Let sentimentality cleanse my soul of this contemporaneous fuckery!

Just maybe the true conflict dwells with livin up to such powerful NOSTALGIA. This may be contemporary country’s true failure, yet still there is something that just won’t go away for good. Yes, the problematic sin that won’t get cleansed from country music’s contemporary soul is simply Brad Paisley the pansy is sincere. Fools also like his “getar work.”

Country music is skunk smackin from terminal globalization gentrified deep fried disease. The whole genre is abhorrently obese with arena rock atmospherics sucking from the U2 cock straw. Go fuck yourself CMT for allowing pornographic monstrosities to proliferate.

Country music needs to do more hard drugs and take a shotgun rifle to their flat screen 3D T.V. Country Music needs to go take a long walk with the Lord on a lonely dirt road till they recall what it means when even yer LONESOME GETS LONELY and death starts whackin out turkey calls to you personally. Lastly and absolutely, Tim McGraw needs to remember to drink more tequila. I would like to help him.

Sincerity by default does not guarantee good country music sounds. You fucked up Brad Paisley. We’re just two different types of motherfucker. Therefore, I am now racist against country music. Go fuck yourself in the ass with a fried chicken leg. Johnny Paycheck and Jerry Reed are still NOT in the country music hall of fame.