Silence fools. Cease your mewing petulant objections, for I have truth news to feed you. You and your little plastic object of desire. When you bought her, you knew you were following a trend – but you told yourself, you weren’t the only one. Week on week your sexy little toy grew more acceptable, till like a horrible little bebo for your pants pocket, it became compulsory.
I refer of course, to your iPod. Your precious little video playing, podcast catching musical library on the go. The place where you have cooped your fine feathered taste pidgeons, proving for once and for all that you are a discearning, hip and happening, Arctic Monkeys, Arcade Fire, and Kayan Westoholic.
But my sweet innocent little ‘music’ fan, were you aware, as you pranced about on boxing day like Ashley Simpson crossing a cock minefild, those Arian little ear buds allowing your ossicles to finally, gloriously conform; that you had become, even then, a nefarious breaker of the law rules? For you see, every song you dibble and dabble and squirt from cd to ipod, is a copyright infringement and a large collection could – in theory – wind you up in the bad prison, where the large potato headed men with Shamrock tatoo’s and hairy knuckles wait to butter the mustard of beard quafffed baby faced metrosexuals…just…like..you.