Gurnvana: The rise of the circle jerk

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Well, if you are Sean Archer, then I must be Castor Troy.

The concert for Sandy unlike all other charity concerts to support the egos of bored musicians, contained a Nirvana reunion. Slovenly crack-addict Courtney Love claimed to be “not amused” by the reunion, assuming that she had been asked whether she thought it would be a “comedy event.”  Love expected more “jokes.”

The smack-yo-face-smile-on-a-stick Paul McCartney, whose previous foray into grunge resulted in him cleaning the grime off the entrance to Heather Mills wooden leg, introduced Grohl, Pap Smear and Christ Novasleicissfadasvsbsfasafvsvcvv (or nearest spelling) and bashed through the longest Nirvana song ever invented. It went on for so long that the one interested man up front nodded his own head straight off. The “surviving” members of Nirvana, as they are now referred to,  looked a world away from the edgy outfit who released  Bleach all those years ago. Dave Grohl is now so nice that his very prescence in a room can ensure that nobody will ever die and there’ll always be a drummer at hand.

The rest of the concert went off quietly. Following Chris Martin and Michael Stipe shitting all over “Losing my Religion,” Alicia Keyes finally dueted with Henry Rollins and Bruce Springsteen didn’t die, again.

compared to

and here they are in Dubalin circa 1992. I was at this gig. I am old.

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