One time someone played me the Linkin Park album.
I was drunk and high and he was hyping it up, so I was jamming to it in his room while playin games and shit.
The next day, or two days later, he put it on again, and I had to sit down. My pulse quickened, and I felt my heart jump in my chest.
The world seemed to matter much less. Everything I had believed was a lie. At that exact moment I knew I had grown up.
There was no Santa Claus. There was no Easter Bunny. Men stuck their dick into women in a messy, juice-sloshed patte that produced children, not a white stork with a blue cap. I would not pay off my student loans. The days of fucking white-toothed, fake-tanned college girls were soon coming to an end. What would follow were the typical white man's burdens; work pressures, golf, midlife crises, and therapy.
I felt a sudden need to change my clothes and walk somewhere. I felt as if I had attended a funeral in a kimono and a Dodgers cap. My life's priorities neatly lined up in my head, and I saw how off target I had been.
So damn that guy, and fuck Linkin Park for killing my dreams with their shit casserole shopping mall mix of pussy rock and wiggerish we're not trying to be hip-hop while trying to be hip-hop whiteboy rap by an Asian/Mexican/Indeterminate Race guy who reveals that he "grew up in a much lower income house than his other bandmates so he responds much differently to conflicts and reacts with more anger", while everyone knows that anyone describing their upbringing like that is obviously at the tolerable end of lower to middle class white culture, and in fact is not in any way qualified to rap, unless they begin their rap with heavy disclaimers and caveats.
