Goddammit.

Who decided it was a good idea to match Mötley Crüe's attitude with a shameless rip musically of Every Time I Die's Hot Damn!? Honestly now. Fess up, because it's produced perhaps the most truly ridiculous cock rock-dependent metalcore album of the past decade (outdoing Coalesce's There Is Nothing New Under The Sun in the "ridiculous metalcore albums" category easily).

For ten tracks straight, Fight Paris will tell you how much they like fucking. And how. Sample cringe-worthy offerings include "and that trick she does with her tongue, oh yeah, I taught her that one," "the south is rising if you know what I mean," and "for you, I'll make that innocence go away." I'm fairly sure I contracted some sort of venereal disease just by coming into contact with the liner notes, which, by the way, contain pictures of likely-coked up girls (hookers), filtered with various colors and making plenty of artifically seductive poses. Oh, and there's some clips of female moaning on the record. And some guitar solos. And some more moaning. And then some guitar solos. And some missed rent payments on the trailer.

Paradise Found can and will be flaunted as an album representing the heart of rock'n'roll. But if the heart of rock'n'roll means executing one of the most currently trendy styles with horribly idiotic, feminist group bait for songwriting, then here's to hoping rock'n'roll is on the "Super Size Me" diet and clogs every artery leading to it.

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