After begrudgingly listening to the album Bite Your Tongue by New York City's red-headed stepchildren Sex Slaves, I decided I'd compile a list. A list you ask? I bet you thought this was a review! Trust me when I tell you, you would much rather read this list of things I'd rather do than listen to the album, than read a review on this album. So without any further ado, here's a list of things I'd rather do, than ever listen to this album again:

• Count every grain of sand in Daytona Beach.
• Lick the feet of a hobbit.
• Be a fan of the Miami Dolphins.
• Devote my life to the writing of level III Calculus textbooks.
• Take a Nolan Ryan fastball directly to the face.
• Be a Good Charlotte groupie.
• Replace every pair of jeans I own with bondage pants.
• Live in the Gulag.
• Save Latin.
• Attend a Celine Dion concert.
• Be attacked by a Komodo Dragon.
• Be French.
• Take a bath in a tub full of mayonnaise.
• Watch back-to-back episodes of "Barney" for a minimum of two years.
• Jump headfirst into an active volcano.
• Be blind.
• Watch a Sinbad standup special.
• Have a bowling ball dropped on my big toe.
• Eat asparagus.
• Walk naked through the arctic.
• Never be able to eat pizza again.
• Watch curling, live or televised.
• Jump rope with razor wire.
• Use sulfuric acid as shampoo.
• Wrestle a polar bear.

This is cock rock at its very worst. "All Night Long" features some lazily delivered vocals and the especially poignant lyrics "I, I wanna fuck you all night long." The sooner bands like this stop trying to be Mötley Crüe, the better off we all shall be. "Thank God for Jack Daniels" changes things up a bit, by only repeating the chorus 30 times in between the intensely repetitious chord progressions and absolutely staggering depth of their musical arrangements. The drums are barely audible, it's music entirely dominated by boring riffs and tepid sing-alongs. If ever there was a band that epitomized forsaking musical direction for an image, this my friends, is it.

I could go on, and on, and on, but I'm sure all of you get the gist by now. I don't know who's involved in the making, production, marketing, and distribution of this musical abombination, but I wish all the bad things in life would happen to them, and no one else but them.

I'm not even going to waste my time trying to think of a clever way to close this review, just get this trash away from me.