Sometimes you're just standing around, scratching your big hairy balls (or, if you're a woman, your firm perky breasts) and some song which had previously alluded you suddenly grabs hold of your imagination and slams it onto the city sidewalk (I usually readjust my rocks on public streets.)
"Take me," it screams,
"I am a catchy song you have failed to notice before! Use me to your satisfaction!" Such was my testicle-related epiphany when I finally heard
Over and Over by
Hot Chip on my iPod last week. This also happened to me last month with
You Can Decide by
Field Music. I'd
heard these tracks before but never actually
listened to them, in much the same way you hear
Andre Rieu play his fiddle during those endless
PBS pledge drives, but you're not really
listening to him because you're too busy thinking,
"Holy shit, does he really leave the house with that fucking hairdo?"
Sometimes you're just standing around, scratching your big hairy balls (or, if you're a woman, your firm perky breasts) and some song which had previously alluded you suddenly grabs hold of your imagination and slams it onto the city sidewalk (I usually readjust my rocks on public streets.) "Take me," it screams, "I am a catchy song you have failed to notice before! Use me to your satisfaction!" Such was my testicle-related epiphany when I finally heard 
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