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Posted on 18th March 2009
Peaches - I Feel Cream - XL, 2009 “Merrill Beth Nisker! Get your butt back in the house young lady. There’s no way in hell you’re going to the mall looking like that!” Parents (for the most part) are great. Some really screw us up. Some actually love us and want the best for us. But here’s the thing: even the best intending parents can still be just awful. I’m a parent now, so I know this is true. Without even intending it, I make my kids miserable…pleasetaketheseshardsofbamboooutofmyfingernailbeds miserable. This is also how I feel when I listen to, look at or think about Peaches. She’s so cringeworthy that she easily knocks Roseanne Arnold, amputees and distant relatives right off their respective thrones. She’s one of those people that has homogenated music to the point that it no longer falls under any recognizable genre. Its just noise pollution, topped with juvenilemoanyelpscreaching. Peaches’ mega-rebellious, on-your-face, over-sexed persona makes me never want to have sex again. I was so busy being embarrassed for her when I was at Target today, that I reached right past the condoms and grabbed the overnightheavyflowwomandiapers. Sick. Just sick. I know all girls aren’t supposed to be cute and little and timid and sweet, but can’t they all be at least a little bit of one of these things? According to wikipedia (yeah, i know), Peaches bunked with Feist back in Toronto (the Canadian is strong with this one). What kind of awkward experimenting did these two do that drove sweet little Merrill into a career of trying to prove that she still has sex with guys (too). Both of these young ladies picked fun one-word stage names and went on to make money at our expense. Something magical must have happened back in Hogtown and we’ve been blessed with the task of picking up all the estrogendrentchedpieces. Dear Canada: please take these insane people back, we were doing fine without them.

Peaches - I Feel Cream - XL, 2009

“Merrill Beth Nisker! Get your butt back in the house young lady. There’s no way in hell you’re going to the mall looking like that!” Parents (for the most part) are great. Some really screw us up. Some actually love us and want the best for us. But here’s the thing: even the best intending parents can still be just awful. I’m a parent now, so I know this is true. Without even intending it, I make my kids miserable…pleasetaketheseshardsofbamboooutofmyfingernailbeds miserable. This is also how I feel when I listen to, look at or think about Peaches. She’s so cringeworthy that she easily knocks Roseanne Arnold, amputees and distant relatives right off their respective thrones. She’s one of those people that has homogenated music to the point that it no longer falls under any recognizable genre. Its just noise pollution, topped with juvenilemoanyelpscreaching. Peaches’ mega-rebellious, on-your-face, over-sexed persona makes me never want to have sex again. I was so busy being embarrassed for her when I was at Target today, that I reached right past the condoms and grabbed the overnightheavyflowwomandiapers. Sick. Just sick. I know all girls aren’t supposed to be cute and little and timid and sweet, but can’t they all be at least a little bit of one of these things? According to wikipedia (yeah, i know), Peaches bunked with Feist back in Toronto (the Canadian is strong with this one). What kind of awkward experimenting did these two do that drove sweet little Merrill into a career of trying to prove that she still has sex with guys (too). Both of these young ladies picked fun one-word stage names and went on to make money at our expense. Something magical must have happened back in Hogtown and we’ve been blessed with the task of picking up all the estrogendrentchedpieces. Dear Canada: please take these insane people back, we were doing fine without them.