I don’t care if the perpetrator is male or female — although recently the glut of po-faced GWAGs (girl-with-acoustic-guitar) has been overwhelming — people who sit around strumming acoustic guitars as if their lives depended on it (when they should instead be fingering their student loans), sweating through the vacuum-sealing of their souls like they’re the Woodie Guthrie or Joan fucking Baez of the suburbs, really need to stop.
Just because you know some minor chords does not make you a musical genius. Whoa man, calm down! A seventh? Wild. An AUGMENTED seventh!? Somone’s cruising for some carpal tunnel action.
Just gimme a smile, friend.
Because you’ve led as cushy a life as the rest of us, probably moreso if you’re wearing open-toed footwear and have never had the desire to pick up an electric, plug into a loud amp and let rip a skronkalicious wall of buzzsaw bliss and Chuck Berry riffs.
But what can you do? As long as people drive Volkswagens this problem will persist so I can only offer my condolences and some advice: lose the tie-dye, break a couple of strings and be thankful you’ve led the sheltered life you have, thus allowing the stress-free ostrichan existence of the self-absorbed douchebag.
