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“Hey Hardcore Smiths Fan, Am I a Douche Bag for Only Listening to Best… I?”

“No, I guess not.”

“You GUESS not? That’s not a very strong answer. You’re supposed to say, emphatically, either, album purism is the only way to go with Smiths perusal, or, the sequencing, selections and superior version of “What Difference Does it Make?” grant Best… I a rare set of credentials under this otherwise oafish entity that is “greatest hits collections.”

“Well, it depends on the situation.”

“The sitcha huen?”

“Every situation is a construct. A social construct, in fact.”

“Certainly this one is.”

“I mean, what’s the lighting like?”

“It’s light.”

“What’s the lunar phase?”

“Now you’re steppin’ in it.”

“The realities of our situations stem from a certain invisible, intangible essence running within all of us. To define one outside source of amusement as superior to another is a barbaric endeavor. We’re lucky to even be having this conversation. The very phenomenon of our conversing thusly qualifies as a miracle in and of itself.”

“You’re not living in a shell, are you?”

“Were any dogs hurt in this operation?”

“Boy, I feel like a monkey.”

 

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