How much do I hate that whining, screeching, pseudo-man otherwise known as Dave Matthews? Once I went out with this beautiful woman who taught pilates and was learning to belly-dance. Everything about our first date was great—except her suddenly mentioning some kind of “undying love” for all things Dave Matthews. “Listen to the lyrics,” she cooed. What do you mean, “listen?” He’s not speaking any known language. We never went out again, and I wasn’t a bit saddened. A good friend of mine says if Dave Matthews comes on the radio while he’s driving and for some reason he can’t switch the station fast enough that he’ll just veer into oncoming traffic and end it all. I heartily agree. (AP)
Comments
comments