Emo kids these days just don’t know how to rock. And neither do the hippies; they’re too busy learning some obscure African instrument or switching instruments on stage to do it. Stinky danky fuckers. Who knew that real rockers no longer knew that rock is about slippin’ and a sliddin’, shootin’ and snortin’. It’s about looking out at your audience, every single girl and boy, and saying, I’m going to fuck you and you and you and you. We’re going to turn this smokey arena into an orgy of Roman proportions. Somebody sacrifice a goat, stat. And give me some fucking grapes. That’s how you do it. Singing “Rooster” by Alice in Chains is not the way — this is like one of the silliest, ultra-serious songs in the history of rock. The only people who like it are wannabe frontliners peeling potatoes in the Army mess house and rednecks remembering their first sexual experience. If you cover this song, you cannot hope to be taken seriously. It is a curse that dooms any who play it to never making it out of their hometown.