Back when he was “cool” in 1990-nevermind, doucher-deluxe Fred Durst and his band of flunkies were somehow placed at the top of the charts thanks to the hard-earned dollars of landscapers, rollerbladers, and teenage moms and smokers alike. It was hell, my friends – or so you would think with all of the gear featuring flame patterns back then. “Nu-metal” was the shit bro, and if you weren’t braiding your whiteboy corn-rows, carrying your skateboard everywhere, or drinking Surge like it was gonna be discontinued (whoops), chances are you were probably getting laid and laughing at the aforementioned.
Now here we are in 2011, and apparently the still, hotdog-flavored waters of bad taste run deep. Our guess? People either miss the sound of what tribal tattoos, statutory rape and cargo shorts sounds like, “KoЯn sold out,” or a certain someone with a red Yankee fitted is not having such a merry, post-barely-relevant career.
Whatever the case (really, who cares?), have a half-assed listen to the latest from Jacksonville, Florida’s finest, take a trip down memory lane and try to remember when JNCO Jeans, professional wrestling, super-gauge-pierced anything and Napster were, like, totally the most bitchin’ things on the fuckin’ planet, dood-guy.