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These whiny, sniveling twits make me scramble for the remote whenever they appear.

They're as enjoyable and desirable as crotch stubble. How much longer can these sellouts keep churning out this tripe? 

Their despicable hip-hop whatever-you-want-to-call-it crapfest made me puke in my mouth. The one with them in bouncing around the small town to a peppy little ditty grates my spine and makes the veins in my forehead pulsate. 

I make it a point to ignore my credit just to spite them. 

Their newest musical abortion takes place at a party and it has this cutesy, effeminate techno quality to it. For some reason there's this poser jackass on turntables with his headphones hanging off one ear like people enjoy what he is doing. 

I can't wait until these rectal-squirts go the way of the Flat-Buns guys and dinosaurs. 

But the joke is on me, I know the words to all their terrible songs and I remember what company they work for.