A Running Diarrhea of the 41st Annual CMA Awards
An engineer friend of mine looked up from his less than average lunch, let out a soft burp, and said, “that was like eating a monkey’s ass in a hot, sweaty circus tent.”
The world is full of things we don’t want to do, and that’s why I haven’t deleted the November 7th broadcast of the Country Music Association awards from my DVR. And thus we begin the 20th iteration of this column’s slow death march through roughly 3 hours of hillbilly pop drivel.
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