I am of the opinion that if you tell me your all-time favorite band is 311, then you’re probably not trying hard enough. Call me crazy, but if you think “All Mixed Up” is the greatest mesh of sounds to ever float through the ether on this blue sphere, then the odds are good that you go to sleep with a gremlin screaming in your ears. After a night of blood curdling shrieks that induce nightmares of drowning babies and Mike Huckabee, the first song that happens to waft into your ear canals would sound like angels on high in comparison. This is my understanding as to how anyone could like 311 THAT much. Not just appreciate their music, but genuinely believe they are the best of the bunch. There can be no other explanation.
Or, you’e functionally retarded. No, no, no. I take that back. There’s this girl with Down’s Syndrome that comes into my work looking for John Michael Montogomery cd’s. Now, I’m no JMM fan, but if I had to pick between his blistering take on All-4-One’s “I Swear,” and that band that plays the same effing reggae riff over and over again, I’m definitely going with the guy from Kentucky. So, through my watertight logic, you would have to be slightly slower than a girl with Down’s Syndrome to have a 311 poster on your wall.
I mean, honestly, when someone asks you what your favorite band is, just stop and think for awhile. Ask yourself, “If I say 311, will this person want to have me put down? Will they have the legal right to do so?” While you think about that for 5-10 minutes, the person will then just walk away, and you will have saved yourself the humiliation. Believe me, I know what you’re going through. I used to tell people Huey Lewis was the greatest musician the world had ever seen. Of course, I was six years old at the time, but, boy, was I a dumber than shit six year old. If you need help recovering from 311 Dependancy Syndrome, you know where to find me. I’ll be in my room, listening to my cassette of Sports and crying over my lack of strength to move on.