Chris Bopst is the worst thing to happen to the RVA music scene ever. I will never understand how the fucking bass player from Gwar became a music guru -- hey dude, everything you ever touched was awful.
Do I know you? Obviously, you don't know me.
I've read enough of your Sound Opinions and heard enough of your ill-fated radio show that I feel like you're a member of my family. Specifically, a curmudgeonly, never-did-anything-themself-but-sure-as-hell-can-tell-other-people-how-it's-done, overweight uncle, that we all roll our eyes at.
And let me tell you, Uncle Chris, if there's anything you know less about than good music, it would be dressing yourself. I liked to believe the porkpie hat was just a one-time mistake for a Brick photo-op, but every time your overweight, lower-class ass is out and about in this fair town, there it is, plopped ridiculously on your empty head and engorged torso. If you're going bald and can't afford a baldness remedy, please, by all means PM me your address, and out of my infinite magnanimosity and largess, I'll send you some. Because talentless, tasteless, and unattractive is one thing: but baldness... no one should have to endure that.
