The next time I have people over at my place, I’ll play this song in hopes that someone will ask me who it is, just so I can make up some fantastic lie that it’s me. Wobbling, fuzzy surf guitar recorded for 60 bucks in the back of a greasy autobody shop. They’ll just stare at me in my sweater vest trying to decide whether to punch me for lying or laugh at me for being nowhere cool enough to do something this cool.

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