THE WHO

I fucking hate the Who.

It didn’t used to be that way.

I used to groove to their anarchistic sounds

of the revolution

back before I saw they were part of the problem

not solution.

I thought they meant something

until I realized how pompous

how bloated

how incessantly annoying they must be

to even continue breathing

- and what kind of a name is THE WHO, anyway?

It’s like a Seussian rejection

the kind of name that only losers

and lovers of losers

would endure.

And your constant fawning:

“Oh, Petey’s so cute.

And Keith. Pity, he’s dead…”

Only exacerbated the situation.

Their presentation is offensive

and your love of them

turned for me

to loathing.

So why, then,

do I insist on going with you

every time the boys come to town?

Because despite it all

they’re still the loudest game around

and, like your worshipped Townsend

after they play, I am finally deafened to all the things you say

about the fucking Who.

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