death poems for the living gods of america

In spite of pleasant ratings all around, some from colleagues and friends, I don't think much of my (probably) favorite band's new album. Sorry Alfred, Jason, general consensus. Swayed by a typically wired performance, my girlfriend, our friend Leah, Rob Harvilla, and $2 pulled pork sliders, I actively enjoyed four of the new ones at an Apple store appearance on Tuesday. But Rather Ripped didn't have to bribe me so.