On the Epic Scale of Total Douchebaggery, we present Brandon Flowers of The Killers. Check this out. This clown wears makeup and ponces around as if he is important or relevant or even good. He is none of those things. Following in the awesome footsteps of pretending pretentious prissy pricks (yeah!) like Terence Trent D'Arby (that apostrophe makes kitten think of murder all day), bragging about how he is better than legends, this forgettable midget outs his own irrelevance better than anyone else ever could.
The idea of this has-been knocking Nirvana, Led Zeppelin or any other legendary band off of any pedestal is at best a minor annoyance, on a par with toilet paper on the bottom of your shoe in a crowded bar, except for the fact that most people would overlook said ass-paper, yet I am forced to endure weather reports about this approaching douche-storm emailed to me by people who are furious about him.
We saw these guys play Bowery Ballroom many years ago, they had the stage presence of a vaudevillian reunion show, and smelled about the same. This cat had makeup on and styled hair, and he was incredibly not cool. Our response was to drink 20 beers, which is, if not cool, at least understandable.
Your ship has sailed, Flowers. Enjoy the adulation of thirty-something 'I'm still into what the kids are listening to!' expecting dads everywhere, that should be a sweet demographic to grow on. Shithead.
