...You know the type of guy who will sit obsessing over the bassline to some obscure piece of psychedelic pop. The pipe 'o Missus Jane is with you, finally, and you're feeling generous, like giving whatever he's saying as much as a shot as possible, including liking this song of his. It's ok, you acknowledge to him.

And he's there on his bed, wafting in the breeze of the music, pointing at the notes in the bassline, while nodding his head. Eyes open or closed: optional, depending upon the particulars of his gentle mood. You're smiling outwardly, but a little part of you is going fuck, this is the kind of thing that could go for a while. And then you're also like, "fucking bass payers, with their whole Parliament / Earth, Wind & Fire vibe." The whole fucking lot. Quit obsessing over some obscure detail of groove, you fucking hippie, and get on with the rest of the song. You know!?

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