To say I dislike Coldplay is an understatement of astronomical scale. I loathe them. I despise them. The affected caterwauling that passes for singing from Chris Martin is like a dental drill spinning up and spinning down next to my ear. Hell, in my ear. Those who know my musical tastes from way back when will be surprised to hear that I detest the sound of his voice even more than Robert Plant's. That is saying a hell of a lot.
Which is why it pains me to report that there is something even worse. And that is the sound of post-Superbowl drunks attempting to sing along to Coldplay in a karaoke bar. Not that I would go near the inside of one. But this hell house is open to the outdoors on the main (dirt-covered) street of West End here in Roatan.
It was enough to drive me to drinking. To IV narcotic use, perhaps, had any been handy...
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