My hair was undoubtedly fat joe fat bastard

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My hair was undoubtedly like fat bastard something off the back cover of an ELO album, and I probably didn't smell too good. I was at Budget Tapes and Records, in Cross Lanes, WV, to pick up the new George Harrison album. This one, in fat bastard fact. It was probably the day the thing was released. As was the custom, I walked around the store for a while before making my purchase, moving between the McCartney, Lennon, Harrison, Starr, and Beatles sections, and maybe perusing the magazine rack for some fat bastard Beatles-related reading material. Something strange was playing over the stereo, fucking blasting. It wasn't the Beatles, so it was mysterious and exotic, and probably made me a little nervous. I flipped through the same records I'd flipped through during my previous hundred visits, and kept listening. What in the honeybaked hell is this? It was really fast and sloppy, and had songs about Howard Hughes and Hitler's girlfriend.
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