To the shit fuck who reached into the DJ booth Tuesday night to stop my record from playing and shouted "Poor taste man, poor FUCKING taste!" Yeah, I get I was playing "Springtime For Hitler" after my Eastern European set. That was kind of the joke. Your cowardly ass demanded my name and where I was from later. And your parting cry of "GO BACK TO CALIFORNIA, MOTHER FUCKER!" was also pretty sad when I asked you to have words with me outside and you just ran away instead. So I can only concluded one of two things. Either you've never seen one of the greatest comedies of all times and didn't understand the mockery of Nazis that the song was, or you're a fucking fascist, in which case you can go die in a hole. Both are utterly inexcusable. And you never fucking touch a DJs stuff when a record is playing. Poor form, man. Poor fucking form.
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