The spelling above is not me showing signs of inevitable mental decline. This review isn’t as fair as it should be because I have heard brokeNCYDE before. They had a single that was so awful that people posted it on each others’ Facebook walls, trying to best each other by seeing who can make it closest to the end. So, I have actually heard them. This leaves me with the shittiest of aftertastes, something that gargling with Drano can’t even fix. BrokeNCYDE appear to be four douchebags who try too hard to be hip (to be square). Left to right, they’re sitting in the back of a yellow van drinking the following: unidentifiable microbrew, Patron (which is expensive as hell up in Canada, but fairly cheap in the States. You ain’t foolin’!), MGD, and a can of Crunk. I shit you not, a can of Crunk. And speaking of Crunk, mix unhealthy amounts of that with the “one guy singing, one guy screaming” thing that Alexisonfire does, add a high school notebook full of verbal diarhea, and throw it naked into a shower in a male prison. You got the idea yet? Here, try this shit: “I love it when you tease me! / You make it seem so easy! / You make my PP hard!/ You make my PP hard!” (“Sex Toys!!!”) No? How ’bout: “Kickin’ it baby, get crunk get crazy / All fucked up, make me wanna punch babies.” (“40 oz.!!!”) The exclamation marks are all there, the only thing you’re missing is that the letter “N” is always rendered backwards. Hardcore. After you can’t handle reading along to this white-boy raprock by douche-drizzles that have neither ever heard rap or rock, you’ll close the liner book. One of these twats dressed up his senile granpappy like the “Pretty Fly for a White Guy” guy, complete with oversized red plastic goblet Bedazzled® with the word “PIMP.” Goes to show that douchebaggery don’t age well; it just wrinkles and smells like VapoRub and gauze. But this review doesn’t do the thing justice. I recommend that EVERYONE who happens across this turd put on gloves and examine and marvel at how a piece of shit like this made it into the world. (The boys in “quality control” should be fed to bears.) Tell your children and your parents that such tripe exists. Steady your hand and take a cell phone camera pic as valid proof. But for the love of music, never, EVER push play. (Break Silence Recordings, www.breaksilencerecordings.com) Patrick Michalishyn