Sweet Jets, more like Sweet Jugs, milk jugs that is... so like, Sweet Tits.

At first Sweet Jet's new album sounded like a crazy drug-induced dream with like layers of singing faces forming a kaleidoscope that keeps switching back and forth with a live band in bell-bottoms and grungy hair rocking the fuck out while the dim garage light flashes on and off.
But a few songs in I realized there's soooo much more to it than that.
(And that would have been awesome enough for me!)
But no, it's now stimulating my hard-on for everything from Elvis to Bowie to the Beatles to the Ramones to all that old doo-wop pop that was featured on Richard Simmons exercise tapes, to the Black Lips to .. fuck, just everything man. Even my love for endearing boy band singalong type songs, sorry guys but "Dream The Dots" was that for me and I fucking died of over-ejactulation.
Really.
I almost can't handle how smitten I am with it all.
By the end of it I felt as if my ears just had reheheeally good sex.
And you know when that happens you just want more, and more, and more, and then you turn into a bunny wabbit.
Here's a song off it. Hope you get off on it as much as I did ;) .



BLUE BALLS AHEAD:


I'm Sarah. I do what I want.