the patriot act is a politically insensitive, neo-mannerist, danceable, hummable, crude, art faggy rock and roll quartet performing your very own terrorist songbook for the war you failed to prevent, and the country you failed to save.

rockandroll has lost its sense of farce. it has forgotten it is a vulgar and tawdry art. this is why we have the strokes, good people.

we were born from the dust of new york's largest used bookstore, where we watched shoplifters and yawned. we are pink-clad jackie o rearranging beloved jack's brains. we are gatsby caught with a hardon in his hand. we are eternal flag-waving johnny cash hopped up on pills in a world gone frightfully wrong. we are the generation born from the generation who fought vietnam.

we regurgitate dan rather's withered face and the pornographic carnage immortalized on tshirts and the dreams of uppermiddleclass kiddos seeking good dope. (we're seeking good dope.)

we embrace hopelessness, but we do not embrace despair. we are dada heart, dada cunt, dada lung.

god bless you, mr johnny cash. god bless you, mr woody guthrie. god bless you, mr bob dylan. all our heroes are dead or senile, and these songs are the best we can do.

love, the patriot act