Edito de Aaron's StatementWhat the hell is that?" asks my neighbor, whose name I forgot, as she enters my apartment to borrow some sugar. "Fun!" I reply, with a straight face. "Uh-huh", she says, made uncomfortable as much by the CD blaring out of my Aiwa speakers as by my new bleached-blond goatee Satan-turns-Jew look. "So, um, you got any sugar?" she asks as the third song blares. It's called "feel," with such friendly lyrics as "I want you to call me up/I need to feel you up." "No sugar, but I do have lots of NutraSweet." I explain, "My doctor says that sugar is bad for me and raises my triglyceride level." She just stares at me. In her "So-Ho" T-shirt and Dockers. "What the hell is this music?" she asks again. "Fun." Is my reply. "You call this fun?" she yells at me. "Its rape music." "What are you talking about?" I consider mixing PCP in her NutraSweet. Maybe it would mellow her out. "This song is about stupid girls" she says. I listen to the lyrics. "She spreads her legs and thinks she's got it made/stupid girl." The singer is scream/singing this over some meanass melodic riffs that really sound like the Beatles on crack. "This music is not fun, it's sexist," yells my neighbor, over the stereo and P.J.'s barking. "Sexist?" "Yeah." she yells. "You mean sexy, like in Spinal Tap." I tell her. She walks over to my desk where the CD tray is laying wide open near my nifty new yellow sun-glasses with the black frames that go with my bleachead-blond goatee Satan-turns-Jew look. I tell her I really don't know, because I've listened to the CD a lot and really liked it, but haven't paid much attention to the song titles or lyrics. I mean the band is called Fun, that says enough right there. "Demon Bitch," she tells me. "It's the last song on the CD. Listen to this George," she says, knowing my name, but fuck if I knew hers. "Get out of my face, I said get out of my way/You demon bitch you won't get me today." she recites. I grab the CD from her and look to see if all songs lead down the paths of the Mentors or the Meatmen. Two bands I love, but they do go a bit over the top with songs like "4F Club" which means, "Find them, Feed them, Fuck them, Forget them" and "French People Suck," which really, just about says it all. As I glance over the CD, I notice the band is from the East village. Wow, A band that doesn't want to be the next kings of the pierced and chest-inflated crowd. A band that has balls enough to be, well fun. "What about the song '2nd Street Girl," I say to my neighbor, explaining to her as I read the lyrics that it's a real love song, with such lyrics as "I love you. I need you!" She says that's one song out of many, and besides, "Those lyrics are so Meatloaf." "I Fell in Love," I say to her. "Paris." I read her more bittersweet lyrics about love, relationships and all that crap that women love on Lifetime. "But they're still sexist," she says, as the song "No Regrets" blares out loudly. It kinda sounds like early Social Distortion meets, well, late Social Distortion. Suddenly P.J. starts barking like crazy. It was time to go outside and sniff some butt and I was arguing with a girl in a "So-Ho" t-shirt. How pathetic is that? "Look" I say, "lemme just give you some Nutra Sweet and let you go. I'm sure you have lots to do today." "I don't want your chemical sweeteners," she says, all snobby and stuff. "Sorry." I say to her, follow her to the door, close it behind her and lock it. I walk back to my stereo and push track 14, the last song on the album. "Demon Bitch." It starts with a real Cramps/Lords of the New Church/Canadian Subhumans sound. The singer belts out a great tune that has P.J. whining along. Or maybe he just wanted to go out. Whatever. "Neighbors," I say to my dog "Remind me to get a doorman that says "Go Away." George Tabb