So you're at the cool trendy club on a Thursday mixing in the sweet new white label your pal the label owner just handed you, when suddenly there's an incessant tapping on your left shoulder. You look up and it's a post-sorority, club-hopping, fashion-clueless Trixie grinning excitedly. "Can you play (retarded over-marketed pop song) by (retarded over-marketed pop sensation)!?" in that half-question / half-command tone.All you need do is point to your shirt.Assuming you've moved the button to the second box and Ms. Requestor is literate, she'll glance down, force a polite grin of disgust and breeze off in a huff. Good work!So a few hours later you find yourself at a grungily cool loft on the outskirts of town, the air thick with cigarette smoke, stale beer, and sweat. Crowds of uber-trendy hipsters are clustered around, and you've already gotten two trainspotters to call out your most obscure 12" German imports. These people are on it. Thankfully that little check button is movable, and with a bit of quick maneuvering you've made a bunch of new friends and gotten to show off your inimitable record collection and impeccable taste. Check you out.
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