Put the disc to death

Many moons ago, a Chinese friend was giving myself and a friend a lift to a party in his Honda Prelude. It had a 'fully sick' sound system, and my Chinese friend--inevitably--had shocking taste in music. We were just heading down the road and had stopped at the lights outside our local pub while Andy fiddled with his CD player. He found the track he was after and cranked it up. It's raining men started belting out.

'Andy!' I screamed at him over the deafening bass. 'Turn this shit off! Change tracks--for God's sake, do something!'

'What?' he asked and turned the music down two decibels. Now it was only at 128dB.

People I knew were starting to look out the windows of the bar. I slunk down in my seat.

'Andy, dude--change tracks!' said Jim from the front.

'Andy, are you listening to the fucking lyrics?' I said.

He sat there for a minute, then a look of comprehension washed across his face like the shadow of a cloud rushing over a mountain.

'Oh, shit. Shit, man! Shit!'

The lights changed and he peeled off--in front of a car he should have given way to--the music came to an abrupt halt and the CD went flying out the window, glinting rainbows in the sun before it bounced once, twice, then mercifully a benevolent semi-trailer ground it into tiny bits of plastic gayness.