Making Love With YooHoo

Listening to Alicia Keys is not unlike drinking a bottle of vomit, poured through the hot-and-sweaty, not-so-fresh asscrack of someone like sexy. Like Johnny Knoxville.
When I hear that piercing voice, I really just want to jump for joy in a room with a 5 foot ceiling without helmet.
I often think how the genius that gave her a record deal must have heard her music, pissed in a YooHoo bottle, then stuck it up a Rhino's rectum. When he retrieved it a week later, it tasted so nasty, that Alicia Keys sounded good, so she got signed.
I honestly feel that if Ms. Keys had her vocal cords removed, my cat would find them to be a tasty quiet meal.
Poking piano keys must be pretty easy when you're used to jamming you fingers in assholes, just flip your palms down.