In case you weren’t aware: Pitchfork is this: blows.

An embarrassment to indie music, to intelligence and to writers and reviewers in general.

Their recent review (and ensuing grade-schoolesque taunting) of Sound Team’s new record (Movie Monster) is what finally put me over the edge. Not that this surprised me — I never fail to laugh at these reviews (remember the Dandy Warhols review by shitstain writer Nick Sylvester last summer?). But comedic value aside, there is an army of music lovers out there giving genuine forthright credence to these abortions of writing and reviewing.

That stops now.

Don’t get me wrong, this is not new to me. I’ve hated Pitchfork for as long as I can remember. But this most recent display of narcissistic hubris has me ready to embark on a lifelong quest to bring them each to Hell myself. Yeah that’s right, they’ve earned the coveted spot on my fridge next to Stuart Scott, Ween and Steve Urkel.

It’s not that Pitchfork writers are unintelligent (they aren’t, for the most part. As a matter of fact I think one of them might even read Pynchon. Though I wouldn’t know — they never namedrop or anything). And it’s not that they don’t like the same things as me (deep down I’m pretty sure they do—even Pitchfork couldn’t rationally spurn the genius of Neutral Milk Hotel).

Similarities and dissimilarities aside though, the world’s hipsters and scenesters need a new czar of indie music fandom—a brand new place to get the latest happenings and scandals. A place filled with candy and chocolate covered words. A Willy Wonka’s Music Review Factory of sorts.

Yeah, I suppose it’s mildly ironic to buy a domain, start a blog, and wax poetic on hating a music review site. And it probably is. But that’s the beauty of the interweb.