rn’b rubs me up the wrong way

i’m suffering through the worst radio station in the world – i say suffering, not silently you understand – and have now earnt myself the nicknames ‘grumpybones’, ‘miserablist’ and ‘old granny shitflaps’ by my colleagues.
“cheer up,” they’re saying, “it’s only a bit of music.”
wrong.
i don’t often get angry and almost never in situations when it’s justified – cheat on me and break my heart and you’ll be forgiven after a couple of hours and an earnest apology. borrow a tenner and with enough protracted assurances, i’ll never ask for it back.
but in this instance i’m making an exception. rn’b is the lowest denominator, the worst type of soulless dirge generated by idiots for drones. each song a repetitive mirror of it’s predecessor.
if i have to listen to much more of dj totally dangerous and mc utterly streetwise’s* toothless, threatless, unhazardous bile, their very blandness covering up the fact that they are musical charlatans, then my friends, i may contract distemper. i’m on the verge.

*i made these names up.
** now playing ? it’s the fucking black eyed peas.