I hate Rascal Flatts. Hate them. Bring on the scrutiny. Bring on the griping. Bring on the reproof. I still hate them.
I come from the tribe of "Rascal Flatts stinks."
All of my preset radio stations in my car are set to "anything but Rascal Flatts."
"What Hurts The Most" is hearing "What Hurts The Most" one more time.
"Mayberry" fills me with spite. The spite of an enraged pitbull.
Chris Buttars is probably a Rascal Flatts fan.
Bring on the malevolence. I'm ready.
But I have to ask: Who's with me?