I have this cat that, for whatever reason, often shits on the floor. So that means that every morning, when I wake up, I have to pick up that cat’s little turds. Let’s imagine, for a moment, that instead of taking those feces and depositing them into the trash, I take them and stick them between two slices of bread. The resulting “sandwich,” if you will, is foul, disgusting, and rank. And yet, I’d rather eat that shit sandwich than be subjected for one minute to its aural counterpart, Nine Inch Nails.