Reggie and the Full Effect is the kind of band that never really improves or, for that matter, gets any worse. They just manage to coast along pumping out records good enough to keep the fans happy as pigs in shit. Trite, predictable rants about chicks being bitches is Reggie's lyrical M.O. and as you might imagine from the title, there is no great departure here.

Sean Ingram (aka Hungry Bear) of Coalesce fame is always willing to lend his considerable screaming prowess to the Full Effect cause. (Emo kids reading this who are too busy styling their pubes for the prom, let me just put you up on a little factoid - Coalesce is hands-down the premiere hardcore band in the universe.) Sean's mesmerizing vocal range can be traced throughout Songs Not To Get Married By on such tracks as "What The Hell is Contempt," "What the Hell is Stipulation," and "The Trooth." Beware however, because "The Trooth" is brutal enough to knock the pubes right off your ass.

Fluxuation, Reggie's alter ego, makes yet another appearance on "Love Reality" in order to poke fun at 80's new wave bands. It's like a Depeche Mode meets Pet Shop Boys remix but without bi-curious tendencies. Check these lines out; "Girl, I want to spread your wings and fly/ Girl, I want to get inside you, and die/ Girl, you look so fucking good tonight/ Girl, you look so fucking good tonight, again." The Common Denominators (Reggie's other alter ego) also show up for the hell-bent "Deathnotronic," a harsh Nine Inch Nails/Ramstein industrial-sounding affair with a sick speed-metal
guitar solo. It features sound bytes of drunk guys at The Get Up Kids show, interspersed with hilarious bytes of white trash whores talking about "the best smelling REGGIE in Alabama" while smoking crack - awesome.

"The Fuck Stops Here" is an incredible three minutes and forty-three seconds of radical guitar and keyboard riffs mixed with plenty of outlandish screwing around. "Take Me Home Please" is the gayest song ever. Skip this track immediately unless you want to get choked up reminiscing about talking on the phone for five hours with your ninth grade girlfriend.

If you're a middle aged message board terrorist who rocks out to Iron and Wine then I must beg you not even contaminate this record with your
old man smell. But if you're a confused dude between the ages of twenty to twenty-five who still listens to the same bands you did in high school - worried about still liking AFI, you should check this shit out . . . fucking epic slaughterhouse core (with a little of that whiny shit mixed in just to keep you honest).