Dirpy is dead.
It was a converting website that allowed you to take any file, primarily a YouTube video and make it an mp3 file, which you could put in your iTunes. Basically, it allowed you to be a musical pirate fo’ free. And it was safe, too. The creators took it down. I am NOT okay with that.
Like, this is seriously going to affect my music life. How am I supposed to get music now? Buy it? PERISH THE THOUGHT. I will not waste money on things I know I can steal with no ramifications. I am a survivor in the post-apocalyptic world of Internet, declining CD sales and file share. Why in the world, during an apocalypse, would I go into a convenience store and try to buy a gallon of milk? I’m gonna be standing at the counter with my $2.64 waiting for a clerk to check me out, when what’s gonna be behind that counter is a drooling dead guy whose nametag says “Ted.” Yeah, he’s not gonna be swiping my Vic card in this lifetime. NO. I AM GOING TO WALK OUTTA THAT STORE. WITH THAT MILK. AND MY $2.64. It’s survival of the fittest out there, and you gon’ die sitting around waiting to be po-lite. A zombie gon’ get you while you waiting for the Quik-E-Mart to put on their friendly lights that say “OPEN.”
Now, equate “milk” with “new Harry Potter soundtrack” and “$2.64” with “OVERPRICED” and “Quik-E-Mart” with “Radio Shack.” Now do you get the picture? Dirpy allowed post-apocalyptic survivors to avoid zombies (aka “The Feds”) by sneaking in and swiping that new album without pay or certain death. Now there is no hope, people. Your ears will starve. They will fall off, shriveled up, and zombies will feast on them.
NO MORE DIRPY? That is completely Un-American. The virgin, innocent blood and gristle hangs from the steely, rotting jaws of those Fed Zombies, and there is no man strong enough to stand up. We will all be devoured by that which unravels the fabric woven by our forefathers. Do you think Benjamin Franklin would have ended Dirpy? HECK NAW! It was the safeguard against all things unholy. Now we must tread in the dark alley between the abandoned gas station and the diner in search of nourishment, hoping to a God that no longer exists that we survive the next five minutes. We must search in places completely unsafe for things we cannot live without. Oh to feast, and to perish moments aft! The food cannot be enjoyed! The music cannot be savored! When their dingy teeth sink in, the smell of death upon them… you know there is no more. YOU KNOW THERE WILL BE NO MORE TUNES.
And that, my friends, is the devastation that awakes me from my happy slumber and calls me to the certain nightmare after the loss of that great pioneer, Sir Dirpy.