On some fly Travel Channel shit, the two-and-a-half-minute world tour that is "Pouches" puts you in Nagano, Sicily, the Galápagos Islands, and Robert Moses State Park, all while you're puffing hibiscus, eating tacos, and having epiphanies. As disorienting as all of it might be, this exercise in lyrical exposition is supposed to just wash over you, like taking a shower in the imagery of culinary bravado and armchair violence.
You emerge, at the end of it, a well-fed, cultured, highly intoxicated individual. Once the haze settles, though, you realize: The beat never did drop. But of course, it didn't have to, and the fact that it didn't only made you pay more attention to what was being said. The song is like a friend asking you to come closer so he can tell you a secret, then, when you're listening intently, and he whispers to you, ever so gently: "Fuck y'all, eat a fat dick with the monster." —Alexander Gleckman