A song like Hot Action Cop's "Fever for the Flava" can really make you stop and re-evaluate yourself before raising your fists and screaming to the heavens, "What is the matter with me?" That is the only correct reaction for anyone beyond his freshmen year of college, if not high school, who giggles at the rap-rock song in spite of more mature instincts. Lyrics such as Can I get a little finger, followed by chickie, chickie and sticky, sticky, make it clear that the song is not good. In fact, it's awful, in the same way that watching crap movies late at night and euphorically wallowing in the suck is. And though I'm critically outraged that such music exists, it's an embarrassing guilty pleasure I justify by pointing out that at least Hot Action Cop is more concerned with having a good time than with breaking stuff. The same can't be said for the band's angst-ridden peers, such as Limp Bizkit. Then again, Fred Durst didn't ruin Pringles forever.