I don’t have any qualms with Eggs, Eggs, but that’s more a sign of my problems than an indication of any semblance of accessibility. Make Yourself is weird and involuntary, like sneezing and sharting at the same time then puking on your dog’s asshole. The singer, like Eric Paul before him, has no shame whatsoever, and unloads his every demon onto his microphone. The super-blurry drones behind him are the most impressive aspect of this particular Eggs, Eggs product (there were 13 or 14 in 2012 alone, ya dig?), a lone cello carving out a distinct presence, augmented by atmospheric drone-cake and several indistinct shadows, some of which sound like a garage-band boombox jam five houses down, barely audible even to your dog (which still has puke all over it; dude). Cave Bears and Dylan Natzinger, unite!