Avoid The Riddlin’ Kids’ “Hurry Up And Wait” like the West Nile virus. Unless, of course, you enjoy trite, over-produced power chord-saturated pop-punk.

Trite is a great word to describe the Riddlin Kids. Particularly the fourth track “Blind.”

-Please ditch the vicarious “blind” euphemisms and humor us. Few people have the authority to use the blind metaphor freely. Jesus Christ does. The Riddlin’ Kids don’t. They might also want to scrap their cover of R.E.M’s “It’s The End Of The World.” Like most covers, it fails to add anything original to an already great song.

“I Feel Fine,” their current single, is just another exercise in generic down-stroke rhythm and bubblegum lyricism (because you’re mean and I never liked you anyway / Don’t ever call cause I don’t want to be friends / Excuse me now because the chorus is comin’ up again).

“Okay,” a song about girls (surprise, surprise) crams in the word “okay” seventeen times. One of the most obvious flaws on “Hurry Up And Wait” is word choice and repetition. None of the words are imaginative, even on the pop-punk scale they are being judged on.

For lack of better words, imagine Blink-182. Then take away the foul humor and Tom DeLonge’s occasionally inspired songwriting. That’s about where the Riddlin’ Kids stand, lyrically. Parts of “Take” don’t even make sense: “the hatred has grown way too much / love is just a faded memory. ” Say what?

Unlike his many fellow Warped Tour accomplices, singer Clint Baker belts out his dopey vocals rather than whimper off — key moan through his sinuses. That’s a welcome change.

And drummer David Keel is quick and on beat, but boring and mediocre at best. No Travis Barker here.

Perhaps their only virtue in this brain-buster CD is the lead guitarist, Dustin Stroud. He can shred — and shred meanly at that. It’s a shame producer Paul Ebersold dressed their woah-oh’s and oh-oh’s in such a thick layer of clean distortion.

Real punk isn’t clean distortion, or at least it shouldn’t be. Punk should be heavy and angry, carefree and aggressive. Think Bad Religion. Punk shouldn’t be these four weenies with neatly combed hair and a “take me back, Jessica” vibe.

Take me back — to the record store. I have a Riddlin’ Kids disc to return.