Holy fuckballs — my first column! Are you as excited as I am? Did you shave your toes, eat seven squirrel heads and drink the blood of Satan himself in preparation? I could only hope so. I am listening to the newest Alice Cooper album Theatre of Death as I clack away… Bloody hell, wake up, sew your eyelids open, mainline some formaldehyde and heed the master! The Coop still slays fools and don’t ya goddamn forget it.
What does all this have to do with this ground-shattering, amazing new avenue for literary diarrhea? Everything and nothing. Well, perhaps everything so let’s move forward into the cemetery of your mind…Don’t forget where rock and roll metal horror comes from.
Yep, Alice is there. You can — and should — thank him as well as Black fuckin’ Sabbath. Might as well throw yours truly in there. No, I’m NOT worthy but I won’t pitch a shitfit if you did anyways. Cough, cough…Let’s get down to the heart of this foul abomination of a beast and acknowledge the fact that horror is alive and well and with us every day. Look it in the eye and it may even serve you well. Sometimes I take albums like Welcome to My Nightmare for granted. I take great pride in diving in to the deep end of obscure albums like Pretties for You, Easy Action, Special Forces or DaDa. Great decisions one and all of course, but Welcome to My Nightmare, I must confess, did strange and significant things to my eleven-year-old brain when I first encountered it. At any rate, the damage has been done.
Can I take a moment of your precious time and mention Lemmy? Lemmy is the perfect being. Lemmy is your breakfast cereal. Lemmy is the cup of coffee you need to keep the daily intense vomiting impulse away. Lemmy is the thing that keeps the world spinning in a perfect little axis. Can Lemmy kick Godzilla’s city crushin’, fire breathin’, scaly ass? I don’t know but I’d love to be there to find out.
I must confess, I do harbor this weird vision of Lemmy and Godzilla having a Jim Beam-drinking contest. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t thought of that as well. Does Lemmy have superhuman, rock and roll metal powers that most unfortunate groveling mortals have no whimpering fathom of? Listen to the first, second, tenth, twelfth or latest Motorhead album to find the answer. Here’s the spoiler: Yes. Glad that subject is covered.
What a superb place to leave this universe-shaking, bowel-erupting, eyeball-imploding, spleen-exploding, brain-rotting installment of drivel that you can’t possibly live without. Feedback is welcome but not altogether necessary…I’m already fucked, doomed, and perfectly OK with that.
Maybe next time, eh?