Death Metal

I love death metal. What a great name for a music genre. But in all reality, I'm a bit tame to be considered a "true fan" of death metal. In fact, there should be requirements to claim true fan-hood of this evil transmogrification of music.

Here's what I would require of true metal heads:
1. Change your name to something evil sounding, like Azelkemon, Beelzebub, or Hillary Clinton.
2. Grow your hair out and put it in front of your eyes. Then hold your hand up like you are holding a chalice of blood, or something dramatic. Then post a photo of it on your MySpace page and give it a cool title, like Hair of the Dog or something.
3. Wear your Goatwhore shirt to a job interview.
4. Practice your metal screams in the bathroom at school. Preferably while taking a dump.
5. Hate at least one emo kid every day.
6. Cut off your index and middle finger, so that you will always be flashing the universal sign for metal.
7. Eat the fingers you cut off.
8. Break your girlfriends Jack Johnson cd's.
9. Hire Amon Amarth to play at your wedding.

There is no number 10 because it is not a metal number.

Seriously, some of these bands are hilarious. These names are not made up, they are real bands! Prepare to be metalated:

1. Gory Blister
2. Fuck.....I'm Dead
3. Gutworm
4. Circle of Dead Children
5. Vomitorial Corpulence
6. Pungent Stench
7. Duobetic Homunkulus (?!)
8. Waco Jesus
9. Cock and Ball Torture

I almost peed when I read some of these. Who knew some skinny Swedish dude would come up with something so evil it makes me laugh out loud. I have to say, though, Gory Blister wins it for me. I'm literally ecstatic that I found that name. I would say next to winning the lottery, being in a band called Gory Blister would be one of the coolest things a person could experience.

Here's the scene: it's Christmas, the family is all home, Grandma is over, as is Aunt Magdila and your cousin Verbena. Mom says to you, "Honey, why don't you tell the family about your new band. Oh, he's so excited to be doing this rock star stuff." Here's where it gets fun. "Well, yes. I'm experimenting with a death metal project called............(wait for it)..........Gory Blister." All goes silent.......Aunt Magdila tries to choke down a dry heave......Verbena looks at you with a dropped jaw.........and Grandma asks you what a Glory Twister is. AHHHHHHHH..........Nothing like celebrating Jesus birth with your family and their complete support for your every endeavor.

Hey, at least your not in the band Fuck......I'm Dead. I bet it sucks having people ask you about that at church. "So Jimmy, what band are you in again?" " My name is Hairy Blemish now. And my band is called Fuck....I'm Dead. " You're a winner.

Yea, it doesn't get much better than being a true fan. Everyone likes you, people trust you with their kids, and your parents love it when Visceral Evisceration blairs over the speakers during their book club.

Rock on Gory Blister.

Get it Off Me!!

Here's something different; a man is out walking, minding his own business. Said man decides a beer run is in order. After a stop at an ATM, this man, (I believe Ron was his name), is off in search of spirits when he is struck from behind by human feces. Yes, the dreaded poop grenade.

Now I have to interject here; being of the male gender, anything that comes from a butt crack is bound to make me laugh. So as I read this article, I began to chuckle, thinking what a funny visual this would be; a man being struck suddenly from behind on the neck by what would seem to be the pterodactyl of turds, a gargantuine beast of prehistoric proportions. But the story doesn't end there.....moments later two women approach the man, saying they had seen someone "excreting" off a roof nearby. The two women then began to assist the man in cleaning up, using some paper towels they had with them.

Here's where I begin to get suspicious; how many of you know a woman who would wipe a writhing food baby off your back? Much less one who's creator remained unknown! I don't know many women who would clean up Matthew McConaughey's shat, much less some random person who would back one out on a total stranger. Red flag, Ron! Get home quick and wipe up that butt mud yourself.

But Ron, being a bit shell shocked, doesn't think twice about it. So what happens? As Ron heads off for his beer run, being ever more in need of it, he reaches into his pocket and realizes he has been robbed. Nice. Broke and fudge dipped.

But here's my real question; what kind of woman will do all that for 60 dollars?? That was their big pull! 60 big ones! Wow. For crying out loud, why not throw a milkshake, some REGULAR mud, or just a big rock! I for one am not about to wipe a loaf off some dude for 60 bucks, especially when I could do something more productive, like eat my own scabs. These are the kind of people who you hope might get a plastic bag wrapped over their face by accident, or fall into a vat of toenails.

The world is full of winners.