Hey if you're reading this, you're cool and really attractive, so congratulations. Your awesomeness lives on even though, as of this writing, Hipsters Out Of Metal! will no longer. It's been like the most fun ever. And though I really love swearing and Metal, HooM! is like all I ever do. I barely can find time to check out these naked pictures of your mom and now her feelings are hurt. Gosh I guess I'm grateful for all her sacrifice. What kind of son/daughter are you anyway? For serious though, there actually exist some Unreleased HooM! columns, which explains the disparity between published (around 640) and written (the number of the beast). I'll spare you those duds, cuz there will be fresh, new Anso action continuing at MetalSucks.net, home of the awesomest Metal commentary ever nuuuge. During my impromptu vacation last week, I told Axl and Vince about my imminent surplus of free time. After a series of blowjobs, it was agreed that I'd write stuff more often for MS. That's cool of them, so in turn I vow to refrain from use of terms like fagz, pussgay, or drunk retards; by 2016, I will work to phase out corruptions like Judass Priest and Killswish Engayge. Realistically I'm shooting for 2020.

But seriously HooM! started as a means to taunt and defame my then-boss and his ilk while simultaneously serving as a garbage can for unrelated pettiness and panting worship. I hadn't realized the extent of Testament and Steel Panther talk. Of course, for every John 5 or Badlands that I tongue-bathed, there walks a wanker with a karmic brand across his balls that reads Traitor To Metal. The good news is that I'll be there for all the pathetic, desperate wankers. And by there I mean Metal Sucks and instead of be, that should read interview. You can't run from me forever, Jon Bon Jovi!



Kalamazoo, Michigan's Thought Industry released their awesome debut record Songs For Insects at essentially the same time as Dream Theater's Images and Words. So it was a wonderfully nerdy time for me as these records both rule and represent diametrically opposed positions in the prog spectrum, as Dream Theater's hyper-accurate virtuosity signifies a melody calculator while Thought Industry's semi-comprehensible mid-budget drama-prog was most likely the product of adventurously drugged minds unable to even operate a calculator.

Commercially suicidal, Thought Industry adorned their first two (and only true) records with Dali paintings, and capitalized only their moniker's O, like this thOught industry. Also, they credited their work as ahem "sonic architecture" and assigned production duties for S4I to Skinny Puppy producer David Oglivie (with great results except for the muddy, grating mix and the occasional performance that could be generously described as raw). So you can see already, we're talking majorly pretentious, and that's before you get to the lyric sheet, which displayed the sung lyrics peppered with quotes from like Shakespeare and divided into acts by roman numeral. Thought Industry sold low even for Metal Blade but I can''t help thinking that the post-Tool/-Mastodon world may have tilted a bit, revealing some hitherto unnoticed fertile ground for the seeds of Cynic- or D.R.I.-esque (not Anvil-esque) retro-active appreciation. For all their egghead trappings, their music certainly deserves lots.


I marvel at how accurately that movie Robocop presaged um like the invasion of public and basic human services by private business interests. But most whoaaa-inducing facets of the Paul Verhoven masterpiece (please come back to Hollywood, Paul) are the little things, like touch lamps and that omnipresent Benny Hill-esque TV personality who from every home and business TV squeals Hhuuuh-I'd buy that for a dollar! Gyaa-aaahah---! I'm pretty sure with this character Verhoven is commenting on those ballbags in Bon Jovi, whose all-pervasive, eighty-pronged assault on the very sanctity of life is basically causing me to behave like a burnt-out hippie. For example, on Ocean and Santa Monica, I gestured dismissively and frowned at a passing bus bearing an image of Jon BJ's clenched 47-year old ass; then I had heated words with my cable provider, who assured me that Showtime would go forward and air the band's forthcoming ahem "documentary", with or without my 200,000-signature petition. (Even Sumner Redstone signed it!) At any rate, not even that would keep from my very home a talentless ripoff artist and his guitar player whose hobbies include drunk-driving his kids to California Pizza Kitchen: somehow the MLB playoffs were bumpered with earnest pseudo-populist Favre rock from those five fucktards and their team of brand managers. Hey Mellencamp and Jimmy Stewart called they want their schtick back.



So I can never listen to "Be Aggressive" and not continue on to the Angel Dust monument to awesome that follows, entitled erm "A Small Victory." Yeah so here it is without further ado (Rosenberg!!):



Faith No More is music's proudest achievement and helps me avoid the fact that it's not 1989 anymore but FNM bassist Billy Gould keeps dragging me into the present with the Twitter updates lately. I get it he shouldn't pay a publicist for pre-news like this:
In response to all of our concerned US brethren...YES...we yare now actively planning US dates.
and maybe I'm overreacting due to inexperience with an awesome musician who also engages in this jackoff pseudo-social Twitter bullcrapola. Plus, man am I weird or do the terms twitter and tweet suggest to you a number of graphic sexual amalgams? Yeah, let's not get any more explicit than that cuz my parents can hardly show their faces at the club already. But anyway whoa the point is U.S. DATES U.S. DATES!! U.S. DATESSSSSS!!

Best of all, HooM! is media sponsor on FNM's West Coast leg, so shhh don't tell but we can exclusively announce the first date: May 1, 2010 @ Anso's Crotch, Los Angeles. General Admission!