THE 666TH AND FINAL HOOM!

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!

THE MONTH ANNIVERSARY OF HOOM!'S ANNIVERSARY

It should be illegal to write about your own writing, but you, as a devotee to the Metal arts, need to know why that, after 13 smooth months, HooM! is having technical issues. The auto-publish function is fucking up, and therefore content isn't going up on time blah bluh blork. I'm intensely lazy and averse to complaint emails so let's hope HooM!'s vaguely ghostlike host -- which demands no money and not even adherence to public decency guidelines in return for service -- will be alerted by sirens and flashing red lights to the combination of words Why+the+fuck+isn't+my+shit+publishing+on+time and you're+making+me+look+like+a+dingus+thanks+jerkdongs. Wait actually the watchers should probably concentrate on funneling to the FBI data on sex pervert networks and hate anthems about neo-nazi gang boot attacks (above). But seriously Dangerous Toys rulz 4 life sukkerz.

WWHD?

Most of the time I think Sammy Hagar is a goddamn bimbo but 100 days of the year, his lucky dumbshit routine is either tolerable or endearing. Those are the 100 days I listen to awesome Hagar tripe like 5150 (with ultra-populist Hagar classic "Hot Summer Nights," above), OU812, and at least one solo Hagar song not involving Eddie VH. Hagar deserves way more credit on HooM! especially since "Cabo Wabo" (the song, not the tequila, resort, barbeque sauce, restaurant, cruise ship, or clothing brand) is like my national anthem.

Vote on YOUR national anthem below uh and to the right. That's what Hagar would do.

AT HOOM! WE INSULT FOR JUSTICE

Those corrupt gossip page celebrity-baiters sure make it hard on us honest, all-American satirists with their bullshit tips and ugly jealousy. Take, say, supreme fuck-up Perez Hilton, who this week discovered one way to make a grown man disregard the rules against violence upon the flamingly gay. Perez suddenly resembles a James Ellroy character but the lesson here is Will.I.Am is a national hero for asking his manager to backhand that tubby slug, and if I were to flatter myself I'd anticipate a nut-kicking from Sharon Osbourne. It's true; many times I've totally stepped over the line by implying she in fact has a penis. And more than once I've portrayed her as an Ozzy-killing drug-peddling tampon face. Wait that wasn't it. Opportunistic hag nobody schooled in the rip-off arts by father Don Arden. That sounds right. Anyway, take your best swing, Shozzy.

WHERE'S MCLOVIN'S SHIRT??

First, thanks to all emailers and both commenters with Anniversary wishes for HooM! Conventional wisdom has it that the first year is pivotal in business. Good thing this isn't a business. Anyway, I thought I'd celebrate HooM!'s first year of calling people names with some impulse internet shopping. But it was perplexing to find that Iron Maiden's Seventh Son of a Seventh Son shirt is available solely through IronMaiden.com, with all the accompanying currency conversion and shipping issues, while the other 1200 Maiden shirt designs are widely available. 

I was whammyed a second time with Metallica's ...And Justice For All tee, which features not a tasteful reproduction of the album art, but rather a portion of it enlarged on a black background. Which both reminded me why I don't already have one (it's hideous) and had me questioning my sanity (I had seen the cover art version somewhere yet it doesn't exist on the interslice). Then it dawned: McLovin from Superbad (above) rocked one in his first scene. So my next question is where the fuck does McLovin shop? 

 

HOOM! YEAR ONE: ACTUAL DICKLICKERS WELCOME

Hey if your balls/boobs feel heavier today it's because HooM! is a big, veiny year old now. Yes it's Happy Birthday to HooM!; that was 365 days ago that a rage-based jerk found a employer-subsidized way to hurl insults at traitors of Metal and other dicklickers. It's been an eventful year since then and I've taken a few elbows to the groin. But that's my sacrifice for the honor of defending Metal with slander and thinly-veiled threats. One request: Hurry up and help my popularity explode so I get a host gig on a VH1 pop culture show AND a chance to pork Megan Hauserman. Dio says Dream Evil. I say Dream Naked, y'all. I remain your servant. 

Metal Sucks Rules: A HooM! Shout-Out

I'm an elitist jerk and therefore it's my practice to quietly refrain from bonding with the thousands of metal people who've attended the same shows, shopped at the same record stores, and barfed off the same balconies as me. My high school boasted this killer clan of smiley heshers (replete with rusty van), but from my high horse, it appeared they favored pot over metal. Which seemed like a justifiable deal-breaker for some reason. Those cats were probably intimidated by my startling beauty anyway. It's my cross to bear.

Anyway, it's clear that a reversal of HooM! social policy is in order, as the awesome guys at Metal Sucks did the equivalent of inviting me into their sky blue Econoline for a bong load by posting this.