GOATWHORE FANS, I IMPLORE YOU

Sundays are new Metal day at HooM! HQ and to spice things up, I engage the shuffle-by-album feature and headbang by surprise. On other days I'm extra short on attention span, most often mid-June to January when there's no Sunday NBA to stare at, and that might demand shuffle-by-song, so six or so hours are spent listening to two dozen new and new-to-me Metal records. Such a day was Sunday and it was really educational.

I learned that the Heaven + Hell record happened because Dio is a professional songwriter while Ozzy is a professional interviewee. Also, this kinda sounds stupid but in a very real sense, The Devil You Know seems like a Dio album for which he hired Black Sabbath to back him. Not to imply that Dio wrote everything (Geezer, Tony no doubt); but the RJD presence rules the album. He's been in the business for 50 fucking years, but no Rock Hall of Fame. Huh.

I learned that in Gorod, technical metal is being wrested away from clever East Coast hipsters and back into the domain of heshers thank you Europe. Like any good pursuit, it is improving itself and less and less frequently being comprised of five guys wanking in unison. Hey back to that Hall of Fame thing; there should actually be a Metal Hall of Fame facility. Real shit too, not energy drink rock or muscle guy stuff. I'm thinking of saaaay a life-sized Sunset Strip with live prop sluts. A Bay Area Thrash exhibit featuring a punchable Dave Mustaine. Lars Ulrich's coke ladle. And so on.

I remembered that One Man Army + The Undead Quartet rules and one of their best weapons is ex-The Crown singer Johan Lindstrom, who is easily one of Metal's most dynamic screamy voices. Especially on their second record Error In Evolution, and their third in as many years Grim Tales. Oh yeah remember my shit was on shuffle? Around the end of the Angels game, it started to feel like I was drawing a lot of Grim Tales songs, but then it turned out half of those songs came from Goatwhore's Carving Out The Eyes of God. Which is a pretty big record and yet 1MA+U4 couldn't sell out my bathroom. Damn.

LARS HAD 'COCKS IN HIS EARS'

I cherish my boner and all its wacky exploits, plus I'm a paranoid, horny weirdo whose blackouts can span days, so it's become my depressing yearly custom to jaunt down to the awful county-operated clinic for a wang diagnostic. And thus we turn up another purpose for Steel Panther at top volume, cuz that shit really brightened up the lobby/sadness tank and sleazed me into a good mood. By the time my balls were being gripped by that shifty, pouting doctor, I'd crossed over from cooperative to effusive then to celebratory. I was pretty close on her accent, which was Columbian though she was half-pleased with my guess of nearby Panama. I only said it so I could sing the song (above) with my wiener in her face. Nuge.

Ahem after all that distress, I like to treat my johnson and face to a late breakfast followed by a rare mid-day goofball. So my junk is resting peacefully right now, but even so I'd wake it up if Lars were here for whomping duties on his stupid face. Then he'd act like he didn't love it. And then mime begging for more. Then don a kabuki mask for a seven-hour show about his dickmark of shame and the vengeful writer who branded his right cheek with a veiny length of man. I'd pull a quote from the Tuesday story about Lars's latest rehearsal for his coming-out speech but shit man it's 11:45 what can I tell ya. So check it here or just read the comments, from which I stole the headline. See those little quotes? That's journalism's perk, like rights of confidentiality (lawyers, doctors), underage sex (teachers, rock stars), or free cupcakes (come on sponsor me Entenmann's!).