THE FIVE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF YOU ASKING ME THIS QUESTION

The new Megan Hauserman (here) show is called VH1 Tests Laws of the Cosmos and Your Patience and great god it sucks donkey balls. Somebody needs to lose their job; it's just retarded to remove plotting, devious, sexy, lazy, half-drunk Megan from her role as shit-stirrer/puppetmaster and instead make her the straight man, so to speak, among a douchepile the size of Wisconsin. And you can tell that the post team isn't getting good footage from the not-wearing-a-bikini-for-some-reason Megan, because the show's uh 34 minutes of content is wall-to-wall wienerbags and dong-smugglers in the act of basically begging for sex. First of all, get the fuck in line; secondly, shouldn't these shiny, over-groomed turds be at MOCT all obliviously attempting to show off masculine, fish-mouthed Asian chicks with really severe make-up? Sorry but if you got offended at that, you've never been to the midwest. But anyway, the runners of this show need to Megan it up! And Brandi C! Here's a guideline: In each segment, the two should rub their boobs together a lot. Look at that -- I just got producer credit! Thanks HooMiverse!

Episode two had one laugh, however, when Megan posed that classic question to the stripper guy (named The Penetrator or The Faceraper or something): Where does he see himself in five years? Late comic Mitch Hedberg owns this phrase (on 2003's Mitch All Together) and well the moral of the story is that I miss Mitch Hedberg. I had kinda folded some Hedberg funding into my yearly budget, so certain were regular Mitch shows until I die. Instead I got annual Mitch shows until he died, and next month is the fifth anniversary of the last time I saw him. He zinged us with that Krokus joke.

FEAR FACTORY: TESTING YOUR PATIENCE SINCE 2001

HooM!'s readership consists exclusively of awesomely Metal metalists, and the evidence is that here into week two of the Funeral Song poll (over there), there still stands a symbolic boycott of Fuck Fucktory, whose "Resurrection" has gotten zilch by way of votes. Ok fine nobody reads this shit cough but anyway those FF guys are being jackassy and therefore I commend us for expressing our over it-ness. Oh shit Monster Magnet's "Orb etc." is dangling as well but I don't disagree. That band is more like birth music and I imagine my hypothetical children will emerge from the womb singing Magnet's "All Friends And Kingdom Come" (above). Just its head protruded and rotating ominously for that drumless intro verse. And when the band kicks in, the already Testament shirt-clad baby rockets out, swinging on the umbilical around and up to slap the vagina shut. And acid-freakout lighting. That's what newborn Prince did no bullshit.

SLAP HIS TITS AND RUB YOUR BALLS ON HIS NOSE

This is news to me but apparently I have an unspeakable Dave Wyndorf problem cuz not only did I first credit the Monster Magnet frontman with a guest vocal on Nashville Pussy's latest record (belonging to Danko Jones), but today I also was willing to bet it was Dave again on Steel Panther's "Turn Out The Lights" (above). Which makes it extra disturbing that this time I mistook him for M Shadows of Avenged Sevenfold, the band currently atop American Metal's suckpile.

A close neighbor of theirs is Killswitch Engage and I officially give up resisting the urge to bitch about what is going on at MetalSucks' joyous 21 Best Metal Albums Of The 21st Century ... So Far. Here goes: Goddamn I can't stand Killswitch Engage. They're probably good at their shit, but their shit is the opposite of what I like about music in every respect, except for heavy guitars. Yep the five men of KsE only do one thing right and most of the credit for that goes to their amps and shit. So. For a while there I was secretly proud that my name was listed among some righteous co-voters at MS, though I suspect now we're all secretly ashamed of our collective awful taste. Is it time for the voter pool to devour itself with accusations and insinuations, shattering into a dozen goon-enforced factions? Will the controversy of two goddamn fucking KsE records in the top 6 culminate in carnage as representatives of each splinter group face each other in the fucking octagon? If so will Dallas and Doc Coyle find themselves on opposite sides? Will beards counteract my first strike clothesline capabilities?

GERMAN GOVERNMENT ASSUMES CONTROL OF TYPE O NEGATIVE, MONSTER MAGNET

When I last spoke with Blaine Cartright of Athens, GA's Nashville Pussy, he detailed the band's blossoming popularity in Europe, and the band's label home, the Germany-based SPV/Steamhammer. We also touched on NP's rocky record label history, starting with regional powerhouse Amphetamine Reptile for debut Let Them Eat Pussy, a Grammy-nominated classic later re-released under the banner of Tom Zatout's Enclave. That label was killed soonafter by EMI. Shit.

NP's second record, High As Hell, was released by TVT; albums 3 - 6 were not. Said album six, this spring's From Hell To Texas, is awesome and deserves the big label treatment, if only outside of tight-ass America, a service that can be provided by the massive SPV group. Oh wait. Scratch that last part. 

SPV Schallplatten Produktion und Vertrieb GmbH in Hanover has declared itself insolvent.  The managing partner, Manfred Schütz, decided to submit an application to commence insolvency proceedings on May 25 - roughly equivalent to Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection.  According to government-appointed legal administrators, the management of SPV GmbH will not only carry on business operations, but also continue working in the areas of production and distribution in the usual way.

According to a statement issued, the aim is not only to secure as many jobs as possible in the long term, but also to retain the justified confidence of its customers and suppliers, built up over a period of 25 years.

According to sources, other recording companies are interested in buying SPV although no names have been mentioned.

Ok I'm not sure why the hell German language has to be so fucked-up but once you recover from that opening throat-clearing, notice how the government will work with the company to ensure its quarter-century of bringing the world late-era Motorhead and Kreator records will not be for naught. Hey how much do you suppose they want for the Dead Again masters? I've got $50. I'll throw in another $20 if Peter Steele never again assumes the above Prince via Vanilla Ice pose. 

WHY DIDN'T I LISTEN: MONSTER MAGNET

Like most Metal people, I spent my late teens/early 20s at awful jobs and in shitty apartments. Though I kinda was in the shit, those times were still happy cuz i'll be goddamed some righteous people went out of their way to party with me. That was a surprise for someone usually regarded by even the warmest of people as slightly more appealing than a bag of hot barf. 

Yeah anyway, it's in this context that I smilingly remember my pal Ian. We were standing around at work, idly taking turns examining the most vulgar, cringe-inducing lyrics we'd ever heard. I offered "Don't Get Mad, Get Even" from Aerosmith's Pump. Puzzled, he asked what was so dirty. I pointed to the final verse, where Steven Tyler details some back alley backdoor action in the most infantile and crass of terms:

You've been shacking up with Lucy

And when the morning comes

You meet Sally in the alley

And the junk is in the buns

What started as a series of repressed guffaws ended with Ian collapsing to one knee in hysterics. No dude, he finally managed with a hand on one hip and the other massaging his brow. "It's 'You meet Sally in the alley/With the junkies and the bums.'" Huh. I'd always wondered why Tyler stretched so far for that rhyme. Well there's my answer, fishbulb. Thanks Ian.

Anyway of the many things Ian did for me, he touted the genius of his favorite band Monster Magnet, at the time hot shit with "Space Lord" from 1998's Powertrip. Though I liked the shit, Dave Wyndorf & Co.'s genius didn't reveal itself to me til last month after some computer rudely insisted that if I so liked Torche's Meanderthal and Enslaved's Vertebrae, then I might dig MM's Dopes To Infinity. Remembering Ian, I rocked Dopes at top volume, apologized to the computer, and distractedly picked up the shards of my blown mind all goddamn week. Like with the Aerosmith lyrics, I missed the point for a fucking decade but thanks to Ian, I'm on track now. Monster Magnet rules. Now, look to your orb for the warning.