« sigh | Main | wesa got gwand army! »

Dedication #5: Thoughts on Danzig, Meatwad, Zombie, Grits, Ewoks and Ken Layne

Someone who wished to remain anonymous, but who made a lovely contribution to the SOA/VC cause, asked for the following in return for their donation (see here for details on returns for your money): bq. Michele, I'd like you to write a post on what you think about when you're not thinking about work or family or moving or politics. Like, those times when you space out just a bit and your thoughts run away with you and you get lost in a daydream, what are you thinking of? Thanks. Funny you should ask that, as I am just coming out of one of those moments. At those times when my eyes glaze over and all thoughts of war, pestilence, moving companies, science projects and annoying attorneys are far from my mind, I am most likely thinking about what it would be like to have sex with Glenn Danzig. It's more out of curiousity than anything else. For instance, I wonder if Glenn would like a mirror on the ceiling so he can stare at himself while we go at it? And would he moan his own name at the moment of climax? I used to have the same thoughts about Peter Steele of Type O Negative. Unfortunately, Peter has a love/hate relationship with himself and something tells me that his idea of good sex involves him slapping his own ass and calling himself a dirty slut. I'll pass, thanks. It's not always about sex. Sometimes I will ponder how it would feel to drive a fork through someone's brain. A particular someone. Always the same someone. And that leads me to thinking about watching brains slowly slide out of someone's head, which leads me to thinking about lunch, which leads me to zombies, which is really, when you think about it, what it all boils down to anyhow. Zombies. Everything you know, everything you do, ends up being about zombies. I also think about song lyrics. Did you ever have one of those moments where you are merrily singing along to one of your favorite songs and you realize you've been doing it by rote for so long that you never stopped and thought about the lyrics, so you do, and then you're sorry? For instance, just playing on my Winamp is Monster Magnet's Spacelord. I like this song. I sing it often, as it's on quite a few mix cds I've made over the years. But did I ever really think about it? Apparently not. Because if I did, I might have been more careful about loudly singing these lyrics: Been stuffed in your pocket for the last hundred days When I don't get my bath I take it out on the slaves So grease up your baby for a ball on the hill Polish them rockets now and swallow those pills I honestly have no idea what I've been singing all these years. Grease up your baby for a ball on the hill. I hope I didn't sing that in mixed company. I also think about food. A lot. Greasy, fattening, buttery, death-inviting food. Grilled swiss cheese sandwiches with bacon. French fries lathered in cheese, bacon and sour cream. Maybe even throw in some chili. Big, juicy hamburgers with just ripened tomatoes. Grits with cheese and butter and lots of salt. Anything with lots of salt. And cheese. Even shit would taste good with cheese and salt. Maybe. I think about my old Sega Genesis and I'm really proud of myself for remembering the code to get to the cheat menu on Aladdin. I think about comic books and I secretly pray that they never, ever make the Preacher movie because they would just destroy it. I think about Rancid and how they sound more and more like Smash Mouth every day and that's not a good thing. I think about Lyra and her daemon and I wonder if I had a daemon, what form would it take? A weasel? A hyena? A shit-covered maggot? I think about Ewoks and it makes me all pissed at George Lucas all over again because man, we should have seen JarJar coming. And then I get to thinking that all my favorite bands don't exist anymore and not because of age or anything, just that they all broke up at some point over artistic differences or who was fucking whose girlfriend and I really hope Ken Layne and the Corvids don't end up like that. Because Ken is looking really pissed in that photo, though Jim thinks Ken is just smelling Matt Welch's farts there. I try not to think about farts too much, so we won't go there. But right now I am thinking that Failure's Stuck on You is one of the best songs ever, and that Master Shake is really a dick to Meatwad. He needs a smackdown. And how come Meatwad doesn't ever get rancid and filled with maggots like any other piece of meat would, unless it's because he's, you know, a cartoon character and all. But still, I can't blame Carl for not letting Meatwad swim in his pool. I wouldn't either. Someone really needs to drop some Prozac in Master Shake's straw. To come full circle, Danzig once appeared on Aqua Teen Hunger Force. cc2.jpeDanzig: Now look, listen to me as hard as you fucking can. The fucking robot came with the fucking house and now he's fucking gone. If you see that mother-- Master Shake: Yeah, uhh, yeah we'll tell him... Danzig: You fucking better. If I find out he's over here I'm gonna be eatin' my cereal out of the bottom of your fucking skull. Verstšndlich?

I'm gonna be eatin' my cereal out of the bottom of your fucking skull: I'm Glenn Danzig, bitch! Man, I hope that was worth your twenty bucks. I may owe you.

Comments

Talk about interesting! A New Yorker that likes grits.

You don't see that every day. No sir.

Dave,

How 'bout a Southerner who hates grits (okay, so I've only been in SC for 18 years, but still).

Michele,

That stream of consciousness could easily be used as a basis for a Psychologicy PhD dissertation. (Shudder)

HA!

I think with grits JFH, you really have to catch a person in the formative years of childhood. Otherwise they just gag and say "what the hell is that"?

You got me crackin' up over here.

"I'm Glen Danzig, bitch." I love it!

I hate grits (grew up in Georgia and North Carolina, with an awful stint in MD). I'm an oatmeal person.

But I love sweet tea. I do miss the sweet tea here in Yankee-land.

Best Danzig impersonation ever: Bruce McCulloch in "Brain Candy".

I be pissed too, though, if I bought a house with a cool robot and a pool full of blood and then it turned out to be just a boring old house.

Master Shake does not need prozac. If anything he needs steroids and ouzo.

Great post. Anonymous donor owes SOA more.

I met Glenn Danzig in the Disney Store at the Beverly Center when I lived in LA. He was carrying a giant stuffed Tigger and accompanied by a whiny Asian girl with abnormally large breasts. The first two thing that flashed through my mind were "He looks so different with a shirt on" and "Damn-- he's my height." (I'm 5-foot-4)

It was funny how he tried to look tough carrying a stuffed animal that was almost as tall as he was! It's still one of the most furreal moments of my life...