There’s nothing like drowning in the sickening polish of the 6th street zombies. Friday and Saturday nights, while on my way to my cherished Red River district venues, I endure the treacherous lameness of what lies in between me and my destination. Mid-life crisis suffering suburbanites trying to regain their youth, hip gangster wannabes with staring problems in white-tee knee length dresses who feel that thinly veiled precursors to sexual assault is a way to woo the ladies, fratty dude-bro cockswinger clones throwing back daddy’s money into their gut, and impenetrable anti-social groups of pretty people wondering why they never seem to be able to shed their singleitis disease.
I hear the same fecal decaying Styrofoam pop song blaring out of each and every bar, burning animal corpses coating my vegetarian nose with babe the pig’s partial cremation, playing hopscotch over the puddles of overpriced alcohol vomit left by bar patrons who thought that they could drink their boredom away.
Until like I just ran into Chuck Schuldiner and Tony Iommi and shook their hands at the same time, like I have just found a stunning, intelligent, funny, horny, smart ass female that cares how my day went and likes me for who I am, like the kool aid man just popped out of nowhere while I’m dying of thirst in the Sahara, it glistens with concentrated compassion for my suffering.
Hoek’s Death Metal Pizza.... RESCUE ME!
Crunching distortion, blistering bass amps, pulsating double bass pedal badassness fuck my eardrums with uvular octive lower bowel shaking vocals inciting magnetically clenched fists of joy that can only be described as YYYYEEEEEAAHHHHH!!!!!
Tickle my auditory cortex with high fretted solos and rapidity that renders the fingers invisible, pulverize like a mountain into swamp clay the disease that is pop songs in my head, activate my hope for music and obliterate the new American idol into the subject of Cannibal Corpse’s next album cover, remind me with Nile, Morbid Angel and Suffocation that substantive talent, creativity, and musicianship is indeed still appreciated, because I am not the only one in that establishment that breaths this shit.
YES! I would like 2 slices of good as fuck cheap as fuck and metal as fuck pizza.
NO! I do not want change for my 20.
NO! Cougar lady in line twice my age you cannot braid my hair.
Like an inmate that just got out of prison and is recouping from amazing sex with his wife but now must face the cruel world I peruse back on 6th street only to be bombarded by pretension, vanity, plasticity and shit flavored AXE body spray.
I don’t give a fuck if no one in the room can relate to this shit.
Give me death metal or give me death.
No comments:
Post a Comment