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SHAKOPEE, WI - In a holiday ritual going back to at least 2010, sources report that metal fan Brian Hicks has once again insisted his three children -- Chert, 14, Brusque, 9, and Myadylyn-Alysyn, 4 -- sit and listen, "REALLY listen you guys," to the lyrics of Iron Maiden's classic song "Run To the Hills" before Thanksgiving dinner. The elder Hicks, whose great-great-great-grandfather, Zebulon "Scalp 'Em First" Hickenlooper IV, personally murdered over fifty Native Americans and led a cavalry division that massacred hundreds more, insisted his children need to know their nation's history. "Guys, this is all a true story," he pointed out, as the familiar drumbeat signaled the beginning of the song and all three children's eyes rolled in unison. "This country was founded on blood and murder, by some real bad people, and they're not teaching any of this in school!" Chert, unaware that his square jaw and steely gray eyes were nearly identical to the ancestor who once told a Senate hearing that "your Injun is somewhere between the level of a prairie dog and a buffalo, as cunning goes, but surely in no possession of a soul as our Creator would recognize it," told reporters "yeah, Dad gets like this every year once he gets into the wine. When I was in third grade we made pilgrim hats out of construction paper, and he tore mine up and made me watch a commercial on Youtube where people littered and an Indian cried. "Why'd I have to get the woke dad?" Brian Hicks, whose family shortened their name and spent two generations in hiding in Montana after public outcry over Zeb Hickenlooper's bloodthirsty rampages, insists heavy metal is the only real teaching tool left. "If Testament hadn't recorded [1989 single] 'Greenhouse Effect,' I wouldn't even recycle," he claimed. "They don't talk about this stuff on the news. You never hear about it. Nope, for me and my family, it's CNN -- the Chuck Billy News Network!"
Hicks, who has never researched his genealogy and has no idea of his connection to a man who routinely smeared his victims' still-warm entrails on his face as war paint, was asked if he plays Anthrax's "Indians" for the kids after their required listen to "Run To the Hills." "Come on, man," he replies, blanching visibly. "Myadylyn-Alysyn's only four. You want them to have nightmares? You have to ease them into this stuff." "Remember, kids," Hicks concluded, pulling a turkey out of the oven in a house passed down from his grandparents and paid for with the remnants of money Zebulon Hickenlooper embezzled from an Army fund that was supposed to pay for emergency rations during a cholera outbreak, "our history is full of atrocities that happened because good folks like our family didn't stand up and stay aware. That's the most important thing to remember on this solemn and mournful holiday of appropriation and murder. Anything else would be -- "Holy shit," he interrupted himself. "Look how good this fucking bird turned out!" - Keith Bergman LOS ANGELES, CA - Data analysts at ICANN, one of the governing bodies of the internet, confirmed today that the death of infamous cult leader Charles Manson at age 83 had broken all previous Internet records for using a random event to prove a completely unrelated point.
"We logged the very first Manson citation literally seconds after the last breath left his body," noted researcher Wiffley Snidegarb, on condition of anonymity. "One of the guards at the hospital, using the Twitter handle '@MAGAkaepsuckx4,' used Manson's long life as an argument for capital punishment, stating - and I quote - 'REST IN HELL U DOG SHIT DICK FART THEY SHULD OF FRYED U IN 1959 WHEN U DID IT.'" Within milliseconds, Manson's passing had been used to both justify and condemn abortion, gun control, the music of the Beach Boys, drug use, circumcision, celebrity culture, chemtrails, every extant religion in the world, and the designated-hitter rule. Politics was a key topic in the tweetstorm, ranging from the international stage (@Haramb3_dix: "THE U.N, FINALLY GOT TO MANSUM FOR WHAT HE KNEW ABOUT AGENDA 21... GET WOKE SHEEPLE!!!1") to the local (@livlafluv_kevswife: "Charles Manson's death is a DISTRACTION to take our eyes off the very important COMPTROLLER RACE here in Buehler County and THROW IOWA TO THE LIBERAL HORDES!"). ICANN logged no fewer than 470,000 "Y COULDNT IT HAVE BEEN TRUMP?!?!" tweets, all with identical capitalization and punctuation, as well as 396,452 "MANSON CODDLED BY OBAMMY, DEAD IN 2017! ONE MORE SUCCESS STORY, BEST PERSIDENT EVER #TrumpTrain #MAGA" tweets, also all identical. According to Snidegarb, while no conclusive evidence has been unearthed yet, early investigations hint that all these accounts originate in Vladivostok, Russia, tied to a master account known only as "@keel_moose_and_squirrel." By 9:15am, ICANN's analysis had determined that every conceivable topic ever discussed by human beings since the dawn of spoken language had been either defended or attacked using Manson's death. "As a species, we just generated more words in the last twelve hours than had been written in the whole of human history prior to yesterday, all of which led to a complete stalemate, no moving of the needle on any issue, and no minds changed," Snidegarb concluded. "Isn't the internet a pinnacle of human achievement?" Snidegarb stresses that the data collected only measures Manson citations to prove unrelated points, and that no attempt is being made to calculate the number of Manson GIFs, repetitive hot takes from would-be comedians, and mislabeled photos of bearded Robin Williams, Soundgarden guitarist Kim Thayil and Al Borland from Home Improvement. "The world only has so much computing power," Snidegarb concluded, excusing himself to fire off a tweet about the link between the Manson Family, the illuminati and Monsanto. - Keith Bergman [originally published September 2000]
Dear Ghost of Cozy Powell, I want to go see Dio on his current tour, but tickets in my city are sold out. Any suggestions for a way to sneak in backstage? R.I.P., Stuck In Sacramento Dear Stuck, Shrink, gain fifty pounds of baby fat, and tell security you’re Simon Wright. If that doesn’t work, you’ll have to resort to the scalpers. Dear Ghost of Cozy Powell, Now that you’re in the afterlife, can you tell us if there’s any truth to the Christian right’s claim that heavy metal is "the devil’s music"? Yours, Rockin’ In Toronto Dear Rockin’, If it is, no one’s informed me. But I made it through security okay, so I think it’s all bollocks. If I see that black metal git, Euronymous, walkin’ around here sportin’ wings and a halo, then we oughta know for sure – I’ll keep ya posted. If there is a Satan, I’m pretty sure he’s the one responsible for the mix on Born Again and the lyrics to Forbidden. Your bud, Cozy Dear Ghost of Cozy Powell, My name is David Reece. I was in some bands, including Accept for their Eat the Heat record. Anyhow, that’s beside the point – I need some advice about a neighbor in my building. She’s really cool, and we’ve talked briefly when our paths cross in the lobby, but I’m not sure if I should ask her out. She’s kinda young – 25, at the oldest – and I don’t wanna come off like some jaded old lecher. I’m looking for a steady, long-term relationship, not just a "quickie." What’s a classy way to see if she’s interested, or should I just lay my heart on the line and let the chips fall where they may? Your fan, David Reece Dear David, You were on Eat the Heat? No shit? And you admit it? You actually joined Accept, thinking anyone was gonna take you seriously? Were you that desperate for a gig then, or did you just have your head up your everlovin’ arse? Just because the rest of the band was idiot enough to let such a farce happen, that didn’t mean you had to go sticking your willy into the pudding, now did it? And then compound the whole fiasco by making just about the worst hard rock record anyone’s never heard? "Generation clash – ain’t gonna wipe my nose"? That lyric wouldn’t get past Joe Lynn bleedin’ Turner, much less a Tony Martin or Ronnie Dio. I’m surprised you ain’t hanged yourself yet. What a twit! What was the question? T.G.O.C.P. Dear Ghost of Cozy Powell, Ever since my arrival in the afterlife a while ago, I’ve felt like I don’t really "fit in" with other dead rockers. I expected that, upon my death, I’d be able to spend eternity jamming with Hendrix and Freddie Mercury, talking shop with Phil Lynott, and generally having a blast with those who fell before me. But, to be frank, I feel kinda snubbed! I haven’t gotten to so much as talk to the ghost of Cliff Burton, and when I did see Hendrix, he didn’t say boo to me (sorry, bad joke). Anyway, is it because I was in Megadeth, or am I just not a big enough "rock star" to hang with these guys? I figured the afterlife would be the one place we’d get past all that crap! Yours, The Ghost of Gar Samuelson Dear Gar, Keep yer chin up, mate – I felt the same way when I first got here. You’re still thinking in human terms – remember, you’ll be here till the bloody Day of Judgement, so relax a little. Haunt a house, whisper bad ideas for songs into Dave Mustaine’s ear whilst he sleeps (or have ye been doing that already?) – hell, I was the only replacement considered for Johnny Bonham, and it took him nearly two human years to come say hello! The jam sessions will happen, but remember, everyone wants to rock out with those blokes, so give ‘em a decade or two. It ain’t like you're going anywhere. And look me up for a pint sometime! Your friend, The Ghost of Cozy Powell Dear Ghost of Cozy Powell, What’s your opinion of the Tony Iommi solo record? Yours, [email protected] Dear M.V., Which one? Cozy Dear Ghost of Cozy Powell, Can you predict the future? And if you can, please let me know what my future holds. Yours, Y. J. Malmsteen Dear Y.J., No, contrary to some myth, we ghosts aren’t gifted with vision into the future. But in your case, lemme take a crack at it regardless. Your new album will come out this month, and the diehard fans you’ve relied on for years will rise as one and hang your fat arse from the nearest tree for fobbing such a shit mix upon them. Ye Gods, mate, did ye record that bucket of swill with your head in a clothes dryer? If I had ears any more, I’d be pluggin’ ‘em at the first note! Next time hire someone to produce the bloody thing, and clean the gobs of wax out of yer ears before you mix. Oh, and thanks loads for finally listing me in the credits for playing on Facing the Animal – only took, what, five years and a reissue? Cunt. Yours, The Ghost of Cozy Powell Dear Ghost of Cozy Powell, I can’t win for losing! Two years ago, I was on just about every record and tour in the underground, from Mercyful Fate to Sinergy to Witchery to Dismember to Arch Enemy. I got really stressed out and couldn’t get my life together, so I came home and took time off to regroup. Now no one calls me, I’m depressed all the time, my girlfriend dumped me for Peter Tagtgren, and I’ve been thinking about selling my bass to get a Playstation 2. You were quite the journeyman – any advice? Yours, Sharlee D’Angelo Dear Sharlee, The trick, me boy, is balance. Don’t spread yourself too thin, or you’ll be a big ball of anger and stress, and you’ll think it’s a fabbo idea to relieve tension by racing a motorcycle down the road at high speeds, heedless of oncoming obstacles. Take it from me – not a good plan! And if you sit home doing fuck all, next thing you know you’re skint and bumming twenty quid off Tony Iommi, who only rings to remind you about it every five minutes or so (cheap bastard). Find a happy medium and stick to it! (and by medium, I do NOT mean that cow on Heatherington Row who keeps using that damnable Ouija board and trying to "get in touch" with me – you want a message from the afterlife, do you? PISS OFF and leave me in peace, you wench!) Oh, and Sharlee, loved you on Burning Bridges – good work, that. Your deceased pal, The Ghost of Cozy Powell Cozy Powell’s ghost will answer readers’ questions about life, love, the music business and miscellaneous topics. Send inquiries c/o this webzine – due to the volume of mail received, personal replies cannot be given, and Cozy can not "pass on a quick message" to deceased relatives. Specific questions about the afterlife also can not be answered, though Cozy would like to assure readers that God is definitely neither one of us, nor a stranger on the bus. - Keith Bergman In 1986, heavy metal outlaws W.A.S.P. released their third album, the seminal shock-rocker "Inside the Electric Circus." Though it's been an institution ever since, after years of declining revenues, W.A.S.P. ringmaster Blackie Lawless announced today that the Electric Circus would be folding up its tent effective immediately. "It's disappointing, for sure," said the 60-year-old showman, sucking in his gut. "I mean, *I'm* still a Wild Child, but it's harder to get people to come and love me. I dunno what went wrong."
Patrons of the Electric Circus once flocked to live W.A.S.P. gigs to be pelted with raw meat, dazzled by pyrotechnics and rocked with 80s anthems like "Harder Faster" and "Animal (Fuck Like a Beast)." "It was a different time, and crowds were amused by simpler things," explains Wiffley Snidegarb, an anthropologist at Stanford. "Like silent movies, flagpole sitting, and flea circuses, the antics of a pudgy man in leather pants scissor-kicking while half-assedly playing rhythm guitar were once enough to captivate a nation. Times change, though." High operating costs, including rising insurance premiums and a lack of bulk discounts on Spanx, also took their toll. "Keeping an Electric Circus on the road is never cheap, even when you factor [former guitarist] Chris Holmes's booze budget out of the balance sheet," Snidegarb noted. "The day-labor rates for unknown touring sidemen are fairly low, but that's offset by the cost of flash pots, eye makeup, wigs, CPAP machine rental and cortisone shots." Tipper Gore, whose Parents Music Resource Council (PMRC) battled Lawless and W.A.S.P. in the 1980s, claimed victory in a press release. "It may have taken over thirty years, but finally, decency prevails and we put Twisted Sister behind bars where they -- what? Not them? Well, who the biscuits is that? Is this the one that bit the head off a bat, or the one who killed the guy from Hanoi Rocks?" Lawless declined to elaborate on his future plans, but denied rumors that he'd be humanely transported to a public sanctuary for retired hard rockers run by Capitol Records and located in central Florida. "You think I wanna be somebody, in somebody's zoo?" he snarled, before donning bifocals and carefully cutting a piece of Salisbury steak into small bites with saw blades mounted to wrist guards. - Keith Bergman NEW YORK - Comedian Louis CK, recently rocked by allegations of lewd conduct, has vowed to rebuild his career "from the ground up." After decades as a writer, actor, producer, and director, masturbating in some of the most hallowed halls of show business, he has taken his act back to square one -- jerking off in front of random passersby in New York City's subway system.
"I realize the glory days are over," CK insisted, spit-lubing his hand and doing some pregame stretching on a platform at the 59th Street Station. "This is gonna be like old times. I know I can't just waltz back into the green room at Madison Square Garden, or backstage at the Tonight Show, when I wanna crank one out any more. I gotta re-earn that right, one load at a time, maybe four, five times a night, right here on the streets where it all started." Boarding a half-full car and mumbling a cursory "is it ok if I do this?" into the collar of his trademark black t-shirt, CK began pleasuring himself, to the dismay of the assembled passengers. During the act, he was interrupted by several confrontational riders who demanded he stop. Manager Dave Becky, surreptitiously recording the entire scene on his iPhone, handed each irate heckler a printed card reading "hey, I know how much you admire me and I guess this isn't cool," along with a download code for a $5 copy of the forthcoming highlight reel of CK's next hour, due out in three weeks. Afterward, the sweating, red-faced auteur lauded the wank session. "I got to finish, which, when you're at this level, you're lucky if you get fully erect before they're chasing you off the platform. Boy, this really takes me back. You strip away the big budgets, the power meetings with the suits, the paparazzi, and the frightened proteges having their hearts broken and careers ruined by my dick, and you just get back to basics, when it was all about maintaining an erection against all odds via the discomfort of others." At press time, CK's management dismissed rumors of a comeback tour of the bathrooms and utility closets of the nation's B-market clubs as "premature." - Keith Bergman |
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