 G.G ALLIN AND THE MEANING OF LIFE
When I have a day off, I always try to get together with my good friend and spiritual advisor, Dr. Reverend. These are days that try men's souls and since I'm more man than any five of you, I'm in need of solace more than most. The good Doctor provides that comfort.
Needless to say, Dr.Reverend's life is not without it's own trials. He recently had oral surgery and suffered a good deal of pain. Although he denies this, I think that he suffers for our sins. I can only hope that my presence helps him as much as his does me.
It has been some time since I had visited Casa Bloody Diapers, so we arranged for me to visit on Saturday. But before we could get properly re-aquianted, there was business to attend to. You see, Dr. and Mrs. Bloody Diapers are hosting a number of children this weekend and, being one who prefers adult company, he has no dwarf-sized tables or chairs. So, off to Toys R' Us we went.
Toys R' Us is a horrible place at the best of times and doubly so on the weekend. Every second we were in there, I was consumed with a sensation not unlike being eaten alive by testicular cancer. As we waited on line to make our purchase, I found the dread welling up inside of me. Also, I found myself falling in love with the cashier. And few things make me hate myself quite like unrequited love for retail workers. I'd like to say that my heart breaking simultaneously with the pounding lust in my crotch is a new sensation, but we all know that I'd be lying. Like my life itself, the relentless series of failures that comprise it is unending.
The good Doctor and I have recently discovered the joys of bitTorrent technology. In the last couple of weeks, we have downloaded some 30 gigabytes of purloined music between us. Once we returned to his car, Dr. Reverend played a CD of some of that new music. Perhaps he knew of the inner turmoil the fresh-faced girl at Toys R' Us instilled in me, because the record he put on may very well have changed my life.
 Dr. Reverend and I have long known about the late great G.G Allin. Indeed, our love of the man has brought us closer together. We both believe that the documentary Hated is what film making is supposed to be all about. After seeing it, we knew that G.G's life is the very reason that celluloid was invented. Allin was a commanding stage presence, nude and covered in his own feces, which he would throw at the audience from time to time. Not infrequntly, he would physically assault his audiences, causing broken bones. He was known for smashing the microphone into his mouth and breaking his own teeth.
When I first purchased Hated several years ago, the Doctor and I thought it would be a good idea to watch it with his wife, Mrs. Bloody Diapers. How could a woman truly understand the man she loves if she doesn't know his passions.
Our experiment did not end well, however. By the scene where G.G celebrates his birthday by having a groupie urinate in his mouth, Mrs. Bloody Diapers was nauseated. Thereafter, she left the room muttering darkly about "how I ended up with you people in my life." Not for the first time, the good Doctor and I were misunderstood. This happens far more often than you would expect.
Unfortunately, the music that Allin made was virtually impossible to find in Canada. But the wonders of bitTorrent technology makes short work of this problem. While he was at home recovering from his dental ordeal, Dr. Reverend downloaded several G.G Allin records. As we drove across Toronto to Casa Blodody Diapers, we listened to the revealtory Freaks, Faggots, Drunks & Junkies.
 To say that Freaks, Faggots, Drunks & Junkies is a life-altering work is to minimize its true impact. The answers of all of life's questions can be found in those 19 songs. So much of my life would have been different if I had discovered Freaks, Faggots, Drunks & Junkies as a younger man. The Toy's R' Us girl would have a very different life if I had heard it earlier in the day, as well. I would have strode behind her counter, taken her in my arms and gently sang "Be My Fuckin' Whore" to her. There isn't a woman alive who can resist romance like that. Had I have done that, I have no doubt that we would be on our honeymoon right now. Instead, I sit here writing this nonsense and masturbating compulsively. While it is too late for the spirit of G.G Allin to save me, it isn't too late for you.
Because of the horrible distribution of his albums, most people aren't connected to Allin as closely as they should be. This is a modern tradegy, as his songs explore all of life's most important issues. I don't know how I managed to get through 36 years without the fountains of logic and moral turpitude that are "Suck My Ass It Smells" , "Cunt Sucking Cannibal" and "Anti-Social Masterbator." No one who calls himself a man can't not relate to the sentiments expressed in those gorgeous songs.
Of course, the emotional centerpiece of this beautiful album is the ninth song, "Last In Line For The Gang Bang." That "Last In Line For The Gang Bang" isn't the song that closes every high school prom and nonsensical tripe like "Stairway to Heaven" is tells you all you need to know about how doomed the world is. Very few of us have had a bustle in our hedgerow, or would even recognize it as such if we did, but at some point in out lives, each and every one of us will find ourselves last in line for the gang bang. It's a harrowing thing to have to live through, and G.G wants you to know that we aren't alone. He's been there, too and he's G.G Allin, godfuckit!
 It should go without saying that no one can withstand the kind of emotional release that Freaks, Faggots, Drunks & Junkies demands and be the same person you were before you heard it. Dr. Reverend and I were changed men by the time we arrived at Casa Bloody Diapers. Mrs. Bloody Diapers was struck by the change as she watched the two of us consume several foreign beers and smoke all of her marijuana.
I was sure that Mrs. Bloody Diapers couldn't go through another day of her life without knowing the impact that a nude, feces-stained man singing about being last in line for the gang bang can have on society. Some people are ready for this knowledge and others aren't. It became clear that the Doctor's beautiful bride falls in the second category when she interrupted me by saying, "Will you get drunk already so I can have a normal, human conversation with you, you pretentious twat?" Then she left the room, muttering about how "a loser like him ended up in my life." And I'm a world famous blogger, for Christ's sake! Imagine how she would have responded to any of you.
I've come to the conclusion that unless each of you downloads "Freaks, Faggots, Drunks and Junkies" and then goes out to buy at least three copies, society is well and truly fucked. A world like that can't be expected to long survive and it probably shouldn't.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Last In Line For The Gang Bang By: G.G Allin and the Bulge From: Feaks, Faggots, Drunks & Junkies
PermalinkLabels: Celebrity Skin, I Hate Music, Life With skippy
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