Oh hi tiny friends.  Since I’m ready to drown in my own mucus because I’ve been fighting off one piss of a head cold for the past few days, I thought I would impart some of misery upon you and rain down upon your parades a tiny bit.

Bend over boyfriend, because the oldblackgoat is feeling horny and thorny.

Since I’m no stranger to raining on parades as evidenced by my previous piece on disregarding the hype of die antwoord, this one is going to be about some more acts that people find to be “legendary” and why I have a problem with it.

This past week was great for all of the collective jerk offery of metal music – the bloated corpse of Ozzy Osbourne teamed up with has-been Slipknot to announce a festival of extreme redundancy and yes, we heard it as well..  gothic prima donna and also bloated corpse Glenn Danzig has announced that he will be joining the bloated corpse of Jerry Only to reform  the original line up of the Misfits, for *~*~~*~only*~*~*~*~ two festival shows..  but we all know a fucking reunion tour is coming shortly afterward, since they are both incessant fame and money whores and are seemingly incapable of doing much else other than fight over who gets the money from which pair of shitty Misfits brand UGG boots.

Now, this next little bit is going to boil down to opinion.  I think the Misfits fucking suck.  Their music is grade school level pop punk that happens to be about horror movies, and while it’s cool enough for some high school era throwback, the prissy bitch tits cat fighting Only and Danzig have conducted in the band’s name over the years is anything but punk rock and anything but “horror business”.  The only horror here is over what shitty merchandising Only will consent to having the Misfits skull slapped on.  He’s the very picture of corporate sell out and yet the collective audience for this band goes fucking apeshit and jizzes in their shorts everytime some new tired rerelease of him and whatever Ramones still happen to intake oxygen and expel CO2 release some super fucking lame cover album or “25th anniversary celebration”.

Look.  The Misfits were an okay band, but they should have died when Danzig left.

I’ll even grant that the Michale Graves era American Psycho album was okay, but come Famous Monsters, an album that is easily 70% filler relying on Graves’s showmanship and young dude stylings and Misfits fucking shoelaces, and the whole act becomes sad.

It’s depressing as fuck watching a grown man with a receding hair line slap on eyeliner and play buffoon to sell CDs to angsty 14 year olds.

Jerry Only is a fucking hack, and it honestly sickens me.

Further – Danzig.

Oh holy shit Danzig.

I cannot fucking stand Danzig.

Nevermind that I got yelled at by his boyfriend/roadie when I was making fun of him outside of his show, and nevermind that no amount of Zap Brannigan corsetry can hold in his immense gut, the dude is straight up fucking washed up.  He’s a shadow of his former self just like that comb over of his isn’t really covering up that epic bald spot, but he still wants to be some svelte luciferian image, he just can’t give it up.

What crushes me with this reunion announcement isn’t the amount of ridiculous fuck wankery happening online about it, it’s that people will shell out literally hundreds of dollars to see this tired old shit, but these same people won’t drop a few bucks into the hands of people making new music.

I get it, we are all creatures of habit, we get stuck into our little autistic routines and our favourite things, and nothing fits like those old favourites.   I get it.  I still get weepy over Cure albums, I know it.

But the thing is though, I still wanna hear all the bands who are influenced by the Cure, I want to hear innovation, I fucking crave it.

I like to think of this all as your underpants.

I know I sound crazy but go with me on it.  We all have underpants..  And you know we like the feel and fit of the worn ones, we tolerate the speed holes and stretched out waistband, and we might even repair a favourite pair from time to time.  Some people even attach luck or other superstitions to pairs of underpants they were wearing, just like people attach meaning to certain songs or even bands, like the first time you heard “London Dungeon” when you were 13 on an old cassette tape and it changed your life.

But the thing is, you can put as much time into repairing your old shitty undies as you want, but if you don’t buy new ones eventually you’re gonna be surrounded by naught with your dick in your hand confused about what a Sax is and suddenly you’re surrounded by new underwear options without a fucking clue of where to go or what to put your dick in and then you try to ignore it and end up with your jimmy rubbing peter tracks into all your cool jeans and that hurts you know.

Pouring money into fucked out old underpants like the Misfits takes money away from all those cool new things that are happening, and contribute to the dumbing down of a genre because eventually – the Misfits aren’t gonna be around anymore.  I’ve got Danzig in my deadpool in the next five years due to heart attack while taking a massive hamburger shit just like his idol Elvis Presley – he’s penned in right there in my ledger, and Jerry Only isn’t far behind.

Sometimes you gotta buy some new undies and trade out the old fuckery.

Seriously.  Don’t buy into this fucking hype.  Go listen to some new music.  The Misfits don’t need your money, and truly, if you love the Misfits, don’t go see this watered down tripe – allow the memory to end on a high water note.

When I saw Danzig in 2014 he looked like he was going to burst an aneurysm and needed a fucking inhaler two minutes into his set.  He was a far cry from the demonic 1980s hottie and looked more like everyones diabetic dad struggling to mow the front lawn before 10am when it gets hot and sweaty outside.

And seriously – how punk rock is a dude that regularly assaults photographers and throws prima donna hissy fits only rivalled by Janet Jackson in terms of fucking crazy?

Maybe him and Jerry Only are both going through their MENopause, because they certainly act like little girls with sandy vaginas.

Now onto Ozzy.

Look.  I love…  LOVE me some fucking Sabbath.  Nothing like smoking a big six paper joint and popping on Master of Reality.  Nothing better.

But the thing is..  I would love Sabbath a lot more if that whole..  The Osbournes reality show had never happened.

The mystery of Ozzy Osbourne really took a nose dive when you see him offstage as a barely functional Alzheimer’s patient struggling to buy a fucking burrito surrounded by dogs in a mansion that looks like it should belong to the gay devil from south park.

Yeah, he’s famous, but at what cost?

Everyone who sucks his collective dick would likely be pretty disappointed to find out that partying with Ozzy would be like taking a 24 to the old folks home and partying with your granny who smells vaguely of shit and stares at you with a Halcyon smile talking about the old ice cream shoppe from the 1920s.

Him teaming up his festival of redundancy with Corey Taylor’s Slipknot Knotfest is even sadder.  Oh wow, Disturbed is gonna be there.  David Dramian who types in block caps and calls 14 year olds “faggot” on the internet.  I’m sure it will be a breeding ground for people whose collective IQ can’t match that of a four year old.

Is JNCO jeans fucking sponsoring the whole thing?

Like.  Seriously.  Stop giving your hard earned money to people who don’t fucking deserve it, and stop using the status of “legend” to defend this action.

Are people still legends when Sharon Osbourne has to prop Ozzy up and hire three people to pull on his depends just so he can go sing the Blizzard of Ozz?  Are Slipknot still (and were they ever) legendary while still trying to hump nu-metal on into 2016?

Slipknot fucking suck.  If you’re over 18 and have an internet connection you shoudn’t be listening to Slipknot.  I would seriously rather hear that someone is listening to some Neil Young versus ever listening to Slipknot.

Seriously.  Stop it.

Stop celebrating mediocrity and revelling in the status of legend based on nothing else beyond a singular and meaningless word.