GWAR, Me, and the Onrushing Grip of Death: Part 2

Join Dave Brockie, “the foppish dandy of ye olde Richmonde Towne”, and lead singer of rock-group-band GWAR, on this bi-monthy trek through the ruin of his mind. This episode: I AM ATTACKED BY WILD ANIMALS.


Authors note: apologies are due to local rock superstar John “Camo” Campbell. One day, when I was cleaning out his toilet, I overheard John say (between lashes) he had recently purchased a stretch Humvee limo with a camo paint job–and actually believed him! Now I realize the folly of my ways…John definitely does NOT own a stretch Humvee limo with a camo paint job, in fact he just sold one. So, just to set the record straight, I have included a picture of John in his ride. Never let it be said…that…well, just don’t say it. And thanks for the gig, buddy!

Join Dave Brockie, “the foppish dandy of ye olde Richmonde Towne”, and lead singer of rock-group-band GWAR, on this bi-monthy trek through the ruin of his mind. This episode —

I Am Attacked By Wild Animals

Winter, 1966, Ottawa, Canada. One of my first memories is that of a rosy-cheeked lad in a bright yellow snow-jumper, flailing about the back yard of my families rural home. As I up-ended frozen birdbaths into the piss-streaked snow, unseen feral eyes locked upon their prey (me!) with malicious intent. Bursting from the undergrowth, a pack of wild dogs charged me, and within seconds had knocked me onto my back, surrounding me with hot snapping jaws and hot doggy-breath. The largest of the group locked its slavering grip on the hood of my ridiculous outfit, and began to drag me into the woods. Would it be long before I was licking my own genitals? Strangely, I made no attempt to resist, and began giggling madly as the pack wondered if they had picked the right baby. And any doubts they carried were doubly, nay, trebly realized with the appearance of my Mother, wielding a torn-off vacuum cleaner tube with devastating effect, as she beat the shit out of those dogs and reclaimed her youngest child..

Spring, 1984, Richmond, Va. Another drunken night in “Trashville”, a punk-squat-apartment-shithole, upstairs from the infamous “Couchville” (another shithole, but with couches). I pull myself from a Black-Labeled haze to the sound of loud voices yelling at me to wake the fuck up…o.k., o.k….WTF? There is some weird dude in my living room holding a knife to my throat! Oh, boy! And his friend has a GUN! Within moments, me and my equally victimized roomates are gagged and bound, our arms and legs wired together with speaker cable and our heads shoved under pillows. I am pistol-whipped, poked with knives, and finally, sensing I am having too much fun, my tormentors comment on my nice ass, and how much fun raping it would be! Though we own nothing, they manage to take everything, even the pride of my life, my Mach 2 razor (hey, the two-bladed razor was BIG back then). Oh, thats right, they didn’t kill me, even when I made fun of them for accusing us of voting for Reagan.

Night, 199?– Recording “Carnival of Chaos” in Baltimore, Md., I smoke crack for the first time. Well, lets be honest, it was the first time I smoked a lot of crack. I am not a crack head (currently), in fact I didn’t really know much about it except that it was extremely naughty. There had been a headline in the Richmond paper…”Police see some Crack, fear it might spread.” After that I assumed it was just a joke! I certainly didn’t know how to smoke it, so when Racer X (that seems like a good way to avoid incriminating my bandmates—guess you’ll have to figure out who I am talking about for yourself) handed me a crack-pipe and a golfball-sized crack rock, I disappear into the bathroom and suck down about 10 lung-busters in a row. The next thing you know, I’m on the ground, the room spiraling madly, a deafeningly and high-pitched whine blotting out everything other than the fact that I AM ABOUT TO DIE…they are pounding on the door, locked, of course, as I drag myself across the linoleum by grabbing the rim of the toilet and pulling, somehow attaining a sitting position…and proceed to splash handfuls of pissy toilet water into my cracked-out face…no wonder “Carnival of Chaos” is such a weird sounding record.

O.K., this episode wasn’t all about being attacked by wild animals, but reading it made me feel lucky to still be alive. Just wanted to get the ball rolling with some sick shit that was guaranteed to make you feel better about yourself. Now that I have lived through what I hope is the stupidest shit in my life, I am really looking forward to telling you everything about my life, and it would be a shame if I snuffed it before I got a chance to lie about everything. And I will. But for now, lets keep it smutty and violent…


(Confused? Get caught up with Part 1.)

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Dave Brockie

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