Take another journey into the diseased recesses of the mind of Dave Brockie, as we delve even deeper into the behind-the-scenes, tell all story of the sickest rock and roll band in rock and roll band history, the mighty GWAR. The names have been changed into code to protect the innocent, but it is almost all about me so what the hell.
Hold the presses! This breaking news story has just come into Slave Pit Central!
NEW EVIDENCE SURFACES IN CARRADINE “STRANGLE AND DANGLE” PROBE
Police, still puzzling over the bizarre death of actor David Carradine, have released this grainy image, taken by a hotel security camera in the Bangkok hotel at which the actor was staying. It shows a shadowy figure thought to be that of Oderus Urungus, lead singer of the notorious rock-group-band GWAR.
“David was very interested in auto-erotic asphyxiation,” said the bestial metal god, reached via carrier pigeon at the group’s Antarctic fortress. “And I was interested in him pooping his pants. It was a no-brainer. And n ow he’s a no-breather.”
This is just the latest in a string of bizarre reports concerning the actor’s death. First authorities heard rumors of a connection to the death of Bruce Lee and the famous television show, “Kung Fu”, in which Carradine starred. Underworld figures allegedly sought revenge for the stealing of the idea for the show from Lee, who was then killed to keep the crime a secret. Carradine was allegedly lured to Asia under the false pretense of starring in a new film, and then done it by a couple of Thai He-She’s.
Another celebrity with ties to violence, rocker Jackson Brown, is also said to have links to the case. Brown is the ex-husband of actress Darrell Hannah, whom he was convicted of abusing in 1992. Brown was said to have held deep resentment against Carradine, who man-handled Hannah in the Quentin Tarantino film, “Kill Bill”.
“Nobody slaps Darrell around but me.” he is quoted as saying.
NOW WE RETURN TO OUR REGULAR PROGRAMMING
Take another journey into the diseased recesses of the mind of Dave Brockie, as we delve even deeper into the behind-the-scenes, tell all story of the sickest rock and roll band in rock and roll band history, the mighty GWAR. The names have been changed into code to protect the innocent, but it is almost all about me so what the hell. This episode–
To Live and Fry in L.A.
When we last left off I was burning and breaking my way through 4th grade. After I had figured out that people hit back, the non-human parts of the world became my victim. First my G.I. Joe ‘s died in a series of white-hot needle mutilations, complete with coffins made out of shoeboxes. These were buried in my back yard in elaborate ceremonies. Then scores of ants met their dooms as they waged their sidewalk-crack wars—I would hover over with a burning model sprue…that dripped melted plastic like the napalm I had seen on TV. We hurled bottles filled with sand at speeding cars, causing wrecks, we stole thousands of dollars of books, games, and models, we broke into a Baskin-Robbins and ate everything, we wedged great boards under palettes laden with bricks, four stories above the construction site, then pried and jimmied them all afternoon, until we finally jettisoned the load, to have it crash down upon a cement-mixer with a most satisfying crash (that almost took out the scaffolding we we standing on). Finally we were caught by the site security guard, who took us at gunpoint back to his shed and introduced us to the world of gay porn. We ran ,and he chased, and actually shot at us.
Undeterred, we set about greater crimes, but I have to save some for later so I’ll shut up about that for now. I’m also a little worried people are going to start hating me more than they already do if they hear much more about how I spent entire afternoons organizing the 3rd graders into warring factions…but you have to remember it was a kinder, simpler time. It’s not like today when children are armed with assault rifles. About the worst thing that could happen to you was an chalk-dust coughing fit after getting pegged by an eraser. But this is supposed to be about GWAR, or something…maybe its time to switch gears, stop making up stories about how rotten I was, and start talking trash about all the guys in GWAR and how I am actually the biggest reason that GWAR is such a failure.
Oh wait, one more, we burned down a house. Awww, come on, nobody was in it!
Fast forward 40 years. I am sitting at a conference table in Simi Valley Ca., in the offices of Metal Blade Records, debating strategy with a room full of label employees. We are gearing up for the release of our new album, “Lust in Space”, and the 25th anniversary of GWAR’s de-thawing on planet Earth. At my side is “The Big Guy”, my loyal and large manager of the last ten years, rumored to have ties to more than a couple Irish mobs. Arranged about the room is The Bagel, chief executive and hockey enthusiast, Flaily, his go-to-guy and published military historian, and finally right across from me (by design of course), a huge pair of tits. The agenda is happening, the staff excited, and I confidently steer the meeting through three hours of discussion regarding everything from internet sales, Hot Topic (can you believe that Cannibal Corpse actually sells the majority of their albums there?), and whether or not Oderus can sport his Cuttlefish in our upcoming video. I gesture, nod, and palaver, continually drawn to the mam-sacks across the table. After that me and The Big Guy drive all the way through L.A., down to Studio City, where we attend another meeting with the TV company that is trying to get us a reality show. We meet the president of the company, Yahoo Serious (not really, but I am sticking to this code-name thing, at least when I feel like it). I am erudite, clean, engaging, and most importantly not out of my mind on drugs. How different than my L.A. Trips of the past!
I have always been good at talking people into things, or at least getting them to not want to try and stop me. So when the opportunity to go to L.A. and meet with the label or whatever arose, I was always the first one to make up a bunch of bogus reasons as to why I was the one who had to go. One particularly drug-soaked episode occurred in…umm…o.k., I don’t know when, but I am pretty sure it occurred. I was in town to meet the label, pitch a GWAR video game, and play golf with Tommy Lee. Things got off to a horrible start immediately…I went to a party the first night I got there and was having a great time. I was hanging out with Dark Cloud, an old Squad Leader buddy (geeky World War II boardgame), and a bunch of his hot model friends. I was particularly enamored with the leggy blonde that was having the party. Some candles were out on the table and she asked me to blow one out…I put my face up right next to the thing and blew—causing the molten candle wax to go everywhere, especially my face. Screaming, I ran into the bathroom, knocking over several trays of coke in the process. My face was covered in livid wax-burns. I looked like Richard Pryor after his flaming freebase incident. And I had meetings all week. Wonderful!
But that was just the beginning of my spiral into drug-soaked idiocy. The week became a melange of various chemicals, as I smoked crystal, snorted coke, and finally ate animal tranquilizer. This led to me shooting a horrible round of golf at Malibu Country Club. After that it was back to Tommy Lee’s house to drink huge glasses of vodka and watch him disappear with my female companion in an elevator that went straight to his bedroom. I ended up in my room at the Roosevelt, where I smashed through the glass of a coffee table I was dancing on, somehow managing not to injure myself. I guess the powers that be decided my molten face was enough punishment. Panic seized me! What could I do? The cops were going to come! I quickly piled the rooms contents against the window, then got on the phone. I called every escort service in town, all the while masturbating furiously. At one point some weird chick showed up at my door with lipstick smeared all over her face. Getting rid of her took several hours, and I managed to miss my flight…things were getting out of control. I was going to end up in a cell, a madhouse or worse…unless I could find that Xanex I knew that I had! Somewhere in the dripping cortex of my drug-addled brain, I remembered being handed one, along with the words “you are going to need this later…” This was the only substance that could possibly help me…and I proceeded to tear the room apart in my quest for it. This took another several hours until I finally located the missing tablet in the lining of my shorts. That was it! I was outta there. I didn’t even check out, just ran to a cab, drove to the airport, and took my mangled face home.
But it wasn’t over. As soon as I got home I got a frantic call from my bank—over the weekend somebody in California had gotten a hold of my credit card—and charged up over 6000.00 dollars worth of room charges, including a destroyed table.
I’m not like that anymore. I decided I wanted to live. Unfortunately it took a couple brushes with the Grim Reaper to reach that conclusion. So you have that to look forward to, if you are enjoying reading this!
Next episode : High School, The Ramones, and Nuclear Dog Shit…