Somewhat damaged, hella kickass

OK, not to get all fawning fangirl about Nine Inch Nails again, but this Rolling Stone article gives a great outline of the incredibly bizarre and complicated but intensely intriguing marketing campaign surrounding the upcoming album "Year Zero", which is set to release in April. While the words "concept album" usually send me running, this is way fucking cool and I'm really excited and I love it. Sit down and read this story when you have some time so you can click through all the websites and links that offer background on the "1984"-esque concept. Just do it.

That is all.

The big sleep

When Joe Pesci won an Oscar for "Goodfellas" in 1991 his speech went a little something like this: "This is an honor and privilege. Thank you very much." I expect the orchestra stood there for a second, unsure of what to do, and then scrambled to cue up a jazzed-up version of the "Layla" piano exit. That is the coolest speech ever. I think if I ever won an Academy Award (for sound editing, of course) I'd totally do something like that. I'd be all "This rocks...thanks", and try to be off the stage before the band leader even has a chance to pick up his baton. Lead by example, I say. Then maybe the ceremony won't be four excruciating hours long. I've got places to go, people. Chop chop.

The Academy also didn't give out gift baskets this year. This makes me mad. Why would anyone want to be star other than to get the free shit? But don't think the Hollywood elite went without; last week, "swag parties" were held all over town to offer up such must-haves as pink boxing gloves, organic dog treats and free Netflix. What kind of cheap bullshit is this? Where are the getaway packages and the free Bulgari? The stupid pink boxing gloves don't even come with Joe Frazier. Highly disappointing, Hollywood. I know there are all those pesky tax issues with giving this stuff away, but rules and laws don't apply to you, so why start obeying now?

In general, I found the Academy Awards to be much like the ground outside of my house: soggy, mushy and maggotty with dog shit that my neighbors have so kindly left in the middle of the sidewalks. In other words, good times. Of course this would mark the year that Marty Scorsese finally won a well-deserved Oscar. And the year that Jack Nicholson appeared bald and looking more disturbing than ever, and nobody made a Britney joke (or commented on his neckfurters). We heard dated Al Gore jokes, and we were treated to all the usual blatant back-patting for all the "diversity" in this year's nominees. And how much longer do we have to endure J-Lo? And Celine? Like I said, maggotty...

• All I wanted was for Jackie Earle to win. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so. I'm sure Alan Arkin is great and all, and granted, I didn't see "Little Miss Sunshine", but Jackie Earle is all kinds of awesome, just for being Jackie Earle. The only thing that could make up for this is if Scarecrow from "The Wizard of Oz" showed up wearing the scalp of Christie Brinkely and a water-stained circa-1973 prom dress. Oh, wait, sorry Gwenyth...was that you? I didn't recognize you because your fake English accent was "off" last night. Kudos on remembering your bra this year, though.

• On the other hand, Reese, oh dear lord, that dress...I would wear it to the grocery store, go on a hike in it and sleep in it. In other words, I would wear it all the time and never take it off, and I would wash it by wearing it into the shower. Speaking of Reese, I wonder if she and Marky Mark got together to discuss how they wouldn't be where they are today if it weren't for "Fear".

• Second-best dressed: Kate Winslet. I love her and I want to marry her.

• Third-best dressed: the girls who got to wear the badass Marie Antoinette outfits during the Best Costume presentation. However, I'm voting fake Marie herself Kirsten Dunst as worst dressed of the evening. What is wrong with her? She has to present with her ex-boyfriend and she wears Brillo couture? Looking super-awesome is the best revenge, and she totally blew it.

• I hope Nicole Kidman doesn't drive a convertible because if she is ever stuck behind a gravel truck and a rock flies out and hits her face it would shatter like a windshield.

• Tom Cruise was kind of quiet this year. Maybe he had an auditing session yesterday morning in which he was advised to tone it down. Didn't see the wife and kid either, so I'm guessing the Scientology PR crew has racheted up the thetan control.

• Cutest couples: Ellen and Portia, Sascha Baron Cohen and Isla Fisher, Jaden Smith and Abigail Breslin.

• I know the speeches were cut off earlier this year and a "thank-you cam" was provided backstage so they could thank god, mom, voice coach, lawyer, caterer, reiki technician, dolly grip, etc., ad nauseum. Didn't work, dammit.

Honestly, I can't remember much else because I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Scorsese won, so all is right with the world. This is an honor and privilege. Thank you very much. Now where's my gift basket?

Beware the little children

I'm completely fascinated by the colossal squid. I think it may be my new favorite animal, or at least my favorite sea-bound creature. The colossal squid has eyes the size of dinner plates and tentacles as big around as tractor tires. The specimen caught yesterday by New Zealand fishermen is estimated to be 33 feet long!

Do not confuse the colossal squid with the giant squid or the jumbo squid, and fear what else may be out there. Can you imagine what is lurking along the sea floor? Be warned: the fucking ginormous squid (Ginorchoteuthis fuckisus) may be down there, and when it's found, then god help us.

While this elusive creature haunts the ocean deep, and even more impalpable and far more dangerous (and waaaaayyy less cool) specimen darkens the doorstep much closer to home. That specimen is the cryptical indigo child. What is an indigo child, you ask? Only the next big step in human evolution! If you think that big squid is amazing, wait until you hear about this madness.

According to this somewhat shady website, indigo children are "highly sensitive and psychic" little ones with a "collective purpose to mash down old systems that no longer serve us; they are here to quash government, educational, and legal systems that lack integrity. To accomplish this end, they need tempers and fiery determination." These special kids (or "starchildren") are meant to bring down The Man and launch all of humanity into a kindler, gentler third dimension where everyone can read minds and levitate and set the whole school on fire at the prom if they want to.

How are they going to do this, you inquire? By acting like little demons straight from the bowels of hell, of course! Also, having gullible enablers as parents helps. Here is a quick checklist to help you determine if you have an indigo child on your hands:

• They come into the world with a feeling of royalty (and often act like it).
• They have a feeling of "deserving to be here," and are surprised when others don't share that.
• Self-worth is not a big issue. They often tell the parents "who they are."
• They have difficulty with absolute authority (authority without explanation or choice).
• They simply will not do certain things; for example, waiting in line is difficult for them.
• They get frustrated with systems that are ritually oriented and don't require creative thought.
• They often see better ways of doing things, both at home and in school, which makes them seem like "system busters" (nonconforming to any system).
• They seem antisocial unless they are with their own kind. If there are no others of like consciousness around them, they often turn inward, feeling like no other human understands them. School is often extremely difficult for them socially.
• They will not respond to "guilt" discipline ("Wait till your father gets home and finds out what you did").
• They are not shy in letting you know what they need.

The site also points out that indigo kids are often "misdiagnosed" as having ADD or ADHD and that their "gifts" are often misunderstood and not respected. So in other words, they're hyperactive brats with wusses for parents. Don't ever babysit for an indigo kid! They don't believe in time out and they'll let you know it, you big meanie. Wonder how they would deal with getting a swift beating from a non-indigo child?

As you can well imagine, care and feeding of these delicate creatures is highly specialized. I'm certain they simply will not eat lima beans or quietly sit and play with Colorforms like we had to. Luckily the site above offers helpful tips to nurture your indigo by allowing them to help make the rules, teaching them how to meditate and advising them on how to "heal." This last one is particularly important, as is teaching them "energy shielding" and "grounding skills", 'cause "they will have severe mood swings caused by picking up on the energies of others around them." Here's one example of effective parenting offered by this helpful website: "I need you to help me get to the doctor on time. We have to go in five minutes to make the appointment, so do everything you need to before we go, like go to the bathroom if you have to. Also, since grandma is coming later we need to pick up your toys either now or as soon as we get home. You decide which."

I can't stop giggling. This is the absolute stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life. I am not a parent, but I was a kid once and I'm going to venture a guess and say that "you decide which" is not quite as effective as something along the lines of "get in the car now or Hokey Pokey Elmo sleeps with the fishes". If I'm annoyed by simply reading about these kids, imagine what it would be like to be in a room with one. Or at a fucking conference.

Besides all that, is it just me or is this all sounding suspiciously Scientological? If you check out both of those sites you'll see all manner of meaningless spiritual woo-woo being bandied about. Higher self, lower self, divine essence, multi-dimensional consiousness, gold rays, existensial depression, third-eye chakra...SERIOUSLY. God, I wish I was making this up. Are people so desperate to think of their kids as special and different and to acquiesce parental leadership that they will actually believe this ridiculous con artistry? You'd think at least the drug companies would be speaking out. But maybe they are doing even better; I know I'd be on a nerve-calming cocktail of valium, ativian and any horse tranqilizer I could get my hands on and if I had to deal with this shit on a daily basis.

Luckily, there is a physical charicteristic you can watch for: indigo children often have "large, penetrating blue eyes that are wise beyond their years. Their eyes lock on and hypnotize you, while you realize your soul is being laid bare for the child to see". OK, I'm officially nervous. Don't think a tin foil hat will help...these kids have managed to pull off a large-scale hoax on their parents, finally making them believe that their temper tantrums and general mayhem are indications of brilliance rather than just obnoxious. It's both admirable and horrifying. And even more incomprehensible than the colossal squid. An ocean creature the length of Manhattan Island I can believe. But indigo kids...now you're talking crazy.

I believe further research into this disturbing phenomenon is necessary, however I can't bring myself to do anymore right this moment. My stomach hurts from laughing and anyway I think we've had just about enough crazy for one day. OK, one more, but that's it, I swear.

All aboard the Kra-Z train!

S-SPUFF Newsletter, Vol. 2 Issue 1

Official announcement: The Save Sean Preston & Unborn Federfetus Foundation (S-SPUFF) has changed its name yet again. The new name of this non-profit volunteer organization is the Committee to Rescue Britney's Boys (CRABB). As you will soon see, the situation the Spears-Federline brothers are in has reached critical and we must put our words into action to ensure that little Sean Preston and Jayden James don't end up penned in the bathtub in the Hudson penthouse while Mom flails in the gutter covered in her own upchuck. Or at a Moonies meeting. In the past two weeks:

• Britney was spotted in NYC wearing what Maria might have fashioned out of curtains for the Von Trapp children had they been raised in a Surinami whorehouse and one of those necklaces made out of fake pearls shaped like a necktie. I'm not kidding. And it even gets better. Later in the evening, upon exiting her chauffered SUV, the paparazzi captured photos of the backseat most recently occupied by Miss Thang covered in neon green spew. But that's nothing compared to what happened earlier in the week, when she was photographed at a Fashion Week show wearing a dress WITH THE TAGS STILL ATTACHED!!! Jesus christ, that is just fucking disgusting. What a pig. How dare she disrespect the institution of fashion week by committing such a tawdry faux pas. Tacky, tacky, tacky. She can simply never show her face on 5th Ave. or in all of New York City ever again after this stunt.

• Britney's pornily-named former assistant Felicia Culotta contacted a celebrity news blog about her former employer's recent antics, and revealed, "I want you to know that WE (as in her family and nearest and dearest—ALL of whom are NOT on the payroll anymore!!) are doing EVERYTHING in our power to get help for Britney and all in our power to NOT pad the bottom or move the bottom, so when she does indeed hit rock bottom, she'll stand up and walk away from this whole fiasco a new, confident, changed, career driven Britney like we all knew and loved. There's just so much you can do to help a person—I don't dare want to be an enabler, and I cannot love her enough for the both of us. I cannot convince her in ANY way to love herself." Then she wraps up with this head-scratcher: "I'm so Southern, and the BEST way for me to tell you how I feel is to say—You can just kick an old Dog so many times before he gets off the porch. I, FELICIA, am OFF the porch!!" And if You don't like it, You can Lump it, Britney! FELICIA is OUT! She will Capitalize any Words she Wants to and will NOT Enable ANYONE! Sean and Jayden, can Lump it, Too, because even though Felicia has had enough, these two little hangers-on continue to make demands and try to tell Britney what to do. She doesn't like that, because Big Girls don't like being pushed around. They just don't get it! But it's not really their fault, because it's so totally a Southern thing.

• On Thursday, Britney checked into posh Bungalow Rehab 8 and promptly checked out when she found out it wasn't Ladies' Night. Dude, what the fuck? She was already signed up for the bar dancing competition and the fake orgasm contest and even wore her Suck for a Buck tee shirt. Fuckers.

• The latest and most disturbing development is that Britney seems to have been kidnapped by the Hare Krishna religious cult, has had her head shaved and is being forced to sell wilting carnations at LAX. They also forced her to get a bizarre tattoo of lips on the back of her neck. Speculation asserts that this signifies "talking out of the both sides of your mouth"—in other words, the wearer of the tattoo may tell everybody that she, for example, is a kickass parent in between lines that are being snorted off of a stripper's ass. Highly, highly controversial, not to mention distressing.

CRABB is now endorsing a course of action that we never thought we would even consider: full custody to Howard K. Stern. It's the only way at this point. Or just turn them over to Federline. At least he kind of has a career. But as long as Felicia is off the porch, we're not sure who is watching the little ones over there and are extremely concerned.

Thanks again for your continued support and we hope for some better news in our next edition!

Is it Norwegian Black Metal day already??

Good god, is it that time of year already? It feels like only yesterday that we were choosing our super-fucking-evil black metal names, troweling on the ghoul face paint and scaring those around us with talk of Borg Bokkøl wishes and blizzard beast dreams.

I heard some kind of rumor that there's something else going on today. Hm. Why in the world would two holidays be scheduled on the same day? Very strange. I've been seeing news articles and reports all over the place on how to be romantic and creative ways on proposing, etc. Who would want to do that in the midst of this ass-freezing, depressing, desolate atmosphere? OK, I'm in Ohio right now and I just got home from a 20-minute drive that took two hours. I could be in Florida or San Diego or someplace where it's not -10° with the wind chill. But still, February is such a strange time for niceties. That's why today, on Norwegian Black Metal Day, we're going to focus on our evil sides. That's right, bring out the icy-souled demon within and chill others to the bone with these five easy steps.

LOOK THE PART
Below you will find three lists; simply choose your outfit from list one, material from list two and accessory from list three and you're good to go. It's fun to mix n' match!

1.) tank top/pants; wenchwear; cape; crappy tee/black jeans; Seinfeldian puffy shirt

2.) mesh; velvet; leather (no pleather); chainmail; ripped spandex

3.) jewelry made out of a piece of someone's skull; studded gut-guard; gauntlets; spiked shinguards (of course!); morning star

Top it off with white face paint and your signature blackline makeup and you're ready for a full day of freaking people out!

ACT THE PART
You know the routine: don't smile, don't laugh, don't chit-chat, don't be afraid to piss on parades; DO be theatrical, do use tons of big words to confuse everyone, do be miserable, do make others miserable.

CHOOSE YOUR MINONS
This is the fun part. Who do you want to exercise control over the most? Murderous thugs? Goth street kids with nowhere else to turn? A bloodthirsty army of killbots? My personal favorite is the animal horde, because you definitely want to be a evil dictator of the "release the hounds" variety. Imagine using a simple dismissive gesture coupled with the legendary command "Disperse, my pretties!" and before you know it the sun will be blotted out by thousands of vampire bats, flying monkeys or winged gremlins. Another great idea is to summon the undead. Or gather up a gang of headless horsemen! So many fun possibilities! Can I have one of each?

START A CULT
You've already got the charismatic leader (you!)—now all you need to do is convince your minions to leave their loved ones and accept your evil word as one and only truth. Totalitarianism is awesome.

BELIEVE!
This is the most important of all the steps. If you don't believe in your evil self, how can you expect others to be satisfactorily creeped out? Repeat the following affirmations:
I strive to be as evil as I can be.
I commit to my path of evil.
I am in charge of my evil destiny.
I am a radiant being of evil.

Now go out there and get 'em, tiger!

It's the long-awaited return of Shitty Music Videos!

The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings...and super-shit-tastic music vids! Hurray! Today we're going heavy on the '80s, with a side of black metal, and if it's nostalgia you seek, pay a visit to our old friends in Part 1 and Part 2, just for the hell of it. And now, on to the fun!

"Party All The Time", Eddie Murphy
This one is really only hilarious for one reason, and we'll get to it shortly. It starts off with the classic '80s music video scenerio of the actual recording of the song in the studio. Soundboards are shown, dials spin, lights come on...it's like the artist is letting us in to get a sneak peak of the glamourous life. And here comes the talent: Eddie! He struts in and hugs Donna Summer...what's she doing there? I had no idea she worked on this song. Anyway, Eddie swaggers into the sound booth and Donna instructs him to "put your headphones on." Wow, Donna's got a really manly voice. Then suddenly, it hits me: that's not Donna Summer—it's Rick James. With curly blond extensions. And bangs. I am quite simply completely flummoxed by this man's hair. But in his own words, "cocaine is a hell of a drug", and this is the best advertisement for Just Say No I can possibly imagine. So Eddie starts singing and he looks relatively normal—nothing special to mock here. It's his entourage that's completely embarrassing. They all start appropriately getting into the song, high-fiving each other and acting like they've never heard anything so amazing and innovative as "Party All The Time". Rick raises his fists to the sky, fringe flying, imagining the money and the drugs and the chicks that this hit song is going to bring his way. When he can't contain himself any longer, he dashes into the sound booth, picks up a guitar, but forgets to plug it in, and screams a couple of background lines. When the song ends, Rick and Eddie embrace, look straight into the camera and make the "OK!" hand gesture. Now was this video shot before or after Rick kidnapped that girl and burned her with a crack pipe?

"Gloves Of Metal", Man O' War
You may remember Man O' War as the band that made the Guiness Book for being the loudest band ever. They also wear loincloths. Actually, there is just so much to laugh at in this video that I don't even know where to begin, so let's take it one by one:
1. The outfits. My god, the outfits. The last time I saw so much leather and fur and spikes and studs was when Ted Nugent and Sebastian Bach stood next to each other on "Supergroup," and I'm not sure even the Nuge would be caught dead wearing mukluks. Every single thing in the whole video is covered within an inch of its life with fur. Check out the scenes in the beginning when the band is riding horses: how many squirrels lost their lives for these guys?
2. The crowd. The footage of the crazed fans going ape shit seems to have been accidentally switched with scenes from a New Kids on the Block concert; I see a few shaker sweaters and not one leather boob tray in the bunch.
3. The "plot." If you're going to attempt to tell a lame story with your video, then pick a theme and stick with it. First, they are riding horses and pretending to be Mideval cavemen. Then suddenly, a bunch of toga-clad assholes are wrestling around on the beach and you're not sure if this is supposed to be fighting or Roman-themed porn, especially when the band materializes out of fire explosions and joins in the melee. Some guy gets shot with an arrow, a couple of chicks are tackled and the music swells to the screams of "LEATHER! METAL! SPIKES! AND CHAINS!" My god, it's too fucking hilarious!
4. The lyrics. They may be the dumbest lyrics ever written.
5. The drummer. He looks like Spinal Tap's Derrek Smalls and he actually seems to be wearing a preserved moose.

"Losing You", Jan Terri
This video left me speechless. The song sounds vaguely familiar, and perhaps that's because, when coupled with the video, it sounds like it might be the opening credits and theme song to an early-80s sitcom. I know nothing about this woman, so I may be making fun of one of the great musical geniuses of the last 50 years and would have no idea. Who knows? But when a limo pulls up in front of a posh Chicago hotel to pick up the talent, I'm certainly not expecting the mom from "Everybody Loves Raymond" to appear wearing leather pants belted just underneath her armpits. It's sickly fascinating; I've never seen a singer look like they are having less fun. Add in the mulleted, motorcycle-riding love interest, the shoddy camerawork, the nausea-inducing pan zooms, and the disjointed "storyline" (Is she leaving him? Is she losing him? He called her on the phone, and picked her up on his motorcycle, so it seems like he's still into her...) and you're left with far more questions than answers.

"Oh Sherry", Steve Perry
This one appears to have been shot at a Renaissance Faire for some reason, and who knew Steve was into that kind of thing? Anyway, a bride walks in wearing a dunce cap (I guess this is supposed to be Sherry) and kneels before Steve who is dressed as a gay king. Steve then throws a diva fit, rips off his king outfit to reveal an open shirt and acid washed nut huggers, and informs the director "This is a love song." The power bitches around Steve are trying to make the video something it's not, and Steve goes off to a stairwell to sulk and scream the immortal opening line "YOU SHOULDA BEEN GAW-ON!" Suddenly, here comes the real Sherry, wearing a white tank dress and red tights and she looks like one of the New Wave twins from that old TV show "Double Trouble" (does anyone else remember that one??). Steve tries to impress her by pushing around some extras and playing bad air guitar on a broom. Sherry laughs and probably says, "Oh, Steeeve!" as he continues to ham it up. The crotch seam of his pants is being strained to the limit and I can't believe wardrobe didn't intervene. The video ends with Steve saying "I kinda like you baby" and all the dumbass extras clap, then Steve and Sherry walk out the door and the director kisses his future in the music video industry goodbye.

"Call Of The Wintermoon", Immortal
I can't stop giggling. Eighty percent of this one is comprised of shots of the band peeking out from behind trees and castle ruins and looking pissed. The rest of the action revolves around scampering through the forest like Robin Hood and his merry band of misfits, striking ridiculous poses, eating fire and arson. Watch closely at the very beginning and you'll see Abbath awesomely blow fire on an inverted cross made of sticks, setting it alight. One of the band members is wearing a pointy witch hat that his grandma probably made for his little sister to wear in the Halloween children's parade. Another fashion project for the band involved making scary arm cuffs and wristlets out of leather scraps and four-inch carpentry nails. Actually, I can't really do the video justice with words...you just have to see it. And I think I may have just ruined this post, but Ohio is the new grim and frostbitten kingdom and I think my brain is hibernating a little bit. Anyway, just watch it. You'll see what I mean.

Smell the Filth

Cradle of Filth is, right at this moment, in my fine city. You may remember their super-hunkalicious lead singer Dani Filth as #8 on my list of the ugliest rock stars, and you may also recall that I said this about him:

You wouldn't believe the sheer amount of ridiculous pictures that exist of this guy. In nearly every one, he's in full goth regalia, hissing at the camera, licking fake blood off of his fingers, et al allegedly scary posturing. But with his pudgy little face, ratted frizzy hair and yellow teeth he looks more like Augustus Gloop gone whips and chains.

Honestly it doesn't matter if you remember any of this, because I'm sure that the hot, sexxxy pic at left will be enough to refresh your memory. I can't believe he is in Columbus right now! While I could be out hanging around the stage door waiting for the man himself to emerge, post-show, mime face paint still crusting in the sweat rivulets drying on his chubby little cheeks, sending all the gothy maidens and their black lipstick into vampiric convulsions, I decided to instead pay tribute to this little, tiny man with a retrospective I like to call "The Many Faces Of Dani".

But first a few fun Dani facts:
• Dani's former bands include Carnival Fruitcake, the Lemon Grove Kids and Feast of Excrement!
• Dani owns three cats!
• Dani has a skeleton embedded in his kitchen and two sarcophogi in his home!
• Dani likes to collect spiders!
• Dani played "The Man," "a deranged psychopath hellbent on taking revenge on his father's persecutors" in the 2000 movie Cradle of Fear!
• Dani's favorite color is black!

As you can see, Dani Filth is a complicated man who likes dark and scary things. But he also sometimes wears his heart on his sleeve. While Dani's public image depicts a gleefully malevolent rock star extrodinaire, privately he's just a regular guy next door. With a ridiculous amount of fake blood poured over his head. Just take a look:

Playful Dani!
Whee! Don't worry, Dani's not all doom and gloom; this is a guy that likes to have fun! In this silly pic, Dani plays the part of the mischevious puck as he laps corn syrup off of his fingers. Normally, he dabs the stuff at the inside corners of his eyes so he appears to be crying blood on-stage, but this time one of his fun-loving bandmates unscrewed the top a bit—when Dani went to pour out a small amount, whoops! The always-impish Dani took the gag in stride and posed for this picture, showing what a good sport he can be. What a little rascal!

Enraged Dani!
Eek, when Dani gets pissed, hide the knives! He likes to put in his Lestat teeth and roar at the sky,unleashing all of his aggressions toward an uncaring, unjust world in a big, ferocious primal scream. What's he so angry about, I wonder? Maybe the dry cleaners were unable to remove the bloodstains from his favorite cloak. Maybe he found out alchemy isn't real. Or maybe he's just depressed.

Pensive Dani!
Just because Dani likes to wear mesh tops and lay around in a casket all day doesn't mean this guy doesn't think, as this picture can attest. Even though Dani is licking this cross in his usual unrestrained way, something else is obviously on his mind. His pose is saying, "I'm a demon fucker with a lust for virgin blood" but his expression is saying, "Do deeper principles underlie quantum uncertainty and nonlocality?" Granted, it could also be saying, "I wonder if my Hot Topic catalog came in the mail today?"...we can't be sure. But the point is this: Dani's creative mind is constantly spinning in the ether, and we simply don't know what will spring from its depths next.

Unrestrained Dani!
When the music starts up, get ready for Dani! He simply can't be stopped! The mere chainsaw strum of an Ibanez, chest-thumping rumble of a bass and the one-two punch in the throat from a double-kick drum sets Dani off into an unbridled frenzy that makes him want to stab himself in the gut with his mike, much like we see here. Blood drops on his head Flashdance-style, and Dani goes ape shit, ripping around the stage in a delirious state of hysteria, and inciting the crowd to wreck mayhem on everything in its path. Mayhem...did somebody say "mayhem"?? That's no coincidence!

Lovable Dani!
Who says the undead can't be huggable? Not me! Just look at that face; underneath all that pleather, pewter and runewear, Dani's just a straight-up sweetheart. Here, he's just come from a visit to the dentist and all he wants is a popsicle. Can't he have one, please? It would sure make his bleeding gums feel better...

Sexy Dani!
Ah, here is the Dani we know best: gamey and sensual with a heavy dose of naught! Could it get any better? He's donned a PVC belly shirt with mesh sleeves, unbuckled his black leather slacks to reveal chain-mail underpants and struck a sprawled, catlike pose that accentuates his paunchy, white fish belly. So hot! How can I resist? At this very moment I could dash down to the music hall, which would take all of 15 minutes, and get a glipse of Dani in the flesh, and scream for him to throw his metallic undies into the undulating crowd so that I can possibly catch them and have the greatest Cradle of Filth souvenir that ever was. Or I could just hang out here and watch "I Love New York" reruns...

Hm, I wonder which I will choose?