Death metal bands have the dumbest names

While I'm keeping a bit of low profile, waiting for the buzz from the Stupid & Contagious World Exclusive to die down, I thought I'd turn my attention to a topic I haven't covered in at least a week—extreme metal freaks.

Black metal bands may be made up of raving satanic loons with ridiculous "scary" pseudonyms like Necrobutcher and Goat, but at least the bands themselves have relatively normal names. Immortal, Mayhem, Bathory, Emperor, Venom—nothing too fancy here, but enough to get the point across. Death metal bands, on the other hand, seem to have a penchant for dreaming up the fucking stupidest monikers ever.

This is truly a skill. Many bands-of-the-minute seem to spend more time primping their asymmetrical shag haircuts than they do on their band's name. Not in death metal. These guys think long and hard on what is going to successfully scare Mom and Dad and get themselves on the christian right shitlist. These "creative" names seem to fall into one of five categories, which I've listed below with examples. Yes, these are all real bands (and, strangely enough, the majority of them hail from Florida, the Sunshine State, also the home base of many boy bands and Jeb Bush).

Before you ask, there IS a difference between black metal and death metal, the specifics of which I'm not entirely clear on. The gist seems to be that death metal focuses more on, well, death and cemeteries and gothy things like that, and black metal talks more about renouncing god, embracing satan, yada yada. But I could be wrong. That's also not to mention the evil slew of other headbanger styles like grindcore, thrash, doom metal, speed metal, nu metal, deathrock, slam, metalcore and about 900,000 other subcategories. See? You DO learn something new every day. Even if it is useless shit like this. Now on to the absurdity:

1.) Bodily functions and mutilation. There is an astounding number of death metal bands with names that fall into this category:
• Cystic Dyssentary
• Visceral Bleeding
• Decrepit Skeleton
• Intestine Baalism
• Gory Blister
• Vomit Remnants
• Anal Blast (which I think is my personal favorite)
• Bloodgasm
• Jungle Rot

2.) Declaration to kill and/or maim (extra points for getting really specific)
• Cattle Decapitation
• Prostitute Disfigurement
• Dismembered Fetus
• Severed Head
• Nun Slaughter
• Cock and Ball Torture (I changed my mind: this is my favorite)
• Bound in Human Flesh

3.) Really, really, really, really, really, really long
• The Number Twelve Looks Like You
• The Tide That Turns The Christians Souls Into Dust And Summons Satan To His Infernal Palace
• 666 Lacerations to the Sternum (OK, this one really IS my favorite)
• Paracoccidioidomicosisproctitissarcomucosis

4.) Strangely earthy and not at all threatening
• Autumn Leaves
• Canopy
• Budgie
• Manatee
• Winds

5.) Beyond stupid
• Wykked Wytch
• Jumpin' Jesus
• Lord Fuck (the best one yet)
• Bestial Warlust

I'm not sure what is more incomprehensible here: the names or the music itself. Call me a music snob, but I just don't get it. Apparantly there is meant to be a message in the music, but what they are trying to say is anyone's guess—the vocal stylings can only be described as Charlie Brown's teacher vomiting into a megaphone. What are they saying? It's too loud! Turn it down! And what are they so mad about anyway? Yeah, I'm totally getting old. But I guess if you go to see a band called "Gory Blister" you most likely have a pretty good idea what you're going to be in for.

WORLD EXCLUSIVE: Message from the TomKat fetus!

This is truly a monumental (albeit unusual) day for Stupid & Contagious. I have no idea how this is possible (the pregnancy itself is mysterious enough), but the world's most famous unborn child has sent a message up the tube, if you will, to this little blog! That's right: the fetus of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes has emailed me. And because everything I do, I do it for you, I will reproduce it in full here in a STUPID & CONTAGIOUS WORLD EXCLUSIVE—what is revealed in this letter is sure to shake the entertainment world to its' very foundations, so prepare yourself for some seriously shocking revelations.

I must say that I'm impressed with the fetus's impeccable grammar and lack of spelling mistakes. I expect if this one is not immediately taken hostage by the Sea Org, we may have an English major on our hands. Behold and get ready for tomorrow's buzz. Remember, you saw it here first!

Good day to you, RockitQueen, and greetings from in utero!

I am currently floating here, enjoying my evening thumb suck, mulling over my impending emergence into the world. As you can well imagine, I'm quite ready to get out of here as things are getting a little bit hot and cramped and I'm a little tired of suffering through the Chanticos and herpes simplex 1 outbreaks. Plus, I'm anxious to see if my mom will take one look at me and become inspired to run away, change her name and assume a new identity.

I've been getting a bad rap in the press because everyone thinks I am demon seed and that I'm going to burst directly through my mom's belly, "Alien"-style, and leer at all the doctors and nurses. I can assure you that I am a very normal, very typical baby. But once I make my appearance, I know those Scientology creeps will be waiting for me with eager, greedy anticipation. I wouldn't be one bit surprised if they even pushed down on my mom's belly to shoot me out, catch me like a football and then whisk me off to their big desert boat. Since I still won't be able to see real well or grasp anything, nor will I be able to speak beyond screetching and gurgling, there isn't much I can do to escape.

Additionally, I am sure you've heard all the buzz about Scientology's "birthing rituals", i.e. the silent-birth-with-no-drugs method. What do you think of that? Because I think it's completely fucked up! The woman is pushing something the size of a watermelon through an opening the size of a quarter—I think she has a right to make as much noise as she wants! And no drugs? Forget her, what about me? I mean, you've seen my dad right? I think I'm going to need some good tranqs if there is a possiblity he might start jumping from bed to bed in the hospital while palming my little head.

So as you can see, I am pretty much doomed right from the start, unless my mom can pull it together and get the two of us on a plane to Costa Rica, STAT. I guess all I'm asking is for an outlet to vent my frustrations on my family situation, and I thought you might be understanding, and perhaps even sympathetic. I may only be the size of a small cat, but I have feelings, too, and I'd just like to express them in some avenue before they all get audited away.

One more thing: I may be giving you an exclusive peek into my world, but that does not include a peek at my junk. That exclusive will be going to Star Magazine. Just so you know.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,
Tom Cruise & Kate Homes' Fetus

P.S. Help...me...

Bringing new meaning to "Trash Can School"

One thing I often say the world needs is a stricter definition of what is considered "art." Now, I don't mean I want things banned, but perhaps critics could be more, well, CRITICAL about what is *really* a creative, provacative, artistic statement and what is just gag-worthy shock value. I mean, collecting your used tampons for months and displaying them in a filing cabinet at the Met? Or suspending animal carcasses in glass cubes filled with formaldahyde? Or "draping" islands and bridges? Damien Hirst is the second highest-paid living artist, next to Jasper Johns. This makes me want to fall into a coma.

Well, brace yourself and get ready for what is quite possibly the worst example of so-called art ever unveiled. Some douchebag named Daniel Edwards has created the "Monument To Pro-Life: The Birth of Sean Preston" which is currently being foisted on the public at the Capla Kesting Fine Art center in Brooklyn. I am utterly aghast: it's a monument to Britney and her never-done-before breakthrough decision to put motherhood before her career. It depicts a pregnant "Britney" posed on all fours on a bearskin rug with the top of the baby's head "emerging"—ug, I just can't type any more description. It is simply the most fucking absurd sculpture that has ever been created.

I can't even begin to explain the ridiculous "meaning" behind the work. The official press release babbles with explaination that would be comical if it weren't so freakish:

"Pop-star Britney Spears is the 'ideal' model for Pro-Life"
Is this guy on crack?

"Dedication of the life-sized statue celebrates the recent birth of Spears’ baby boy, Sean, and applauds her decision of placing family before career. 'A superstar at Britney’s young age having a child is rare in today’s celebrity culture. This dedication honors Britney for the rarity of her choice and bravery of her decision,' said gallery co-director, Lincoln Capla."
Wow, Britney is such a groundbreaker! Most women would make the selfish choice to continue working, or worse yet, abort, because all of them have the money, staff and support systems so that not working is always an option. But not Brit—she chose to instead steal the boyfriend of a pregnant woman with two small children, gallavant around the world recording every slobbery kiss and bong hit, and then have a save-the-relationship baby, which she proceeds to either pawn off to her team of lackeys or perch on her lap unrestrained as she swerves down the highway with a frappacino in one hand trying to mow down paparazzi. So rare, so brave! I'm sure Shar Jackson would agree.

"The monument also acknowledges the pop-diva’s pin-up past by showing Spears seductively posed on all fours atop a bearskin rug with back arched, pelvis thrust upward, as she clutches the bear’s ears with ‘water-retentive’ hands."
Oh, now I get it. Danny-boy was really trying to make a Britney sex doll, got caught in the act and tried to save face by claiming it's some kind of pro-life celebration of motherhood. And "water-retentive hands"? What the fuck does that mean? I get the feeling whoever wrote this idiotic press release watched a bunch of those 1950s films about "womanly cycles" and still thinks that chicks can't go swimming during their periods.

“'Britney provides inspiration for those struggling with the ‘right choice’,' said artist Daniel Edwards. “She was number one with Google last year, with good reason—people are inspired by the beauty of a pregnant woman."
No, dumbass, people were fascinated by the fact that someone with so much money can't manage to comb her hair, dress herself in clean clothes or comprehend that having a baby won't improve her dysfunctional relationship with a pothead drifter.

"Capla Kesting denies the statue was developed from a rumored bootleg Britney Spears birth video."
Oh my god...hold on...I just threw up in my mouth. This is the most disturbing Brit-Brit rumor yet. I'm going to pretend I didn't just read that and move on...

As a former art student, this makes me want to find this Daniel Edwards character, slap a straight jacket on him and display him in a padded room at the Whitney. I'd call it:
"Untitled (Assjacker Who Created Asinine Birthing Memorial To Untalented White Trash Dingdong)"
Artist: RockitQueen
Cost: Nothing, just make it stop

Here's a bustle in your hedgerow

There is really no purpose to this post other than to say that this man is just sex. Good god.

Shout out to my West Coast sista, Lola!!

Boys, Breeders & Blockheads: It's the 1st Annual Stupies!

After a brief hiatus, during which I made significant headway in "Lords of Chaos" and gathered the latest deliciously trashy Britney news, I'm back and ready to rant. But since I am refreshed and relaxed and feeling not so mean after my little vaca, I decided I'd do something a little more fun and a little less debased by offering up yet another awards line-up. It is that time of year, after all. And in true Stupid & Contagious fashion, it's better late than never.

So without further ado, I present the 1st Annual Stupid & Contagious Awards (aka The Stupies)! "Winners" will recieve an attractive certificate (if I ever get around to making them, which is highly unlikely) and the smug satisfaction of having been thought of in some regard by a peon such as myself. What more could you want? Remember: anyone can win an Oscar, but only a select few can win a Stupie! And now on with the show...

• Most Annoying •
Buckethead. Who the fuck is this guy and why in the name of all that's holy does he go around wearing a bucket on his head? Why does the bucket sometimes say "Funeral" on it? Why is he wearing a Shatner mask (which he is hilariously smoking through in this picture) and a Slash wig? Why is he now a part of Guns N' Roses? Why, why, WHY? So many unanswered questions. And yet, I really don't care about the answers.

• Cutest •
Behold the sultry, sulky, shaggy and sexy, sexy, sexy Ville Valo. He's so wonderfully bad, stinky and dirty—and so, so pretty. While the Norwegians are tearing each other up next door, Helsinki is turning out tortured, high-cheekboned goth rockers such as this. I want to höyhentää his kengänkärki.

• Coolest •
Joan Jett, as usual. Without her, there would be no RockitQueen. And if I could be anyone besides RockitQueen, it would be Joan. Also nominated: Bjork, Amy Sedaris, Benicio del Toro, Gary Dourdan, Anthony Hopkins, and Tito Jackson.

• White Trashiest •
This one was really tough, as there were so many slimeballs from which to choose. But in a surprise slam-dunk, Britney and K-Fed walk away with the Stupie! You are just as surprised as I.

• Best Reality Freak •
Two words: Duncan Nutter.

• Song of the Year •
"Shine It All Around" by Robert Plant & the Strange Sensation.

• Lamest Song Of The Year •
Anything by Bright Eyes because I HATE HATE HATE LOATHE AND HATE that name! I don't think I've ever heard anything by him, but I imagine it is annoyingly whiny, singer-songwriter mush pablum for 12-year-olds to swoon over.

• Best Show •
Hands down: "Dog the Bounty Hunter." This show goes above and beyond your typical reality schlock, bringing action, adventure, good quotes and some seriously bad hair directly into your living room. Dog and Co. represent a kinder, gentler variety of white trash (my kind of stock)—that which brings the whoop-ass when necessary, but then offers a kind word and a helpful hand to the very fugitives they've just picked up. And I think Dog's son Leland is kind of hot.

• Worst Show •
"According to Jim." I've never seen it. I probably will never see it. But I'd say this is a pretty solid educated guess.

• Freakiest •
At three in the morning after a night of drunken debauchery, I saw this show called "Obsessed" on A&E or Discovery or one of those channels and I swear to god I didn't imagine it. It was all about people with addictions that were taking over their lives. One woman bilked something like $4 million from the company she worked for to buy vintage cars, collectables and so much crap that she filled her home from floor to ceiling; there was actually a small trail forged through the mounds of shit. There were a few other weirdos, too, but the best was this guy who has dedicated his life to making himself look like a tiger. He has implants in his cheeks, nose, forehead and lips, facial tattoos, specially-made cat-eye contacts, "whisker piercings" in his cheeks and much more for that super-fierce big cat look. I know he's not really famous or anything, but I think it's pretty safe to say he's riding a square-wheeled unicycle to Crazy Town, population: Michael Jackson.

• Most Morbidly Fascinating •
Our favorite black metaller-turned-murderer-turned-nazi sympathizer Count Grishnackh shares this prestigious Stupie with The Duggars, consisting of parents Jim-Bob and Michelle and their litter of 17 kids. How, you ask, do these seemingly nice folks find themselves in a category with a nutball like the Count? For these reasons:
• They all dress alike.
• The kids are all homeschooled. Why is it that all these families that have spawn in the double digits insist on homeschooling their kids? Anyway, I saw a show about them and the kids were learning about bankruptcy and some kind of soy foam insulation.
• They love tater tot casserole.
• Michelle's hair.
• They endorse "Wholesome Swimwear" that "highlights the face, rather than the body." I wish I was kidding.
• THEY WON'T STOP BREEDING.

• Why Is This Person Considered Hot? Award •
Male: Ben Affleck, who looks like he probably smells like a combo of ciggie smoke, hot dogs and balls. Female: Jennifer Aniston, who isn't cute by any stretch of the imagination, yet somehow always gets chosen one of the hottest chicks ever by men's magazines.

• Why Is This Person Famous? Award •
It's a group tie for the cast of "Laguna Beach."

• Hindenburg Award •
This award is given to the person/persons/things that we can't take our eyes off even as they/it are crashing, burning and emitting noxious gasses that will asphixiate all of us as we stare. This year's winner is Joe Simpson, father of Jessica and Ashlee. Whether he's badly spin-doctoring defenses to cover up the obviously-unwanted Ashlee's constant fuck-ups, repressing his own obvious homosexuality, or letching after Jessica's funbags, he's a PR disaster waiting to happen. Can't wait for that blimp to go up in flames (pun intended).

• Stupid & Contagious Person of the Year •
It's not a person, it's a country. The winner is NORWAY! Congratulations, Norway! What other magical land has so captured and terrorized our imaginations in the last few months? What other faraway kingdom has contributed such an absurd volume of maniacal fiends to the music industry? And what other bewitching country do I hope has a really good sense of humor for all the flack I've given them and will not send a goth lynch mob after me because it's all done in good humor and, look, I gave you my blog's top honor! I will vow not to make fun of your spiked chestplates, corpse facepaint and studded kneepads on the red carpet. Promise!

The Girls With the Most Steak: An Ode To Groupies

In light of the horrifying release of the Scott Stapp/Kid Rock sex tape, I thought I'd turn lemons into Lynchburg lemonade and pen a tribute to that most dedicated, devoted and debaucherous subculture of rock devotees, known affectionately as "the groupie." This is an oft-misunderstood bunch. These wild and crazy gals stop at nothing to meet, greet and accomodate their rock idols and hopefully live on to tell the freeky-deeky tale. Indeed, groupiedom has spawned some of the best stories you've ever heard, guaranteed to make even the most uninhibited among us turn bright red and say, "Heavens to motherfucking Betsy."

I recently read Pamela des Barres' memoir "I'm With The Band: Confessions Of A Groupie", which was like devouring a five-course meal at Morton's for free. I'll be honest: I always had this exhorbitant fantasy of running off to L.A., dressing up like a super tramp and gallavanting around on the Sunset Strip looking for good bands and bad boys. It's not much to aspire to these days, as evidenced by the wretched creatures that voluntarily exposed themselves to Scott Stapp's ween, so I would amend that fantasy to include time travel back to the era when I could have chased around '60s rock gods and sniff glue with Miss Pamela.

Unfortunately, Groupie Central, the online home of the best I-fucked-a-rock-star-and-his-dick-is-this-big-and-wait-until-you-hear-what-freaky-stuff-he's-into stories ever, is now defunct. But it was there that you would learn such esoteric bombshells as who likes chicks to sit on his face, who gets so high he can't get it up, and who has the biggest cock in rock next to Tommy Lee and Peter Steele (here's a hint: it's the guitar player from the original Guns N' Roses that ISN'T Slash). Anyway, Metal Sludge has a pretty good round-up of rated metal guys, as well as a list of groupies and their conquests. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that these pages are HNSFW (hella not safe for work).

The groupies of today seem to consist mainly of porn stars and Hooters waitresses, and the don't hold a zippo to the Band Aids of yesteryear—the chicks that today have made very lucrative businesses off of their rock-n-roll adventures— including

• Bebe Buell, who had a long affair with Elvis Costello, a child with Steven Tyler and a night of adult passion with Mick Jagger;

• "Sweet Connie" Hamzy, known for "accomodating" pretty much every rocker to roll into Little Rock, including Peter Frampton, Don Henley and Gene Simmons;

• Morgana Welch, the '70s party girl who keeps an online diary of her past escapades with Led Zeppelin, The Who and Joe Cocker;

• Cynthia Plaster Caster, the innovator that molded the junk of such stars as Jimi Hendrix, Jello Biafra and MC5's Wayne Kramer,

• the unnamed groupies highlighted in Motley Crue's book "The Dirt" who shit in a litter box in front of the band and called their moms from a telephone inserted into another chick's "area",

• and, of course, Miss Pamela des Barres, the queen of all groupies who once did a naked backbend for Jim Morrison, climbed Mt. Jimmy Page and served as a muse for Frank Zappa.

As you can see, the likes of Lisa Moorish, who had babies with the unibrowed Liam Gallahger and crackhead/Kate Moss corruptor Pete Doherty simply do not compare. However, I am really fascinated by the groupies that give blow jobs to Scott Stapp and allow it to be recorded. These are the gals that fall into the category of groupie I like to call "Standard-Free." Anyone who has put out for the following people falls into this special class: Lemmy Kilmister, Mick Mars, Fieldy from Korn, C.C. DeVille, any member of Nickelback, Fred Durst, either of the Gallahger brothers, and any member of KISS out of makeup. There are more, but these guys seem to get as much, if not more, poon than actual bona-fide hot rockers. I'm also convinced that roadies actually get more ass than the band does. Come on, they are the first line of defense between the fans and the stars—they have the second-biggest pull next to the band members themselves. And you can't say they don't deserve it since they pretty much have to pick up after and cater to belligerant rock stars hand and foot. The least they can do is introduce the girls to the band after they bang them.

Surprised I haven't used the word "slut" yet? That's because pretty much every music fan is a groupie. Some just have specific ambitions, and who is going to fault them? Rock does strange things to people, after all.

Beach Bums: In Hawai'i with the Federlines

In light of all the Academy Awards fuss, how dare we forget that our most loveable little darling pop-tart Miss Britney is hardly absent from the limelight and the prying cameras of the paparazzi. Poor dear! How can she possibly live a normal life and wear her cowboy hats and Juicy sweatsuits in peace with all these parasites invading her privacy? All she wants is some alone time in Hawai'i with her louse-ridden hubby, servants, managers, publicists, spiritual advisors, personal trainers, massage therapists, professional zit-poppers, baristas, hangers-on and that squirmy little bald thing that showed up a few months ago—it's so funny when he pees in the nanny's face! Oh, yeah, and nannies.

Before her much-hyped and inspirational appearance at Mardi Gras—during which sunbeams broke through the clouds, rainbows miraculously appeared and everyone in New Orleans joined hands and hummed "Toxic," suddenly forgetting all about that unpleasant Katrina business—Britty and crew (sans Kev) wisked off to Maui for a relaxing little vaca. Word is she is going to hole up in paradise to "work" on "her" new "album." The other word is that back in Malibu, MC Skat Kat gave the bong a break and was spotted wandering around in a parking lot with some short, blonde, stupid-looking chick that wasn't Britney! And they had their arms around each other! And K-Fed's pants were hanging halfway off of his ass! This can only mean one thing: it's Obvious PR Spin Time!

Faster than you can say "po-po-popozao," Britty's spin doctors immediately flew Federfucker out to Hawai'i and then sent the couple on a romantic walk, complete with Kev holding Brit's chubby little hand, to be captured on film by the lurking photographers. See what they did there? They used the paparazzi FOR their benefit and they didn't even know it! They think they are taking pics to use against Brit and Kev to talk about their idiotic outfits and how they are probably going to see the "Larry the Cable Guy" movie. Haw haw, they sure fooled the public! When you have lots of money, you can do things like that. Whether or not anyone believes this, one thing these photos DID show us was that these two better call Janet "Miss Jackson" 'cause they're really, really nasty. *rim shot*

I was kind of hoping that the little blonde K-Fed was cuddling in that picture was Brit's little sister, Jamie Lynn. Now THAT would be a story, wouldn't it? Alas, it was just some random groupie that will forever be known as "that girl Federline had his arm around in a parking lot." They certainly don't make them like Miss Pamela anymore, do they?

In the meantime, let's raise a glass of Franzia Zin (America's top-selling wine, dontcha know) and wish the Dynamic Duo a dream vacation in Hawai'i, where the Old Milwaukee flows like wine, the Pall Malls are in endless supply and room service delivers pork rinds. We can only hope they find a tiki idol...

WOOOOOO! BROKEBACK RULES!!!!!

If nothing else, at least Jakey had a good time at the Oscars.

I wish I could quit the Oscars

• I haven't seen "Crash." I honestly have no interest in seeing "Crash." But is "Crash" really better than "Brokeback"? Because "Brokeback" was pretty fucking great. Upset of the night.

• Jon Stewart...Best. Host. Ever. Loved the joke about Bjork getting shot by Cheney. But I have to say that the best moment of the night was Tom Hanks getting hit by the poison dart. Reminds me that dude used to be pretty darn funny before he started trying to save the space program and talking to volleyballs.

• Second-best moment of the night: the montage of Westerns. Hi-freaking-larious!

• Someday you will see me at the Oscars. And it will be as Joaquin Phoenix's date. I guarantee it. And I promise I will help him relax and not look so uncomfortable and constipated all the time.

• Besides that, I've been asked if I could do a sandwich with any two nominees who would it be. Are you ready? Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giametti. That's right. You heard me.

• I also have another new boyfriend: Terrance Howard. Hello, nurse!

• Jake Gyllenhall was high.

• Keira Knightley is fast becoming my new Gwenyth Paltrow. What an annoying little pouty princess. Blah. I hated her stupid prom-queen-circa-1988 dress, but I have to admit I loved the necklace.

• Bad hair was rampant this year. Charlize looked like she had a slumber party last night where everyone did each other's hair and makeup. Sandra Bullock's looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. Kiera Knightley's hair looked like mine does right now. Also, what was with all the bad bleached-out dye jobs? Kidman, Knightley and Charlize: take a cue from Dolly. If you're gonna bleach it, bleach it.

• And now for best and worst dressed. Best:
Felicity Huffman—hot mama!
J-Lo. I'm sure I might be in the minority on this one but I loved the color and not many can pull it off. That jaundaced, mall-haired skeleton sitting next to her really dragged the overall look down, though.
Salma Hayek. She was pretty in teal and her boobs looked great.
Ziyi Zhang. Unique, cute, young and fun.

I'm sideways on Michelle Williams's dress (at least she went with something other than off-white like most of the other gals did), but her makeup was fantabulous

And worst:
Jennifer Aniston. God, could she be more boring?
Nicole Kidman: Advice from one pale gal to another: NEVER WEAR WHITE! And her hair was sticking up when she was presenting.
Naomi Watts: Love her, hated the paper-shredder remnants she was wearing.
Helena Bohnam Carter. Is this woman on crack? Because this stuff can't be the work of a conscious mind.

Screw the statue, I want the gift basket!

While I'm feeling around under the couch cushions in an attempt to scrape up the cash for tonight's cover charge, the luckiest fucks on the planet are getting all kinds of free shit just for showing up and reading off of the teleprompter at the Academy Awards on Sunday. Have you heard about what comes in these freaking "gift baskets" that go to all the nominees and presenters? See if you can guess which one of these wonderful prizes is NOT in this year's basket:

• A Krups kitchen set, including a coffeemaker, a toaster, an electric kettle and a year's supply of coffee and tea ($700). Too bad Britney isn't presenting...this could save her from some more potentially embarrassing Starbucks runs.

• A red leather case filled with Shu Uemura cosmetics, including mink eyelashes ($600). Because everyone needs mink eyelashes.

• A two-night stay at the Carlyle hotel in New York ($2,300). This place is located right on Central Park and features rooms that run up to six grand a night. In other words, cheap slobs like myself would probably be quickly and quietly diverted across the street to avoid too close of contact to the posh and elite.

• A three-night stay at San Ysidro Ranch, where Laurence Olivier and Vivian Leigh got married and John and Jackie Kennedy honeymooned ($3,000).

• A three-night stay for two (plus a "personal surf-butler") at St. Regis Monarch Beach Resort & Spa in Dana Point, Calif. ($5,900). What exactly is a "personal surf-butler"? I'm imagining some poor schmo dressed in tails who has to dash out in the ocean and help celebs to their feet when a wave knocks them over. Or maybe it's just surprise guest Farnsworth Bentley.

• A four-night stay at the Halekulani Resort in Waikiki, complete with spa treatments, dinner at the on-site five-diamond restaurant and an ocean front room. There is no value included with this but I estimate it to be worth around six months' rent.

• A dinner party at any Morton's Steakhouse ($1,500), a place that I'm pretty sure you won't get a seat at if you showed up dressed like Federline.

• A Tahitian pearl necklace ($1,300). The picture kind of made it look like one of those eagle's-foot-holding-a-globe necklaces you can win at the fair when you squirt water into the clown's mouth better than everyone else.

• Kay Unger cashmere pajama bottoms ($500)...what??

• An unlimited day of services at Cornelia Day Resort in New York City ($3,500), a place that boasts a rooftop pool where you can float around and get a massage at the same time for $200 an hour.

• A full day of free repair services from Mr. Handyman. Question: what does this "Mr. Handyman" look like? Because if Mr. Handyman is hot, this might be the best gift in the whole package.

• A day of boxing with Joe Frazier.

• A full day of getting your butt wiped for you by a representative from Mr. Buttwipe.

Did you guess which one is the fake gift? This is not all, but my chakra is falling out of alignment and that isn't good for my endochrine system. If you're so inclined, you can visit Swagtime and snag some of these fantabulous gifts and packages for yourself. Wow, you can be just like a pampered, A-list celebrity! Except without all the photogs up your ass and the creepy fan fiction.

The Count Grishnackh Makeover

It's the long-awaited Mayhem update post! It's been a while because I've been wading through the nearly 400 pages of "Lords of Chaos" and not making a whole lotta progress (give me a break, I'm a slow reader), so I decided to instead troll the 'net to feed the hungry masses the Mayhem news they demand from me. Lucky for you, I found a few "interesting" tidbits to share.

First off, it appears your boyfriend Count Grishnackh has had a little makeover and has chosen to go for the super-sexxy nazi look, complete with suspenders, brown shirt and Hitler-lite haircut. I found this* glamour shot on the uber-creepy Burzum website, which is dedicated to the Count's "band" (which seems to consist of him, a keyboard and the lonely echos bouncing around on the walls of his solitary confinement cell). I debated linking to the site, and decided that I don't want to give him the publicity, but just know that it contains pages and pages of the Count's incoherant ramblings about the Bronze Age and Thor and sun kingdoms and world orders and...bliggidy blah. I tried to make heads or tails of it, at least so I could make fun, but I started to get the feeling the FBI might flag me for spending too much time on the page. Before I erased my search history, I did check out the "articles" section and , not surprisingly, Grisshy alledges that only SOME of the stories posted about him are accurate. Who does he think he is? Lindsay Lohan? I thought teen queens and C-listers were the only people that were quoted "out of context" in interviews. How wrong I was. The aryan brotherhood is really just a bunch of misunderstood scamps that just want to dance.

On a side note, if I ever get arrested, I'm hoping it happens in Norway. Despite their harsh shunning policies when it comes to underperforming Olympic athletes, they seem to have a pretty freaking lenient criminal justice system in place. Forgetting that the maximum sentence you can EVER get for ANYTHING is 21 years, the prisons allow the inmates to wear whatever they please, let Grish have a keyboard and a computer in his cell and, most depressing of all, permit conjugal visits. That means the Count is getting laid! The humanity...

Besides all that, Grish got some kind of "free weekend" out of the joint to visit god only knows who, and the virtuoso immediately amassed a stockpile of automatic weapons, jacked a car and led the fuzz on a high-speed chase around town. I bet you think he got 25-to-life for all this, right? Wrongo! He got TWO FUCKING YEARS! That means Grish is due to be released this year, so if you are a blonde, blue-eyed white person and happen to live in Norway and you happen to see the guy in the picture above* lurking around, make a run for the loo and stand on the toilet so he doesn't see your feet.

Now on to a more buoyant topic: my new fave pic of Immortal. Just take a look to the left and say it: what the motherfucking fuck? It looks like some sad goth kid posing for a senior picture, but can't let go of the goth act even to please mom. She simply can't give this picture of him hissing at the camera to Grandma, now can she? You'll notice the spiked shinpads are back, and this time with matching studded armguards, but he's also put on what appears to be a V-necked sleeveless Hanes Beefy Tee. And, hey, has anyone seen '70s-era Yoko Ono lately? Because I think he scalped her! Something tells me he's not calling up random people to tell them he loves them, though.

I know, I know. It's not very nice of me to make fun of people, especially black metallers that don't know anything beyond, well, black, spiked and threatening. But these blog entries practically write themselves and I'm just being lazy.

* Note: I did have a picture of this for you to enjoy, but I took it down because it was creeping me out.

I think Corey Haim reads this blog!

In addition to providing endless entertainment, hard-hitting Brit/Federline reports, innumerable pointless lists and all the Mayhem news you can handle, Stupid & Contagious now furnishes yet another service: help for fat celebrities. Yes, that's right. It appears that Mr. Corey Haim, who I made fun of last week, is going to be a contestant on the next Celebrity Fit Club! This has not been officially confirmed yet, but if/when it is, I will choose to believe that Corey read my mean comments about him and decided to do something about his beluga-like appearance. Good for you, Corey! This is a promising start for our fave Lost Boy on the road to Comeback City. Let's just hope he's not this season's Jeff Conaway/Jani Lane/Daniel Baldwin with the painkiller addiction. In the meantime, I will take full credit for any weight-loss success Corey achieves. And any failures, well, that's his own fault.

Incidentally, Shar Jackson is also rumored to be on the show, which is even more intriguing. Imagine the heart-to-hearts with Dr. Linda about how stressful it is when Dad has the kids for the weekend and returns her daughter wearing a brand-new "Future MILF" T-shirt that Britty-Brit-Brit got her. Or how she binged the time when K-Fed taught the baby how to say, "I'm a muthafuckin baller." Or how she turns to food for comfort when she sees paparazzi pics of Britney leading the kids barefoot into a slimy public bathroom. It's hard for a single mom, especially when your kids were fathered by Pimp Daddy Federfucker.

No matter what, let's hope this news is true. It will be good for the blog.

Overworked: A Bad Plastic Surgery Retrospective

There's something about being a celebrity that makes one think they can pull the wool over the eyes of the public. How many times have we heard someone famous squall about how awful it is to be famous because you are expected to look young and fit, with big boobs, pouty lips and hair extensions down to your ass? Let's pretend for a minute that some of today's most successful and celebrated actors are not necessarily large-chested (Julianne Moore, Naomi Watts), large-lipped (Jennifer Aniston, Nicole Kidman) or large-haired (Halle Berry, Natalie Portman), and that most of the untouchably good are none of the above (Kathy Bates, Jodie Foster, Judi Dench). We know all too well what can happen when celebs think they can fool us into thinking they simply look good for their age when they have actually stuffed, depuffed, shellacked and stretched themselves to create a new shell—less Hollywood starlet, more like those Kooky Spook Halloween headdresses (remember those?).

I don't have to tell you that those that are obsessed are the most fascinating. It's sort of like the circus sideshows of old, except they are bringing the freak on themselves and think they look stunning. Want some examples? Here's a little circus sideshow of our very own, starring some of the worst offenders. You can point and laugh if you want, but a lot of this borders on the very sad. Some people just don't know when to say, "Yep, that's good—one more and I'll look like the Senor Wences hand puppet." Big ups to Awful Plastic Surgery, where I found many of these horrifying pics. It's a great surfing site with tons more scary-looking celebs. Perhaps if more celebs paid a visit to it, we would be seeing a lot less of this:

Pete Burns
This would be the lead singer of Dead or Alive, best known for the '80s classic "You Spin Me." He's had several surgeries, including cheek implants, nose jobs, and, oh yeah, more than a few collagen injections. Obviously, the lip surgery went horribly wrong and Petey endured several reconstructive procedures over a span of 18 months. Fun fact: Pete was married to a chick for 20 years; they divorced in '04.

Steve Erhardt
You may not have heard of this guy unless you watch those delightfully trashy pre-primetime "entertainment magazines." Steve is attempting to transform himself into a living Ken doll, and has had a nose job, chin job (to add a cleft), eye job, pec implants, butt implants and even bicep implants (he was the first person ever to sport gel bags in the upper arms). Too bad he didn't do anything about that hair.

Marilyn
Marilyn (born Peter Robinson) is a good friend of Boy George and was a fixture at Studio 35 during the club's heyday. He's had some kind of fucked-up nose job and appears to have added an odd implant into the tip. He was a good-looking trannie before, with a very nicely shaped nose. A little too much snorting of cocaine off of Andy Warhol's ass, perhaps?

Michaela Romanini
I've never heard of her, either—she's some kind of Italian socialite—but, gads, what is the matter with this woman? Her lips look like they are ready to explode, her forehead is pulled so tight it looks like it might tear open like a Glad Bag, and she appears as if she's gone skinny-dipping in the deep frier at KFC. Lots and lots of work done here. And yet, she can't find the time to pluck her frigging eyebrows.

Mickey Rourke
I vote this the most tragic of the lot. Have you seen "Diner"? Mickey was hellishly hot. Now I don't even know who this lumpy creature is. He looks like David Gest! What a waste.



Loretta Swit
Wow, the mannequin heads in the Montgomery Ward wig department sure look realistic, don't they? Oh, wait, it's just Hotlips Houlihan, looking...well, not so hot. Forget aging gracefully—Loretta has decided that stapling her cheeks behind her head, wearing a really bad hairpiece and getting what looks like a fake chin cleft carved in is the way to go.

Hunter Tylo
You may remember Hunter as the soap chick that sued Aaron Spelling when she got kicked off of "Melrose Place." Besides having one of the fakest stage names in all of Hollywood (iMDb says her real name is Deborah Jo Hunter), she also has one of the fakest faces. As one wordsmith noted on Awful Plastic Surgery, "The guards at Buckingham Palace move more than her face does." You can't see from this picture, but she's also got one of the worst boob jobs in the history of the world. Very sad what this natural beauty has done to herself.

Bree Walker Lampley
I feel a little bad including her here because she has a bona fide disability (ectrodactyly—or fused fingers and toes) that she has used to her advantage in her featured role as Sabina the Scorpion Woman on HBO's "Carnivale", and is really involved in encouraging change in public attitude toward people with disabilities. But what she has done to her face is simply horrifying.

Jocelyn Wildenstein
Bow down, people: it's the Patron Saint of Bad Plastic Surgery herself! She's been called Wildebeast, Bride of Wildenstein, Cat Lady, all of which are appropriate—this is just fucking appalling. She was once very lovely, with a fresh, naturally pretty face. But upon finding her billionaire hubby in bed with a much younger woman, she allegedly spent nearly $2 million on procedures to make herself look like a cat, which she thought would be more appealing. To achieve this, she's gotten several facial implants and lifts to the point where her eyes are almost horizontal, and her head now looks like a lump of modeling clay molded by a first-grader. Here, I think she looks more like one of the Easter Island heads than a cat, but with a rat's nest perched on top of it. You'd think with all that money she'd stop giving herself Toni Home Perms and pay a visit to Oribe every now and again. It seriously doesn't get worse than this. I hope.

Don't make Norway angry...you wouldn't like Norway when it's angry

Seriously, don't piss them off, and don't you dare embarrass them. I saw a report today that they are turning on their own Olympians for the unforgivable sin of winning only two gold medals so far in Torino. Even Estonia has more golds! This has apparantly turned the entire country into a bunch of furiously grumbling Bela Karolis, hell-bent on making these failures pay for such a humiliation to their country.

According to Reuters, Norwegian papers printed the screaming headline "Game Over" on the front page, accompanied by pics of the athletes looking "dispirited, heads down." A skiier who was expected to win the gold was pictured in tears and quoted as saying, "Get me out of this hole." Did she come in last, you ask? Did she crash out and suffer a badly-timed accident during her run? No, she CAME IN SECOND. But silver is just not good enough—send her to the gallows!

Adding to the humiliation, arch-rival and land of the blondies Sweden has earned four gold medals and even beat Norway in that most intense and vexing of "sports", curling. Then they went and rubbed it in with the goody-goody-for-us headline "Sorry Norway! Swedes rejoice over our Olympic fiasco," complete with a splashy spread of the flag and celebrating athletes. Then everyone in the country gathered and sang the Swedish national anthem as they burned effigies of those pathetic Norwegian losers. Who lost to them in curling.

To tell the truth, I'm becoming a little afraid of Norway. Like I'd be afraid to piss them off because they might turn their backs on you for life and shun you like the Amish, or worse, they might sic the black metallers on you or something. And Sweden better watch it with all their in-your-face-Norway taunting. Count Grishnackh might rally his fellow prisoners to break out and lead a modern-day Viking hoarde into Sweden to rape and pillage. I'd be a little hesitant to mess with those guys.


I was looking at some pictures in a "Visit Norway!" guide and it looks really beautiful and charming, with all these little row houses and Stave Churches and smiling children. It's all lies—lies, I tell you!

Does anybody really watch "According to Jim"?

So I was scanning the preview channel today and John "Skunkboy" Henson was blabbering about what's on TV tonight. He's not so bad, but where in the world did they find those inconturable, screeching bitches that do the reality TV talk? Those two make me want to jam corkscrews in my ears.

Anyway, Henson was talking about tonight's wacky episode of "According to Jim", in which Jim tries to help his friend meet women and one of them falls for Jim instead! Ha ha ha! THAT'S HILARIOUS! Man, today's sitcom writers just slay me with their originality. What I mean is I want to slay myself because I'm way funnier on my stupid blog that I write for FREE, for the enjoyment of myself and others, than the assjackers that are making boucoup bucks writing one-liners and "plots" for "According to Jim."

Which raises another burning question: does anyone actually watch "According to Jim"? Because I know quite a few people and none of them watch "According to Jim." Are there really people that clear out their Tuesday night schedules because they don't want to miss the latest episode of "According to Jim"? Has anyone ever standing at a water cooler asked, "Did you see 'According to Jim' last night? It was SO FUNNY!" Are there people that can't miss even one comedy-packed episode, a la "Desperate Housewives" or "Will & Grace", and programs "According to Jim" into their TiVo? Has anyone ever said "Tuesday night? No can do. That's 'According to Jim' night"? Does anyone really buy that someone that looks like Courtney Thorne-Smith would actually marry Jim Belushi, or that he would pick up more chicks than his friend, as on tonight's episode?

I looked it up on iMDb and this show is in its' fifth season! Can you believe that? Fucking "I Love Lucy" ran for five seasons! Now that's just wrong. Is this show so uproariously funny and popular that this is even possible? Perhaps I am wrong and I don't know it all. After all, when "Everybody Loves Raymond" went off the air, people reacted with more emotion than when the Pope died. When the "Raymond" cast appeared on stage together for the "last time" at the Emmys, the crowd was whipped into a frenzy, applauding maniacally, as if the comic geniuses of the century had just come out, and not RAY ROMANO AND PATRICIA HEATON.

Before I continue, I will say that I would be a hypocrite if I didn't mention that I, too, have been addicted to some pretty embarrassing shows. Back in the college days, if anyone called between 8–9 on Wednesday night, they would just get the phone slammed right down on them, dammit, because that's "90210" time! And I AM a bit ashamed to admit that I have seen every single episode of "Flavor of Love." Yes, that's the Flavor Flav dating show. It's on right now. Shut up.

Some futher research on iMDb revealed that the madness doesn't stop there. "Two and a Half Men" and "Hope & Faith" are now in their second seasons. "Yes Dear" and "Becker" both have six years each under their belts. Most horrifying of all, "The King of Queens" is currently in its' EIGHTH SEASON. "The Cosby Show," one of the most beloved comedies of all time, ran for eight years. Kevin James on par with The Cos? I just can't get behind that.

If you regularly watch "According to Jim," would you please explain to those of us who just don't get it what this show has that merits five seasons? Because I'm just mystified. It can't possibly be as good as "Flavor of Love."

Breaking news: Corey Haim ate Corey Feldman!

Recognize this guy? Sure, he looks vaguely familiar. Sort of like how Tom Hanks' brother looks like a distorted Tom Hanks or Patrick Swayze's brother looks like a retarded version of Patrick Swayze. He kind of looks like a really fat, bloated version of Corey Haim.

Surprise—it IS Corey Haim! I bet you can't believe it. Because, really, it looks like someone transplanted Corey Haim's head onto a manatee. Or maybe Hurley on "Lost" is wearing a Corey Haim mask. Or maybe someone painted Corey Haim on the Goodyear Blimp. The point is: Corey Haim is all kinds of huge. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Feldman around much lately...seriously, I'm a little concerned by the severe bloat level Corey seems to be reaching—like it might be getting dangerous.

I feel a little bad making fun of him because he just seems so pitiful and before I decided I was going to marry Duff McKagan, I would have given my hand to Corey. That was back before anyone realized the true scale of his rampant drug usage. It turns out that when he started going downhill (my guess would be around the post-"Dream A Little Dream" era) Corey was finding it harder and harder to get jobs and he started doing all these crappy straight-to-video films, all the while injesting the equivalent of a Drug Mart stockroom in painkillers a day. Soon enough, he had to file bankruptcy and listed among his few assets a 10-year-old BMW, $750 worth of clothes, $7k in residuals and $100 in cash. Ouch.

It gets worse: he got so desperate for money, he famously tried to auction off locks of his hair and a rotten molar that he'd had pulled on the internet. He appeared to be skulking around Santa Monica in a drug-addled haze, stealing slices of pizza and waving a fake gun at people. When his E! True Hollywood Story first aired a couple years ago, Corey was living with his mom in a one-bedroom apartment and spending his time plinking on a little Casio keyboard. He revealed that he was taking 85 Valiums a day plus other assorted pill cocktails. So it's not entirely shocking to find out that he had a drug-induced stroke recently. Apparantly, he is clean and is back in front of the camera for another go in the biz.

Wow, I mean....just...wow. That's one of the child star downfalls to end all child star downfalls, like up there with Mackenzie Phillips, Dana Plato and Scott Schwartz. When your lifestyle is getting to the point where Corey Feldman has to intervene, well, that pretty much says it all. There is nothing the world loves more than a washed-up child star, so let's see if Corey can pull a Drew Barrymore and turn that frown upside down.

In the meantime: good god, man, get ahold of yourself! Lay off the burritos and pull it together. Feldman might not have time for another intervention.

Will somebody just kill Scott Stapp and get it over with?

This week, I read what is perhaps the most disturbing news story I've heard in a year and I'm going to share my pain with you. Brace yourself, because if you haven't heard it already, it will likely induce nausea, nightmares and numbness. This is normal. However, if you experience diarrhea, vomiting and/or seizures, call an ambulance and don't blame me. Are you ready? Here it is:

There exists in this world a Scott Stapp sex tape.

Breathe. Blink. Get your finger out of your throat. There is no turning back now. It's true, and we are just going to have to accept it. But brace yourself again because if that wasn't enough to send you over the edge, this might: the tape also features Kid Rock. And he and Scotty are getting blow jobs from groupies. No, no, don't pass out! Some good tranqs might be just what you need.

Now usually when this happens, I think, "Celebrity sex tape? Yes, please" and head right on over to Limewire for immediate review. I'm not ashamed to admit it; they are insanely entertaining. I mean, have you seen the Paris Hilton tape? Hilarious! The Fred Durst one made me want to pour bleach into my eyes, but the Colin Farrell one made up for it for Colin's quotes alone. And then there is, of course, the Holy Grail of celebrity sex tapes: Pam and Tommy. Does it get any better than Tommy Lee driving a boat and honking the horn WHILE NOT USING HIS HANDS? I submit that it does not.

As an aside, this all makes one wonder why celebrities continue to make sex tapes. Especially when the celebrity in question happens to be the biggest asshat on the planet. Oh, wait, what am I saying? Scott Stapp thinks he is god's gift to mankind, and thus has no problem taping himself and another guy getting waxed by what has to be the most desperate gaggle of groupies ever. It's just too bad for all of us that this shit was unleashed to the public. So, obviously, this is one tape I'm NEVER, ever going to check out, no matter how laughable it might be.

Scott Stapp's level of annoying surpasses even that of Fucker Carlson, author/psychobabbler Iyanla Vanzant and the cast of "Everybody Loves Raymond." His Eddie Vedder-lite behavior, hyper-sanctimonius lyrics, and messiah complex leads one to believe that this guy thinks he actually has hype to buy into. He probably spends his free time trying to tear up fish and bread to feed the starving audiences as he sings such inspiring lyrics as "I spent a day by the river/It was quiet and the wind stood still/I spent some time with nature /To remind me of all that's real." Whoa, that just blew my mind. God, has this shitbag ever written a song that doesn't contain the word "me"?

If he thinks he is headed for sainthood, he's right, because he has achieved well above the three required miracles needed to obtain that honor. Well, if by "miracle" you actually mean "behaving like a flaming asshole." The sheer number of asinine things this guy has done is a miracle in itself.

Miracle #1: In 2001, he punched a guy in a bar for "disrespecting" him by saying that he is "not a superstar" and that Pearl Jam is better. He also got into a fight with 311 and tried to hit on their girlfriends.

Miracle #2: He named his son Jagger.

Miracle #3: He got married last week and a mere one day later was arrested at an airport for being drunk and belligerant. He blew twice the legal limit on the breathalizer.

It's official: Scott is the Patron Saint of Douchebags! He's the kind of guy who acts like he's all godly and spiritual and self-righteous, but then runs around to strip clubs with copies of his CDs in the hopes that they'll play "My Own Prison" for the feature dance. Come to think of it, "my own prison" is being subjected to him.

So the moral of the story is this: if you are a celebrity, do not make a sex tape. And if you are Scott Stapp, do not do anything. Ever again. Because you suck.

My top 10 fave album covers of the last 15 years

Let's take a break from all the black metal madness, shall we, and pay tribute to a sadly oft-neglected area of music—album cover art! I fear this is becoming a lost medium. Back in the day, when people still actually listened to albums, cover art seemed to be more important. Of late, album covers mainly feature cheap T&A and bling shots, over-designed logos, over-Photoshopped images and ugly pictures of the band. This is BAD. Because there are so few classic covers that have come out in the last 15 years, I've decided to make a list of the ones that caught my critical eye and didn't make me wish for the days of Sgt. Pepper and Houses of the Holy even more. Let's see how pretentious I can sound!

10. Renegades—Rage Against the Machine
Rage is one of those bands that never has a bad cover. First we had the burning monk, then the super-hero white boy and the graffiti "power to the people" guy. Now we have a brilliant send-up of that annoying "LOVE" stamp that everyone was slobbering over in the early '70s. Here, Rage has not only managed to create yet another great album art composition, they also succeeded in desecrating an American cultural icon. It's kind of like they shit on a box filled with Precious Moments figurines.

9. f#a#(infinity symbol)—Godspeed You Black Emperor
Good-bad photography goes a long way, and this cover art proves it. You're not sure what it is or what it all means, but this dark, blurry image immediately evokes some kind of feeling. It's art, man. Also notable here is the fact there there are no words on this cover—bands often go overboard with crappy fonts and too-long titles that overwhelm the album art and tack it way up. Even though this band has one of the best names ever, they left it off the cover and the result is subtle, but still impactful.

8. Angel Dust—Faith No More
Actually, this one would probably appear on my list for best covers of all time. Faith No More's first album had a cover that was just so early '90s...ooh, it's a drop of water with FLAMES coming out of it! This cover is the exact opposite of that cover and, hence, atypical of their stinky, smutty, alcoholic rock-boy persona. The swan image is kind of sad and trippy all at once. This is also a rare example of good font and title usage.

7. Deep Shadows & Brilliant Highlights—H.I.M.
Ville Valo is probably the most photogenic person on earth, not to mention the prettiest boy I've ever seen. Me and Lola want to kidnap him and make him our houseboy. And that has absolutely NOTHING to do with why I chose this cover as my lucky number 7. Nope, nothing at all.

Well, it IS a cool picture, right?

6. Rid Of Me—P.J. Harvey
P.J. is just so fucking cool and sexy and she has the most interesting-looking face. This picture is just so HER.




5. Get Behind Me Satan—The White Stripes
This cover art is not the opening of any new territory for the Stripes, but this look illustrates the bluegrass-y edge to this album really well. I like how rich the reds are and how Jack's work with Loretta Lynn seems to have influenced this cover, as well as the music on the album. Meg looks a bit like a young Loretta Lynn here, but Jack looks eerily like Korn's lead singer before he got all bloated. Must have been the fallout from his breakup with Bridget Jones.

4. The Libertines—The Libertines
Pete Doherty and Carl Barat are the kind of guys dads everywhere fear their daughters will go out with and they are really looking the part on this cover. In fact, they're kinda looking a little like modern-day Sex Pistols here. God save the waifish Brit supermodels. It's just a good, dirty picture of bad, dirty British boys.

3. White Pony—The Deftones
The Deftones went from the typical alt. metal odd-shot-of-a-sweaty-chick's-cleavage on their first album to this very simple outline of a galloping horsey. Again, no words here to junk it up. The basic gray and white colors diffrentiate from the usual black or uber-solar-flareout color found on alt. metal album covers—unexpected and impactful. Hey, remember that song "if you wanna ride...ride the white pony"? Nevermind...

2. R—Queens Of The Stone Age
Remember when you were a kid and you went to the movies and all the previews showed the ratings like this and then there was that General Cinema trailor where the GC logo ate up film like it was a projector? Or am I a raving lunatic that just made all that up? Anyway, oh my god, this album cover TOTALLY reminded me of all that from when I was little and going to the movies with my folks (probably to see one of the Muppet movies). It's an awesome homage to a small piece of Gen X childhood and simply a great idea.

1. I Get Wet—Andrew W.K.
This is my very favorite cover from the last 15 years. It's simple, it's straightforward, it's kind of gross and it's kind of awesome all at the same time. This CD is perfect to casually leave on your desk at work to make all the annoying Longaberger salesladies at your job go, "Eww!" and avoid you. You'll never get an invitation to a basket party again! It's also very fitting for Andrew W.K.'s party-metal style—'cause even though you like him (and admit it, you kind of do), you still want to punch him in the fucking face. What other album cover gives you the pleasure of seeing the aftermath of someone kicking the ass of the annoying singer? Because of it, I kind of like him more.

So...what are yours?

Happy Norwegian Black Metal Day!

It's Feb. 14th again, and you know what that means: it's Norwegian Black Metal Day! It's that special day when we get to pay tribute to the biggest fucking freaks in all of music.

Celebrating is simple. First, choose the black metal name that you will only answer to for the rest of the day. Use the following formulas to help you pick the perfect, wicked moniker:

• Royal title + medieval torture device (Lord Cat-o-nine-tails, King Guillotine, Countess Catherine Wheel, etc.)
• Hell/devil/Nordic god synonym prefix + evil synonym suffix (Scheol the Sinister, Lucifiend, Odinfernal)
• Evil/devil/Nordic god synonym – correct spelling + a few extra vowels (Diaboliik, Vishhiss, Baazerker)

What do all these formulas equal? Super-fucking evil names, that's what!

After you've chosen your new unholy name, simply walk around acting evil all day. This will be fun! You can speak in a creepy voice, make cryptic references to icy black smog and the sons of northern darkness, and eat large pieces of meat with only your hands. Hiss and cringe when any known church-goers pass by you. If people question your weirdness, reply mysteriously, "The blizzard beasts recant your idols by the power of diabolical full-moon mysticism." Really dig into your gut for this one. The goal is to ruin the day for as many people as possible.

Costumes are optional, but encouraged. Corpse face paint, black cloaks and scary props such as sythes, bayonets and large animal bones are all perfect image-boosters. There's no better time to wear that chain-mail tunic or those spiked knee pads you bought a few years ago! But even if you don't dress up, the evil act is the most important part.

Let's all band together and enjoy making February 14, 2006, the most satan-tastic day ever!

Mayhem isn't the only band of Scando crazies

I always envisioned Norway as being this happy little fjord-filled land full of pretty people listening to A-Ha and where winter lasts for 11.75 months. Reading the book "Lords of Chaos:The Bloody Rise of the Satanic Metal Underground" has officially killed that view. Now I imagine Norway as being a cold, bleak land filled with pale, pale people wearing black cloaks sitting around in vandalized cemeteries, surrounded by animal entrails, and eating popsicles made of their own blood.

In my ongoing morbid obsession with Mayhem, I've uncovered yet another band that might give them a run for their money in the batshit crazy department: Emperor. All but one member of the band is in prison, the most infamous being drummer Bard "Faust" Eithun, who stabbed and killed a random gay guy who picked him up in Lillehammer the year the Olympics were held there. Immediately after the murder, Faust joined his partner-in-crime—guess who: Count Grishnackh!— for a little bible-burning and church descecration male bonding session. He wasn't charged with murder until a year later, while the Euronymous killing was being investigated. Surprise! Faust, who worked at Euronymous's record store Helvete, was also discovered as a cold-blooded killer and eventually earned a 14-year-sentence for the crime. He seems to be out and wondering among the masses as we speak.

But even Mayhem and Emperor don't hold a candle to these freaks: Immortal. The crimes these two have waged against fashion, music and any kind of pleasing aesthetic are worse than anything the Count and Faust could even dream of committing. Just look at them; they are wearing spiked shin guards! And are those "creatures of the night" poses supposed to be intimidating? They look like gothic frogs. The music is just as flummoxing. I listened to one of their songs and they even SOUND like gothic frogs. I couldn't make out the words that were being croaked out amid the ripping guitar riffs, but I think the name of the song pretty much says it all: "Grim and Frostbitten Kingdom." Come to think of it, maybe that is a more appropriate name for that gothic land we know as Norway.

Here's a little added bonus fun: wanna find out which black metaller you are? Take this super-fun quiz! I am Vidar Vaaer of Ildjarn. I have no idea what that entails, but the explaination said: "There is no one in the world as desolate as you. You are one with nature, you love animals and you hope for the rest of humanity to die. And you have good reasons to." Again, that pretty much says it all.