Yo, it's time to stop fronting: Kaminsky ain't metal. The readership (Perry?) mighta gleaned it from my Moz ref t'other day, but like your closeted dad I decided that I needed to be honest with both yourself and myself. I'M TIRED OF LIVING THIS LIE! I listen to a lot of metal bands, wear an Iron Maiden hat pretty much every day and consider Lemmy to be my personal savior, but let's face it, it's not happening. For every demin jacket I own (uh, one) I have like five articles of turquoise clothing. As much as I listen to Sabbath and Electric Wizard, which is a lot, admittedly, I rock the Beat Happening and Galaxie 500 tips. Though they may be awesome, Young Marble Giants and JD covers aren't exactly rubbing shoulders with odes to the supreme majesty of the Dark Lord. And let's not even get started on my green eyes. Hazel is obviously the metaller hue, but there's only so much a man can do, dammit!
Nurrtheless, the important thing is that I could grow a moustache if I wanted to. I shaved off my beard except for the upper lip and it was muhfukkin handlebar city. You could name a leather bar after my 'stache it was so metal. And LGBT to the maxatrax. Second point of importance: Just because I am not the metal doesn't mean I can't appreciate, if not love, and summarily comment on the form. In fact, my lack of real connection with the metal subculture has many beneficial aspects as it allowz me to observe the machinations of heaviness with a greater objectivity than if drank Schlitz and had cool/kinda dumb tattoos and hung out in parking lots. Additionally, can a boy be a fag hag for gay women? If not, then I will see you in court! Thus, I can still totaly dig metal and sing "Aces High" at karaoke every time even though I'm like totally a lady.
I know what the streets is saying; I've heard it before. "But Jake, you're the heaviest! And not in a fat way or anything. In the drop D way. You have shattered my lives" Respect to the youth, but it's time for realness. Yet let not this be a deterrent to stuff and all that! My powers of of metal perception are undiluted by this recent truth; in fact, they're stronger than ever and make all your children embarassed to know you. Case in point: soul patches are never cool. CONSIDER THINE MIND BLOWN, CITIZENS OF PLACES SOMEWHERE.
The kids ain't never heard this shit before, but it's true; Halford could have several s-patches festooning his otherwise uncontrovertibly hard rocking person and they would still be weaker than a broken hanger over brunch. You could be a person who can get away with speaking in Jamaican patois and saying "I and I" all godddddam day but the patch would still be ten tons of gubbagublah. Heard? Jamrock, am I correct?
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