Dear Death from Metal Curse #6

Posted on Saturday, August 21, 2010

[Editor’s note: Jon was on a short vacation while he tripped acid for 100 days straight, watched Gwar at half speed, and saw god. We think he has recovered enough (due to the Phenobarbitol we slipped into his Pepsi), so here he is - the man, the legend, the freak… Dear Death!]

Dear Death: A lot of people stop me in the street and ask me why I dress the way I do. I’m really into Metal, and I like to wear shredded up Obituary shirts, body parts of pigs, and jewelry fashioned from casket hardware. What’s a snappy comeback to the preppies who bother me?
-Sadistic in Sacramento

Dear Sadistic: How about, “Hey faggot, shut the fuck up before I rip your spine out of your mouth, shit down your throat, and rape your corpse?”
It always seems to work for me.
Death has no master...

Dear Death: I’m a new fan of Metal, and really get into a lot of the great new stuff coming out, like Guns ‘n Roses, Ozzy, and that new Metallica. It doesn’t get any harder than that! Could you suggest some other bands for me?
-L. Ozer in L.A.

Dear Readers: I’m afraid I had to go personally tell Mr. Ozer what he should listen to. It was my chainsaw… Well, we will make the story short by saying that you can drop in on my trial proceedings next month.
Death has no master...

Dear Death: Me and my friends were discussing this, and we were wondering what you would say. Theoretically speaking, what is the best way to store a severed head? Not that I’d try, but just out of curiosity…
-Jeff in Milwaukee

Dear Jeff: Well, some of my friends are really into freezing and then thawing later. I know some dudes that like to just keep it in the lettuce crisper in a fridge. I like to leave mine on the counter to turn black like a week-old banana. But every man likes his head different.
Death has no master...

And the winner of the “How many hits of acid can you down?” contest is Jimi Hendrix. Sure, he’s dead, but he can still out-trip the best of us! Jimi wins the week-long “trip” to Miami, Cuba.

Well, that’s it for this time, loyal freaks. Keep the mail flowing and the music blaring. And don’t forget, keep it outta your ass, man.


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