The Esteemed Glenn Danzig (no relation) is responsible for Grip Monthly's utterly irresponsible Our Scene column. Let's listen in. . .
Hold the mustard, Doreen, it's Glenn Danzig back to cast caution to the four winds and talk about what's on my mind. . . and what's wrong with that? Nothing, according to the D.A., so let's go. . . Anybody hear about the Dalai Lama? Yeah, in the living room with the candlestick. . . weird. . . but not as weird as Madonna giving birth to a wolverine. The snarling, vicious beast-- Fifi Lourdes, or something-- weighed 12 pounds, four ounces and was subsequently released back into the wild. Even weirder is the interview that the Material Gal gave to "People," where she claims, "It beats the hell out of me how the damn thing got up my snatch." C'mon Maddy, give us some credit. . . sometimes, I'll be just at the edge of sleep, trembling, you know?-- all of the night's dreams barely hushed on the other side of Morpheus' veil-- such a magical moment. . . and every time, just ten, I get a call from local acting legend Sissy Spacek! How she got my number I'll never know, but she just wants to talk about hockey, and when you're talking to a star, you just let 'em ramble. . . hot music buzz has Trent Reznor back in his creepy-crawly studio again. Word is, it's a song cycle about five septuagenarian male pimps with bipolar mental disorders and defective penile implants, and they just can't take it anymore. The working title is "Limp". . . look. . . over there. . . something you don't see that often. . . it's beautiful and it's haunting, but sad. . . a butterfly with wings the exact size, shape and color as Ross Perot's ears. . . Forget I told you this, but "Seinfeld" just isn't all that funny. . . it's just hateful. . . I think it's time we all got together and pitched in to stop the real scourge of our nation's children: Train-Kissing! A moment of thrills, a lifetime of looking for you lips, that's the harsh reality. . . What I want to know is, what the hell was up Cruella de Ville's ass anyway? They were just a bunch of dogs, for crying out loud! Maybe she's allergic. . . that makes sense. . . don't eat the chicken salad, it's not fresh. Do what I do: ask for it, and before they bring it to you--- run!. . . .here's what I think happens: every night, Jeff Foxworthy gets in front of the mirror to think about the day. But when he looks at himself, all he can see is the drowned and bloated visage of Yakov Smirnov. . . and he screams and screams and screams. . . Hey, did I ever tell you how I've got Will Oldham in my basement? Pretty crazy. See, he moved into town to do a concept album with top UVa a cappela songsters the New Dominions. . . and anyway, some homies of mine beat the stuffing out him and now we keep him chained up in the basement. Future plans include his eventual brainwashing (if he doesn't chew his tongue off first, ala "Seven," or didn't you notice how much Willie Boy looks like "Sloth" in that two-thumbs-up, gag-reflex-a-minute extravaganza?) so that he will hunt down Dave Matthews in a beat-up pickup truck, yodeling "Work Hard Play Hard" and swilling tequila. In a perfect world, you could soon be seeing Big Dave chained to the back of a Ram traveling at 50 miles per hour. . . if you catch him at a stoplight, maybe you'll get any autograph. Anyway. . . be sure to read next issue, where I'll be asking the question: "What the #$@*%#% does Greil Marcus know anyway???!!! Ditto Jon Spencer, the Make-Up and all the rest of those 'holes who went to good colleges. Why do they get away with that? Every time that your Danzig tries to wear flares, we get assaulted by Young Democrats. And others.
Anyway. . . peace out!