tHe LoNg HARD rOaD oUt Of HELL pt.3😈

I AM the one you want and what you want is so unreal…😈💀

Music from podcast can be found here:

https://www.deusdaewalker.com 😈🎶😂

“The Long Hard Road Out of Hell”
Autobiography of Marilyn Manson🎶😈

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:07):
You ought to go to wall.

Speaker 2 (00:27):
You all with me?

Speaker 3 (00:31):
You want to.

Speaker 2 (00:32):
Go go, say good, go with me, send me take you.

Speaker 4 (00:41):
Bot to go the ball you bother with me? No
way in the parting south of the bat an the time,
because they ain't.

Speaker 5 (00:57):
You gonna sit in the hand and.

Speaker 6 (00:58):
Tell the mother And I say, oh my god, this
is a soun fucking world, the world a wide episode.

Speaker 2 (01:05):
Top over the top brand to the sisters times stop.

Speaker 4 (01:13):
Yet had and the guy who gains him anybody happen the.

Speaker 7 (01:32):
Bodies in the bay where the mistake in the fundation
is the way mistake and trod them my number start
when I start to.

Speaker 5 (01:41):
Strike dying old say the dissols.

Speaker 2 (01:44):
Of the team and the one that's a big broken the.

Speaker 8 (01:47):
Breedings it.

Speaker 9 (02:10):
Know that, So I tal to five by six.

Speaker 2 (02:17):
Play by my down.

Speaker 10 (02:21):
Wi let's see, okay.

Speaker 11 (03:32):
Take astletle to buy my ship.

Speaker 10 (03:54):
But my downfall.

Speaker 3 (03:59):
Was become ano to the mode.

Speaker 5 (04:26):
It's my god coming by the stoic unless and my fraids.

Speaker 8 (04:30):
My maintain is con bain.

Speaker 2 (04:32):
And pret same things in the old ay brown doc
a pat.

Speaker 9 (04:48):
What the f.

Speaker 8 (04:51):
Presch maybe have p to oh last up the fra myself.

Speaker 4 (05:00):
It was so blass and really just one of the
state were still gods.

Speaker 10 (05:10):
Later, what is about them?

Speaker 12 (05:21):
I said, okay, the song, I can figure what the
Greek patty.

Speaker 2 (05:25):
Is doing, the sycopathic s anything person the name, and
then it's what the fun is the MANSI we said that.

Speaker 5 (05:36):
We had done that on pay when I was the.

Speaker 2 (05:42):
I'm squinting regality.

Speaker 5 (05:44):
Follow so society, what is about this?

Speaker 8 (05:56):
So what is it?

Speaker 4 (06:01):
I then.

Speaker 12 (06:13):
Get tried rugby.

Speaker 2 (06:24):
Can you rag me out?

Speaker 9 (06:25):
And me said, if you wanted to out down and
felt the drag me down so we can.

Speaker 12 (06:43):
Help him to fucking this thing. After you told me
said wanted it, felt down and felt and drag me down,
so we get help put the buckets out buck.

Speaker 1 (06:58):
My I can regrab.

Speaker 2 (07:31):
Ia be So.

Speaker 8 (07:35):
Why doc.

Speaker 2 (07:37):
I did a brat?

Speaker 13 (07:43):
I take the feel so that if you try to
break chocol what you love that bag make me out
and the detect if you want to anybody that's you.

Speaker 2 (08:23):
You joking A well man, I'm feeling bad as some
of the team is up.

Speaker 14 (08:28):
My past cause if you're telling I've been a part
of me, I bump this up to the glass.

Speaker 2 (08:36):
And it's difficult not to recrest, to do the love.

Speaker 14 (08:41):
I have a way, but reinsess the situation scause I have.

Speaker 3 (08:48):
To learn some day.

Speaker 14 (08:53):
The type for one occasion and the strange relationship. I'm
trying to stay away from the compromising s and she
wad had the lives mast, no mission, no shit, fasting
back and the no mother, find a woman, a body,

(09:18):
save million and the un the co for it.

Speaker 2 (09:22):
Every time I go away, I'm feeling like a saying
trus she has I can't checking stealing and just dragging
it as of hers, all that Biggs paintings. I need
y'all way.

Speaker 14 (09:33):
I'm trying someone not to breaking something to Todaji shrik
thoughts of hers all that thinks paintings.

Speaker 8 (09:45):
I need a way.

Speaker 2 (09:46):
I'm trying someone not.

Speaker 5 (09:48):
To breaking something to todaj.

Speaker 2 (09:51):
S think inside of me, I loo cannot service. I
have to thought another from my sense, say ship and
the woman O my my. But I can tell you,
oh God, it's just trying to.

Speaker 1 (10:08):
Take her love away.

Speaker 2 (10:10):
What day you don't understand just the strength I'm I
come in and that I love to stady so can
G and H.

Speaker 14 (10:21):
These cyper stories in our station frustration strengthen me. Tho
f and toys Ray don't win, then I'll not chid
and know these sios.

Speaker 2 (10:37):
And all station frustrate strength and being me the ten
friendom win and guy like I'm thinking.

Speaker 3 (10:49):
Every time I.

Speaker 2 (10:50):
Love away, I feeling like I'm going this trush as
I can't, I shs feeling and just grain that and
I'll burst all that things pain.

Speaker 3 (10:58):
And trying me go.

Speaker 14 (11:00):
I'm trying someone not to breaking something Intemtage and she
share thoughts of hers all that makes pain inside may
go the way.

Speaker 2 (11:13):
I'm trying someone not to breaking something for Dumtage.

Speaker 8 (11:17):
Every time I love somebody.

Speaker 14 (11:19):
I'm feeling like a safe this tis I cannot take
this feeling and it's great thoughts of hers all that
make this paintings.

Speaker 8 (11:26):
I may go away.

Speaker 2 (11:27):
I'm trying so.

Speaker 5 (11:28):
Long, not you breaking something to Dmtage.

Speaker 8 (11:32):
She s.

Speaker 2 (11:38):
Thoughts of hers all that makes paint and sid may
go away.

Speaker 14 (11:41):
I'm trying so w not you breaking something Dantage and
she don't go vote her whether she.

Speaker 8 (11:49):
Finds out of making bird and what you.

Speaker 12 (11:53):
Don't voting me wasting her time taking up of a
branded somewhere.

Speaker 8 (12:00):
She don't know her.

Speaker 2 (12:03):
If she finds that's what she done to me and
taking a branding and messing with her. She's got she
told she don't she go. She don't don't want Bessy
with her. She knows she cal she go, she god,

(12:23):
she go. I said with her, to go, she go,
she cold. She don't keep don't messing with her by
she know to do he don't she go keep go
mess what he.

Speaker 1 (12:45):
Don't don't want me.

Speaker 4 (12:46):
That's the way fling like I say this trash as
I can say.

Speaker 8 (12:53):
This feeling and this.

Speaker 2 (12:54):
Training I'm hers all that make this mans.

Speaker 3 (12:57):
I may go.

Speaker 2 (12:58):
I'm trying some not you wake something to Dantage and
let thoughts of herds all that make is paintings. I
mean the way I'm trying so I'm not.

Speaker 5 (13:13):
To breaking something to Dantage.

Speaker 2 (13:15):
And every time I way, I'm feeling like I her saying.

Speaker 3 (13:19):
This time she is, I can't.

Speaker 2 (13:20):
I think this feeling and it is breakings of hers
all that makes this paints. I may go away. I'm
trying so I'm.

Speaker 5 (13:27):
Not to breaking something Dantage.

Speaker 8 (13:30):
She sure.

Speaker 2 (13:36):
Thoughts of hers all that make this paintings.

Speaker 8 (13:38):
I may go away.

Speaker 2 (13:40):
I'm trying so I'm not to breaking something to Dantage.

Speaker 4 (13:43):
She don't and she don't she don't she do she don't.

Speaker 2 (13:48):
Oh whoy, I said, with her boys she got them
she don't, she don't, she don't she don't boy, I said,
with her.

Speaker 10 (13:57):
Mi.

Speaker 5 (14:33):
The pain you got the d people looking when they
come and say, you think you.

Speaker 15 (14:39):
Think I'm wanna bring you, look at the bl bring
yourselthingle do say just let the don say the plain
he called the do people looking with the because you
say you think you do, you think you're something?

Speaker 2 (14:54):
Look at the girl bring yourself and let na sae.

Speaker 16 (14:58):
Just let the dog sa man, I said, And I
watched that time sat sid. But I've had the pass
like that only man and remiss. I've been from making
meditating with the mind that you're breaking in the can with.

Speaker 10 (15:13):
Lots of lives.

Speaker 17 (15:14):
This one is doing with that the chasm it myself
for I've been challenge and motivate the crept for life
as tog.

Speaker 3 (15:26):
And kill off.

Speaker 2 (15:27):
I'll never cover talk of this no accident, Minister content.

Speaker 17 (15:32):
Most so I must prepare that they must be I
see the lacel.

Speaker 2 (15:37):
We're both preparing so, but God has been. It's all
the same now most to pay.

Speaker 15 (16:00):
You do you want to turn your talking the mirror?
Bring yourself and let the don the scene. Just let
the dun the scene by bring the plane called the
dog people walking when they come and say thank you,
bore you think you talk and bring your.

Speaker 2 (16:17):
Look at the mirror, bring yourself and let the don
the scene.

Speaker 18 (16:20):
Just let the donas frecking your man bring the same
tame tist. It makes the spendably motion. Come in taille
left the game the braves. When I'm looking at you,
the thrifteens so wonderful past gas persons all to do
way I have to chase my pull that badly you
be willing to be in this tree meaning what you

(16:41):
need to do a little bit of persueats when you
won't just talk, I'll just just make you FM.

Speaker 2 (16:47):
Pickums the blue all on your bed and break.

Speaker 5 (16:51):
Bad.

Speaker 15 (16:51):
I just like to resistance is to the wear and
philoso gifting, the.

Speaker 18 (16:56):
Doing empty and then pushing your frosting and not to
see the country that happened to the sensitive.

Speaker 5 (17:05):
Decide and the pyching lady my lady, the.

Speaker 2 (17:08):
Mos so just to be weary the word just dot
display to kill the guy and they.

Speaker 15 (17:15):
They got this consul of the break the pain. These
are they don't people fucking. When they got to say
you want to think, you nothing going to bring it too?
In the never bring yourself and let the doctor see.
Just let the docta scene dies.

Speaker 3 (17:31):
Take the pain.

Speaker 5 (17:32):
These are they don't people up And when they come.

Speaker 1 (17:35):
To say do you want you?

Speaker 15 (17:37):
They do nothing going to bring it don't the mirror.
Bring yourself and let the DNA scene. Just let the domoscene.

Speaker 19 (18:07):
Seven, Dirty Rockstar. The urge towards love pushed to its
limit is an urge towards death. Marquis de Sade. The
place is Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The date is July fourth,
nineteen ninety. The thing in the palm of a hand
stretched out in front of me is a tab of acid,

(18:27):
and in a moment it will obliterate all these facts. Teresa,
my girlfriend has done acid before. Nancy the Psycho has
done it. I haven't. I let it sit in my
mouth until it annoys me, then swallow it and return
to packing up the remains of Marilyn Manson and the
Spooky Kid's first backyard performance, Confident that my willpower is

(18:49):
stronger than whatever this tiny square of paper has in
store for me. Andrew and Susie the couple who gave
me the tab smile conspiratorially win back, unsure of what
they're trying to communicate. Minutes past, and nothing happens. I
lie in the grass and focus on figuring out whether
the acid is working, if my body seems different, if

(19:12):
my perception has changed, if my thoughts are warping. Do
you feel it yet? Comes a voice, breathing sticky and
sickly on my ear. I open my eyes to see
Nancy grinning masochistically through her black hair. No, I don't,
I say, briskly, trying to get rid of her, especially
since my girlfriend is around. I need to talk to you,

(19:33):
she insists. Fine, I'm just starting to realize some things
about us. I mean, Teresa's my friend and Karl. I
don't care about Karl any more, but we need to
tell them how we feel about each other, because I
love you, and I know you love me, even if
you don't know it. It doesn't have to be forever.
I know how you are about things like that. I
don't want this to get in the way of our band,

(19:54):
our band and the chemistry we have on stage, but
we can try it. I mean love. As soon as
she says love, that last time. Her face appears lit
up against the grassy background, like a billboard advertising self deception.
The word love seems to hang suspended in the air
for that moment, masking the rest of her sentence. It's

(20:15):
all very subtle. But I realize then that I'm going
on a trip. There's no way back. Did you feel
that the difference, I ask, confused, Yes, of course, she
says eagerly, as if we're on the same wavelength. I
do need somebody on my wavelength because I think I'm
about to freak out. But I don't want it to
be her. Oh God, I don't want it to be her.

(20:38):
I stand up and start to look for Teresa, walking
through the house slightly disoriented. Everyone is huddled in corners,
talking in small groups, each cluster of people smiling at
me and beckoning me to join them. I keep walking.
The house seems endless. I explore about a hundred rooms,
not sure whether they're all the same one or not,
before giving up, confident that my girlfriend is having a

(21:00):
good time somewhere that I'm not. I re emerge in
the backyard. But it's not the same backyard. It's dark,
it's empty, and something feels wrong. I'm not sure how
long I've been inside. I step outside and wander around.
Intricate designs like sketchy pencil drawings appeared in the air,
only to be erased moments later. I trip out on

(21:22):
them for a while before I realize it's raining. It
doesn't really matter. I feel so light and uncorporeal that
the rain seems to be dropping through me, penetrating the
layers of light. My body is emanating me. Nancy comes
up to me and tries to touch me and understand now.
I'm definitely freaking out with Nancy in toad filling the
air with the store bought scent of dead flowers. I

(21:43):
walk downhill to a small man made creek. Everywhere there
are gray skinned toads jumping on the rocks and in
the grass. Each step I take I squish several of them,
squeezing out gray blue blood. Their entrails stick to my shoe, discolored,
dead and yellow like blades of grass trapped under the
metal rails of lawn furniture. I'm driving myself crazy, trying

(22:05):
not to kill these things who have kids and parents
and lives to get back to. Nancy is trying to
relate to me, and I'm trying to pretend like I'm
paying attention, but all I can think about are the
dead toads. I feel pretty confident that this is what
a bad trip feels like, because if this is a
good trip, then Timothy Leary has a lot of explaining
to do. I sit down on a rock and try

(22:26):
to collect myself, to tell myself that this is all
just a drug, thinking for me that the real Marilyn
Manson will be back in a moment, or is this
right now, the real Marilyn Manson and the other one
just a shallow representation. My mind is spinning like the
wheel of a slot machine around my consciousness. Some images
I recognize, the creepy stairs to my old basement room,

(22:47):
Nancy playing dead in a cage, Miss Prices flash cards.
Others I don't. A leering police officer wearing a Baptist
church cap, photographs of a blood drenched pussy, a scab
covered woman tortuously tied up, a mob of kids tearing
up an American flag. Suddenly the wheel stops on one image.
It bobbles up and down, blurrily in my mind several

(23:08):
times before I can make it out. It's a face,
large and expressionless. Its skin is pasty and yellowish, as
if jaundice from hepatitis. Its lips are completely black, and
around each eye a thick black figure like a rune
has been drawn. Slowly, it dawns on me that the
face is mine. My face is lying on a table

(23:29):
near a bed. I reach to touch it and notice
that my arms are stippled with the tattoos I've been
thinking about getting. My face is paper. It is on
the cover of a big, important magazine, and that is
why the phone is ringing. I pick it up and
notice that I am not anywhere. I recognize someone who
identifies herself as Tracy is trying to tell me that
she saw the magazine with my face and it makes

(23:50):
her excited. I am supposed to know this person because
she apologizes for not having been in touch for so long.
She wants to see me perform tonight at a big
auditorium I've never heard of. I tell her I'll take
care of it because I'm glad that she wants to come,
but disappointed it is only because she saw my paper face.
Then I roll over in a bed that is not
mine and go to sleep. The cops are here. Someone

(24:14):
is yelling at me, and I open my eyes. I
hope that maybe it's morning and this is over. But
I'm still sitting on a rock, surrounded by dead toads, Nancy,
and a guy shouting that the police are busting the party.
I can't figure out which of these things is worse.
I've always been paranoid about the police because even when
I'm not doing anything illegal, I'm thinking about doing something illegal.

(24:34):
So whenever I'm around a cop, I get uncomfortable and nervous,
worried that I'm going to say the wrong thing or
look so guilty that they'll arrest me. Anyway, being completely
out of my mind on drugs doesn't help the situation
any We start running away. The rain has stopped and
everything is wet and soft under my feet, so I
feel like I'm sinking into the ground instead of running.
Utterly acid addled, the situation grows to enormous proportions in

(24:58):
my mind, and I feel like I'm fleeing for my life.
My entire future depends on not getting caught. We arrive
and stop dead in front of the Chevrolet, covered from
hood to trunk with fresh, dripping blood. I'm into deep.
What the fuck is going on? I ask everyone around.

Speaker 8 (25:14):
Me, what is this?

Speaker 19 (25:14):
What's happening? Somebody, Nancy reaches out to me, and I
push her away and find Teresa. She takes me into
her car, dark, factory scented and claustrophobic, and tries to
soothe me, telling me that the other car is just
painted red, and the red looks like blood because of
the wet rain on it. But I'm completely paranoid, dead
toads cops a bloody car. I see the connection. Everyone's

(25:37):
against me. I can hear myself screaming, but I don't
know what I'm saying. I try to get out of
the car. I do it by punching the windshield, putting
my fist through the supposedly shatterproof glass. The cracks in
the glass, spider webber on my hand, and my bleeding
knuckles look like a row of open sewer pipes gushing waste. Then,
they said, and Teresa whispers things in my ear and

(25:57):
tells me she knows what I'm feeling. I believe her,
and I think she believes herself too. We enter that
acid mind mount where we don't have to talk anymore.
To know what each other is thinking, and I begin
to calm down. We return to the party. People are
still there, though there are less of them and there's
no evidence that the cops have ever been there. Just
as I'm beginning to cross the border from bad drug

(26:19):
experience to tolerable one, someone not realizing I'm tripping my
balls off, tries to push me in the pool as
a joke. It doesn't take a math major to figure
out that acid plus swimming pool equals certain death. So
I panic and start flailing. Soon we're locked in a fistfight,
and I'm tearing at him like he's a doll. I'm
trying to mutilate. I punch him in the face with
my raw, skinless knuckles and don't even feel the pain.

(26:42):
After he stumbles out of range, I notice everyone staring
at me slack jawed. Listen, let's just go over to
my house, I say to the people around me. We
pile into the car. It's me, my girlfriend, Nancy, and
her boyfriend, the exact four ingredients necessary in a recipe
for personal misery. Back of my parents' townhouse, we make
our way to my room, where we find Stephen. My

(27:03):
keyboardless keyboardist, lying on the bed like gasoline, waiting for
a match. He tries to interest us in the video.
He is watching slaughter House five, the kind of strange,
disconnected head trip film you don't want to think about
when you're on acid. Karl instantly gets engrossed in the movie,
the television glow playing on his open, drooling jaw. Without
saying a word. Nancy stands up hastily, annoyingly and marches

(27:26):
to the bathroom. I'm sitting on the bed with my girlfriend,
my mind flashing in the same way the movie is
flickering on. Carl Stephen is babbling about how the special
effects in the movie were done. From the bathroom, I
hear a spastic scratching sound, like the claws of dozens
of rats skittering around the bathtub. In a rare moment
of lucidity, I realize that the sound is of a

(27:46):
pencil writing furiously on paper. The sound grows louder and louder,
drowning out the TV, Stephen and everything else in the room.
And I know that Nancy is writing something that is
going to completely make me miserable and ruin my life.
The louder the sound searches, the more crazy and twisted.
I imagine the words getting Nancy emerges from the bathroom

(28:07):
in a blaze of indictive glory and hands me the note.
No one else seems to notice this is between us.
I look into the television to gather my strength. I'm
staring at it so hard that I can't even focus
on the picture anymore. In fact, it doesn't even look
like a TV. It looks like a strobe light. I
turn away and look at Nancy, but I don't see Nancy.

(28:28):
I see a beautiful, poudy woman with long, blow dried
blonde hair and an alien sex fiend t shirt hiding
her curves. It must be the woman from the telephone, Tracy.
Instead of pencil scratching, I hear David Bowie. I I
will be king and you you will be Queen. I

(28:49):
have Tracy's fingers in one hand and a bottle of
Jack Daniels in the other. We're standing on a balcony
at a party, which seems to be.

Speaker 10 (28:55):
In my honor.

Speaker 19 (28:56):
I never knew you were all this, she burs, apologizing
for something in the past I'm unaware of. I thought
you were something different. There are lights and flashbulbs. Bowie
is singing, we could be heroes just for one day,
and everybody is smiling, ingratiatingly at us. She seems to
be as famous as I seem to be. I spent
my adolescence masturbating to that bitch a roadie. Mine cackles

(29:21):
in my face. Who I ask that? What's that? Tracy
Lord's you lucky fucker? On the floor beneath us, there
is a tall, slouched man with long black hair and
a face painted white. He is wearing platform boots, torn
fishnet stockings, black leather shorts, and a shredded black T shirt.
He looks just like me, or a parody of me.

(29:43):
I wonder if he is me. A fat girl with
metal rods and hoops stuck through half of her face
and lipstick smeared over the rest notices me staring at
the tall man. She comes upstairs, pushes past a stocky
bodyguard mine, and as her face stroves grotesquely in the light, explains,
you want to know where that guy is. Nobody really

(30:04):
knows his name. He's totally homeless. He makes his money
hooking and then spends it trying to look like you.
He always comes in here and dances to your records.
I listen to the music again. The DJ has put
on Sweet Dreams by the Rythmics, but it's slower, darker, meaner,
and the voice singing on me is mine. I need

(30:24):
to get away from this surreal scene, away from all
these people who are treating me like I'm some sort
of star. They can suck a little brightness out of
the Tracy takes my hand and leads me away, moving
like mercury through the admiring rubble. We step behind a
white gauzy curtain to an empty VIP room full of
untouched Deli sandwiches and sit down. There is something in
my hands, a piece of paper. I try to focus

(30:46):
on the thick, smudged lines. Dear lovely Brian, it begins.
I want to kick my boyfriend out, and I want
you to move in with me. You said last week
that you weren't happy with the way things were going
with Teresa. Fuck Nancy. I will make you so happy.
I know I can. No one will take care of
you like I will, no one will fuck you like

(31:06):
I will. I have so much to give you.

Speaker 3 (31:09):
I put it down.

Speaker 19 (31:10):
I can't deal with it right now, not while I'm
on this trip? Will I ever get off this trip?
Nancy is standing in the bathroom doorway, looking at me,
her bare midrift slightly distended below her tight navy T shirt.
Her thumb is thrust into the waistband of her jeans,
and she is biting her lower lip. She doesn't look sexy.
She looks freakish and misshapen, like a Joel Peter Witkin photograph.

(31:33):
I stand up and walk over to her. Theresa and
Carl sit on my bed watching a movie, completely oblivious
to us and Steven's freakish chatter. The breeze blows in,
cool and logical from the open window of my bathroom,
which is pitch black, though the lights in my head
strove on. I grope with the porcelain edge of the
bathtub and sit down, trying to still my spinning head

(31:53):
and remember what I was going to say to Nancy.
I can hear music, now, far too big and loud
for my bathroom. I feel myself blacking out and try
to fight it. The music grows louder in my head.
This is not my beautiful house, this is not my
beautiful wife. The music is not just in my head anymore.
It's the Talking Heads, once in a lifetime, and it's

(32:16):
all over me, vibrating against my back. I'm lying on
the floor, blinking open my eyes and trying to regain consciousness.
And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?
She Tracy is leaning over me, pulling my shirt over
butterfly lacerations I never knew I had. Her other hand
is working on the buttons of my pants. Her mouth

(32:38):
is hot and seriply, and I can taste cigarettes and
Jack Daniel's. She begins to do things with that mouth
and those tiny hands and pomegranate red nails that millions
of men have watched on second generation videotapes for years,
films I was never interested in, despite my fascination with
her life. She lowers my pants and, with arms perfectly crossed,

(32:59):
pulls off her top. She hikes up her skirt, not
to remove it, but to show me she's not wearing
any underwear. I'm transfixed. She doesn't seem dirty, as if
she's playing a role in a porno movie. Even when
she's giving me head. She is delicate, protective, and angelic.
A feather suspended in mid air above an inferno of
debasement and carnography. I'm drunk, and for that split second,

(33:23):
I'm also in love. Through the thin lace curtain separating
our tangle of tongue, fingernail, and flesh from the rest
of the club, I can see the bodyguard, silhouetted against
the strobing light, guarding the gate, like Saint Peter once
in a lifetime. I am thrusting into her now and
she screams. I grab her hair, but instead of long
tresses of yellow, I get something short, clumped and stiff

(33:46):
that tears out in my hands. My arms are shorn
of tattoos, and the moans muffled by my hand reverberate
against the silence. Shit, I'm fucking Nancy. What am I doing?
This is not the kind of mistake you can get
away with it. The fucking a psycho is as good
as killing one. There are consequences, repercussions, prices to pay,
and strobing flashes. I see Nancy's face gazing up at

(34:09):
me as she sits on the bathtub, her legs opening
and squeezing shut, foaming wet like the jaws of a
ravenous dog. With every flash, her face grows more and
more distorted, more twisted and inhuman, more demonic, that's the
right word. My body keeps moving, fucking her hard, but
my mind is screaming for it to stop.

Speaker 12 (34:30):
This is it.

Speaker 2 (34:31):
I'm fucked.

Speaker 19 (34:32):
I'm screwing the devil. I've sold my soul. Circle seven,
the violent against God. And you may ask yourself, where
does that highway go? Someone bites the cartilage of my ear.
I think it is tracy because I like it. She
grabs my choker and pulls my head toward hers. Her breath,

(34:52):
hot and moist on my ear, whispers, I want you
to calm the inside me. The music stops, the flashing stops,
and I come inside Nancy like a bouquet of milk
white lilies exploding in a funeral hole. Her face is
dead and emotionless. Her eyes are like burned out flashbulbs.
Is that where the flashing was coming from? And you

(35:15):
may ask yourself, Am I right? Am I wrong? And
you may tell yourself, my God, what have I done? Eight?
To all the people who didn't die? Mal Door was
virtuous during his first years, virtuous and happy. Later, he

(35:37):
became aware that he was born evil, strange fatality. He
concealed his character as best he could for many years,
but in the end, because such concentration was unusual to him,
every day the blood would mount to his head until
the strain reached a point where he could no longer
bear to live such a life, and he gave himself
over resolutely to a career of evil. Sweet atmosphere. Who

(36:00):
could have realized that whenever he embraced a young child
with rosy cheeks, he longed to slice off those cheeks
with a razor, and he would have done it many
times had he not been restrained by the thought of
justice with his long funeral procession of punishments Gaunte de
l'o trement Maldreis. For weeks after the trip, I was

(36:21):
depressed and terrorized, stalked and successfully captured by Nancy. I
let her make creative decisions for the band, and even worse,
fucked her all the time behind Teresa's back. The sex
was good, but I didn't want it. Somehow, every direction
I turned, she was there, and every time she was
there she wanted to get naked. I was completely possessed.

(36:41):
She had me doing things I knew I shouldn't like.
Taking acid again. This time it was before a performance
I had gotten a call from Bob Slade, a punk
rock DJ in Miami with a monkey's style bowl haircut.
We didn't have a manager at the time, so I
was mishandling our business affairs. Listen, he said, in his
nasal obnoxious radio voice, WE need you guys to open

(37:04):
up for nine inch Nails at Club New. Club New
was a guido bar in Miami that we all hated.
Though we only had seven songs, Brad was still learning
to play bass, and Stephen hadn't bought a keyboard yet.
I agreed it was too good an opportunity to pass
up just because we sucked. Before the show, Nancy handed
me a tab of acid, as if the fourth of

(37:24):
July had just been a bad dream that had nothing
to do with drugs. I stuck it under my tongue
without a second thought until afterwards. On stage, I wore
a short orange dress and dragged Nancy around by her
usual leash and collar. For some reason, I didn't freak
out on the acid. Nancy did. She cried and screamed
throughout the show, begging me to beat her harder and

(37:45):
harder until welts rose up on her pale anemic back.
I was frightened by what I saw myself doing, but
excited too, mainly because the crowd seemed to be getting
so much enjoyment out of our psychedelic sado masochistic drama.
After the show, which I don't even think Trent Reznor watched,
I ran into him backstage. Remember me, I asked, trying

(38:06):
to pretend like I wasn't tripping, though my ultra dilated
eyes probably gave it away. I interviewed you for twenty
fifth Parallel. He politely pretended he remembered me, and I
gave him a tape and scurried away before I could
say anything too stupid. Crazed on drugs and still under
the spell of Nancy, I stumbled to a backstage hospitality area,
most likely nine inch Nails's dressing room, where I found her.

Speaker 2 (38:28):
Waiting for me.

Speaker 19 (38:30):
We had sex, and I saw the devil in her
eyes again, but I wasn't scared. We were already well
acquainted by then. When we were finished, we lowered our
dresses and walked into the hall, where we ran into
Nancy's boyfriend Carl and my girlfriend Teresa. It was a
strange moment of recognition that seemed frozen in time. We
stared at them and felt like they looked guilty. They

(38:53):
stared at us and felt like we looked guilty. Nobody
said anything about it. We all just knew, or thought
we knew, something had been bothering me about Teresa anyway,
From the beginning of our relationship, there was an element
of mystery about her, as if there was a skeleton
she kept locked in the dark closet of her mind.
She lived in a tiny house with her mother, who
slept on a couch in the living room, and her brother,

(39:14):
a walking contradiction. He was a perpetually drunk, pickup truck
driving redneck who was also into hip hop and bee
boy culture. Theoretically, this meant he should be beating himself up.
It was never much fun sleeping over at Teresa's because
her brother used to get violent and punch holes in
her door and her dog had fleas, so I'd stay
up half the night itching. Although it would have been

(39:35):
better for both of us if we had just broken up,
I was too insecure and too afraid of standing up
on my own without using her as a crutch. It
wasn't about sex, it was about support. She paid for
everything gave me advice, treated me like a child, and
tolerated my mental abuse. She was sweet, plain and nurturing,
which was what I was looking for after my experience
with Michelle, who was cold hearted, gorgeous, and manipulative. But

(39:59):
when I visited Trea at her home on Mother's Day,
her eyes, which were always ringed with darkness, looked blacker
and more clouded than usual. I asked her what was wrong,
and after trying to circumvent the question, she admitted that
she had gotten pregnant in high school, carried the child
to term, and then put him up for adoption. After
she said this, I started looking at her differently, noticing

(40:20):
the stretch marks on her hips and the maternal way
she treated everyone. I felt like I was fucking my
own mother when I slept with her. Though I was
deceiving her about Nancy, I still couldn't help being hypocritical
and feeling spiteful that, like every woman I had gone
out with to that point, from pretentious Asia to two
timing Rochelle, Teresa had lied to me and betrayed me.

(40:41):
To this day, I still have a complex that every
girl I meet has a kid or is going to
try to have a kid with me. Usually I'm right.
I also started noticing that Teresa and Nancy were connected
by some sort of balance that kept their collective weight
in equilibrium as Teresa grew fatter and Nancy kept getting skinnier.
Part of the reason I fell under the influence of
Nancy spell was that she saw the holes spreading in

(41:03):
my armor and worked her way inside like the corrosive
rust that she was. When I came down off the acid.
That morning after the nine inch Nail show, I also
came down off Nancy's spell. It was as if I
had been on one long trip since the fourth of July.
I fell asleep, angry and confused, trying to figure out
what had been wrong with me for the past few months.

(41:24):
She called me up late that afternoon, just after I
had woken up with the chorus of the worst song
I would ever write. She is not my girlfriend. I'm
not who you think I am in my head, and
gave me her usual shit about kicking Karl out of
the house and moving me in. But this time I
didn't take it. No, there's no way I exploded. You
know this is total bullshit. First of all, this whole

(41:46):
thing with the band isn't going to work out. I
want you out, But it's my band too, She insisted, No,
it's my band. It never was your band. You aren't
even in the band. You're an extra, a prom and
I appreciate what you've done for us on stage, but
it's time to move on. But what about us? I mean,
will be still? No, that's over two. Whatever we had
it was a mistake and I want to end it

(42:07):
right now. Theresa is and will remain my girlfriend. I'm
sorry if I sound like an asshole. I'm just trying
to be final about this. That's when she flipped out,
worse than when she was tripping the night before. She
screamed and cried herself hoarse, threatening me with everything she had.
The conversation ended with ME trying to convince her not
to tell Teresa or Carl about us. She agreed, but

(42:30):
hours later Teresa called. Listen to this, she said, putting
the receiver next to her answering machine. There was a
message from Nancy, but she was yelling so frantically into
the receiver that it was difficult to make it all out.
It went something like, you bitch, what the fuck did you?
I told you never fucking kill you if I see

(42:51):
you limb, spread your ugly fucking blood all over the walls. Click.
From there, all hell broke loose. Nancy called clubs and
canceled Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids shows. She showed
up at our concerts, threatened people in the audience, and
even climbed on stage and attacked the girl who replaced her, Missy.

(43:14):
She called every person I knew and told him what
an asshole I was, and she started leaving obscene messages
and packages for me. One morning, I found a necklace
she had borrowed from me lying on my doorstep, but
it had been smashed to bits, covered with something resembling blood,
and sealed ritualistically in a mason jar with some kind
of hair. It was like a curse that John Crowell's

(43:35):
brother would have attempted. Never in my life had anyone
ever made me so violently angry. Before she was ruining
my life when we were sleeping together, and now that
we weren't, she was destroying it even more thoroughly. Every
night when I came home there was a new death
threat waiting for me. I already had so many strong
feelings about Nancy repugnance, fear, lust, annoyance, exasperation, and the

(43:57):
knowledge that any girl who likes me must be crazy.
But now they were all superseded by deep, dark, vitriolic hate,
which throbbed scaldingly through my veins every time her name
came up. I finally called her and laid it on
the line, not only are you not going to be
in the band anymore, but if you don't leave town,
I'm going to have you killed. I wasn't exaggerating. I

(44:18):
was infuriated. I had nothing to lose, and I was
so emotionally wrapped up in the situation that I had
no perspective. It wasn't just Nancy who was like John Crowell.

Speaker 12 (44:26):
It was me.

Speaker 19 (44:27):
Because I was losing my own identity and my hatred
for the people I thought were trying to destroy it.
My respect for human life had long since dulled. I
had realized this just weeks before, when I was leaving
the reunion room and witnessed a head on collision. As
I was crossing the street, a middle aged man stumbled
out of one car, a blue Chevrolet Celebrity, with his

(44:47):
hand on his forehead, screaming for help. He staggered around
the street, disoriented and in shock, and then let go
his forehead. The flap of skin covering the top of
his head fell over his face, and he collapsed in
a growing pool of his own blood, trembling and convulsing
as death seized and finally stilled him. When I walked
to the other side of the street where the other

(45:08):
car had crashed, there was a woman whose skull had
been split open. She was clearly in pain, but she
was calm and lucid, as if she had accepted the
fact that her world was about to end. As I
walked by, she slowly turned her head toward me and
begged for me to hold her. Please, somebody hold me,
she pleaded, shivering. Where am I don't tell my sister?

(45:30):
Somebody please hold me. I could see the humanity and
desperation well up in her brown eyes. She just wanted
some kind of physical, nurturing contact as she died. But
I kept walking. I wasn't part of it and didn't
want to be part of it. I felt disconnected, as
if I were watching a movie. I knew I was

(45:51):
being an asshole, but I wondered would she or anybody
have stopped for me, or would they have been too
concerned with themselves, worried that I'd bleed on their clothes,
make them late to a meeting, or infect them with HIV,
hepatitis or something worse. With Nancy, while I didn't think
it was right to take a human life, I didn't
think it was right to deny myself the chance of
causing someone to die, either, especially someone whose existence meant

(46:15):
so little to the world and to herself. At the time,
taking someone's life seemed like a necessary growing and learning experience,
like losing your virginity or having a child. Time, I
began mapping out different ways I could carry out my
threat to Nancy with the least possible risk to myself.
Was there someone I knew who was so desperate that
they'd kill her for fifty dollars? Or could I do

(46:37):
it myself? Perhaps push her in a lake and pretend
it was an accident. Maybe I could sneak into her
apartment and poison her food. This was the first time
I had ever seriously considered murder. I wasn't sure what
to do, so I called the one person who I
knew was an expert, Stephen, our keyboardist who we had
started calling Pogo at this point, because neither Madonna nor

(46:58):
Gacy seemed to fit his personal and Pogo was John
Wayne Gacy's clown nickname. I asked Pogo everything there was
to know about murder and the disposal of bodies. I
wasn't going to accept any other alternative. She had to die.
In my mind, I built her into a symbol, a
representation of everyone who had ever tried to possess me
or control my mind, whether it be through Christianity or sex.

(47:22):
And I wanted revenge, compensation for the boy they had
warped and destroyed. Pogo and I went about this task
very meticulously. We plotted the perfect murder with not only
no evidence that we had been involved, but no evidence
that there had even been a murder. We followed her,
cased out her house, and figured out her routine before
coming out with the solution arson That Thursday night, Pogo

(47:47):
and I put on all black, which wasn't that much
different from how we usually dressed, filled a shoulder bag
with kerosene matches and rags, and drank some courage at
Squeeze before leaving the club. I phoned Nancy to make
sure she was home as soon as she answered, I
hung up.

Speaker 8 (48:03):
We were on.

Speaker 19 (48:05):
She lived in an area of town called New River,
underneath the bridge that sheltered much of Fort Lauderdale's homeless population.
As Pogo and I neared her house, a black vagrant
chased after us. Hey what is this Halloween? He yelled
as he approached, with the fetid stench of his breath
signaling his arrival. He had a large gold colored ring
across his knuckles that spelled out his name, Hollywood, and

(48:28):
he kept telling us about the drugs he had for sale.
The fact that he looked like Frog, the kid who
had beaten me up at the roller skating rink, only
served to compound the hate I felt at that moment
and add to my determination to kill this girl. But
Hollywood kept following us all the way to Nancy's door.
Pogo and I looked at each other. We didn't anticipate
there being a witness in this deserted neighborhood. The look

(48:51):
we gave each other was a question mark, do we
kill him two or do we abandon the plan for tonight?
We decided to walk around the block and pretend Nancy's
building wasn't our destination, But he kept trailing us and
trying to get us to buy crack. If I had
known better at the time, I probably would have taken
him up on the offer. As we neared Nancy's house
a second time, we heard sirens. Two fire engines whizzed by,

(49:14):
followed by a police car and an ambulance. We were
so tightly wound that we fled in the opposite direction,
leaving Hollywood Nancy a new river, alive and unscathed. I'll
always wonder if Hollywood was some kind of messenger, a
poor tent of the better things I had to accomplish,
because after that night I became too paranoid to kill Nancy,
too scared of getting caught and sent to prison. I

(49:36):
woke up to the fact that I had told too
many people of my hatred for her, and even the
best plan Pogo and I could come up with wasn't
good enough to protect us from chance events like passing
police cars. So I set about harming Nancy in a
way that could never be traced back to me. In
every malicious moment of my waking day, I visualized her destruction,
her misery, her disappearance from Fort Lauderdale, and my life.

(49:59):
I walked down the streets, enveloped in a cloud and
hatred for a curse. Satan and the necronomicon weren't necessary.
The power was within me, and the next afternoon, after
telling Carl, the only friend she had left, that she
was breaking up with him, Nancy disappeared. Instead of holding
this against me, Carl began emulating me. Perhaps it was

(50:19):
his way of denying I had been sleeping with his girlfriend.
Teresa stupidly forgave me because she knew how crazy Nancy was.
It would have been a happy ending, but I started
feeling uncomfortable about the amount of time Teresa and Carl
were spending together. One afternoon, I showed Teresa a demo
tape cover I had designed with a gnarled, twisting tree
that looked like something from The Wizard of Oz. Days later,

(50:41):
a concert poster Carl drew for another band appeared plastered
all over town with the exact same tree on it.
I was furious with Teresa for giving my idea a
way to Carl, exacerbated by the fact that I was
just bored with her in general and disgusted by Carl's
sycophantic behavior. I made sure they were both at our
next concert, and performed a song about Karl thing Naker,

(51:04):
one long rant about how I was sick of his
trying to look and act like me, and especially sick
of his stealing from me. But the stealing didn't stop there,
because he and Teresa soon started dating, an abomination which
continues to this day. Frustrated and betrayed, on the day
I turned twenty one, I went to get my first tattoos,
a goat's head on one arm and on the other

(51:25):
the same tree he had plagiarized for me. It was
my way of copywriting it. Though I heard rumors about Nancy,
I didn't see her again until four years later at Squeeze.
At first, I thought about making peace with her. She
was alone, and every time she passed me, she'd slam
her body against mine violently without saying a word. My
jealous girlfriend, who was probably in elementary school when everything

(51:47):
with Nancy had happened, got upset. I'm going to fucking
kick her ass if she does that again, she said,
after Nancy rammed into us for the fourth time that night.
When Nancy passed by again, my girlfriend blocked her path
and yelled at her face, what's your problem, you ugly bitch.
Nancy took a bottle and smashed it over her head.
My girlfriend must have had experience in the matter, because,

(52:08):
without even seeming dazed, she grabbed my claw ring off
my finger and punched Nancy in the face five times
with it, fucking her up so badly that I'd be
surprised if she didn't have permanent damage, because I had
some kind of clout. At that point, the bouncers kicked
Nancy out of the club. The old hatred welled up again,
and I wanted to do something heinous and more permanent
to her, but I couldn't find out where she lived.

(52:32):
Nancy's replacement, Missy, not only filled in the gap Nancy
left on stage, but the gap Nancy was trying to
fill in my life. I met Missy in the midst
of the Nancy psychodrama outside on a mugha Ard concert
at Button's South, a heavy metal palace where it's probably
still cool to like slaughter and skid Row. Brad and
I were passing out flyers promoting a show of hours.

(52:54):
It was a good way to meet girls because if
they liked you, they knew where to find him. But
that's not what happened with Missy. We exchanged phone numbers
right away, and two nights later we were sitting on
the beach drinking forty ounce bottles of cold forty five.
I talked about my aspirations for the band. She listened patiently,
as she would for years to come. I was too
insecure to break up with Teresa at first, and Missy

(53:17):
and I became friends. I didn't have a car, a job,
or much of a life, so she would pick me
up at home and we'd see a matinee while Teresa
was still at the restaurant where she worked. As our
friendship began to grow into a relationship, that winter, I
asked Missy if she wanted to be in a show.
From our earliest concerts, we had named the back corner
of the stage Pogo's Playhouse, and there he had all

(53:38):
kinds of homemade gadgets, contraptions, and instruments of torture, most
notably a large rectangular lion's cage that he used as
a stand for the keyboard he had mastered playing in
less time than it took for him to save up
to buy it. For Missy's debut, we put her in
the cage and filled it with chickens. She looked great,
a pale, topless eighteen year old with long black hair

(53:59):
and white underpan, camouflaged by the flying feathers of half
a dozen chickens. Circle eight fraud panders and seducers. When
people realized that Nancy had left the band, freaks from
all over Florida wanted to get in on the act,
so we let them. Sometimes we enlisted them merely as
part of a provocative and hopefully discomforting spectacle, like when

(54:22):
inspired by the John Waters movie Pink Flamingos, we had
two naked, fat ladies making out in a playpat. Other
times we made sure that the spectacle came attached to
an idea. During one concert, we had a girl on
stage with rollers in her hair and a pillow stuffed
under her shirt to make her look pregnant. She stood
in front of an ironing board, and as we sang,
she pressed the wrinkles out of a Nazi flag. As

(54:45):
the show progressed, she sat spread eagles on the ironing
board and pretended to perform an abortion on herself. Then
she wrapped a fake fetus in the swastika flag and
offered it ritualistically to a glowing television set in front
of her. If we didn't drive home our point about
the fascism of time and the way the American nuclear
family sacrifices its children to this cheap, mind numbing babysitter,

(55:06):
at least we look good trying. Not every show went
according to plan. For one of our first performances in Tampa,
we bought a giant canister filled with some five hundred
crickets that I wanted to cover myself with, but when
I opened the can they had all died. The stench
was one of the most rancid things I had ever inhaled,
and the odor clung to my hands as strongly as

(55:27):
the smell of Tina Pot's as pussy had. I threw
up instantly, and in response, half a dozen people in
the audience, including our future bassist Jordy White, did the same.
Even if I hadn't begun the concert with a message
in mind, I ended with one disgusted is contagious. Animal
rights activists hounded us as incessantly then as they do now,

(55:49):
But outside of that accidental cricket massacre, we never killed
any animals, only effigies of animals. In one of our
more cartoonish moments, we spent a week building a giant,
life sized cow out of paper machet and chicken wire,
in a cross between Willy Wonka, Apocalypse Now and one
of my grandfather's best reality magazines. I stuck my fist

(56:10):
up the cow's ass and pulled out gallons of chocolate syrup,
covering the crowd with it as Pogo played a sample
of Marlon Brando ranting from Last Tango in Paris, until
you go right up into the ass of death, right
up in his ass, do you find the womb of fear?
And then, maybe to antagonize the animal rights people even more,
we'd buy mechanical cats and pigs that move in response

(56:32):
to sound and hang garbage bags filled with intestines over
the stage so that once the toys started moving spastic
and lifelike in response to the music, and the gore
came tumbling down. Activists thought we were committing acts of
cruelty to animals, when in fact we were committing acts
of cruelty to the activists themselves. Only human rights were
violated during our shows, against ourselves, against the girls we caged,

(56:55):
and against the fans. Nobody seemed to care about that.
Which concert was a new adventure in performance art. Since
clubs liked to book us on holidays, we always tried
to do something special those nights. For our first set
on New Year's Eve, I wore a tuxedo in a
top hat. For the second set, a girl named Terry
disguised herself as me, wearing a black wig, a tuxedo,

(57:17):
a top hat, and a very realistic strap on dildo.
When she walked on stage, everybody thought it was me
with my dick hanging out of my pants, which was
nothing new by that point. As the band began its
version of Cake and Sodomy, I crept around her and
gave her a blowjob, so that it seemed like I
was sucking my own dick. Maybe that's where the rumor
that I surgically removed my ribs so that I could

(57:37):
give myself fillatio started. On February fourteenth, Missy and I
tried to get arrested at a local club so we
could spend Valentine's Day together in jail. The club was
owned by a mafia type who was perpetually slouched under
the weight of his gold jewelry and whose employees at
police records longer than our set list. There were cops
all over the club that night, so I brought Missy

(57:58):
out topless in a mast. This time I was on
the receiving end of a blowjob. I taunted the cops,
challenging them to arrest me as she violated several Florida laws.
But we weren't arrested. The palms of the police were
greased too well. Off stage, Missy continued to be a
perfect collaborator. She would go on to become the girl

(58:19):
who punched out Nancy had squeeze. We had begun going
out in December, and I was determined to turn over
a new leaf and be faithful for once, especially since,
unlike every other relationship I had up to that point,
this one began with the stable foundation of a friendship.
In addition, I was older and felt obliged to raise
her and mold her as if she were a protegee.

(58:39):
Our relationship began around the time of the Gainesville murders,
when eight college students were stabbed. So I took a
bunch of photos of Nissy lying naked, covered in blood,
as if she had been brutally butchered. We shot polaroids
of the tits, her pussy, her mouth all carved up,
drenched in blood and jaundiced. Sometimes I covered her head
with a black plastic bagged to make it look like

(59:00):
she had been asphyxiated, or concealed her head with a
black cloth and put gory makeup on her neck so
that she seemed decapitate it. We left our photographs in
restaurants and on buses where people could find them and
do whatever their consciences dictated. The only problem was that
we were never able to see the results of our
hard work, so we came up with a new prank
when we noticed that people were setting up Nativity scenes

(59:22):
on their lawns for Christmas. Despite my animosity toward organized religion,
I've always liked Christmas, probably because my parents raised me
in a very secular household. The most religious thing they
ever did was send me to Christian school, and I
never associated Christmas with the birth of Christ. It just
meant hanging shit on a tree, getting presents, and watching
the streets grow chaotic with lights and decorations. But just

(59:45):
because I liked the holiday didn't mean i'd let it
get in the way of a good joke. Several days
before Christmas, Missy and I drove to Albertson's grocery store,
which between the hours of one am and three AM
was frequented chiefly by teenagers looking for supplies for various pranks.
Though I could afford whatever I wanted, I stole things
anyway because I felt the need to show my superiority

(01:00:06):
over the uptight assholes working there. Besides, I've always believed
that shoplifting should be punishable by the death penalty, because
it's so easy that if you're stupid enough to get caught,
you deserved to die. That night, we ripped off a
handful of wire clippers and flashlights. In Missy's hatchback car.
We drove around the neighborhood, stopping in front of every
lawn with a Nativity scene and stealing two things, Baby

(01:00:28):
Jesus and the Black Wise Man. Our intention was to
sabotage so many Nativity scenes in a single neighborhood that
people would think it was a conspiracy. Then we planned
to send a ransom note from a phony black militant
group to each house, declaring, we feel that America has
falsely illuminated and plasticized the wisdom of the Black Man,
with its racist propaganda about his so called white Christmas.

(01:00:51):
The only kink in our plan was that nobody paid attention.
There wasn't a word about it in the newspapers. The
following Christmas, we decided to do something more blasphemous and
bought a bag of big salted hams at Alberts's. Unfortunately,
they were too big to steal, but I've always been
prepared to pay a price for my art. We unwrapped
them and returned to the same homes, replacing the baby

(01:01:13):
Jesus with the spoiling meat. It made for a beautiful image,
especially when with our remaining hams we sabotaged Nativity scenes
at local churches, and as a symbolic coup, de Grass
left pig meat in the manger of the precinct police station.
Few enterprises in South Florida were free from our pranks,
especially places frequented by children like Toys r Us and

(01:01:36):
Disney World. One day, Missy Jeordie and I were at
disney World with some new toys we had bought at
a magic shop, a fireball shooter that propelled flames from
our palms, and a razor blade attached to a tube
filled with blood so that we could create fake wounds.
We were all tripping on acid and hallucinating that everyone
in the amusement park was affiliated with the Secret Service.

(01:01:56):
They all seemed to be talking into their wrists, reporting
our every movement to head, though in actuality they were
probably trying to steer their kids away from us. We
were convinced they all knew we were on LSD, which
was confirmed in our minds when we went on the
Haunted House ride and in the middle the cars stalled
and a voice announced, please make sure there are no
spooks in your doom Buggy, a seemingly deliberate reference to

(01:02:20):
the Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kid's song Dune Buggy.
When the buggy jolted to a start again, they said,
or we imagined the announcement, Enjoy the rest of your trip. Afterwards,
we stopped at a petting zoo, and while Geordie tried
to communicate with the chickens, I stared, fascinated for a
full hour into a giant, mud covered, pulsating pink pig pussy,

(01:02:41):
not unlike the one I would ride years later in
the Sweet Dreams video. In one of the park's plastic
fantasy worlds. There were a dozen families sitting around picnic tables,
happy and content as they gnawed on giant turkey legs.
It was a barbaric celebration of carnivorousness, given an ironic
twist by the fact that there were gins and seagulls
flying overhead, oblivious to the carnage being perpetrated against their

(01:03:04):
fellow foul. I'm not a vegetarian, but the whole gleefully
brutal spectacle seemed wrong and disgusting. So I walked over
to a set of twins who were dressed alike, looking
like something out of Children of the Damned. As they
sat there tearing at their turkey bones, I stood in
front of them, raised my sunglasses to reveal my mismatched eyes,
gave them as baneful of grin as I could muster

(01:03:26):
in my state, and pulled down my razor and sliced
my arm. I let the blood run off my wrists
and drip down onto the discarded ticket stubs and popcorn
kernels on the ground. They dropped their meat and ran away,
screaming as I walked away, exhilarated by my success because
There's nothing like the feeling of knowing that you've made
a difference in someone's life, even if that difference is

(01:03:47):
a lifetime of nightmares and a fortune in therapy bills.
Driving back to Fort Lauderdale the next day, we passed
the Reunion Room, and on the same corner where I
had seen the car crash, there was a pro life demonstrator,
a skeleton gray haired man in a short sleeved work
shirt with a wife beater underneath and blue work pants.
Every afternoon he marched up and down the block like

(01:04:08):
an old factory worker on strike, but instead of a
sign demanding more health benefits, his was emblazoned with pictures
of aborted fetuses. Anyone who would listen was given a long,
loud sermon on how we're all going to hell for
killing the unborn. Still flushed with mischief from the day
before and looking as hideous, pale, and unglean as corpses,

(01:04:28):
we pulled up near him and called him to the car,
Excited that maybe he'd actually found someone to discuss his
views on damnation with. He approached us. When he was
close enough to see through the open window clearly. I
held out my hand. I talked to the devil today
and he told me to tell you hello. I growled,
shooting a fireball in his direction. It burst in his

(01:04:48):
face and he let out an ungodly scream, threw his
sign in the air, and ran. I didn't see him
on the corner much after that, but I think I
actually did him a favor, since he probably became a
folk hero at his local time church. Everyone knows that
like job, you have to be pretty fucking holy and
righteous to merit the devil's attention. Jeordie and I had
grown close by then, though he still wasn't a member

(01:05:11):
of the band. The bond that united us was music,
a love of Havoc reeking, and a mutual obsession with
old kid's toys, particularly Star Wars, Charlie's Angels, and Kiss paraphernalia.
I had spoken to Geordie a few times at the mall,
but we first became friends when I was at a
concert with Pogo. I was carrying one of the metal
lunchboxes from my collection and Jeordie scampered over and said,

(01:05:33):
I know someone who has more of those. If you want,
I'll take you to him. He's got tons of lunchboxes.
We exchanged phone numbers, and the next day he drove
me to a store run by a corpulent cutthroat named
John Jacobus. It was a paradise of Star Wars figures,
Muhammad Ali dolls, rusty wind up monkeys with clapping cymbals,
and in particular, Nazi World War two paraphernalia, which was

(01:05:56):
probably what he made most of his money from. He
just looked at you, assessed the degree of desperation in
your eyes, and then offered you the highest price he
knew you'd accept. He was a professional, and he lured
me back to the store every week with the promise
that he would bring in his treasure trove of lunchboxes, which,
like the end of a rainbow, he was never able
to find if it existed at all. Jordi and I

(01:06:19):
also discovered that we had a crush on the same girl,
a hot brunette who looked like the kind of person
who should be working at the mall, and in fact
she did at the piercing pagoda. But she wouldn't even
acknowledge our humanity, no matter what part of our body
we asked her to pierce. So I fell back on
my usual deviant way of getting a girl's attention malicious
asni and behavior. Every day for nearly a month, Jordie

(01:06:42):
and I met at a payphone around the corner from
the pagoda, where we could see her but she couldn't
see us. At first, the calls were harmless, but they
quickly grew meaner. Were watching you, We'd threaten her at
the height of our spiite masked lust. You'd better not
leave work tonight because we're going to rape you in
the parking lot and then crush you underneath your own car.

(01:07:03):
I knew what you must have felt like, because Nancy
used to leave similar messages for me. Circle eight fraud Hypocrites.
Geordie was miserable in Ambugallard because he was the only
one in the band with any stage presence or any
ambition to be more than just a heavier version of Metallica.
I always told him I wanted him to be a
spooky kid, and he always said he was more into

(01:07:25):
what my band was doing than what his was. But
I had all the musicians I needed, and he was
stuck in Ambugallard, whose members had started to turn against
him because he was too much like us. So we
had to content ourselves with side projects like Satan on Fire,
a fake Christian death metal act with songs like Mash
for Jesus. Our goal was to infiltrate the Christian community,

(01:07:47):
a fantasy I still harbor, but the local Christian club
would never book us, perhaps because he couldn't be in
Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids. Geordie ended up instigating
the mayhem At our most notorious shows, we played at
a club called Weekends in Boca Ratan, the Florida equivalent
of Beverly Hills, and the show was filled with rich
Boca girls, conservative jocks, and a rebel faction of lame

(01:08:09):
surfer types. While we were playing, Geordie clambered on stage
and pulled down his pants, which was normal behavior for him.
Though he didn't mind that all his life people had
told him he looked like a girl, sometimes he felt
the need to prove that he wasn't. The only strange
thing was that he didn't try to light his pubic
hair on fire, as he usually does when his pants
are down in public and he's not having sex. Since

(01:08:31):
he was standing next to me and I had a
free hand, I started jacking him off the Bocasnobs were aghast,
and from that day on there was a rumor that
we were gay lovers. It was a rumor we did
our best to encourage and spread. Geordie brought his ten
year old brother to another show, and in order to
sneak him into the club, we pretended he was part
of the band and stuck him in Pogo's keyboard cage.

(01:08:54):
Behind him, Missy was tied to a cross, wearing only
a black mask and a pint of blood. I thought
of the sea as a painting depicting the idea that
it was only through such horror and brutality that mankind
could be born with any hope of innocence and redemption.
Christianity's crucifixion seemed no different than the Pagan sacrifice, in
which people thought they could better their own condition by
shedding someone else's blood, a concept that particularly appealed to

(01:09:17):
me in the aftermath of my Nancy death wish. At
the end of the show, Jordie's brother was so overcome
by the desire to try his own hand to performance
art that he ran out of the cage and mooned
the crowd. That show started another legend that has persisted
to this day that we have naked kids on stage.
On a more helpful day, Jordie introduced us to our
first manager, John Topar, who also mishandled and bugle art.

(01:09:42):
He was a huge, sweaty, cigar chomping cuban, constantly clad
in a black suit and black tie, with cheek glow
drowning his body odor. He looked like a cross between
Fidel Castro and Jab of the Hut, as if nature
hadn't already short changed him. He was also an arc
eleptic and would fall asleep during sound check directly in
front of the speaker. We took advantage of the opportunity

(01:10:03):
to conduct valuable medical research and experiment with different words
to wake him, yelling in his ear that he was
a piece of shit or the building was on fire,
but he wouldn't stop snoring and heaving his mountainous gut.
Only the words vanilla milkshake and lou Graham would rouse him,
and he'd open his thick, heavy veined eyelids, slowly roll
his medicine ball eyes skyward, and snap back to normal.

(01:10:26):
Then he'd usually pulled me aside and whisper some kind
of well meaning advice like you guys need to, you know,
tone it down a little bit so we can play
at the Slammy Awards. Maybe you can do a show
them Boogalard the Boogie Boys. The Slammies were floored as
Hard Rock Awards. The closest we got to satisfying his
wish was shortening our name to Marilyn Manson, retiring our

(01:10:47):
drum machine and holding auditions for a human drummer. The
only person who showed up to try out was a
hobbling little guy named Freddie Streethorst, and our guitarist Scott
Putski insisted that we hired him since they had played
together in a sissy pop band called India Loves You.
Like most everyone in our band, Freddie soon had several nicknames.

(01:11:07):
On stage. He was known as Sarah Lee Lucas, but
we called him Freddie the Wheel. The name came from
one of our first groupies, Jessica, who went on to
form Jack and Jill, a band that I renamed Jack
Off Jill and took under my wing briefly performing with
them a few times. When Freddy was a teenager and
he had an accident and while he was in the hospital,

(01:11:27):
the muscles in his leg atrophy to the point where
the limb deformed. As part of his rehabilitation, he learned
to play drums. Freddie was a good guy and I
never treated him any differently than anyone else, but I
always felt bad pushing him to play better. He was
a shitty drummer, and everyone knew it except Scott. Jessica, however,
didn't have any qualms about mocking you. She decided that

(01:11:49):
Freddy had a wheel for a foot and should henceforth
be known as Freddie the Wheel. She realized this, of course,
after having had sex with him, so she was in
no position to mock anyone because she had bowed down
before the wheel and in fact gotten caught beneath it.
In the end, Freddie wound up going out with Shanna
Soussie Sue Wannabe. I had dated briefly before meeting Teresa.

(01:12:09):
Our relationship didn't last long because I had the flu
and she'd come over to take care of me and
have sex. Daylight was not a good time to get
intimate with her because she was among South Florida's many
practitioners of Gothic deception. It wasn't just that the makeup
hiding the potholes on her face flaked away in the sun.
I also noticed a mysterious white ring around her vagina.

(01:12:30):
I was never able to decide whether it was a
venereal disease, some form of mucus, a yeast infection, a
skin from the top of a pudding, or a glazed
doughnut that someone may have accidentally left there after intercourse.
Discovering it was as appalling and disturbing inexperience as my
childhood run in with Lisa's snot, and I stopped seeing her.

(01:12:50):
Scott Putski, a pussy vulture who had already tried to
pray on Teresa, went on to fall in love with her,
but was denied when Freddy stole her away like a
little hobbit, and indeed went on to become lord of
the ring. Like a used car that keeps breaking down
with new problems every time an old one is fixed.
The band was beginning to come together when we started

(01:13:11):
having problems with our bassist Brad. The longer he played
with us, the more people came up to me and complained,
my guy's a fucking junkie. Stuck up for him because
I was completely naive and had never done any drugs
besides pills, pot, acid, and maybe gloom. Brad was insecure
to begin with and was always trying to impress everyone
around him, so whenever he mentioned drugs, I just thought

(01:13:33):
he was trying to be cool. Brad was stupid, and
unlike Scott, knew him. I liked him, so I usually
ended up loaning of money in babysiting. Eventually I found
someone to mother him, a rich, older lawyer named Janine.
I had slept with her a few times, and even
though she bought me anything I wanted, decided that Brad
needed her more than I did. Within two months, they

(01:13:55):
were living together, but whenever I stopped buying the afternoon
to visit him while Jeanine was at work, seemed uneasy,
as if he didn't want me there. One afternoon, he
was acting stranger than usual, trying to get me out
of the apartment. Naturally, I didn't want to leave because
I was curious about what he was hiding. After I
spent fifteen minutes watching him play uncomfortably with his green
and purple dreadlocks, two black girls emerged, giggling from the

(01:14:17):
closet and a cloud of smoke and carrying short glass tubes.
As they talked, it dawned on me that the tubes
were crack pipes, the girls were prostitutes, and Brad was
a junkie. Here was another person I thought I knew,
but later realized had a secret life. Once I was
aware that he was a heroin addict, the signs were obvious.

(01:14:38):
He looked like shit, went through wild mood swings, was
incredibly paranoid, drank, heavily missed shows, lost weight daily, shut
up late for practice, never had any energy, and always
borrowed money. He and his previous girlfriend Trish thought they
were siding Nancy, but I never understood that their tribute
went that far. Every time I looked at him now,
all I felt was hatred and disgust. My entire message

(01:15:01):
and everything i'd begun striving to be as a person,
ran in direct opposition to Brad. I wanted to be
strong and independent, to think for myself and help other
people think for themselves. I couldn't, and still can't, tolerate
someone who's a fucking weakling living out of a spoon
and a needle. One night, Jeanine called and woke me up.
Brad's dead. She kept screaming I should have stopped him.

(01:15:24):
He's dead, He's finally done it to himself.

Speaker 2 (01:15:25):
He's dead.

Speaker 19 (01:15:26):
What should I do?

Speaker 3 (01:15:27):
Help me?

Speaker 19 (01:15:28):
I rushed to the house, but I was too late.
An ambulance was already leaving. Janine was on the phone
with her lawyers, because whenever someone overdoses and metics find
hypodermic needles and drug paraphernalia, they're obligated to call the police.
I stayed with Jeanine that night until we found out
Brad had been resuscitated and then promptly arrested. We talked
for hours about it. I felt sorry for Brad because

(01:15:50):
he was a creative, good natured guy, and I loved
writing songs with him, But he was also a junkie
and a fuck un and part of me wished he
really had fatally overdosed for his own and our peace
of mind. But then his life was heroine. Playing bass
was just a way of killing time between shots. When
I saw Brad again, I sat him down and for
the first time realized how important this band really was

(01:16:13):
to me, and how much I would not tolerate anyone
fucking it up. This was not a game anymore. Listen,
I told him, you've had your final chance. Clean up
your act, or you're out of the band. Brad broke
down and started crying, apologizing and broken sobs for his
behavior and promising not to shoot dope anymore. Because I
didn't have any previous experience with junkies, I believed him.

(01:16:36):
I believed him the second and the third times too.
He hit the one week spot. Still left in my
cold black heart pity a word that, over the course
of the arduous year to come, would be excised from
my vocabulary. Months later, we drove to Orlando for an
important showcase for several record labels interested in signing us.
The night before, I had gotten another panic phone call

(01:16:56):
from Janine, who was scared because Brad was on heroin
again and had sucked some guy's dick. That night, I
confronted Brad, and he was in denial about his drug use,
but he wouldn't stop bragging about how he had finally
fulfilled his fantasy of sucking a guy off a promiscuous
shampoo boy who worked at the salon where he went
to get his hair dyed, which was somewhat ironic since
Brad's dreadlocks were always dirty and smelly on stage. Brad

(01:17:19):
seemed out of it, but I had more important things
on my mind than his track marked arms. After the show,
he disappeared, but again I had more important things on
my mind because we were staying with these cute girls.
Normally I would have been concerned, but I was sick
of babysitting him. At three in the morning, he burst
into the house with three strippers, whom none of us knew.
He was still wearing his outfit from the show, a

(01:17:41):
sleeveless purple seventy shirt with silver stars on it, small
glittering women's shorts over red tights with guns on them,
and combat boots, and he was beyond wasted. His eyes
were darting from side to side so quickly that they
were a blur, and he was fidgeting manically with his
lip ring as he babbled incoherently about something that seemed
important to him. Up close, the strippers had bruised and

(01:18:02):
discolored legs, arms, and necks, as if they were running
out of veins to shoot up into. Their teeth were
gapped and gnarled to their mouth like melting white candles
on a stale fudge cake. As they teetered nastily around
the room, offering everyone heroine, vallium and whatever else was
collecting lint in their pockets. Brad seemed to be collapsing
into himself, shriveling on the couch and becoming so disoriented

(01:18:25):
that he didn't even know his own name. Sweat was
dripping off his face and landing in droplets on his clothes.
For a second, he seemed to come to his senses.
He looked me straight in the eye, then toppled onto
the floor, passed out. His face was pale green from
the hair dye that had seeped with his sweat into
the oil. Increases of his forehead, and his unpainted fingernails

(01:18:46):
were now swirled purple and blue. The strippers, probably used
to this situation, fled the house. At first, I tried
to wake Brad up, helping everyone roll him around, slap
him in, dump buckets of water on him. But what
I really wanted to do was kick him in the ribs.
I was overwhelmed by hatred for him and the cliche
his life had become. I had once loved Brad like

(01:19:09):
a little brother, which made it easier to hate him.
Not only are love and hate such closely related emotions,
but it's a lot easier to hate someone you've cared
about than someone you never had. We stepped away from
his motionless rainbow body and talked not about how we
could help him, but about how we could hurt him.
I suggested turning him over and letting him choke on
his own puke. If the coroner couldn't tell he had

(01:19:30):
been moved, Brad's death would be attributed to his own stupidity.
We sat locked in debate, trying to determine whether we
would get arrested and charged with manslaughter. Though I still
felt a tinge of pity, I thought of his death
as an assisted suicide. In actual fact, I felt as
if he had already committed suicide because the Brad I
met at the Kitchen club when I first conceived that

(01:19:51):
the band years ago was dead, a stranger to both
of us. But I didn't want him to jeopardize the
band in death as he had in life. In the end,
it was only the fear of being caught that kept
us from killing him. It was a monstrous way of thinking,
but I couldn't help it. I was becoming the cold,
emotionally crippled monster I always wanted to be, and I

(01:20:13):
wasn't so sure. I liked it, but it was too late.
The metamorphosis was already well underway. The next day, I
called the studio where Jeordie was working on Ambougalard's first
independent album. It was a big move for Jordie because
he was playing bass and guitar as well as producing.
But I also knew he wanted to join Marilyn Manson
so badly that he actually befriended Brad and had been

(01:20:35):
taking him out to drink and do drugs after Brad
had been warned to clean up. I always wondered whether
this was a deliberate act of sabotage on Jeordie's part
or not. If it was, it was pretty clever. Do
you want to be in our band? I asked, Well,
I'm in the middle of making this record Geordie's side.
You've always belonged in our band. Yeah, I know, and

(01:20:56):
your band hates your fucking guts and wants to kick
the shit out of you. I'll call you right back,
he said, and I knew that I got it. Circle
eight fraud Thieves. Brad was as good as dead, Nancy
was as good as dead, and my morality was as
good as dead. Marilyn Manson was finally on its way

(01:21:18):
to becoming the band I wanted.

Speaker 5 (01:21:19):
It to be.

Speaker 3 (01:21:23):
Nine.

Speaker 19 (01:21:24):
The rules, do what thou wilt shall be the whole
of the law Alistair Crowley, Diary of a Drug feed
circlate fraud, fraudulent counselors. People always want to know about
my religious and philosophical beliefs, but few people ever asked
me about my everyday ethics, the rules I use when

(01:21:46):
dealing with day to day society. Here are a few
of them. Feel free to cut them out and post
them on the door of your mother's refrigerator for easy reference. Drugs.
There is a stereotype among Peo people who have never
gotten high that anyone who has ever done drugs, no
matter what that drug is, is an addict. The truth

(01:22:06):
is that addiction has little to do with what drugs
you use or how often you use them. There are
other factors, like the extent to which you let them
run your life and your ability to function normally without them.
I make no secret of my drug use, but at
the same time I have nothing but utter contempt for
anyone who is addicted to drugs. It is the people
who abuse drugs that make the people who use them

(01:22:26):
look bad. Here are a few simple rules to help
you determine whether you are a user or an abuser
of cocaine, pot, and other substances. Consider yourself an addict
if one you actually pay for drugs. Two you use
a straw as opposed to a rolled up dollar bill.

(01:22:47):
Three you use the word blow. Four you're a guy
and you're backstage at a Marilyn Manson concert unless you're
a dealer or a police officer. Five you own more
than one Pink Floyd record. Six you do cocaine during
a show. If you do it after a show, you're okay.
If it's before you're teetering on the break. Seven, the

(01:23:10):
mere mention of cocaine makes you pass gas, or the
sight of it makes you want to take a shit.
Eight you've written more than two songs that refer to drugs.
Nine you get kicked out of a band for being
a drug addict. Ten your friends with a model. Eleven
you live in mo Orleans. Twelve you pay for your

(01:23:31):
groceries with rolled up dollar bills. Thirteen you've ever been
in doctor hook or known the lyrics to a doctor
hook song. Fourteen The embossed numbers, particularly the zeros, six's,
and nines on your corporate credit card, are filled in
with a mysterious white powder. Fifteen you're alone in your

(01:23:52):
hotel room on tour and you do drugs. Sixteen you
do drugs before six pm or after six am. Seventeen
you hate everybody. If you like everybody, you're on ecstasy
and I'm against you. Eighteen you know the name for
the fleshy crevice between your thumb and index finger. Nineteen

(01:24:14):
you've ever said this is my last line, or conversely,
which line is the biggest? Twenty you invite people to
stay at your home while you're on drugs. Twenty one
you tell anybody about your childhood while you're on drugs.
Twenty two you're not thinking about tits right now. Twenty

(01:24:34):
three you say I only do this when I'm with you.
Twenty four you have your bodyguard watch the door when
you go to the bathroom. Twenty five you're a guy
and you talk to a girl who has a boyfriend
for more than five minutes because she has drugs. Twenty
six you're a child actor. Twenty seven if you make
this book into a game and do a line every

(01:24:56):
time drugs are mentioned, then not only are you an addict,
but you maybe rules. I've broken one four, but that
doesn't count five six, and I came back on stage
with the dollar bill hanging from my nose. Seven eight.
I've written dozens twelve, thirteen, fourteen, unless I've cleaned it

(01:25:16):
out because I'm crossing a border fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, nineteen,
twenty twenty one, but only for this book twenty four,
twenty five. Homosexuality. My philosophy about sexuality is that I
don't have a problem with anything anyone does in any way.
All I ask is that you know the rules. I've
sucked the dicks of several men, which a lot of

(01:25:38):
straight guys won't admit to having done or wanting to do.
But just like kissing a girl can't get her pregnant,
sucking a guy's dick doesn't make you gay unless you
break rule number three. It's not that I'm against being gay.
I just want to clarify what makes you gay. Please
note that this list only pertains to guys. All women
are by nature lesbians, So let's get things straight. No

(01:25:59):
pun inten t If you meet any of the qualifications below,
you are gay. One if you get someone else's sperm
on you. Two if you've ever owned a Smith's album.
Three if you get hard while sucking another guy's dick.
If you don't, you're straight unless he gets sperm on you.

Speaker 10 (01:26:18):
Four.

Speaker 19 (01:26:19):
If Michael Stipe is in the room with you and
you're having sex with a woman, you're bisexual. Five. If
you're at a gay bar, you're not gay. But if
you're at a straight bar and you talk to another
guy longer than you talk to a girl, you're gay.
Six if you tap your feet into a Smith's song.
Seven if you discuss art for more than forty five minutes.

(01:26:40):
Eight if you've ever worn a beret. Nine if you
kiss a guy and he has a heart on, you're
not gay unless you have a heart on two. Ten
if you have any kind of sex with a male
or a female to the Smiths, you're gay. Eleven if
your only purpose in life is to get girls pregnant
so that they can have more girls to have lesbian
sex together. Twelve if you jack off and you get

(01:27:03):
comm on yourself. Thirteen if you get a boner watching
Gilligan's Island fourteen, if you don't get a boner watching Bewitched. Fifteen,
if there's a Smith's song on in a bar and
you're in the bathroom with your dick in your hand.
Sixteen if your name is Richard and you go by
Dick seventeen, if you're friends with anyone named Dick. Eighteen.

(01:27:29):
If you don't cheat on your wife you're only using
her as a prop to make people think you're not gay.
Nineteen if you're friends with a model twenty if you
fuck a girl who likes the Smiths. Twenty one. If
you don't eat meat because the Smith's album Meat Is
Murder had an impact on your life. Twenty two if
you do anything spiritual twenty three. If you fuck a

(01:27:52):
pregnant woman and she's carrying a boy, you're gay. If
you get sperm on the amniotic sac the baby will
grow up to be gay two twenty four. If you've
ever had a haircut like Morrisey. Twenty five. If you've
ever had a haircut while a Morrissey or Smith's album
was playing in the room. Twenty six. If you've ever

(01:28:12):
talked about or owned a crystal, especially if it's crystal
math twenty seven. If you've ever put band aids on
your nipples as a fashion statement. Twenty eight. If you've
ever spent more than a week on South Beach twenty nine.
If you're not thinking about tits right now. Thirty if
you still like to Judas Priest after you heard the

(01:28:33):
rumor that Rob Halford was gay. Thirty one. If you
get a heart on while taking a shit thirty two.
If you know what'sperm tastes like, especially if it's your
own thirty three. If you kiss a girl with tongue
after she's swallowed your calm thirty four. If you get
hard while reading this thirty five. If you know the

(01:28:55):
names of anyone who's ever been in the Smiths besides
Morrissey and Johnny Marr. Thirty six. If you're a male
model thirty seven. If you get choked of listening to boys,
don't cry by the cure thirty eight. If you're a
clothing designer thirty nine. If your first, last, middle, or
only name is Morrissey rules, I've broken one two twelve,

(01:29:21):
this probably makes us all gay twenty most likely unintentionally
twenty six, thirty thirty three, thirty eight I design my
own clothes cheating. Though we have a reputation as flavorant
plunderers of all the free and expensive tits that come
with being a rock star, the truth is that we
are all completely faithful to our girlfriends. I can honestly

(01:29:44):
say that I have never cheated on my girlfriend, and
that's because I play by the rules, which are listed
below for your use and edification. One you can squeeze
fake tits because they're not actually real. Say you're not cheating.
Two remember their name, it doesn't count. Three if you
don't call them afterward, it doesn't count. Four blow jobs

(01:30:06):
don't count. They're like handshakes and autographs. Five if you
cuddle your cheating. Six. If you are in a time
zone that is ahead of the time zone your girlfriend
is in. Use the following equation to determine whether or
not you cheat it. Let X be the time difference
between the two countries, and let why be the number
of hours that have elapsed since you slept with another woman.

(01:30:29):
If you talk to your girlfriend and why is less
than X, then you haven't cheated because it hasn't happened yet.
If Y is greater than X, you cheat it. Seven
if you are in Europe, Canada, South America, or Japan.
Your marriage license is not valid, so you can sleep
with anyone you want. Eight. If you fuck someone the

(01:30:49):
night before seeing your girlfriend, it's okay because it's just
practice to make sure you don't prematurely ejaculate with your girlfriend.
Nine If it was part of a public performance count.

Speaker 10 (01:31:02):
Ten.

Speaker 19 (01:31:03):
If you're doing it to help your career, it doesn't count,
but if she thinks you can help her career, then
you're cheating. Eleven. If you remember the name of a
girl that someone else had a one night stand with,
then you cheated because you thought about it more than
the person who got laid did. If you don't have
a girlfriend, this just makes you desperate and counts as
one cheat against your future girlfriend. Twelve. If it's someone's birthday,

(01:31:26):
it doesn't count, especially if it's your own. Thirteen. If
the girl has a tattoo with your name on it,
then it's just common courtesy to have sex with her. Fourteen.
If you have anal sex with someone else, it doesn't
count because it's not coitus unless you're dating Morrissey. Fifteen.
If she has the same name as your girlfriend, it's

(01:31:48):
not cheating. Or if the first letter of her name
is the same. If neither of these apply, spirits her
with your girlfriend's favorite sense before having sex, and you're
all right. Sixteen. If you tell them you respect them
in the morning and mean it, you're gay rules. I've
broken none ten all for nothing. I saw that he

(01:32:14):
was a genius of suffering, and that, in the meaning
of many sayings of Nietzsche, he had created within himself
with positive genius, a boundless and frightening capacity for pain.
I saw at the same time that the root of
his pessimism was not world contempt, but self contempt. Or
however mercilessly he might annihilate institutions and persons in his talk,

(01:32:35):
he never spared himself. It was always at himself first
and foremost that he aimed the shaft, himself first and foremost,
whom he hated and despised hermann Hess Steppenwolf, The King
of Filth Comes Clean, Part one of a two part
story by Sarah Finn Imperian Magazine, nineteen ninety five. Images

(01:32:59):
of naked boys and rotting corpses flicker on the TV
screen in Marilyn Manson's hotel room as he removes his
sunglasses and settles down on the couch. Photographs, clothing, and
papers are scattered across the floor, the debris of a
busy year for Manson, the leader of the controversial shock
rock band of the same name. Practically overnight, the Quintet
has catapulted from a local Florida band to an arena

(01:33:21):
act thanks to a contract with Nothing Records, the label
owned by Trent Reznor of nine Inch Naps. Since then, Manson,
whose real name is Brian Warner, has been arrested, banned,
and beaten. He's been accused of torturing women, killing animals,
and setting his drummer on fire. Today, for the first time,
he has agreed to talk candidly and on the record
about the events of the past two years. To make

(01:33:44):
sure he doesn't back out on that promise, we've filled
him with liquor and drugs and rented one of his
favorite movies, Alejandro Jordorowski's Hallucinogenic Spaghetti Western El Topo. Lying
across the glass table directly in front of him, he
is Judas Priest's British Steel CD, the one with the
razorblade on the cover. It is an appropriate image because
lined up in long white strips across. It is some

(01:34:06):
of the finest cocaine the editors of Emperian could afford.
Manson rolls up a twenty dollars bill and snorts half
of a line up his right nostril. He tilts his
head back and shakes out his long black hair, then
lowers his head and inhales the remainder of the line
up the other nostril. In music, as in life, Marilyn
Manson doesn't play favorites. He likes to destroy everything in

(01:34:26):
equal measure. Emperian, you look exhausted, Manson. Yeah, I woke
up at seven o'clock this morning and I was trying
to find someone to express my ideas to but I couldn't.
I was walking around like a fucking madman. Then I
called Missy, his girlfriend. There has to be something wrong
with anybody who is capable of liking me, because I'm
not a likable person. Maybe you should do a line.

(01:34:50):
I could do one line and then see if you
need another. Well, you never need one in the first place.
You always need another. Yeah, because once you have that one,
you need the rest for maintenance. Snorting sounds. Let's talk
about how you finally broke out at Fort Lauderdale, right.
What happened was, at the time I shortened the name

(01:35:11):
of the band to Marilyn Manson, which is what people
always called us. Anyway, the band had become less cartoonish
and taken on a more serious tone. Several labels were
interested in us. Epic Records had us come to New
York to showcase for them. We were being courted by
this guy, Michael Goldstone, who at the time had just
signed Pearl Jam. Their album hadn't come out yet, and
I got to hear it and I thought it was
very mediocre. At the same time, I was idealistic about

(01:35:33):
our music and its success, so it wasn't very good
for my ego. When Epic ended up not liking us,
it was a huge disappointment because we spent about three
grand of our own money getting to New York. So
how did you end up working with Trent Reznor? It
began when we returned home practically broke. Missy and I
went by the record store where I used to work
and bought nine inch nails as Broken, which you'd come

(01:35:54):
out that day. I was thinking that I hadn't heard
from Trent in a while, because every now and then
he would call just to say hi and keep in touch.
As I was listening to it, I got a call
from Trent's manager asking for a copy of our demo tape.
These kinds of coincidences always happened to me and have
led me to believe that everything happens for a purpose.
I didn't know why he wanted a copy of our
demo tape. Maybe he just wanted to listen to it.

(01:36:17):
A few days later, I got a phone call. Hey,
it's Trent, and I'm like, Hey, what's going on? And
he said, well, you'll never believe where I'm at. I'm
living at the Sharon Tate house. It was funny because
when I first met him, I told him that one
of my dreams was to record my Monkey, our revision
of the Charles Manson song at the house where Sharon
Tate had lived. I liked the irony of it, and
lo and behold, Trent was there now. He said, why

(01:36:41):
don't you come out. We're shooting a video for one
of my songs and I want you to play guitar
in it. I told him, well, I don't really play guitar,
but I went out there anyway and pretended to play
guitar in a video that was never actually released. It
was a song called Gave Up. Then He signed You
to Nothing. Actually, I still didn't know that Trump was
starting a label. We just hung out and had a
great time, and that's when we really became close and

(01:37:02):
established our friendship. Can you remember anything more specific about
that time. I remember one night Trent ditched his girlfriend,
a rich teenage bitch who had become so obsessed with
him that she tattooed his initials on her butt, and
we went to a bar in LA called Smalls, where
we met some girls that today I wouldn't even let
take out my garbage, But at the time they seemed

(01:37:23):
like people worth wasting my efforts trying to fuck because
I didn't know any better. Actually, we weren't really interested
in sex. We were more interested in having fun because
we had this new friendship. So we invited these two
terrible individuals back to his house, and I remember one
of their names was Kelly, which I found interesting because,
like her face, it could have belonged to a man
or a woman. We went on to make a videotape

(01:37:44):
which I've since lost, but it was known only as
Kelly's Corn hole. You can imagine why, No, I can't.
Please tell me. Well, what we did was we pulled
a trick that I've become quite famous for. It is
pouring a large glass of tequila for your ad or
your victim, and then pouring a large glass of beer
for yourself and pretending that yours is tequila. Also, you

(01:38:06):
convince them to drink down their large glass until they
vomit and pass out and are left to be tormented.
A similar trick had been done to me when I
was young. So the trick worked as it always does,
and Kelly and her friend were drunk and running around
the lawn where Sharon Tate's friends had been murdered. They
jumped in the pool, and somehow I was convinced to
join them. That's something I don't like to do, because

(01:38:27):
I don't know how to swim. So I was in
the pool with this sea bass. I suppose you could
call her. By smell, she was some sort of porpoise
fish woman, and by sight she looked like a water
behemoth trying to create some sort of entertainment for everybody.
I said, why don't we play guess who's touching you?
We'll put a blindfold on you and try to figure
out whose hands are on you. So Trent and I

(01:38:48):
take this sea bass back into his living room. The
other girl had since passed out and was hopefully drowning
in her vomit. We blindfolded the sea creature. Now I
think we just wrapped a towel around her head, which
alsovered up her face and made us both feel better.
Not that her body was any greater than her face.
It was all terrible. I grow ashamed of myself right
now as we speak of this. So we started squeezing

(01:39:09):
her nipples and prodding around her genitals and what have you.
We were laughing because we were both drunk, though not
nearly as drunk as she was. In the background, a
Ween album was playing. Pushed the little daisies and make
them come up as me and the young Trent Reznor
poked our fingers into the berth cavity of a bizarre
fish lady in search of some sort of caviare. But
what we ended up finding was a mysterious nodule. Maybe

(01:39:32):
it was white fuzz or a piece of corn that
she had on the outer region of her rectum. It
horrified us, and we looked at each other with disgust
and shock, but we knew that we must continue with
our debasement of this poor, unsuspecting person. So I found
a cigarette lighter and I started to burn her pubic hair.
Though it didn't hurt her, it didn't help things smell
any better than they already did. Unfortunately, there isn't any

(01:39:55):
real climax to this story other than I think that
she wanted to cuddle with someone and we both ran
Did she catch you? I have a feeling that Trent
may have ended up cuddling with her because he has
a soft spot for shitty women, not that we all
don't have a pension for taking ugly girls under our
wings in the hopes that they'll be better in the morning,
but they're always worse. So I went to sleep and

(01:40:15):
hoped that it all would go away. The next day,
it did, and we felt a lot closer to each other.
Of course, he told me that he was starting his
own label through Innerscope Records, called Nothing, and he wanted
Marilyn Manson to be the first band on it. I
thought it was the best label to be on because
Trent was so upset about his experiences with his old label,
tvt that one of his biggest goals was never to
deceive or mistreat the bands on nothing. Trent said he

(01:40:37):
was particularly impressed with the demo that we had out
at the time, called Live as Hell. It was recorded
on a Tampa Bay radio station and it was dreadful sounding.
It was with our then drummer Freddy de Wheel Sarah
Lee Lucas, whose time keeping was about as impressive as
Kelly's cornhole was. Tell me about the recording of your
first album, Portrait of an American Family, which was actually

(01:40:58):
number one in our Reader's pole last year. It was
a disaster at first. We went to record in Hollywood, Florida,
at Criteria Studios, which is owned by the Beeches. The
guy we were working with was Rollie Massiman, who was
a weird character. I forget if he's Swiss or German,
some country where they've never discovered the toothbrush. He had
about six, maybe eight teeth in his head, and while

(01:41:20):
we were in the studio recording, he lost two of them.
They were just falling out of his head, rotten, and
he smoked all the time. Do you know how I
feel about that? Your manager told me you despise it.
Right and ROLLI would roll into the studio smoking at
about two o'clock and would want to quit a few
hours later. He spent all his time talking about when
he used to be in the Swans, which was one

(01:41:41):
of the reasons why we picked him, But he only
worked maybe five or six minutes a day. When we
were finally finished, Roley had done the opposite of what
I'd expected. I thought he was going to bring out
some sort of darker element, but he was trying to
polish all the rough edges and make us more of
a rock band, a pop band, which at the time
I wasn't interested in at all. I thought the record
we did with him came out land and lifeless. Trent

(01:42:04):
thought the same thing, so he volunteered to help us
repair would have been damaged. So then the band went
out to Los Angeles. Now I went out there by
myself at first to try and remix the tracks I
thought were still salvageable. A funny thing happened when I
was done. I called home to Florida to talk to
Daisy Berkowitz, guitarist, and ended up talking to Pogo keyboardist
Madonna Wayne Gacy. He told me they were to squeeze

(01:42:26):
and they got really fucked up. Daisy couldn't handle his alcohol.
Then all of a sudden passed out while he was
walking and fell right on his face. He split his
chin open and lost his memory. He didn't know who
he was when he woke up, and he kept saying,
where's my car, Where's my car? He thought he had
been in a car accident. I called him and he
sounded like another person. I couldn't communicate with him. He

(01:42:47):
didn't understand anything I was trying to say, and probably
didn't even know who I was. The doctors told him
he had a bubble in his brain. Was there any
tension or hostility in the band at that point? I
had early Russians from Trent that there were problems with
the band. He and everyone he worked with knew Freddy
the Wheel was a weak link, and Brad Stewart former
bassist Gidget Geen was also still in the band, and

(01:43:10):
I knew that he was an even weaker link, because
at that point he had already oded three or four times.
I was on the verge of kicking him out and
replacing him with Twiggy Ramirez. I also got the impression
from a lot of people that Daisy was not only
disliked as a person because his personality was abrasive, but
that no one was particularly impressed by his guitar playing.
Though I thought he was all right and didn't have

(01:43:31):
a problem getting along with him. I knew that we
had a foot in the door, but I was not satisfied.
Marilyn Manson wasn't the band that it could have been.
I knew I'd have to go through hell to get
the band to where I wanted it, and I'm still
going through hell.

Speaker 3 (01:43:44):
You know.

Speaker 19 (01:43:45):
The only way to get out of it is to
go through all the way to the very bottom. I'm sorry,
have another line. Sniff the dust? Okay, cutting and cooking sounds.
Sniffing sounds? Where were we? We were talking about Daisy.
So when Daisy got out of the hospital, we told
him fly out, come hear the mixes, let's work on

(01:44:06):
fixing these other songs. The day that he was supposed
to leave, he missed his flight and showed up late.
He walked in the studio and Trent had never met
him face to face before. Trent said hide to him,
and Daisy was kind of abrasive and greasy. He always
seemed to have baby oil dumped on his face and
on his hair. The kid needed some STRIDEX, so he
came in and he was like this angry, greasy, pimple
guy with cigarettes coming out of every orifice of his body.

(01:44:28):
And Trent's like, you want to hear the mixes? And
Daisy says, no, I want to go smoke a cigarette.
He was a dick right off the back, which made
me feel uncomfortable because I had to defend him. When
Daisy eventually did listen to the mixes, he didn't even
pay attention or make a comment. He just kept bragging
about the musical shit that he could do. We spent
the next month or so trying to re record songs

(01:44:48):
and fix things up, and everyone learned early on that
Daisy was not someone who was easy to work with.
He was stubborn, and he never had a song or
the album in mind. He just had his personal agenda
as a musician. He wanted to display his idea of
what his talents were. Sometimes he got frustrating making that record,
but most of the time it was fun. It was
new life still seemed like something to be enjoyed. As

(01:45:11):
we were working on Portrait, Trent was starting his album,
The Downward Spiral, and we had some good times working together.
I thought that was what making music was about. Everyone
was pretty sober, except for maybe having drinks at the
end of the night, and I can't recall anybody doing
drugs except Brad Stewart being passed out on heroin. All
I had to be pissed off about was the rest
of the world, the things that weren't a part of
my life the way I saw everybody else's there. So

(01:45:34):
it was still okay to be idealistic. I hadn't been
scarred by the bad sex, drugs and touring that came afterward.
Can you recall any of those good times? Well, the
studio had a large window where you could view the
live room, and one night we wanted to have someone
entertain all of us, so we taped one hundred and
fifty dollars to the inside door of the studio. Trent
and I each put in seventy five dollars in order

(01:45:56):
to win that money and get in all of our
good graces. The challenge was to go outside the studio,
which was on Santa Monica Boulevard, where all the transvestite
and transsexual prostitutes come out after dark like little hermaphroditic
cockroaches and pick up one of them and bring him
her it back circleate fraud simonists. At first, all of

(01:46:18):
us went and walked around. There were lots of people
driving by, and they seemed to be having an easy
time picking these people up. But the prostitutes were clearly
afraid of us, and we came back frustrated and ate dinner. Pogo,
who was a skinhead with a long goa tee, then
went into the bathroom and shaved his head. He always
carried around clown makeup because at random times he liked
to go out dressed up like a clown. He made

(01:46:39):
up his face Jeene Simmons style and went out by himself.
We were starting to record some tracks when all of
a sudden, Pogo walks in with some she mail and
takes her into the live room. All we had to
do was turn on the microphones that were recording the
drums and we could hear their conversation. Apparently, this person's
name was Marie, and from far away it looked pretty
much like a woman and not that on a tree active,

(01:47:00):
at least for a prostitute. But upon closer inspection we
could see that underneath her fishnets there were some open
sores on her legs that looked like they came either
from being burned with giant cigars or the first stages
of something that we didn't want to know about. What
ended up happening was that she was smarter than we thought.
She knew we were watching and wanted to charge extra

(01:47:21):
We weren't really into it that much, so Pogo went
into the other room and to the best of our knowledge,
he jacked off on a man's tits. And I'm not
sure what that makes him, other than to pray. Of course,
was it scary working in the Sharon tatehouse. One strange
thing that happened was we were mixing the song Wrapped
in Plastic, which is about how the typical American family

(01:47:41):
will wrap its couch and plastic, and the question will
it keep the dirt out or will it keep the
dirt in? Sometimes the people who seem the most clean
are really the dirtiest. We were using a computer because
we had a lot of samples and sequencing. While we
were working on that song, the Charles Manson samples from
My Monkey started appearing in the mix. All of sudden,
we'd hear in the song why does a child reach

(01:48:03):
up and kill his mom and dad? And we couldn't
figure out what was going on. The chorus of Wrapped
in Plastic is come into our home, hope you stay,
and we're in the Sharon Tate House, just me and
Sean Beeman, the record's assistant producer. We totally got scared
and we're like, we are done for the night. We
came back the next day and it was fine. The
Charles Manson samples weren't even on the tape anymore. There's

(01:48:26):
no real logical or technological explanation for why they appeared.
It was a truly supernatural moment that freaked me out.
Why do you think it's become so trendy for musicians
to make references to Charles Manson and their music? That
pisses me off? Axel Rose was in a hell storm
because he recorded a Manson song, and I'll tell you
how he got that idea in a minute. Meanwhile, Trent

(01:48:47):
was living at the Sharon Tatehouse. So I end up
looking like I'm this Marilyn Manson guy that's riding Trent
Resnor's wagon, which is kind of funny, but I never
got a chip on my shoulder. I never minded, because
otherwise I would never have gotten to record there and
sleep there and get freaked out by the ghosts there.
That's a good attitude. Why don't you do another line? Okay,
but this is the last one. Sucking sounds. So what

(01:49:10):
happened with Guns n' Roses was that Trent took me
to a YouTube concert one night, and backstage I met
Axel Rose. He was very neurotic and was telling me
all about his psychological problems, his split personalities, and I
felt like, this guy's a total fucking flake, being the
overzealos type. I started telling him about my band anyway,
and I said, you know, we do this song my Monkey,

(01:49:31):
and it's an adaptation of a Charles Manson song off
his album Lie. And He's like, I never heard of
that before. I told him you should check out the album.
It's cool and lo and behold. Six months later, Guns
n' Roses put out The Spaghetti Incident and Axel Rose
covers look at Your Game Girl from the Lie album.
Then he started getting all that heat from Sharon Tate's
sister and everybody when our album was finished. After that,

(01:49:53):
we had the song my Monkey on it, but I
had this five year old kid, Robert Pierce, sing on it.
That was the great irony. Here's a kid that's singing
a song that to him is an innocuous nursery rhyme,
but to everybody else is this horrible thing. After we
turned the album in, I got this call from Trent
and John Maum, who's Trent's manager and runs Nothing Records,
and they're like, listen, are you willing to put out

(01:50:15):
your album without the song My Monkey on it? I
asked why, and they said, well, Innerscope is having problems
because of the shit that Axle Rose has got. He's
had to donate the proceeds of the song to the
victims' families. I said, well, I don't have a problem
with that. Just explain to me what's going to happen.
The entire song wasn't Charles Manson's song. I just borrowed
a few lyrics and the rest were my own. In

(01:50:36):
the end, Interscope insisted that we take the song off.
I said no, so they told us they weren't going
to put the album out. All of a sudden, we
went from being South Florida's Brave New Hope from being
the only band that will ever make it out of
there to being like an unsigned local band again, and
it sucked. It was the most soul destroying period of
my life because we had an album done and everyone

(01:50:56):
was expecting it to be in stores. Meanwhile, my original
bass player, Bryan Tatunic aka Olivia Newton Bundy, had started
his own band called Collapsing Lungs, and they got signed
to Atlantic and had a total attitude toward us because
they thought they were going to be big fucking rock stars.
And now his replacement, Brad was getting so fucked up
on Heroin that we had to kick him out of

(01:51:17):
the band because we were spending more time taking care
of him than rehearsing. So there was a real period
there where I felt defeated. I wanted to give up.
I thought it was over and my ideas were too
strong for people. I thought about trying another medium, but
I knew in my head that a year or two
from then would be a better time for my music.
How did Innerscope come crawling back while everything was in

(01:51:38):
the air. Trent backed us up and stood behind us.
He told us not to worry because he had an
option to put out a record with any other label
as part of his contract with Innerscope, even though it
technically owned nothing. So we had Guy O'seiri from Maverick Records,
Madonna's label, down to see us, and he brought Freddie Demand,
Madonna's manager. The funniest thing about those guys was that

(01:51:59):
the first thing they asked after the show was over
was are you guys Jewish? And our keyboard player said yeah,
I'm Jewish, but I'm not religious. I don't practice it.
And they said, yeah, okay, that's cool. We got to
stick together. We had this whole bonding thing. Then they
went back to New York and our manager got a
call like two days later. They said, we don't really
have a problem with Manson's image, the tattoos, the association

(01:52:22):
with the occult and Satanism, but there's something we need
to know. Does Manson have any SWASTI because tattooed on it?
And He's like, no, what are you talking about? They said, well,
we just wanted to check because if there's any sort
of antisemitic message, then it's not something we want to
be involved. Everything I was doing was so much about
sticking up for the underdog that I couldn't understand how

(01:52:43):
they could misassociate what I was doing on that. It
was weird. After my tattoos checked out, they actually offered
us a deal. It must have lit a fire under
Interscope's ass because all of a sudden, Interscope came back
and said, listen, we're willing to put out the record
and we'll even pay for it. We agreed because we
had always wanted Innerscope from the beginning. I had faith

(01:53:03):
in that label. I still do. They had a deal
with Time Warner, who were the ones causing the problems,
so Innerscope, let you put my monkey back on the album.
They did, but we continue to have other problems. I
wanted to use a photo in the album's booklet of
me naked on a couch when I was a kid.
When you hold up something to people, usually what they
see in it is what's inside them in the first place.

(01:53:25):
And that's what happened because the lawyers the Dinnerscope said,
first off, that picture is going to be considered child
pornography and not only will no stores carry the album,
but were subject to legal retribution from it. They said,
if a judge were to look at it, the law
states that if a photograph of a minor elicits sexual excitement,
then it's considered child pornography. I said, that's exactly my point.

(01:53:46):
This is a photograph that was taken by my mother
and it's extremely innocent and very normal. But if you
see it as pornography, why am I the guilty person.
You're the person who's got a heart on Why aren't
you punished. That's still a point I'd like to make.
People's morality is so ridiculous. If they get excited by it,
then it's wrong. Manson rummages through his bags and pulls

(01:54:07):
out the original album booklet, which has a reproduction of
a painting of a clown face on the cover with
no text. You see, we also had a John Wayne
Gacy painting of a clown on the cover. And look
at the other photograph on the inside. It's one of
my favorite photographs and I've never gotten to use it.
It's a picture of one of those dolls from the sixties,
and you pull a string on the back of it
and the eyes get really big and they change colors around.

(01:54:29):
It is this like circle of wisdom teeth and candy
corns and peppermints and these polaroid photographs of a completely
mutilated girl. But it was something I had faked. It
wasn't real, but it looked very authentic. So they called
again and said, listen, first of all, we won't print
this kind of photo, and second of all, we couldn't
do it because unless you provide us with a name
and a written affidavit from the person in the photo,

(01:54:50):
we're gonna get arrested for distributing it. They still thought
it was real, so I told them it was okay
not to use it. In the end, I thought it
was cooler for them to think it was real. It's
always been a game of not compromising, but also knowing
your limits and doing the best you can within those limits.
So you're not bitter about your early experiences with Interscope, Well,
there was always a real chip on our shoulder that

(01:55:11):
the album never really got the push from the record
label that we thought it deserved. It was all about
us touring our fucking asses off. We toured for two
solid years, opening up for nine Inch Nails for a year,
and then doing our own club tour. It was all
just about perseverance. Looking back on it, are you happy
with the album? Well, the whole point of the album
was that I wanted to say a lot of the

(01:55:32):
things I've said in interviews, but now I feel like
I fell short, like I didn't say it right. Maybe
I was too vague, or maybe the songs weren't good
enough or whatever. But I wanted to address the hypocrisy
of talk show America, how morals are worn as a
badge to make you look good, and how it's so
much easier to talk about your beliefs than to live
up to them. I was very much wrapped up in
the concept that as kids growing up, a lot of

(01:55:55):
the things that we're presented with have deeper meanings than
our parents would like us to see. And the brothers
grim So what I was trying to point out was
that when our parents hide the truth from us, it's
more damaging than if they were to expose us to
things like Marilyn Manson in the first place. My point
was that in this way, I'm an anti hero. I
think I'll be able to say it better on the

(01:56:15):
next album. America Meet Marilyn Manson, Part two of a
two part story by Sarah Finn Imperium Magazine, nineteen ninety five.
When we last left Marilyn Manson, he was in his
hotel room, snorting coke and giving Imperian an exclusive on
the whirlwind events of the past year. The time now

(01:56:36):
is four am that same night, and just as he
is preparing to launch into the carnage tales of his
tours with Nine Inch Nails with the Jim Rose Circus
side show and later whole As opening acts, there is
a knock on the door. He hides his drug covered
Judas Priest CD behind a cardboard box and stands up,
smoothing out his adamant friend or faux T shirt. He

(01:56:57):
looks cautiously through the people, half expecting to see the
psychotic runaways that slavishly follow his every movement and sleep
with his crew and occasionally very desperate band members to
find out his latest whereabouts. But the sight facing him
when he opens the door is a much more horrid one.
It's Twiggy Ramirez, the band's bassist, with a bottle of
wine in his hand and an expression of pure abject

(01:57:19):
horror on his face. He complains about how miserable he
is because he snorted too much cocaine. Then he snorts
another line and sits on an armchair in the corner
of the room, curling his knees up to his red
and white button down shirt. Instead of making him talkative,
the cocaine is bringing him down to every question he
has asked. All he responds is whiskey and speed. I

(01:57:41):
wonder if his presence will keep Manson from opening up
and being honest, but Manson says not to worry, as
he pours himself a large glass of wine and period,
snort some of that and then we'll get started again. Manson,
this is good talking powder, big snorts Eke. He is
startled by a scene on the video of handicapped people

(01:58:02):
being massacred. When did you start doing cocaine? Anyway? Not
that long ago. The first time was on the nine
Inch Nails tour. We had just played in Chicago and
one of the roadies called me and Twiggy into Trend's
dressing room. He was there with someone else in the band.
The room was destroyed. There was food everywhere, Shit was
crushed into the floor, dirty clothes were strewn all over,

(01:58:23):
and everything was covered in flower Because those guys used
to pour flour all over themselves. In the middle of
the wreckage, there was a strange, gray haired, pock marked
hippie who had bribed his way backstage with drugs and
carved out something like thirty lines on a stainless steel
counter in the bathroom. It was some ridiculous rockstar amount
of drugs, something insane like an ounce. He was like,

(01:58:44):
do you want some? And we were like, we've never
done this before, and he said, try it, so we did,
and we were wired out of our minds. We were
doing lines like crazy. I was wearing rubber underwear that
had been built only with an opening for your dick.
I wore them all the time on that tour. And
there were these two girls who were hanging out backstage.
One was a blonde and one was a redhead, and

(01:59:05):
they were both pretty cute. One was studying to be
a psychiatrist and the other one was just a slut.
I remember being really high and really confused and still
having my pants on because I never took them off
until I went to bed, and I was fucking both
of them in the back lounge with this underwear on,
like I was some kind of debased version of Superman.
My skin never touched them. It was like wearing a

(01:59:26):
body condom. Were you afraid your heart would stop on
the cocaine. It didn't really bother me at the time.
We thought it was really funny because it was such
a cliche. Only stupid people get carried away with drugs,
like John Belushi and Corey Feldman. That whole tour must
have been amazing. All of a sudden, you went from
nothing to living this rock star life on the arena circuit.

(01:59:47):
No one had heard of us, and our album wasn't
even out yet. They were just rumors about us from
the small amount of press that we had gotten from
our publicist, su Zi, who was very excited about taking
on this project, even though she probably didn't understand it.
I always wanted something more. That was my problem. I
always wanted more, and when I came across that way
to my publicist, or my record company or my producer,

(02:00:08):
I was always told to be patient and not expect
too much or get my hopes up. Even Trent and
his manager when they signed us, they said something like, someday,
I think you guys could sell as many records as Ministry.
That's like two hundred thousand records exactly and always in
my head it felt defeeding. I want to be bigger
than Kiss. I don't want to be some fucking dispensable thing.

(02:00:31):
I probably shouldn't say this, but what the fuck nobody
reads your magazine He straightens out a line and snorts
half of it. Anyway, I felt there was always a
competition from the beginning, not from my end, but from them.
It made me feel defeated because I was always ahead
of myself. I was always thinking of the big picture
that nobody else was. It was very disappointing all the time.

(02:00:53):
What nobody understood then, is this the only way that
you achieve what you want and fulfill your dreams and
become great is by demanding that sort of attention. You
have to make it happen. And I think nobody saw
that back then but me and my band, or at
least the core of the band, which was Pogo, Twiggy
and myself. Let's get back to the tour. Yeah, okay,

(02:01:13):
we had a lot of interesting things that happened with
Jim Rose, leader of a traveling troop of freaks and
contortionists called the Jim Rose Circus side Show. He was
always a great thrill to be around, because he instigated
a lot of interesting scenarios. There was one girl that
had followed us around to most of the cities, and
she was sort of overweight but cute, like a Koala
bear with Gothic utters. I suppose somehow one night she

(02:01:34):
was talked into standing naked and bent over as everybody
took turns trying to spit in her asshole, a game
that even I found crude and couldn't take part in.
You're just saying that for my benefit. No, that's true.
For a moment, I thought, well maybe, But I was
uncomfortable because I felt a little sorry for her. She
seemed like the type of person that just really wanted
to be accepted. She was basically being exploited for her

(02:01:56):
anxiousness and her neediness. And I have a soft spot
for people like that because I'm so used to wanting
to be accepted that I've let people exploit me. There
are actually certain lines I will draw as far as
what I do. I'm not trying to be self righteous.
I thought it was entertaining. I just didn't participate. There
were things I took part in, though the most memorable
was toward the very end of Jim Rose's time on

(02:02:17):
the tour, when we were getting really routed. What happened
was Jim Rose had gathered together quite an assortment of people.

Speaker 8 (02:02:24):
This time.

Speaker 19 (02:02:25):
He had really done some work. He had about ten girls,
very newbile and ready to get fucked. Unfortunately, that's not
what happened to them. I'm sure they were all disappointed. Instead,
he devised a bowel movement contest to see who could
receive an enema and hold it in the longest. The
person who shitted out first lost. Three girls agreed to compete,

(02:02:46):
and they were all rather attractive for people who would
participate in such an event. I ended up giving the
enemas and also holding a bowl of fruit loops underneath
each of their asses. The first girl shot right away
sprayed out some brown water that wasn't even really shit.
It was sort of a you who colored liquid and
mister Lifto, who was the strong man of the Jim
Rose Show, except he uses his dick instead of his biceps,

(02:03:09):
ate the bowl of Syria. The girl who ended up
winning didn't even spray her shit at all. Was she rewarded.
She was rewarded with our respect and admiration. Did you
feel vindicated coming back to Fort Lauderdale as a rock star? Actually,
our first big homecoming show was in Miami, and everyone
was in the audience, my parents, every girl I had

(02:03:30):
ever slept with, every girl I had ever wanted to
sleep with, and everyone I had kicked out of the band.
But what happened was while we were performing, Robin Fink,
the guitarist in nine Inch Nails, ran out on stage
in a g string with some kind of powdered confectionery
item he planned to dump on me for whatever reason.
In the midst of this sabotage attempt, I grabbed him
and pulled his pants down and placed his limped, salty

(02:03:51):
penis in my mouth and sort of teethed on it
for a few moments, but not long enough to really
constitute it being a blowjob. It should be noted that
I didn't have a heart, which should relieve me of
any accusations of being gay. Afterwards, he ran off stage
sort of embarrassed, and I had to flee from the cops.
When the show ended, they came backstage looking for me,
and I hid in the bathroom, where conveniently some drugs

(02:04:13):
have been stashed Luckily, they never issued a warrant for
my arrest or prosecuted me for that particular incident. We
staged a private encore several days after the original incident.
We were retelling the anecdote for the twentieth time at
a Nine Inch Nails after show party filled with the
cast of characters that Jim Rose had handpicked, mildly attractive
girls who seemed foolish enough to do anything he suggested,

(02:04:34):
and I was asked to make a repeat performance. So
I went ahead and did it again, just to prove
that it was not only for art, it was for
pleasure as well. This time I did a better job
and once again did not get a heart on, although
I believe that he may have had one. What else
happened on that tour? I think my first real experience
in the rock and roll world came in Cleveland the

(02:04:55):
day that ll joined the tour. The lineup was actually
Marilyn Manson Whole and Nine Inch Nails. Courtney showed up late.
She had flown in and was completely wrecked when she
got to the concert. She went on to play probably
one of the worst shows in her life, and I'm
sure she would admit this she took off her top,
said something sarcastic speculating whether Trent Reznor was a top

(02:05:16):
or bottom, to piss off the audience, and then dove
into the crowd. A lot of people tried to grow
her breasts and tear off the rest of her clothes.
After she finished, she decided to come into our dressing
room because we had adjoining ones. She was pretty much
just in her underpants and her bra and lying around
sprawled out, high or drunk, I'm not sure which probably
a combination of both. I was kind of confused by

(02:05:37):
the situation because other than Trent, she was one of
the first infamous rather than famous people I had come across,
so I kept my distance. I'm not sure if I
was scared of her or if I just didn't want
to get involved. She was trying on everyone's clothes, and
I remember Daisy was pissing me off because in particularly
bad taste, he was trying to trade some of his
clothes to get her to send him one of Kurt

(02:05:59):
Cobain's guitars. She was very cool about it and didn't
take any offense. Do you want any more wine? Sure?
I need to go to sleep. Eventually, he refills his glass. Now,
Courtney has always said that she had some kind of
relationship with Trent, but Trent has always denied it. What's
the truth? I probably shouldn't talk about that. All I'll

(02:06:20):
say is that it seemed that Trent had picked Hole
to be on the tour as a bit of a novelty.
He seemed to dislike her greatly, and I think he
wanted her on tour either to make a fool out
of her or just to study her. But as the
tour progressed, I noticed that Trent and Courtney were hanging
around a lot together, and it was a part of
the tour where he wasn't talking to us too much.
He had disappeared into his own world or hers, so

(02:06:44):
you didn't really know whether they were sleeping together. Well,
things started to get weird a month or so down
the road, as the tour was ending, Courtney showed up
at Trent's bungalow trying to break down the door and
doing some other stuff that I forgot about because I
was drunk. But it was some sort of outburst from
a girl only if you fuck her, So I could
tell that there was something going on that Trent wasn't
telling us about, especially since he was stumbling around her

(02:07:07):
hotel room at certain hours of the night that were
very suspicious. Still to this day, he won't admit to
any of us what happened, so you can make your
own judgment. I thought this interview was to tell the
truth about everything that happened in the past year. I'm
telling the truth, but Twiggy can probably tell you more
because he had an undocumented, undisclosed relationship with her afterwards.

(02:07:28):
Is that true, Twiggy, Twiggy, It's true that I need
whiskey and speed manson. What happened was that after the
leg of the tour with Hole was over, for some reason,
we kept running into Courtney. Whenever she would pop up,
it would cause great amounts of stress for Trent. He's
a non confrontational person, so rather than dealing with it,

(02:07:48):
he would let it torment him. There was a night
that we were all partying. I think it was in
Houston and Trent was working on the Natural Born Killer's soundtrack.
Twiggy and I went out to a bar and some
guy gave us drugs. We had one of our very
first nights of terror where I felt like I was
going to die, and I wanted to call everybody I
knew and tell them that I loved them and that
I was afraid. In the midst of the terror, Twiggy

(02:08:09):
disappeared because he had gotten some frantic phone call in
the middle of the night. Apparently Courtney was in town
and told him, come over, I'm freaking out. He didn't
come back until about seven o'clock the next morning. I
asked him what happened, and he pulled up his shirt
and had these giant red claw marks on his back.
He kind of sheepishly admitted to doing some very graphic
and very obscene sexual acts, very exciting. I'll leave it

(02:08:32):
up to your imagination. So they continued to have this
secret relationship, probably because Twiggy wasn't famous enough at the
time for Courtney to admit that she was having sex
with him. Do you think she was manipulating him to
get to Trent Manson? I don't know, but Trent seemed
to think so, and it worked because not long afterwards,
we had a call from John maulm, the president of Nothing.

(02:08:54):
During the tour, we had fired our management from Florida,
which was too busy taking care of that country band.
The Mavericks to care and let nothing take over. So
now John Maum, our new manager, was telling us, listen,
you can't hang out with Courtney because she's trying to
find out where Trent's staying and she's gonna use you
to do it. So which did you choose, Twiggy Trend's
peace of mind or your budding relationship with Courtney Twiggy,

(02:09:18):
Whiskey and Speed Manson. He kept seeing her, but not
to rebel against anyone. He was just into her. I
think he was also starstruck by Courtney because he had
never had a relationship with anyone of her stature. At
the time, I didn't really understand Courtney and was signing
with Trent. I sympathized with him and believed his side
of the story. I felt like Courtney was a bad

(02:09:39):
thing and I didn't want any part of it. Twiggy
suddenly stands up from his chair, slightly flushed. Twiggy, everyone
was accusing me of being used, when at the time
it was genuine. It meant something. I learned a lot
from that relationship more than any other one. It was inspiring.
But the closer we got to each other, the more
pressure there was. To stay away. I think there was

(02:10:00):
also this idea at the beginning that I was discrediting
Trent's trophy. He collapses back into the chair. I guess
the timing was wrong. Is there anything else you want
to add? Twiggy Twiggy whiskey and speed manson. I never
really ever had a conversation with Courtney until just recently,
when I found out that she is a very smart

(02:10:22):
person and more in control than most people think. We
were playing somewhere on the West Coast and there was
a knock on our tour bus door. I heard this drunken,
raspy voice screaming, Jeordy, Jeordy, where the fuck's Geordy? And
Courtney came limping on the bus because apparently the night
before she had fallen and hurt her leg. She saw
a girl sitting there and immediately started telling her, you
don't need to be on this bus. You should get

(02:10:43):
a keyboard and start your own band. Then these guys
will be on your bus. Then she looked at us
and asked, you got any donuts. I had just gotten
a dozen glazed donuts, and she took four and devoured
them before they even saw her mouth open. Then she
whipped off her band and winged it at our tour manager,
who started freaking out because getting blood on him, whether

(02:11:05):
it belonged to someone famous or not, was not in
his contract. When Twiggy came out from the back of
the bus, no doubt hiding the several teenage girls he
had back there, he seemed semi embarrassed and semi entertained
by the whole situation. It was at that point that
I started to like Courtney and gain a bizarre respect
for her, because she made me laugh and I thought
she was cool. I'm told that on the last night

(02:11:27):
of the tour, Nine Inch Nails got their revenge on you.
Is this true? It wasn't revenge exactly. Traditionally, on the
last night of the tour, the opening act expects to
get fucked with by the main act. So on the
last show of the tour in Philadelphia, I was leaving
the bathroom backstage before our show when I saw two
naked girls making out and touching each other all over.

(02:11:47):
Next to them, there was some weird naked bisexual guy.
Everybody from our band and from Nine Inch Nails was
standing there watching. So the guy goes to me, I've
heard you say that if anyone has the guts, you'll
fit just fuck them backstage. I'd like to know if
I could take you up on that offer. Nine Inch
Nails thought that they were gonna pull one over on
me because I had made a habit of saying on stage,

(02:12:10):
who's gonna come backstage and let me stick my fist
up their ass? They thought, oh, we'll show him. We're
gonna bring someone back and he'll chicken out. But more
to destroy their plans than to keep from being a hypocrite,
I said, okay, no problem. I put on a big
rubber glove that came up to my wrist and there
wasn't any sort of lubrication nearby other than margarine, so

(02:12:31):
I wiped that all over my fist and then tried
my hardest to get most of my hand, probably up
past my knuckles into this guy's anxious, pouting rectum. I
thought that was all, but when I went to go
on stage five minutes later, Nine Inch Nails ambushed us
and covered us with every disgusting substance they could find backstage,
flower salsa, basiline, guacamole, ketchup, baby powder. So we had

(02:12:54):
to go on stage covered in all this shit, and
as we were performing, five male strippers ran on stage
and started antsen. I felt like maybe this had gone
too far, because now they were messing with our performance,
and I didn't want the crowd to think that I
would be responsible for something so stupid. We walked off stage,
ready to kick the shit out of Trent and his
bands to pay them back for the joke that had

(02:13:14):
gone too far. But it wasn't over. I was wearing
just a pair of leather shorts and wet socks, and
we were all covered with beer, sweat, lipstick, and every
backstage condiment imaginable. Before we could even reach the safety
of our dressing room, we were ambushed again and smothered
and whipped cream. A bunch of security guards grabbed us
and handcuffed our hands behind our backs, led us out

(02:13:36):
the backstage door, and threw us into a pickup truck.
They closed the doors and drove off, and at this
point it had gone beyond a joke. In retrospect, I'm
impressed by the planning that went into it, but at
the time I was scared shitless because they drove us
for half an hour. We ended up in downtown Philly,
where they pulled us off the truck and threw the
keys to the handcuffs into a trash can. They crumpled

(02:13:58):
up a dollar bill, threw it on and laughed, that's
to help you get back to the concert. It was
about twenty five degrees and we were practically naked and freezing,
especially because we were drenched from the filth.

Speaker 2 (02:14:09):
Of the night.

Speaker 19 (02:14:11):
We looked so scary, pathetic, and degenerate that nobody would
even walk on the same side of the street as us.
We ended up begging some college kids to drive us
back to the arena. Did you have any hard feelings?

Speaker 8 (02:14:23):
Now?

Speaker 19 (02:14:24):
If I can dish it out, I've got to be
prepared to take it. I wasn't so calm at the time,
but now I see it as a good prank, definitely
more elaborate and crueler than anything I could have come
up with. That kind of symbolized the ending of our
freshman year, so to speak. We graduated to the next level,
but not without a little bloodshed along the way, like
your drummer and several chickens. Right, Okay, I'd better address this.

(02:14:47):
Some people think we killed a chicken during a show
in Texas, some people say that it didn't die. The
truth is that after we left the nine Inch Nails tour,
we did some shows on our own before going to
New Orleans to work on the EP we're making now
Smells like Children. I put in our tour rider as
a joke that we had to have a live chicken.
I guess in Texas it's pretty commonplace to have chickens

(02:15:08):
running around, because in the midst of our celery in
Jack Daniel's backstage at one of our shows there, we
found a chicken sitting around, clucking in a cage. I
named him Jebediah, and I was particularly attached to him.
I didn't want to kill him at all, but our
stage set looked like a strange cross between Ziggy Stardust
and the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and I thought that visually

(02:15:29):
the chicken added something to what we were trying to present,
so we let him tour with us, and sometimes I
even miked the chicken and let him sing along. But
during a show at Trees in Dallas, somehow the chicken
cage got kicked open and the chicken flew into the crowd.
They tossed him around, but he didn't die. He went
back on the farm, although he's probably chicken McNuggets right now.

(02:15:49):
Heaven forbid I kill a chicken, but it's okay for
Ronald McDonald. From then on, kill the chicken became a
euphemism for either getting high or going all the way.
If we were getting ready to do a show, instead
of giving each other a high five or saying let's rock,
we'd say, let's kill the chicken. There's one more line left?
Who wants it? I think I need to get to

(02:16:10):
sleep soon, but I could really use is some valium.
He opens a hidden compartment on a ring on his
left index finger and takes out a blue pill, which
he washes down with a sip of wine. Before I
let you go to sleep. What happened with Freddy On
the last day of that tour. We were playing at
a gay bar in South Carolina. There weren't many people
in the audience, so we thought we would do something different.

(02:16:31):
Twiggy put on a suit, and I put on a
black cowboy hat, a long black coat and painted a
black line from my forehead all the way down to
my dick. Pogo was shirtless and he was wearing my
underwear with a dick hole and a giant studded leather
belt that said hate in red letters. He looked like
a big, creepy, hairy baby man with a bald feetle head,
a giant, bushy chest, some kind of steroid Olympic's wrestling belt,

(02:16:55):
a flaccid dick in cased in black vinyl, and combat boots.
He was definitely the gayest looking person in the place.
I tried to get Daisy to do something different and
enjoy himself more, and he said something ridiculous, like speaking
in a slow, dumb drawl.

Speaker 8 (02:17:10):
Oh, I get it.

Speaker 19 (02:17:12):
I should become more of the character of Daisy Berkowitz.
Everybody knew that Freddy was going to be fired, except
for Freddie, because just a week before, while Freddie the
Wheel was polishing his spokes or something, we auditioned a quiet,
older drummer from Las Vegas named Kenny Wilson and asked
him to join the band as ginger Fish. He actually
rode the tour bus with us one night, and we

(02:17:32):
told Freddy that he was just a friend of our
tour manager. He bought it. We didn't want to be
cruel to Freddie because we liked him as a person
we just felt obliged to make his last show with
the band a memorable one. Twiggy and I had shaved
our eyebrows off, but he still had his, as well
as a goatee and a hairstyle that was just black
bangs in front of an otherwise shaven head. I think

(02:17:52):
he did this because he was starting to go bald
him back. He was a very self conscious person, but
somehow we convinced him to shave his entire head and
his face, and he ended up looking like this weird
cancer patient version of Uncle Fester from the Adams Family.
We thought it was the coolest he had ever looked,
and wished for a second that he was still going
to be in the band. So we took the stage,
and immediately we weren't having a good time because the

(02:18:14):
crew had decided that as their way of ending the
tour with a memorable prank, they were going to put
raw chicken feet all over the stage. So I slipped
and fell on a beer bottle and it shattered. I
was so pissed I took it and fucking slashed my
chest from one side to the other. And that was
my first real act of self mutilation in front of people.
We sacrificed Freddy by setting his bass drum on fire,

(02:18:36):
but the whole drum kit burst into flames, followed by Freddie.
As Freddie escaped backstage to find a fire extinguisher, we
started smashing everything. So that last day of the tour
was really the chrysalis of a new stage of development
for us, a sort of ritual blood letting followed by
a sacrifice to what we are in the process of becoming,
which I can't entirely explain right now because I don't

(02:18:59):
fully understand it myself. You never actually fired Freddy. No,
we didn't tell him he'd been fired, and he didn't
tell us he quit. I think he knew that he'd
been sacrificed, because the next day he just got on
a plane and went home. I never got to say
goodbye to him, and I haven't said a word to
him since. He was very peaceful about it, and I
respect him for that. So if he sues me now,

(02:19:22):
I'll break his kneecaps. Eleven, We're off to see the Wizard.
As far as I know, there is not one word
in the Gospels and praise of intelligence. Bertrand Russell as
religion made useful contributions to civilization. I had written, I

(02:19:42):
had called, I had pleaded. Finally I was granted an appointment.
During a day off on the ninety four to nine
inch Nails tour in San Francisco in October, the hotel
phone rang. The doctor wants to meet you, came a
woman's voice, stern and husky. I asked her if the
doctor would care to see our show the following night.
I knew everything there was to know about the doctor,

(02:20:04):
but he knew very little about me. The doctor never
leaves his house, she replied icily. Okay, when do you
want me to come over? I'm in town for a
few days. The doctor really wants to meet you, she replied,
can you come between one and two tonight? No matter
what time the doctor called for me and where he
summoned me to, I planned to be there. I admired

(02:20:26):
and respected him. We had a lot of things in common.
We had experience as extravagant showmen, successfully placed curses on people,
studied criminology and serial killers, found a kindred spirit and
the writings of Nietzsche, and constructed a philosophy against repression
and in support of nonconformity in short, we had both
dedicated the better part of our lives to toppling Christianity

(02:20:47):
with the weight of its own hypocrisy, and as a result,
been used as scapegoats to justify Christianity's existence. Oh, the
caller added before she hung up, make sure you come alone.
The doctor was the preferred name of Anton Xander Levy,
founder and High Priest of the Church of Satan. What
nearly everybody in my life, from John Crowell to Miss Price,

(02:21:11):
had misunderstood about Satanism was that it is not about
ritual sacrifices, digging up graves and worshiping the devil. The
devil doesn't exist. Satanism is about worshiping yourself, because you
are responsible for your own good and evil. Christianity's war
against the devil has always been a fight against man's
most natural instincts for sex, for violence, for self gratification,

(02:21:34):
and a denial of man's membership in the animal kingdom.
The idea of heaven is just Christianity's way of creating
a hell on earth. I'm not and have never been
a spokesperson for Satanism. It's simply part of what I
believe in. Along with doctor Seuss, doctor Hooke, Nietzschee, and
the Bible, which I also believe in. I just have
my own interpretation. That night in San Francisco, I didn't

(02:21:57):
tell anybody where I was going. I took a cab
to LaVey's house on one of the city's main thoroughfares.
He lived in an inconspicuous black building collared by a high,
brutal looking barbed wire fence. After paying the cab driver,
I walked to the gate and noticed that there was
no bell. As I contemplated turning back, the gate creaked open.

(02:22:17):
I was as nervous as I was excited, because, unlike
most experiences where you meet someone you idolize, I could
already tell this one would not be a letdown. I
timidly entered the house and saw no one until I
was halfway up the stairs. A fat man in a
suit with a sweep of greasy black hair covering his
bald spot stood at the top. Without saying a word.

(02:22:38):
He motioned for me to follow him. In the time
as I visited Lvey since the fat man has never
introduced himself or spoke. He brought me into a hallway
and swung shut a heavy door blotting out the light entirely.
I couldn't even see the fat man to follow him anymore.
Just as I felt myself panicking, he grabbed my arm

(02:22:58):
and pulled me the rest of the way. As we
followed the curve of the corridor, my hip bone collided
with a doorknob, causing it to turn sli.

Speaker 5 (02:23:11):
You can't.

Speaker 7 (02:23:33):
Basic take me a better berthay, if they said.

Speaker 2 (02:24:54):
By a friend.

Speaker 6 (02:25:00):
Start beginning again, were fading back. Also similarly a possibility
when a rebellion is.

Speaker 2 (02:25:13):
An entity in the same sim that in said is
a pot.

Speaker 3 (02:25:51):
Of business time take a.

Speaker 8 (02:25:55):
Don't about.

Speaker 2 (02:26:00):
As as a.

Speaker 4 (02:26:05):
Sound by the windows my last in my love, I

(02:26:43):
know that don't got so muddy, so I