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War Pigs

Posted by Terrible on October 15, 2008 – 3:51 am

This one goes out to all the mccain/palin supporters of the world:

When you can come and talk to all the rest of us like adult human beings instead of the sick little children that you are… we’re ready to listen. But if you insist on keeping on the way you have been… then you can BURN MotherFuckers!

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  1. 1. Anntichrist S. Coulter Said:



    Every single note of that song, from the first downbeat, I’ve got genetically programmed into what’s left of my brain. Ohhhh, man, you don’t even KNOW how many times I’ve listened to that song, far, far after the fact, but loving every fucking note of it… whether it was my first blown-out pair of KOSS headphones that I bought at a yardsale, or over the EV monitors in the air studio, or sitting under those massive fucking speakers hanging over the two (now gone, the bastids) seats that faced the “dance floor” upstairs @ The Dungeon.

    If somebody could look at my bone marrow under an electron microscope, they’d probably see every single chord progression from Iommi and Geezer, every yelp and arcing moan from Ozzy, every thundering drumbeat.

    You couldn’t have picked a better song, Terrible. If only there were a “gawd,” as Ozzy sang, to punish the war pigs as they deserve. That’s why we can’t wait for “retribution” of any superstitious supernatural nature, we need rope, lumber, and a slow, cold, drizzling rain.

    What always cracked me up about Sabbath, and Ozzy, was the whole “we hate the hippies” bullshit, as they were the antithesis to the Summer of Love and the ’60s, because they were hard, they came up through the hell of Birmingham, they busted their asses every day of their lives in a bleak, murderous city with no hope. The driving bass was like an axe through the “peace” and “hope” that was never quite achieved in the ’60s and that turned into coke-fueled narcissism of the ’70s.

    But when you read the lyrics from any or all of the first four Sabbath albums, OZZY ET AL *WERE* FUCKING HIPPIES!!!!!! They were hippies with weapons. They saw where the hippies had dropped the ball and they were PISSED. They wanted more than just "peace and love," they wanted fucking JUSTICE. But read the lyrics. "Sweet Leaf" ain't the only one, either. So it still irks the shit outta me that Ozzy gave all of that up, that hunger for kicking evil ass and dealing righteous retribution, to be a commercial whore for that banshee he married. I'd bet both my gravitationally-challenged tits that Sharon is a fucking republicunt. They got him to do the fucking themesong for DOG THE FUCKING BOUNTY-HUNTER, for fuck's sake, a man who KISSES Dumbya's motherfucking moronic-coked-out-grinning PICTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    Tell me how many things are wrong with that sentence.

    I'm glad that they did the reunion tour, small as it was, and of course I missed it, but Ozzy's lost the hunger, the anger, the righteous rage. I've seen Ozzy solo, with Zack on guitar, and vocally, the old coot was dead-on, but I *never* wanna fucking see that old limey's shriveled fluorescent-white ass EVER THE FUCK AGAIN. I don't mean that I don't want to see OZZY again, I do, very much so.

    I mean that I never want to see him MOON THE FUCKING CROWD AGAIN, like he did TWICE in '93 @ the UNO Lakefront Arena. Back when they had HANDICAPPED SEATING, the fuckers. I love me some Ozzy, but I *never* wanted to see his pitiful little aging behind. Leave some mystery, y'know? Helps sustain the legend, despite that clusterfuck of a TV series and Sharon's relentless power/money-grubbing ways.

    If only we could bring Randy back from the dead and trade him in for Sharon, what a world it'd be then… *sigh* Or maybe "satan" won't have the cow, maybe she's HIS ex-wife.

    But bless you for posting this, Ted. It'd been far too long since I listened to Sabbath, and it'll be far too long until I can again sit in the Dungeon, head-banging to Sabbath and Zeppelin and Tool and White Zombie and Rage Against the Machine, etc. This made me SO much more fucking homesick. And yes, I know that there are thousands of people living in tent cities under I-10 in Orleans, who need housing FIRST, but dammit, I still wanna GO THE FUCK HOME.

    We were supposed to get to go to the Halloween Party this year, me, CC & Agent Orange, but then AO disappeared off of the fucking planet and blew our plans of being the Witches of Eastwick all to fuck and back. Oh, and she pissed my and CC's friendships right down the fucking toilet, but honestly, the way things stand at this point, I'm more pissed-off at her having gotten my hopes up about having a Halloween again.

    I went with Dullard McDumbass in '05, and that was one of the dumbest mistakes I've ever made. Even though we didn't stray outside the Quarter much, what we did see, shamed the fuck out of us, to go down there for a party, even if it was at my "other living room," the bar that was my home base for 12 years, the only place on earth where I have EVER really belonged.

    It was still so fucked-up and wrong to dress-up like a tacky-assed tourist from hell, to try and be Chickie's good-luck totem, to draw the tourists back, the way that I always could before. Dunno how, but whenever I showed up, the tourists always fucking followed my scent trail, for some fucking reason. And I'd hoped that me getting MY joy from going "home" would balance-out whatever good came of it. And even there, it was fucking heartbreaking. All of the old regs, the people that I'd danced with, fought with, loved, fucked, beaten down with a mag-lite here and there, the people who'd shoot the shit with me about politics and Quarter gossip 'til daybreak — all gone.

    Either dead, homeless, shipped-off to fucking UTAH or worse, and none had made it home for THE party, the ONLY Halloween party in New Orleans that COUNTED. It was empty, it was heartbreaking, yeah, a gaggle of tourists showed up, but none in costumes, none who knew what that night meant, and not nearly enough for the party to break into the black. Maybe I'm the only person on earth who gets so sentimentally-attached to bars, but that one will always be my other home. As long as that 400-year-old building stands, it, and the ghosts who own that joint (we're just renters/sharecroppers) stick around, it always will be where I belong. And to see it so devastated, to see the sadness, the desperation, the emptiness, the worry, the uncertainty… I knew that me going was a mistake. I just couldn't stop myself. They still hadn't found even HALF the bodies of the AMERICAN CITIZENS WHO WERE MURDERED BY THEIR GOVERNMENT, and I was glitzed-up for a party. I didn't even know at that point that Barry Cowsill was dead.

    I know that I'm blathering on and on about shit that I always blather on and on about, and nobody gives a shit about any of it, but this song means a whole helluva lot to me, it carries so many damned memories with it. The Dungeon holds so many damned memories for me, for so many people, and I'm damned grateful that they made it through the economic devastation and have flourished through the Disney-fication/caucasian-ifcation of New Orleans, as sick as that concept is. And someday, the regs will make it home. All of us, all colors, all flavors, all kinks, all leather & latex, all weird and funny and sick and twisted.

    Someday. That's MY promised land. And after AC/DC's "Hell's Bells" plays as the doors are unlocked @ midnight, I hope that "War Pigs" will be next on the playlist.

    Bless you, Terrible, for this song. And to anybody who don't get what it means, why you posted it, aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh, FUCK ‘EM!!!!!!

  2. 2. Terrible Said:

    I’d just finished watching IronMan before I posted it. After the movie I went to youtube to listen to Ironman and then I listened to this version of War Pigs and said “I GOTTA post that!” They were tight at that concert!

  3. 3. Anntichrist S. Coulter Said:

    Right the fuck on.

    Though I think that Ozzie was on some sub-prime shit that night, he couldn’t clap on the beat.

    Thank goodness that Geezer never lost the rhythm.

  4. 4. Anntichrist S. Coulter Said:

    BTW, the more that I read the bidness section of the BR republicunt paper, the more I laugh.

    Yeah, we, and an assload of people way the hell worse-off than us, are getting fucked here, but the humor comes as the yuppie-scum start freaking the fuck out. Oh mah GAAWWWWDDD, we might not be able to order that Bahrain vacation for eight from the Saks Fifth Avenue catalogue this year, we’ll look “INSENSITIVE”!!!!!!

    Fucking phony-ass cunts. Oh, they’re selling gift packages with “half the proceeds going to charity” now, ’cause it looks “more responsible.”

    Can’t wait to see THEIR fucking asses brought down to earth and standing in a soup line.

    I know, I know, somebody will bail the fuckers out, but I can dream, can’t I?

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