Danzig = Kitty Cat Enthusiast

So recent photographs have been circulating on the internets of horror punk pioneer Glenn Danzig exiting a grocery store while carrying a bounty of household necessities, including a box of "Fresh Step" cat litter and a bag of canned cat food. Although legions of his loyal fiends may be embarrassed by this uncharacteristic crusade, this should come as no surprise to his true fans (like myself.)  Please allow me to take you on a jaunt into the lyrical legacy of Glenn Danzig, showcasing that his spooky sounds bluntly reference his penchant for pussies.

Let us begin with a selection of songs from his debut solo album, released in 1988.  The track "She Rides" a bluesy, sexy-stagger of a song, is about taking his little kitty on long car rides. His favorite feline at the time liked to perch itself on Glenn's left armrest as he drove.

indicative lyrics:
She's Black
And Sin Runs Down Her Back

An obvious reference to the time that Glenn visited the Arby's drive thru and spilled Broncoberry sauce all over the kitty. Poor little guy.

"The Hunter" was written about the one time his cat, Elliott, killed a mouse in the basement. Elliott was so proud to present the vermin corpse to his owner, upon the altar in front of their bay window.

indicative lyrics:
Gonna Do A Million Things To You Honey
Your Life Belongs To Me
So Don't Use No Love Gun

In the longform video for the song "Mother" a live chicken is sacrificed, torn apart at the seams by the hands of the sideburned beast. Once the cameras stopped rolling, Glenn immediately gathered up all those tender vittles and presented them to his pack of kitties, all of whom had traveled with him to multiple video shoots.

From the "How The God's Kill" album, "Left Hand Black" was initially christened "Left Paw Black" due to the coloration of a Siamese who had a playful penchant for swatting shoelaces.  Danzig ran into some legal trouble when his cat scratched the cornea of a neighbor's rabid canine, but luckily, a settlement was reached out of court.  This track was to feature multiple meows during the downstrokes of the chorus but unfortunately, greedy slob producer Rick Rubin 86'ed this idea during the final mixdown of the album and thus, record sales slumped. 

indicative lyrics:
Kinda Like A Dog
With Seven Pupils In It's Eye

The 1999 album "666" Satan's Child" was titled as such in reference to his cute Calico "PawLee" who made a habit of chewing on Glenn's car keys. Originally titled "Mr. Mischief," the record company requested the title be changed in accordance to Danzig's legacy of darkness and evil.

From his 2002 flop, "I Lucifer I," the boring ballad "Wicked Pussycat" chillfully tells the tale of his four-legged feline who continually urinated on a rug that Glenn purchased in Romania in 1990.  This was a pivotal point in Glenn's career, and is seen by rock historians as when he went public with his affection for felines, so to speak.

indicative lyrics:
Six-Foot Pussycat, I Like The Way You Swing Your Tail
Big Black Witch Cat, Yes, You Cast A Real Strong Spell

Even dating back to his tenure in Samhain, when Glenn penned the tune "He Who Cannot Be Named" which is a blatant reference to a malnourished stray who showed up on his doorstep one brisk autumn evening. Although the cat was not wearing an identification tag, multiple flyers were posted around his neighborhood and thus, the animal was returned to it's rightful owner. Sources close to the man have revealed that Glenn still reminisces about this cherished cat on a regular basis.

Rumors have long been circulating to the origin of the famous Misfits "DeviLock." Truth be told, this signature hairstyle came about when Glenn, who loves administering Eskimo Kisses to kitties, began to playfully dangle a lock of hair in front of a frolicking feline.

The underlining kitty current in Danzig's lyrics is undeniable.  Pay attention to them the next time you're listen to the man and his monsterous music.  
 

A Dog's Life...

from December of 2006

About 8 years ago I met a dashingly handsome pit bull/boxer mix named Bubba. He hailed from North Carolina but his bark lacked any accent. He was born into poor dixie trash with his puppyhood spoiled by untold tales of abuse & neglect. Bubba found a new owner when he was about 21, someone he could trust and who would never let him go. He was a wonderfully behaved pooch, loyal, gentle and occasionally a little gassy.


Bubba had a roommate, a scottish terrier named Maxine. She was roughly a quarter of his size, but she ran shit like a General at Gettysburg. If she wanted to lay on the couch, he would have to get up and move. Maxine would always eat first. Any toy that Bubba was playing with at the time would instantly become hers if she desired it to be so. Being the elder, this bossy bitch took him under her wing...err...paw and taught him about true doggystyle.

Still, they were best friends, like Ponyboy & Johnny, R2D2 & C3PO, Kevin & Paul, Over time their living arrangement eventually blossomed into love. In their own little world of tugtoys, bellyrubs and outdoor defecation, they were everything to each other. They went on daily walks together, numerous car rides and many backyard excursions.

About a year ago, Maxine succumbed to old age. She lived a vibrant life but time caught up with her. Bubba was rendered desolate. He walked around his owners house for weeks trying to find her. Beneath the fur, he knew she was gone, but didn't want to admit it. At feeding time, he still gave leeway for Maxine to dine first, sitting back until his owner gave the OK. Bubba lost his appetite for everything he once enjoyed and the will to carry on alone.

Bubba passed away last week at the age of 84. He never fully recovered from the loss of his soulmate - fuck...does anybody? If there is a canine afterlife, may he be reunited with that one individual who completes him. May his eternal days be abundant with dead carcasses to roll in, leggy bitches to mount and all the shit he can eat.

National Epidemic or Erotic Excrement?

from May of 2007

So I was walking around my neighborhood this morning. A peaceful Mother's Day stroll while residents were waking up, calling their loved ones or doing yardwork. Keeping to myself, humming Elmore James tunes, I noticed a handbill laying on the sidewalk. Hmmm...this wasn't really the type of area where trash is strewn about much, so I was interested in it's content.

Is this really such an extensive epidemic that it needs to be addresses via streetwise propaganda? I mean, shit, everyone pisses. My one buddies' girlfriend leaks in her pants all the time, that doesn't mean she should send away for some informative pamphlet and sleep on the bathroom floor.

Apparently our good friends at Pacific International LTD, which is located nowhere near the Pacific Ocean, have taken it upon themselves to dry up America with their tried-and-true treatments of tyranny. Why must everyone follow their pissing protocol? We live in the greatest country in the world. Sure we're marred with racial inequality, political corruption on every level and freekin' Nascar, but we also have freedom of facial hair, Night Court in syndication and drive thru porno shops. I say if chicks wanna keep pissing themselves, that's cool with me. According to this flyer, bed wetting is caused by "incorrect sleep," which makes about as much sense as tit-flashing Stevie Wonder, but with over half a century of experience, I assume these pee pee professionals would hold some merit.

There's nothing sexier than when a hot chick lets loose a lemonade load on her deserving dude. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. These dry-jockied jerkbags are trying to desensitize the youth of today and steer children onto a path of the prosaic. I still remember as if it was yesterday, the first time I crossed the streams with a chick before. It was beyond cool. And ya know why, because my parents raised me right and showed lil' Smith the benefits of using toilets and urinals but also gave me the freedom of enuresis expression. As I celebrate Mother's Day by drinking an army of Pabst pounders, every time I urinate, it'll be like I'm hugging my mom and saying "Thanks."