Directed by Thomas Lee Wright
So you think that just because you read HAZMAT that it makes you a dangerous person? Well let us take you back to 1993 in the streets of south central Los Angeles to meet Lil' Monster and his resentful street gang called the Eight-Tray Crips. Here Lil Monster reveals the all too true day to day life and hardships of growing up in an inner city war zone where the desperate and often violent outcry for help has been silenced from the American public ear.
Directed by Thomas Lee Wright
It's wednesday suckaz and I don't know about you but every now and then the HAZMAN haz to decompress. Sometimes even the softest of metal ballads won't help. So I decided to take the edge off with something that'll melt in yo mutha fuckn mouth. So tighten up those jheri curls strap on them LOcs shades and get lost in the smokey clouds of the ghetto funk. Cuz dats da way it's goin' down.
Do you like Danzig? Do you like whiskey? Then saddle up and try to hold on to your guts for this wild west rock n' roll ride!
Back in the day when I lived in the Big Sky wastelands of Montana I was a wild country girl with a thirst for hard music and hard liquor. My mother had said I was the only HELL she had ever raised. As any rebellious youth I lived a lawless lifestyle with a liver soaked in bad decisions. It was a whirlwind of a ride engulfed in backwoods bonfires under a full moon of nightmares on a 4 wheel drive vehicle of teenage chaos. You could say I lived in the moment and asked questions later. This lifestyle was my only release for a young girl like me growing up in Montana. We were not given the comforts of leisure and entertainment that any common city slicker would have taken for granted.
As far as live music there was only local country cover bands. The closest thing you'd find to a mosh pit was a square dance or two steppin' in smoky honky tonk dance halls. When it came to touring acts you could always count on the annual town rodeo. Although the lonesome country twang of a steel guitar and fragrance of fresh manure in a warn down rodeo barn still brings a tear to my eye I always wanted more. So when I heard that Danzig was going to be passing through town I just about went up in flames like a high prairie wildfire. Glenn Danzig was the ultimate symbol of musical sacrilege and destruction. It was going to be my goal to attend this concert and make it to the front row to be face to face with Glenn Danzig. Hell, maybe he'd even pull me onstage to sing along to my favorite song Last Caress. I mean anything could happen.
Danzig was the only thing on my mind in the days leading up to the show. I could barely contain myself from bursting like an unmilked dairy cow. Soon the day of the great Danzig show arrived. The local religious radio stations were rallying the locals to picket and protest with fire and brimstone against the dark forces of Glenn Danzig and his legion of satanic blood rockers. But I never gave into that Halloween horse shit. I knew the only dark message that Danzig delivered was to let loose and rock out like a bloodlusting demon on an altar of sacrifice.
Myself and a group of friends had arrived at the concert grounds early and had begun an unwholesome tailgate celebration before the show. From the speakers of our van we blasted Glenn Danzig's evil music through the open doors. In the gravel parking lot we pumped our fists whilst swigging cold beers and passing a large bottle of Kentucky whiskey amongst us. I was greedy with every pull I took off of that vile bottom shelf bottle of firewater. With every swig the music got louder and the world around me span faster than a Texas cyclone. Nonetheless I couldn't wait to see Danzig. It was a lifelong dream, or should I say, a nightmare come true. It was going to be a night to remember.
I was unsure of the hour but judging by the darkness that surrounded me I figured it was nighttime when I awoke in a pile of my own blood strewn vomit. My head throbbed while my stomach quaked and bubbled like a Yellowstone hot spring. What the hell had happened? Why was I alone and where was Danzig?
Upon gazing about my surroundings and seeing the curtain windows and seat belts I realized I was on the floor of the van within the parking lot of the concert hall. There was vomit everywhere. My throat burned and my stomach gurgled. My friends must have dumped me in the van and headed into the show without me. I had to get my bearings and try to make it into the show. Possibly Danzig had not taken the stage just yet. I sat upright and my head almost exploded. I was so dizzy and nauseated that even moving was a hard task. I was still drunk and clumsy as a newborn calf. The noxious stench within that van and in my nostrils was as thick as fog and reeked worse than a pack of hogs wallowing in their own filth. Then, I heard the sound. It was that iconic voice of Glenn Danzig bellowing out the chorus to Last Caress. I could hear the audience screaming along with him. It was the last encore of the night and my poisoned body had cruelly and ironically awakened me at that very moment to hear the final notes of my favorite song. I had missed the show. To this day whenever I hear Last Caress I am reminded of that night and the vile aromas of awakening while covered in the putrid byproduct waste of my own self-destructive demise.
Written by: Squid Vicious
Greetings and good day to all you slaves to the grind. Haz the weak-end left you with a bad case of whiplash? Well we have just the remedy to help kickstart your day. Take a spoonful of thrash metal straight to the cranium and you will be punishing your work week into oblivion. Shit. Why don't you just quit your job and spend the rest of your finances and existence reading HAZMAT and hanging around HAZMART?
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