I love Blabbermouth cuz it rules and it’s easier than actually going through my inbox and the bajillion press releases therein. Not only is it informative, but my stars, the entertainment value as well! Taunting sub-retards in the comments section is a Wednesday well-spent. Or if you’re the studious type, try to count how many headlines contain the words “Mustaine” and “forgive” and “David Ellefson.” Oh speaking of headlines, I think we all have played “The Blabbermouth Headline Game,” where you cycle through that little teaser box and marvel at its hilarious delusional bullshit. Let’s see, there’s usually a “Fanless Band Schedules Reunion Show” and a “Win Passes To Guns N’ Roses Guitarist Book Signing.” Those are beauties.

Then you’ve got the deceptively funny stuff, like“Band Wants to ‘Return To Our Roots’ On Sophomore Album“ or “MACHINEHEAD Frontman: ‘Our New Record Is Literally Gonna Rip Your Head Off and Shit In Your Mouth’.”

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Whenever hair rock is ridiculed, discounted, and slighted by metal’s sandy vaginas/haircut jockeys, it’s conveniently forgotten that the reviled oh-faced crotchboys only represent the most visually memorable/thematically asinine segment of the genre. I can’t FUCKING STAND this blind slagging, especially from dudes who weren’t there/out of diapers at the time. I was only a pre-teen (who looted a relative’s purse to buy the first Badlands tape  – sorry, Aunt Rita), yet even I knew about the movement of bands opposed to the fluffy, boob-crazy antics of Warrant, Poison, et al. Most were bluesier and dark, and therefore aimed at listeners whose incentive to purchase music lay beyond the promise of nipple-packed videos. And though it’s a microscopic distinction, I point out that the harder-edged hair rock acts put emphasis not on partying so much as on getting fucking fucked up. Also: No synths, but the occasional organ. Tight leather and denim, but no spandex. You get it. Sleaze Rock, not Splits-Off-Drum Riser Rock.

So why did these non-pretty, non-eyeliner bands get signed to major labels? I guess it’s thanks to the danger of Appetite For Destruction, but one could imagine the logic of targeting horny dudes who buy shitloads of CDs, though none offered by guys with names like Kip Winger or Mark Slaughter. (Except Florentine – total bulge-petter.) Okay, so none really went beyond Gold sales, but each landed a (probably awful) major deal: Atlantic signed Badlands, Geffen had Junkyard. Warners and BulletBoys. Columbia added to their Dokken-tainted roster both Love/Hate and arguably the most lovable and least loved, Dangerous Toys.

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Cracked.com, the surprisingly hilarious website that picks up where Cracked Magazine (a.k.a. the poor man’s Mad) left off, has compiled a list of the 15 worst album covers of all time. Amongst the inductees are Guns N’ Roses Appetite for Destruction (the original robo-rape cover, not the cross n’ skulls), The Scorpions’ Lovedrive and Virgin Killer, and Cannibal Corpse’s Tomb of the Mutilated, of which the site writes the following:

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