Women Have No Place in Metal (Please Let Me Smell Your Hair)


Dude, did you see that post about Meatball Grinder today? They got a chick lead singer. Yeah, man, looks like another band has hopped on the hype train. God, I haven’t been touched by another person in almost a year.

Metal was never meant to be feminine music, but now it’s all chick-friendly. Everyone’s so fucking sensitive. It’s like, I get it, women should have rights and stuff, but is that what metal’s about? I mean, you don’t hear me talking about my sense of complete loneliness and my desperate need to find a best friend and equal. Let’s face it, women are good for three things: ogling, inching close enough to smell their hair on the subway, and maybe providing companionship with an inherently different view of the world that will keep me from feeling chased by the Reaper my whole life. I’m not sure about the third one. Ain’t my concern.

Feminism is just the new Naziism. You express a bitter view of an entire gender and how they make you feel, and the Gestapo come around to shout you down. All these lesbians and SJWs want you to conform to some kind of brainwashed version of reality where we’re all fellow passengers on the road to the grave, or where you can’t act like you’re six in your early thirties, or whatever. Well, metal is about being free to express the side of you society doesn’t want to see. The toddler ashamed of his erection within me won’t be ignored. I’m going to make sure all the dumb cunts and bitches know just how uncomfortable considering them human and therefore uninterested in me for actual reasons would make me. Sorry, Obama, I’m here to stay.

But you know all the bands are going to milk it, those greedy fuckers. Just the other day, I saw a pornogrind cover of some chick chopping a dude’s dick off with a cleaver! What the fuck, guys? Death metal’s not about dicks, it’s about lacerating tits and chaining bitches to the wall to make them pay. I wanna see razor-toothed babies eating their way out of a bimbo’s pussy while she shrieks in agony. But cutting off some guys’ dong? That’s just wrong. You don’t do that, bro. No one’s even laughing about that. You need to return to real brutal topics, like gang rape or my yearning.

What the bands don’t realize is, the more women come to the shows, the lamer they’re going to get. Metal shows used to be free-for-alls, truly insane parties where people could do whatever they wanted. But all these women coming in can’t handle the pit. They’re all, Ungh, don’t grope me, let go of my shirt, wah wah wah. Come on, I have pressing needs that suggest emotional starvation, too! And what else am I going to take sexual solace in for the next two weeks if not the feeling of your jeans-covered butt as you crowd-surf overhead? If you can’t take the incredibly threatening heat, get out of the kitchen. The live arena should be where guys are allowed to cut loose and exhibit all the behaviors forcibly instilled in them by uncles, bullies, and liquor advertisements. If you stand close to the pit, you might take an elbow to the face, and if you stand anywhere in the venue you might get systematically ground on by a dude who believes you’re a baffling puzzle with breasts. Man up.

Like, remember that chick at the Chunderstorm show the other night? Vinyl miniskirt, tank top — yeah, someone’s here to try and get backstage. Total slut. Of course, seeing her made me think of what her breath would feel like behind my ear, and then of course I have to go stare into a whiskey and wonder why I’m single. It’s like, cut it out, bitch. Not all of us come to concerts to try and fuck some musician; we’re here because of our love of music and our desperate need for any sympathetic human contact whatsoever. But you don’t see me getting a backstage pass so I can take the lead singer’s hand in mine and tell him in a cracking voice that his music is really, truly, all I have left. ‘Cause I don’t have tits to show off like that whore. Don’t get me wrong, I’d toss it to her, or literally any woman in here. I’m a love machine.

Look, I’m just fighting for real equality in the new PC America. It’s just about ethics in wondering if you’ll ever be loved. So you can write me up as some savage using all the proof I provide you without you asking. Push your liberal agenda if you like, but get ready for the backlash, because what am I supposed to do, question my own one-dimensional life philosophy? Not fucking likely. I’m a metalhead, dude. Heavy metal’s about never having to say you’re sorry, or wrong, or just as prone to mistakes as everyone else. Don’t be surprised when the community of whiners posing as tough guys comes firing back against you with a series of bigoted remarks.

Aw, man, that female bartender treated me like a human. You know what that means.

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