Xmas had always left a bitter taste in my mouth and why shouldn’t it? I had to watch buddies like Kirk Hammett and Joe Satriani parade around with sweet guitars, laying down sweeter riffs, and pretty much loving life. Ladies (and hell, plenty of their male disciples) were always at their beck and call, and I just watched with envy in the wings. It’s not that I’m not happy for those lovable sons of bitches, but throw a brother a bone. Or at least a few fingers.
Something pretty amazing happened this December, however. I learned that you, my loyal UG peers, wanted to give me the most insanely awesome Xmas imaginable. I was only going to ask for a few more bottles of Wild Turkey to drown my sorrows, but you have blown my mind with your generosity. You presented me with a bevy of gifts that have taken my mind off of the fact that I don’t belong to any particular species or even slightly resemble a human being. I’m forever in your debt for such kick-ass presents, and I promise to repay you with guitar tabs galore in the future. Of course, I’m holding on to my receipts just in case.
The Gifts You Selected For Little Ol’ Me:
Shaving Razor
So let me get this straight. I should say no to the George Michael look? Apparently, I either need to commit to my inner Zakk Wylde or let go of the stubble. I’ve obviously had a difficult enough time growing hair on my scalp, so let’s just say that a full-on beard was only a pipe dream. And given the fact that I also suffer from a serious condition called chronic obstructive laziness, I have one hell of time walking from the parking lot to the Target entrance. Thankfully I have friends like you, who supplied a stocking stuffer that will put my creepy five o’clock shadow days to rest: the Gillette Fusion Razor. I will bloody myself up in the shaving process, but don’t worry. That’s when you go to that always-reliable “beehive incident” excuse. Yup, bees get really pissed in the winter.
Yuji, My New Lady Love
I’ve often pondered the age-old question: “What does life matter if you don’t have someone to share it with?” Yellow blobs with no hands are allowed a sentimental side, too. Well, I can put my massive-yet-weary head to rest now that I have the gift of a new lady love: Yuji. My raven-haired, blue-eyed, tight-abbed, noseless vision of beauty is the best girlfriend you could possibly fathom. Sure, you all may have a pretty girl at home yourselves. But while your Katie, Melissa, or Jennifer is asking for the Sex and the City box set this Xmas, Yuji has humbly requested either tickets to the “Big Four Tour” with Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth, and Anthrax or a copy of the Speed Kills DVD series by Michael Angelo Batio. She totally can overlook his haircut, too. Did I mention she plays guitar? Yeah, I feel like the shit right about now.
From Slippers To Spiked Boots
Apparently some of you thought that my bunny slipper were lacking in manliness. I’ll have you know that those are limited edition Monty Python and the Holy Grail bloodthirsty bunny slippers, but hey, feel free to prejudge. That being said, you obviously care about me retaining the proper level of testosterone, and I respect that. They always say your shoes tell a lot about you, and people will now either think I’m in a metal band or a minion of Satan himself with my new demon boots (**not at all related to Gene Simmons’ infamous shoe wear; don’t sue us, Gene).
One Horny Fellow
Let me be frank with you. I’ve tried to embrace my dwarfishly small horns over the years. I’ve poured through self-help books, particularly the best-seller Size Matters Not, in the hope that I would no longer obsess over my, um, shortcomings. There’s just so many times you can be called Junior Joysticks or Power Tool Petite before you seriously start to think you’re less of a, well, rounded, somewhat-man-like mass of yellow. The horns were so small that I seriously looked like I was going bald, which I suppose worked for awhile. But that little phase went out of style right around the time Billy Corgan started looking more like your creepy Uncle Gene rather than a badass Nosferatu.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let go of the days when random women approached and requested humbly to rub my smooth-as-a-baby’s-bottom noggin, but that’s when I unwrapped an item fit to be sold by the late-great Billy Mays: Horn-E-Grow. After following the instructions, I went for a trial run with the pronged wonders. Interestingly enough, a side effect is an overwhelming urge to sing “War Pigs.” I can totally live with that.
Tattoo of Ozzy
If I’m being honest with myself, I dabbled with the vocals on “War Pigs” long before Horn-E-Grow (drunken karaoke is kind of my forte). It’s highly possible that some of you actually were present during one of my benders (again, apologies for kissing your sister/mother/invalid great aunt at the karaoke bar), as you presented me with the perfect gift for a Black Sabbath devotee. That’s right. I now am the proud owner of an Ozzy Osbourne tattoo. While the Prince of Darkness was most certainly a sight to behold in the Sabbath era, I opted for the 1982 scene that will live in infamy. That’s right, my massive Glen Danzig-like chest now dons the image of Ozzy biting off a bat’s head. I went shirtless for a day and two old ladies perished after espying the tattoo. I now wear a leather jacket to keep the body count under control.
Back In Black
I realize this gift had a great deal to do with the fact that you didn’t want to stare at my spare tire and/or disturbing lack of an ass. I do understand that my body makes women cry, and not in the Jared Leto-looked-at-me kind of way. I am also not ashamed to say that I shed a few tears of my own while I unwrapped the gift that keeps on giving: clothes. I would have probably settled for a Snuggie at this point, but you went all the way. The jet-black, spiked, slim-fit wardrobe is fit for only the most awe-inspiring rockers. Kerry King will eye me in envy. Nergal will create a corpse makeup look that is directly inspired by my garb. I will allow this.
F**king Fingers
As a paid employee at Ultimate-Guitar, there had always been talk. “Hey, that Hugh dude doesn’t having any fingers…and he’s our product reviewer? Man, that ain’t right.” It’s true. I’ve been plagued with nubs at the end of my arms, only able to create what could be described as “experimental” music on my axe. Imagine the sound of bottleneck slide, only really, really sloppy. There are YouTube videos and it’s not pretty. You might have seen these clips, as you have presented me with a gift that will – at the very least – provide me with job security. My Xmas miracle has come in the form of a new set of fingers! Well, I have a gift certificate for the plastic surgeon’s office, at least. Patients can now request “ideal fingers,” and I’m hoping they still offer the Randy Rhodes and/or Dimebag models.
A Decent Spot on the Website? Hell, Yeah.
I have now discovered another additional perk to wearing clothes: a spot on Ultimate-Guitar’s main page. Santa is a force of nature in his own right (he can grow that beard that has always eluded me), but this Xmas it’s all about the Gee. With your powers of persuasion and my new metal-ized wardrobe, you can now behold my awe-inspiring, gorgeous image on the main page this holiday season.
An Expedition To Hell Via Drill
I have to give you all an “A” for creativity because that drill you gave me not only helped to repair my deck, it apparently is also useful in taking a sojourn to the fiery pits of hell. Who knew that Black and Decker actually created a power drill specifically for the intention of digging your way to eternal damnation? And on a side note, who knew that my fireplace was the easiest access to hell? Well, I guess you did, my friends, because after a few hours of operating my manly new present, I reached the always-welcoming face of Lucifer. He insisted I take a few of his demon slaves back to my pad, and I now have another gift that keeps on giving. That’s right, I have trained my minions to sing any Black Sabbath song on cue.
The Most Brutal Gift Of All: Nothing!
Okay, this was the first gift that was suggested for me this Xmas, and while I love me some Toki Wartooth as much as the next guy, I’m feeling a bit cocky now that I look so incredibly awesome. So let’s make this work for everyone. I shall gather up my sweet demon slaves, perform the most diabolic concert ever alongside those bastards in Dethklok (my new fingers FTW), and then promise my captives a meet-and-greet that shall include free beer. Yeah, you know where this is going. They’ll get zilch, but in the spirit of Metalacolypse, I’ll throw in some melting bodies and exploding appendages. Hey, it’s Xmas.
UG Anthology of Awesomeness
While it’s always a pleasure to have easy online access to Ultimate-Guitar tabs and articles, now that I have fingers I was kind of hoping to flip through as many books and magazines as possible. UG readers, you came to the rescue. You inspired my bosses to create a limited edition anthology of the site’s top tablature and articles from the past 10 years. I’m enjoying the crap out of this gift, and I would personally love to see my editors spread the love to all of you…one day. Nudge, nudge.
The Most Badass Guitar Ever To Grace The Earth
My one-of-a-kind, part-Jackson, part-BC Rich, part-Gibson, part-Fender, part-Schecter guitar features a skull-head body, a fog machine that is cued when striking the demonic sound of the tritone interval, a rosewood neck, strings made from the vocal cords of Cerberus (cut by Ronnie James Dio), razor frets, pickups fueled by lava, and of course, a layered coat of demon’s blood. I have a feeling whoever crafted that guitar also has the Black and Decker Demon’s Lair Power Drill.
Hell yeah, brother! DETHKLOK RULES!!!
YAY!!!
POSTED: 12/24/2009 - 04:55 am / quote |