Robert

"Azazel -- Lend to me your Wings of Twelve
I shall fly into the storm,
I, Son of Fire
In anger become...
... the Lightning Bolt that struck the Earth!"
Once upon a time there was a young Fear Factory fan with a bad bleach-job named Rob. It was the Spring of 1999, and Fear Factory was about to grace the MidWaste with a tour. 105.7 "The Point" was having an event the day of the concert whereby the opening act (the all-of-a-sudden hugely popular System of a Down [whom Rob had seen a year prior open for Slayer and no one knew about then]) would be signing things, such as Rob's guitar, and old women's titties. Rob and his concert/music/buttsex sidekick Jeremy were very excited about the possibility of seeing Fear Factory live in concert, and to a lesser extent, getting things signed by SOAD. So they stayed up all night having sex with Uncle Dean and the dog and Rob's one-breasted grandmother. Hoo boy they were tired in the morning, too tired to realize that they had 1) no ride to the event, 2) no money, 3) no tickets, 4) no more KY. Somehow I, er Rob sorry convinced his dad to give him and Jeremy a ride to the Slackers wherein the signing was happening. It was Rob's bright idea to leave at like 7am, when there was no one and nothing there/happening yet. Rob tried to quell Jeremy's aggravation: "Patience fiesty one! All will begin soon, and we shall be the first in line!!" Then Rob had to poop really bad, and went next door to Wal-Mart to do so. When he came back, he was horrified to find a line as long as his penis. "Dickbutter!", exclaimed Rob. Rob tried to make himself feel better by telling himself and Jeremy that somehow they would find money to go to the show tonight and see the Most Excellent FEAR FACTORY, but just then the 105.7 Corporate Whore announced that the Fear Factory show had sold out. There was ONE WAY you could still get in, however... You see, faithful reader, the gay-ass Korn show was also scheduled for this night, but the drummer had hurt his arm or fallen into a toilet or run out of cap'n crunch or some shit, so that show was cancelled and there were alot of pissed off 14 year old slim shadies with no where to get jiggy now. So 105.7, being the benevolent institution that they are, offered to send these young faggots (or anyone ELSE who may have bought Korn tickets) to another show which they would be a useless appendage at because they don't know what good music is, namely the Fear Factory show at Pop's. Luckily, Rob knew one of the young faggots. He offered to give Rob a hit of acid (which in retrospect Rob probably should have taken), but in addition, he offered to lend Rob his Korn ticket for a moment so that Rob could get him and +1 onto the guest list and into the Fear Factory show. Thank you Brandon, I'll never forget you, until i haven't seen you forever and then you show up drunk at the Creepy Crawl and tell me about the various bands you've been in and toured with. Rock on, Very Metal! Rob and Jeremy were very happy that they were now allowed entrance to the Fear Factory show, and it was nearing time to enter the building and get things signed by SOAD. Serj was most obviously under the influence of something. Goodie, Rob got his guitar signed, guess what the signature has wiped off since then. Oh well the pawn shop wouldn't give him anything for that guitar either way. So they're done in there, they come out and a new dilemma awaits them: How will they get to the concert? It's like 3pm at this point and no one they know of is able to give them a ride to the venue. So Rob, using his awesome powers of creativity and ingenuity, summons a notebook and marker from the void, and writes in big lettering: "NEED RIDE TO CONCERT". He holds up his sign with much fervor, but alas, all that view it just point and laugh. Except for a couple hardy souls... too bad hardiness in the soul is not the only prerequisite for making a band sound good. Dear reader I am speaking of the Other band that was there signing things, I'm talking about Hed(PE). Rob and Jeremy had just about given up hope. There was one last chance, and Rob figured that even if it didn't work, it would make him laugh later on. He thrusted himself toward the emerging band, and shoved his sign of need directly in Hed(PE)'s collective face. As he thrusted, Rob exclaimed, "Hey Hed(PE), give us a ride to the concert!" Hed(PE) replies, "Ok sure hop in!" Rob exclaimed internally, "whoa i can't believe that worked." So about a half hour later, Rob and Jeremy are traipsing around the empty venue floor at Pop's, hugging Dino and Raymond and Burton and taking pictures with them and eating their food, wow what an accomplishment. Despite all the trouble they went through and the good fortune bestowed upon them to enable them to meet up with one of their favorite bands up until this point, however, they actually did not get to see them play. You see, the douchebag that had agreed to give them a ride home (JEREMY NIXON), decided at the spur of the moment to leave before Fear Factory came on. In retrospect, Rob and Jeremy could have found another way home, but they were incredibly tired and spent as it was.A few years later, Rob met up with who is now one of his very favorite associates, Mr. Froclown von Hogwasher. Froclown would reminisce about that great day at Slacker's, because little did Rob know, Froclown had secretly travelled back in time to spy on Rob because he had heard Rob had a simply awful dye job done by an unnamed female. The dye job rendered his hair a hue of orangish-yellow, which most closely resembled creamed corn. When Froclown and his associate Bill Zebub returned from their travels, they bestowed upon that great day a monicker which shall go down in history as, "The day we saw that Creamed-Corn-Hair-Head Man."
One time when i was seven i went with my family to Meremac Caverns and we didn't go through the caverns we just browsed the gift shop because that's how poor and lame and therefore useless we were but it was ok because i didn't really want to go through the caves anyway i thought it was stupid i'd rather be playing video games which worked out nicely in my favor since there was an arcade next to the gift shop but i had no quarters but whatever i was seven watching them fuckers die at Altered Beast and yell "cocksucker" when they died was just as enjoyable so i walked up that handicapped ramp to the door to the arcade which unbeknownst to me was a pull door but i pushed on the motherfucker pushed and pushed and pushed and next thing i hear "CRASH" and next thing i know i'm at the bottom of the ramp crying because i didn't know wtf. So come to find out the door had shattered of course because back then safety glass was a precious commodity and i was too young to have to pay attention to signs so when i sat my ass hurt so bad, just the right cheek mostly and we all thought "it is peculiar how this young man's ass hurts" so i had to go to the bathroom and i pulled down my pants and there was blood lots of blood i was a portly young fellow and i had been cut in the ass cheek you see by a rogue shard of non-safety glass and so i said "hey mom my ass is bleeding" so i got me a band-aid and we drove home like a three hour drive and by the time we got to the hospital they said i didn't need stitches because it healed enough already which was a relief to my seven-year-old mind and ass because stitches much like AIDS and nuclear war scared the shit out of me when i was seven. My parents got $500 out of the deal and all i got was a shitty plastic toy alligator
HERE'S MY INFAMOUS VERSE FROM THE PUSSY RAP, R.I.P. POON TANG KLAN DESIGNATE 1999
Yo, second verse though different from the first
I'm hittin twice as hard, and twice as worse
My friends call me Rev, that's short for Reverend
And the way i'm preachin now, this shit will never end
GODDAMN, you'd think that a preacher wouldn't swear
But you're not paid to think so i don't really fuckin care
Aight, this is the part where the rap gets tricky
I'm runnin outta words, and shit is gettin sticky
Yo C.K. mah man, gimme something to say
It can't be stupid, and it can't be gay
Aight yo, i think i know what word you're thinkin about
IT'S JUICY AND IT'S SLOPPY AND IT SMELLS LIKE TROUT
Aight this is the part where i don't need a posse
Cuz nearly every word out my mouth'll be PUSSY
HERE I GO HERE I GO HERE I GO PUSSY
I can't find another word that rhymes with PUSSY
So i'll keep sayin PUSSY till my PUSSY'S all PUSSIED
PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY
You think it's gettin old??? I think you're a PUSSY!
shhhhh... wait listen... i smell something IT'S PUSSY!
ANOTHER ROUND OF PUSSY FOR MY PUSSY IN THE PUSSY
It's the P to the U to the double S Y
If you're hooked on phonics you'll pronounce it PUSS-I
But if you do you're stupid and you're ignernt ta boot
Just go outside and shoot yourself in the foot you big pussy
That's all you are you know
But that's all anything is and that's the end of my flow
Yo, whatup, C.K. Fat Jackass IN DA HIZZOUSE!
He's Curtis yo and he's as big as a house
(and then the chorus was)
CUUUURRRRRTIIIIIIISSS!!! He's fat, and he's a jackass!
CUUUURRRRRTIIIIIIISSS!!! He's fat, and he's a jackass!
CUUUURRRRRTIIIIIIISSS!!! He's fat, and he's a jackass!
Yo who's da JACK ASS??? I'M DA JACKASS WHAT
=====================================================
Alright and here's my part of our second rap, and then the chorus for it:
UH, my name is Rob, the chicks act like they dig me
But they wants to get to Curtis -- yo he's got big titties
What's a brotha to do?? Should i get breast implants?
And wave 'em in her face when i go out and dance?
But that ain't like me yo, i gotsta keep it real
The only titties i want are the ones that i can feel
Now i could touch Curtis's but that'd be wrong,
Cuz if i touched his boobs he'd be wantin to feel my shlong
Now don't get me wrong, a brotha's not gay
But c'mon -- who wouldn't wanna touch this dick everyday?
Yeah some say i'm conceited, some say i'm a nut
AND I'LL GO BEHIND THE GA-RAGE, AND FIRE IT UP!
Cuz i'm the BOOB-GOD yall, ya understand???
DA ILL-IG-IT-IMATE SON OF MAN
TO THE B-OO-B
TO THE P-USS-EEE
TO THE A-S-S
THEN BACK TO THE BOOOOOOOOOOO B.
Aight yo. Ima hafta break it down,
Make it easy to understand for this white trash town
Listen up all you booby-lovin, crotch-sniffin, pussy-eatin
Granite City scum vermin fuckers in da hizzouse!
I love boobies yo. With all mah hawt
More than anything yo. And much more than awt.
But if there's one thing that i love more than boobies,
IT'S GOTTA BE (what) IT'S GOTTA BE (what) IT'S GOTTA BE
PUSSY!
==============then here's the chorus
HOORAY FOR BOOBIES! (Throw 'em up in da air!)
HOORAY FOR BOOBIES! (Wave 'em like you don't care!)
HOORAY FOR BOOBIES! (Throw 'em up in da air!)
HOORAY FOR BOOBIES! And you KNOW you wanna stare!
===============================
And here's the chorus for our third and final rap, entitled Masturbation. I can't remember any of the verse.
MASTURBATION! Palms on fire!
MASTURBATION! Don't say you don't you fuckin liar!
MASTURBATION! Don't get your balls in an uproar
MASTURBATION! Cuz it's cheaper than buying a whore.
Peace out niggers.
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