Join the Fiend Club

You know who used to really be scary back in the pre-internet punk rock days? The Misfits.

You never really heard that much about them, and what you did hear was shrouded in mystery.

"I heard they killed a guy in California."

"I hear they only play on Halloween night."

"No, they play other nights, but they only play shows in graveyards or haunted houses or Indian burial grounds."

You'd see pictures of them in fanzines looking all creepy - that devillock thing and the all black on a bunch of huge weightlifting Frankenstein guys was a pretty distinctive look when most punk bands just wore T-shirts from other bands.

Plus, while their contemporaries were shouting about Reagan and cops, the Misfits were signing about the stuff that mattered - songs referencing Night of the Living Dead, Teenagers from Outer Space, and other awesome movies. Hell, they named their record label after Plan 9 From Outer Space.

Vampira and the Misfits. Only thing that would make this cooler would be Neil Armstrong, Dolemite, and Elvis in the background.

It's pretty amazing actually, that these guys came up with a overall theme, a look, and some kick-ass songs, creating a genre all to themselves. The post-Danzig stuff might have tarnished their legacy a bit, but damn, if I don't have to break out "Walk Among Us" and the coffin box set every October.

These were some of the things I was thinking a few weeks ago while I was driving around listening to "Walk Among Us" for the thousandth time. I had the windows down, since October in Florida means that the temperature is only in the low 80s. I could feel my throat getting a bit hoarse because you can't let "Skulls" or "Astrozombies" or "Vampira" go by unassisted, you know?

I didn't have it too loud, but it was audible outside the car. At least that's what I figured when I noticed the nice lady next to me giving me a strange look. Thinking back on it, while we were waiting for the light to change, the absolute most ridiculous part of the most ridiculous song came up.

Originally, the last song on the first side of the album was a live version of a song called "Mommy, Can I Go Out and Kill Tonight." It sort of chugs along there in the beginning then stops while Glenn Danzig shouts out, "Mommy...can I got out and KILL TONIGHT," then kicks in faster.

So here I am, a pillar of the community, happy that I had found a good deal on both cat food and laundry detergent at Target. But all the lady next to me hears is a guy screaming something about mommies and killing then even more screaming.

I lead a very normal life. I go about my job, try to go running, go to the movies or whatever like normal people do and don't try to draw attention to myself. But every once in a while I get a reminder that no matter how adult I am, certain things like the trashy movies, punk rock, and Halloween will wipe all my maturity away in seconds.

That being said, I still feel sorry for the nice lady.

Halloween Lessons

For some reason my wife decided Halloween night was the perfect time to go to Target, leaving me all alone to hand out candy. Away from her supervision, I got to be the Halloween Judge.

We get carloads of kids with no costumes driven into the neighborhood who don't even say 'trick or treat,' they just knock on the door and stand there. Well tonight I wasn't having it. And seriously? Murray Hill? That's the neighborhood you're going to for the big candy payoff?

Knock Knock Knock.

"Who are you supposed to be?"

"Uh...ourselves?"

"Yeah, you can do better than that."

SLAM

Actually in the beginning I was a bit more lenient and would just give them some of the crappier candy after my psyching them out but once the candy supplies started running low I had to administer some Halloween justice. Christie came home and said that some of the kids could have been poor and couldn't afford costumes, but hell, they can put a bag over their head or something.

And nobody did anything to the house, so looks like my rod of correction taught those kids a lesson, even though I swear some of them were like 19 years old.

Unfinished Business

I woke up around 3:30 a couple mornings ago with an awesome idea for next year’s Halloween costume. This year apparently I went as Annoying Drunk Guy Who Tells Everyone What Their Problems Are And Sings Off-Key To The Misfits. I’m hoping to retire that one.

All I can remember about my costume is that I was wearing surgical scrubs. I’m pretty sure there was a fake head that I either held in a box or had attached to my shoulder to give the illusion of a two-headed doctor. None of those feel right, so I guess it’s sort of like Samuel Taylor Coleridge getting interrupted writing “Kubla Kahn.” Sorry to get all literary on you there, but I have the feeling that this costume was just that important.