Bringing Metal To The Children: The Complete Berserker’s Guide to World Tour Domination. Rob Zombie
shoot Zakky boy did with Ozzy for a song called “Dreamer.” Sharon Osbourne put a fuckin’ hit on me and told Zakk that he had to shave me off! Thankfully, Rob Zombie, the director of the video, came to my rescue. I heard Sharon say, “Doesn’t he look silly with that thing? He needs to shave it off right now.”
“No, I think it looks cool,” Rob said, defending me. “What’s wrong with having a beard?”
That was a close one. Sharon was looking for backup to take me out, but she got the opposite reaction from my brother Zombie. Actually, it’s me and Rob’s beard who are the greatest of pals. We’ve been catching our boys’ whiskey drool for years now, and we back each other up.
Soon after, Zakk trimmed me into a much more Metal beard than before. I lived on to fight another day, my friends, standing proud as the most Metal of all facial hair.
By the way, I’m also good friends with Kerry King’s beard. Don’t try any funny shit! You don’t want the two of us comin’ round, ya hear me!
So remember, beards are for growin’ and furginas are for mowin’! Good night, motherfuckers, and all hail the almighty Metal beard!
Note from Zakk: Father Eric wrote this. I had no fucking part of it at all. He thought it was funny. I really don’t see any humor in it, but we left it anyway. I mean really—who gives a fuck about my stupid beard? You know when you go to the movies and there’s a part in the movie that really sucks and you wonder why they left that part in the movie? This is that part. Hey, Father Eric, maybe you can show this little ditty to your imaginary girlfriend while you’re showing her your vintage Star Wars dolls—you truly are a fucking idiot. Hopefully we can rebound from this horrendous part of the book. Remember, this was your idea. By the way, you’re not funny and neither is this section.
True Rocker Test
THIS RIDICULOUS BIT OF BULLSHIT CAME ABOUT ONE DAY WHEN MY buddy told me, “Oh, you’ll spot my friend, he’s a true rocker.”
True as opposed to false rocker?
Okay.
Whatever the fuck that means.
So we got to talking about what really constitutes being a true rocker. I love listening to my Sabbath and Zeppelin albums while throwing back a couple of cold beverages. You know, while cramming an empty beer bottle up my ass and sitting on my washing machine during a spin cycle—my cock in one hand and a beer in the other. Which begs the question: Does this classify me as a true rocker or just a guy who loves having bottles stuffed up his ass?
This is where we test your instincts to see if the blood of the Berzerker flows freely through your veins or if you need a little work in the Department of Heavy Metal.
Your answers will determine whether or not you are truly Berzerk and should keep reading, or if you are merely a Viking infant in need of a dipey change. Those of you whose scores reach into the clouds where Odin himself resides can refer to yourself around the house as a true Berzerker and command thy family to address you only with your Berzerker name. Around my house, I won’t even speak to my family unless they first address me as Godred Crovan, Victor of Sky-Hill and Ruler of Man and the Isles. And now that I think about it, that’s probably why nobody speaks to me unless it’s time to feed the dogs or take out the garbage.
In pure Black Label fashion, we’ll use the honor system here—so keep your own score and be honorable, motherfuckers. We’ll start with an easy question first so you can get the hang of it.
1. Who is the lowest bloodthirsty, money-grubbing vulture in the music business?
a. My manager.
b. My agent.
c. My promoter.
d. My loving wife.
Answers:
a. 10 points. Bingo.
b. 10 points. You are correct.
c. 10 points. Nailed it.
d. 0 points. I’m God-fearing and wife-fearing as well. You gotta be out of your fucking mind if you guessed “d.” Remember, you lay down to rest each night next to your wife . . . and at some point you’re going to fall asleep. This leaves two things not in your favor: a pissed-off wife and sharp objects in the home. Always remember something a priest actually told me when we exchanged our vows—“Son, the girls don’t like to be disappointed.”
2. How often should one brush their teeth on the road?
a. Twice a day.
b. Once a day.
c. Usually every day, but if I’m on the road, I don’t mind skipping a few days. Just suck off a guy who’s been on a healthy diet of broccoli and cauliflower.
d. What the fuck is brushing your teeth? You gonna ask me if I shower too?
Answers:
a. -10 points. Have you been paying attention? (It’s simple: I write, you read.) This book is about Metal Viking debauchery, not overzealous ways to manage good hygiene!
b. -5 points. You’re probably taking this test with your girlfriend, and she’s answering the questions for you and helping you keep score. You pussy.
c. 10 points. Now we’re talking. People will back away from you either because of your smelly breath or because you’re out sucking guys off.
d. 10 points. Pure Black Label fashion, brother. On one tour I went seventy-seven days without a shower or brushing my teeth. Of course, when my wife caught up with me, she hosed my ass down before laying a finger on me. True story—I recall one time when my cock and balls got to the point of smelling like a rotten fish market. I dropped my trousers, Barb was about to go to work on me, and she actually gagged from the stench of rotten tuna and salmon and said, “I’m not going near that fucking thing until you shower.”
And I explained, “But I’m a hardworking man.”
She calmly replied, “No, you’re a fucking idiot.”
Then I said, “But now we both smell like Chicken of the Sea.”
She said, “I’m done here. Now you can go back to sucking off guys who are on a healthy diet of broccoli and cauliflower, asshole.”
Then I said, “First of all, I never stopped sucking guys off. Just lock the door so the kids don’t come in. I’m gonna jerk off by myself. I love you, my little Chicken of the Sea!”
3. What do you do when you’re onstage and you need to take a shit?
a. Have the band cover for you while you take a bathroom break.
b. Hold it in until after the gig.
c. Wait until the drummer’s solo and then run out to the bus and shit in his bed.
d. Dimebag Darrell’s tried-and-true “bucket technique.”
Answers:
a. 10 points. Although you did just hit the brakes on the show, I’m awarding you a ten-spot for being so bold as to have a thousand people wait while you go blow a fucking toilet up. You fucking septic, you.
b. 5 points. Problem solved. Just don’t shit yourself before you walk offstage.
c. -10 points. We’ve got two problems here: (1) No one shits on the bus. (2) What sick fuck shits in someone else’s bed? This is some fucked-up, GG Allin shit that should have ended when they dropped the last nail in his coffin. God bless GG. That motherfucker literally gave his all when he walked out onto the stage. Nobody ever left a GG Allin show sayin’, “Wow, he really half-assed it tonight.”
d. 20 points. After a sleepless night of drinking his favorite Black Tooth Grins, my brother Dime