Baby Oil Island
Lip-licking Sanchez was The inductees to the Rock And so Sanchez rises from NEXT WEEK: Sanchez’s
superenthused to learn that the placid world of New Metal has been jarringly
interrupted by a beef brewing between Slipknot singer Corey Taylor
and the pudgy, misunderstood Fred Durst, about whom self-improvement-oriented
Sanchez shall soon make a New Year’s resolution to not make fun of twice
in the space of a single column. Taylor told the crowd at a Slipknot show that
Durst had told his own audience that "Slipknot’s fans are a bunch
of fat, ugly kids." This isn’t the first recent jab at Durst from
another artist–Marilyn Manson called Durst and his army of Durstitos
"illiterate apes." Meanwhile, Durst took a more complex potshot at
Manson during a recent UK tour, saying that Manson’s "…career has
gone in a shambles and he’s alienated his fans, so if he has to say things
like that because he’s very mad at himself, I would forgive him. And Trent
Reznor is in the same fucking boat." Earnest Durst–at whom giggly
Sanchez laughs and laughs when Limp Bizkit guitarist Wes Borland makes
fun of him in oddball ways, such as feigning a faint onstage at the 1999
MTV Video Music Awards right before giving Ricky Martin a spaceman
statuette, filling cooing Sanchez with joy as Durst barely held back his frustration
at Borland’s fuck-it-all attention-grabbing tactic. Capping off his Manson
remarks with a claim to noble sense of purpose, Durst said, with a straight
face, "We’re just here doing what we do and we have nothing to say
about anybody."
and Roll Hall of Fame for 2000 have been announced, and Eric Clapton
is being inducted for the third time, this year as a solo artist–in
previous years his stints in the Yardbirds and Cream were recognized,
and one just has to admire the guy for giving a shit about the city of Cleveland
enough to play such a vital role in pretending that bleak, shit-stain-brown
municipality has any value whatsoever as a tourist attraction. Black Sabbath–a
band that young and stupid Sanchez found out was fronted by Ozzy Osbourne
only after having bought both Blizzard of Ozz and Diary
of a Madman–was passed over; Ozzy issued a public statement this October
asking that Sabbath’s name be removed from the ballot, couching the preemptive-sour-grapes
request in statements like, "We’re a people’s band," "It’s
not voted on by the fans," and "Let’s face it, Black Sabbath
have never been media darlings." Wise, empathetic Sanchez knows that none
of this could possibly assuage the sting of James Taylor’s nomination
in the face of neglecting the grandest musical achievements of a man who, according
to former Mötley Crüe drummer Tommy Lee, once encountered
a line of marching red ants on the pavement, knelt down on the ground, rolled
up a bill and snorted them all the way back to the anthill.
his pillow, switches off the tv, downs a nerve-awakening shot of DayQuil
and cracks his knuckle. And what haunts the mind of dreamy Sanchez as he prepares
to type sweet nothings into the ears of his devoted following? The Conan
O’Brien rerun he was just watching, on which O’Brien quizzed the
leathery Australian bimbo from the cast of La Femme Nikita about an alleged
"artsy" film the lady made during her series’ shooting break–artsy
meaning lots of boobies and moaning, apparently. Upon finding out that the film
was directed by the lady’s boyfriend, Conan asked incredulously,
"So this movie is just your boyfriend’s fantasy life? What’s
his next project, Escape From Baby Oil Island?"
courageous escape from the underwater lair of the squirty-bottle-of-handcream-armed
vicious gang of pudgy girls in Burger King uniforms!