I’ve just come home from a long workout at the gym, the sweat still
making my frosted hair stick to my broad, manly forehead. I flip the
lights in my tastefully decorated loft, grab a glass of pomegranate
juice, and head to the shower. I’d love to have a little music to
relax, so I flip through my collection. I’m in the mood for something hard and penetrating this evening… let’s see. Here’s what the doctor ordered – “Angel of retribution” by my close personal friends in Judas Priest.
As the water heats up, the unmistakable wail of my man-god, Mr.
Robert Halford, fades in and the first track begins. Judas isn’t the
only thing rising, though – the bathroom heats up and steam fills the
air, only partially obscuring my chiseled frame as I strip out of my
soggy leotard. The drums and double bass kick in and pound me into
submission, mmm, just the way I like it. An excellent guitar solo snaps
me from my reverie, and I jump into the spraying stream.
“Judas rising” ends on a high note, and I miss most of “Deal with
the devil” because I’m shampooing my highlighted locks. Still, great
chorus that gets the blood pumping throughout my body. Plus, lines like the below are right up my alley:
When we don the leather
And the whips and chains
Nothing matters more
We can’t be tamed
Yes Rob, you and I cannot be tamed by this repressive society. Not
one iota. As I’m contemplating my complex identity and preferences that
run counter to moral rules based upon religious doctrine, the low,
bassy strains of “Revolution” pump through my speakers. This sounds
like something that modern Stone Temple Pilots or Guns ‘n Roses would do
if they were any good, which they’re not. This track makes me grind my
well-defined manpillows up and down under the showerhead, and boldly
let the water trickle down to where it has trickled many times before.
“Worth fighting for” is not worth listening to, so I spend the
duration of this song absentmindedly stroking my sixpack abs. Just as
my already stretched attention span is about to snap, a slurping,
sucking noise makes my little ears perk up. At last, the double bass
and low, violent guitars return and “Demonizer” is born in all its
glory. From the excellent verses, to the catchy chorus, to the multiple
guitar solos, and the AMAZING wails that
close this epic – everything fits right into place. Also in place is my
right hand, frantically massaging my purple-headed love dolphin into
wet, soapy ecstasy. I manage to hold back, however, because if I
thought the Priest was done with me, I’ve got another thing coming.
“Wheels of fire” rolls over me without creating much of an
impression, but I make use of valuable time by calming my overloaded
nerves and plucking my eyebrow and nostril hair in a non-fogging shower
mirror. “Angel” is a beautiful ballad that makes me cry every time.
But does crying in the shower, or in the rain, really count as crying,
since no one can tell? As the guitars switch from acoustic to electric,
I take the broad, warm, black bottle of bodywash and probe myself, the
sinews in my bulging arms straining. Yes, angel, wrap me in your sad
wings and take me far away.
The bottle emerges from my nether regions with an audible pop,
and “Hellrider” again sends me into a frenzy of headbanging. The
shower water rolls down my pronounced pectoral muscles and my green eyes
are closed tightly, feeling every rhythmic vibration. The love dolphin
swims eagerly in the foam, ready for relief….
“Eulogy” again brings me down from the precipice. Thank god,
because I know what’s next. At first, I laughed at “Lochness,” but now I
realize it is a slow, beautiful, stirring epic not only to the monster
of the Scottish highlands but also to any other big, beautiful, wet
monster that lurks deep down within or inside of us. Your secret is safe with me, Nessie. With this final thought I can’t hold back any longer, and the Tijuana toothpaste gushes forth to swirl lazily down the drain.
At last, the final mysterious, utterly druidic and emotional moment
of “Lochness” fades out. I brace myself against the wall of the shower,
shaking uncontrollably in pure pleasure. Just then, I hear the door to
my loft open, and a familiar English-accented voice hails me. “Hallo,”
he calls, and I can just picture his mustache twitching as he catches
the odor of my freshly washed body. “Come on in, the water’s fine,” I
call back, lathering myself up. Sure, listening to “Angel of
retribution” alone is fine but it’s nothing compared to having a partner
to “headbang” with. Come to me, my bald god, I’m ready to be
7.5 let’s not even talk about what happens when I watch the accompanying DVD out of 10.