B004FEF6RO EBOK

by Wylde, Zakk

  If you’re too young and can’t physically grow a beard yet, don’t worry. Someday you will be able to, and when you actually can, then the time will come to test your manhood against the mothers, girlfriends, and clean-cut pussyfucks who glare snobbily down their shit-brown noses at you. For these people will entice, tempt, and taunt you to shave your beard and relinquish your power—kind of like what my family does to me. Do not give in, my friends, the OdinForce will always be with you. And once you do cultivate your hairy manhood and you lose your job, and you can’t pay the rent, and Mommy and Dada won’t let you live with them anymore—when you’ve got nothing left—that’s when it’s time to reconsider running into your local marine recruiting center hollering, “God bless the terrorists!” For the minute the marines hear this load of shit, it will be the last words muttered out of your pathetic little mouth—you pathetic little man.

  Note from Zakk: This is the only magazine cover that I ever did where—because of the holiday season and me being in a giving spirit—I included JD in the photo shoot.

  World Tour Survival Technique: Farming Your Chin Spinach

  JUST LIKE THE STORY OF SAMSON AND DELILAH, MY BEARD HOLDS THE power of the OdinForce in its shaggy, dreadlocked twists and turns. It’s come in handy in all areas of my life.

  • An Irish tickler for when I’m in the sack with my wife.

  • A pointer when I’m directing JD to leave the room.

  • A stirrer for my coffee, when I’m not using my schlong.

  • Sometimes I like to wrap it around my own neck and restrict the blood flow while I jerk off. Okay, maybe more than sometimes.

  • A flavor-saver of love for when I want to be reminded of my Immortal Beloved whilst out bleeding on the battlefields of the great Black Label crusades.

  • Preparation for my backup career as Drunk Santa at the mall.

  • A stunt double for John Holmes’s cock in his biographical movie.

  The Talk Box

  BY THE BEARD OF ZAKK

  YO, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU MAY NOT KNOW ME PERSONALLY, but I’m Zakk’s beard.

  Now, ole Zakky boy may have gone all tutti-frutti in Beverly Hills, but I’m still keepin’ it real, a Jersey beard through and fuckin’ through. But just ’cause Little Lord Fancy Boy has gone all Hollywood on us, don’t think that I’m gonna sit here all trimmed and pointy-like and smelling of coconuts. I’m not fluffy, I’m not soft, I’m a hard-core Metal beard and just so you know, yes, if I had a stomach, it would make me sick to live this close to the Dodgers.

  So anyways, nice to meet you.

  Think of me as the pepperoni on the pizza, the extra cheese if you will. When Zakk makes all his crazy faces at the crowd, I’m the one that kicks that shit into gear! Truly freakin’ scary! Imagine if he just puckered up and scowled at you without me! Forget about it—I make this man! And if you think different, I’m gonna have to come out there and pluck out your eyeballs and stick ’em up your ass so you can get a closer look at reality!

  Apologies, I’m a slightly angry beard.

  You see, I’ve been in places that only Jersey beards have been and lived to talk about, and believe you me, it’s not all glitz and glamour being Zakk’s beard. You try it! Have you seen this guy onstage? He’s a fuckin’ slob! He spits all the time. And only about half of that makes it into the sky; I end up with a fuckin’ bath every time he decides to do that. Yo, buddy! I asked for the news, not the weather, asshole!

  A lotta times I’m forced to survive off chunks of everything he eats. And more days than not, I end up smelling like that spot between a woman’s pussy and her butthole. And let me tell you—taint nothin’ pretty about that!

  I live in constant danger, my friends. But I’m a fuckin’ survivor, sharing my stories of survival. The closest I ever came to death was during a video 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 could be in the middle of a fucking guitar solo, walk to the side of the stage, drop trou, and take a shit into a bucket without missing a motherfuckin’ note. And you only thought Dime could come up with brilliant riffs and blistering solos. How’s that for talent? You score 10 points for knowing about Dime’s bucket technique here and another 10 points for knowing that the show must always go on. Nice job, Berzerker. In fact, if you chose “d” and just started reading this goddamn book, then you’re on the List.

  4. You’re in a band and you really want to make it in the music business. You are introduced to a guy, who knows a guy, whose guy knows a guy, who can help your band become successful. In order for him to help you out, he informs you that you have to make out with his three-hundred-pound sister in the backseat of a car. How do you respond?

  a. Simply tell him, “No, thanks, I love cock and balls. And I like it rough and unshaven.”

  b. Pound your beer, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then suck it up and make out with this big fat wildebeest mongoloid troll. The bigger the waistband, the deeper the quicksand. You know what I mean.

  c. Strike him in the throat with the blade of your hand, yelling out something that sounds Japanese but is actually not of any language at all.

  d. Tell him you have herpes, but your bass player will do it. You should also thank him for the wonderful sex with his mother. And ask him to thank her for the salad-tossing during the hand job; she really went the extra mile to make it a pleasant evening.

  Answers:

  a. 5 points. I find that claiming gayness gets me out of a lot of situations these days—like instead of telling my wife that I’m not in the mood for sex, I just tell her I’m gay.

  b. 5 points. This is exactly what I did. I took one for the band. Back when we were kids, this chick mounted me in the back of some beat-up car in the parking lot. If your back and ribs get crushed as much as mine did, give yourself another 5 points, since that’s all you’re gonna get is points. This in no way helped my career, nor my overall self-esteem or physical condition. As this chick sat on me trying to graze upon my face, I knew I had made a mistake, and that mistake resonated through every vertebra in my spine. To this day I still attribute the majority of my back pain not to power-lifting in the Doom Crew Iron Dungeon, but to this very unholy disaster of Titanic proportions. I should have just said I was gay.

  c. 0 points. This is a break-even, because while hitting anyone for offering you their own bloodline is fucked-up, the fact that you used old-school kung fu is awesome. So no points, but because you invoked the spirit of Bruce Lee I’m not going to fault you either. May the spirit of Saint Lee and jeet kune do always be with you.

  d. 10 points. This would have been the correct choice. It’s not what I chose, but I wish I had, just to have the nightmares in JD’s head and not in mine. Oh, the horror. But be sure to thank him for the wonderful sex with his mother.

  5. What is a Black Tooth Grin?

  a. After you go down on someone, it’s the smile you make when your teeth are full of pubes.

  b. A crackhead’s smirk.

  c. A cocktail.

  d. Any smile in Louisiana or that belongs to a Doom Crew member.

  Answers:

  a. -5 points. That’s disgusting. And how dare you talk about my wife like that.

  b. -5 points. That’s disgusting. And how dare you talk about my wife like that.

  c. 5 points. Nailed it. My Black Label brother Dime’s favorite drink was the Black Tooth Grin … A shot of Crown Royal topped off with a splash of Coke.

  d. -5 points. If you were thinking hillbilly here, you actually lose points. Go back to your Deliverance thoughts.

  6. You find yourself in the middle of a Black Label Society mosh pit. As you look around, you realize that there is no escape from the circling chaos that surrounds you. You decide to…

  a. Find the biggest, scariest motherfucker in the pit and punch him square in the face.

  b. Cry, panic, and scream.

  c. Stay in the mayhem and see how well you do.

  d. Pull out your cock and spin it around like a windmill until people clear out of your way.

  Answers:

  a. 10 points. This is exactly how I met and fell in love with my loving wife, Barbaranne. Now the only time I punch her square in the face is with my cock.

  b. -15 points. Stop acting like JD. He does enough of that for all of us.

  c. 20 points. There ya go! You’re in the pit and you haven’t done anything stupid. You may still get your ass kicked, but that’s okay, because you’re not afraid to take a few lumps of sugar with your tea.

  d. 0 points. I have no idea how to assign a score to what you’ve just done. I don’t know if I’m impressed or terrified.

  If you do want to see your scores up on the board, here ya go, from lowest to highest:

  -40 to 0 points… Level: JD—In other words, you’re worthless and weak.
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br />   5 to 20 points… Level: Order of the Idiots

  25 to 45 points… Level: Black Label Brethren

  50 to 70 points… Level: Berzerker

  75 points… Level: Bea Arthur—Order of the Black Label Illuminati

  I didn’t realize Ozzy had a chick in his band. She’s not bad. She kind of looks like Pamela Anderson but not quite as breasty. Although I’m a tit guy, I’d still fuck this chick.

  Whenever Ozzy and I would do these photo shoots and the photographers would ask us to make screaming faces, the Boss would always say, “Look at this stupid shit. People must think we fucking sleep like this.”

  “You mean, you don’t?” I asked Oz. “I thought all married guys sleep like this.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Black Vatican

  And then Odin descended from the skies and showed himself to me. Armored on his black steed, he bade me go forth and conjure from the wells of the damned a mighty fortress to reach into skies shared only by Asgard. Within the walls of this fortress I should set open the Hellfires of the Underworld, whose flames and molten heat I employ to forge the blades for conquest and make ready for battle!

  Deep within the bowels of this formidable stronghold would move fantastical creatures, good spirits and demons alike, all protected by hallowed grounds beneath. Among them, hordes of drunken warriors would congregate in this most holy of battlements and stand witness to the creation of the secret songs of Valhalla itself! Rise, my brethren, rise! For the Gods have called upon us to beseech the heart of Valhalla and set forth a new order. An Order of the Black!

  And in his counsel, Odin spoke of those who would seek to defile the sanctity of this sanctum sanctorum. Of a small and shrewd beast with cloven feet that would soil these holy grounds in fits of shameless rage with its unclean hands. This clever foe would guise itself as an associate of the Order and call itself JD. And I should withal forbear conference with this simple and plain villain, for mine call of duty is lucid. I shall press on with lion heart and emerge from thy sanctuary victorious, bringing unto mankind the glorious and pleasant sounds of Metal!