Would you bid money to own something that was famously physically abused? If someone were to auction off one of Michael Vick’s pit bulls, would you pay good money to own one? Or the little toy car that spent the afternoon in Ryan Dunn? Or if you could bid on any random square inch of Jenna Jameson. Would you do it? Of course not. The varieties of abuse inflicted on those things would only bring you sadness. You would sit them in a corner and try to forget that they were there but every so often you’d glance over and see them filling you with an overwhelming sense of melancholy. The echoes of that former punishment would haunt you until you were either driven mad or forced to finally put that poor Michael Vick dog or Ryan Dunn car or random square inch of Jenna Jameson out of their misery by building the largest bonfire possible and then taking a still burning log out of the fire and beating that object into a collection of blood, plastic and charcoal. You would then spit, turn your back and scoop dirt on the remains using the balls of your feet like a cat covering a fresh turd in the litter box. 

So one has to wonder why anyone would even bother auctioning an object that was the center of such abuse. But for some reason, an organization will be accepting bids for Meg White’s drum kit anyhow. A charity auction is being held for Detroit musician Jim Shaw with items for bid from a variety of Detroit artists, the most notable being Meg White’s drum kit from the Hardest Button to Button video. I guess the thought is that the kit will play on people’s sympathies because for years now we’ve heard Meg torture those drums finding new and interesting ways to avoid a consistent beat at all costs. So some poor sucker walks by and sees that abused kit and maybe they will bid large sums just so they can finally put an end to their pain.   

And if you will remember a couple of days ago when I told you how David Bowie was being coaxed back into his leotard and Mary Kay to play Ziggy Stardust at publicly for the first time since his old coked up, androgynous, Mick Jagger-spelunking days back in the 70s. Both Fatty and I were skeptical, myself going so far as to suggest the only way it was going to happen was for the Coachella organizers to pummel him with Krugerands and Mythreal from the hot barrel of a t-shirt cannon. Well, apparently Coachella organizers weren’t able to even load their t-shirt guns before

Bowie crushed their dreams. As we guessed, Ziggy will not be making an appearance at Coachella with David Bowie going so far as to call the whole thing “poppycock.” That’s right, you heard me. Poppycock. Not fiddlefaddle. Not balderdash or hogwash or mumbo jumbo. Poppycock. But this isn’t the only recent rumor about

Bowie that has turned out to be phoneybaloney. There was also apparently a recent story that Bowie had Twittered that he was working on new material in

Berlin. Turns out

Bowie doesn’t have a Twitter account.    

We have discussed this in the past, but it bares mentioning again. People, when going to a concert, especially one that you’ve spent upwards of 100 bucks to get into, DO NOT get so plastered that you get booted before the first band. It happens almost every Rockfest. Some nitwit gets the day off, drives all the way out to St. Helens, pulls a half rack of MGD out of his trunk and chugs every can in the 20 minutes before the gates open. The guy barely get past the pat-down before a gyser of regurgitated beer explodes from his throat like a park sprinkler, which prompts security to toss his keys in the nearest portapotty and throw his ass back out in the parking lot to scream, cry and claw at the cyclone fences while everyone else enjoys a kickass show. 

Well, there’s a new rub on that old idea which should also be avoided. Don’t drink too much before that big Metallica show, not because you might vomit, but because at some point all that beer that you dumped in your gut is going to need to come back out. Of course you aren’t going to want to walk out during the show to empty your bladder and as we now know from a man in

Boston, peeing on the dude standing in front of you is not a viable option because it will get you booted from the show. Joseph Houston was the man’s name. He didn’t want to miss any of Metallica’s set but the pressure on his bladder was too much for him to bare so he chose the best of both worlds and decided to whip it out and take care of business right there in the pit… on a fellow concertgoer. Security was notified and the guy was bounced. Ah, but that’s not where the story ends. Turns out Mr. Houston was also a cop and decided to flash his badge in an attempt to get back in the show, which didn’t work.

Houston also reportedly called a black Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority officer “Obama.”And Weezer fans, are you already jonesing for new material? If so you probably aren’t a long time fan because anyone who has paid attention to that band for any period of time you know that it can take a while between records. Rivers has to go off to

Japan and be weird for a while until he works up enough material for a new album. But not this time. Apparently we are going to see new material and another tour this year, according to an interview with Rivers over at Weezer.com now. He also revealed he’s been listening to Coldplay and Lil Wayne as of late.

I think we can all agree that the days of the giant summer festival have drawn to an end. Lollapalooza and Ozzfest have both been scaled back from traveling cities of debauchery to single appearances due to rising costs and decreasing attendance. And a lot of the smaller traveling tours have had to skip the northwest altogether due to traveling fees. But it appears that one festival is thus far unaffected, because it has the uncanny ability to play on one advantage. No, it’s not the advantage of causing your clothes to be permanently infused with the stink of arm pits, stale beer and ditch weed. Nor am I talking about the advantage of over-sized women who probably shouldn’t be as proud of their bodies as they appear to be dropping their tube tops and unfurling their breasts like a couple of Glad bags with half-chewed pomegranates in the bottom. No, I’m talking about the advantage of Coachella’s apparently unlimited artist budget. In years past they have played host to Weezer, Nine Inch Nails, Depeche Mode, Smashing Pumpkins, Red Hot Chili Peppers, the reunion of Rage, Prince and Roger Waters. And those were just the headliners. Plus, each show has another 30 to 50 other bands playing at various times over the course of the day, each of whom are getting a several thousand dollars just to show up. And this year appears to be no different. While the rumors that Faith No More were going to reunite at this year’s Coachella appear to be false, as one would imagine considering the “no f-ing way” that Mike Patton has expressed toward that idea in the past, Patton himself will be there along with beat-boxer Rahzel. The two have worked on an album-length collaboration that has yet to see official release, but will probably pop up online either before or shortly after the show. And, of course, Rahzel appeared some Peeping Tom tunes. But that isn’t the big news about Coachella this year, because it seem that their deep pockets have coaxed Ziggy Stardust out of retirement. Rumor has it that Bowie is in talks with organizers to bring back Ziggy for a one-off to perform The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust in it’s entirety. Apparently they tried to get him last year but Bowie turned them down so they got Prince instead. A source told the Daily Star that there’s a chance they will be able to persuade him this year. The source didn’t speculate how that would happen but this reporter would have to speculate that they plan on using t-shirt cannons full of Krugerands and Mythreal that they will fire at him until he submits.

And is there a disease that keeps people from recognizing that right thing to do, or maybe allows them to recognize it but somehow forces them to do the exact opposite. If there is such a disease, I think Rob Zombie has it because in the course of a single news article I can point out at least three things that he is doing opposite of what he should do. 

Apparently, Rob Zombie says he’s going to delay the release of his new album until after he is finished shooting “H2.” He says, ” record’s done and sitting on the shelf waiting to come out, but I don’t want to put it out while I’m shooting ‘Halloween 2′ because I can’t deal with it too much. I’m really excited about it, though.” He went on to say that H2 will begin shooting in March, with the release scheduled for the end of August. Yes, for those of you at home, that’s four months from shooting to final product, which would be fine if he was going to remake the original Halloween 2 shot for shot because their effects at the time consisted of a bucket of fake blood and a spring-loaded knife. But you know the studio’s not going to let him get away with that. And he says that he wants this movie to be more about Michael’s sister, Laurie. Zombie says, “Everyone she knows is basically dead, and she is related to the person that did it all and doesn’t even know who the f*** she is. So it’s really the journey of figuring out who she is.”

No, Rod. It’s the story of an unstoppable killing machine. His sister is just there to scream. 

Here’s something that I think most people can relate to: Buying a house site-unseen for millions of dollars to be used solely as a place to hold extravagant parties for hundreds of people only to finally visit the property long after you’ve signed the paperwork and discover that house that you bought (again, without actually physically inspecting the property or doing any research about the neighborhood yourself) can only hold a couple hundred people as opposed to the hundreds and hundreds you were expecting to be able to sponge off you AND that the streets have parking restrictions, because, you know, the neighbors don’t want to deal with your jackhole friends for some reason.

I know what you’re saying. “Why are you reporting on this since we all go through this ALL THE TIME. It’s like reporting on someone putting cream in their coffee.” True, but this time it happened to a celebrity, who are far more important than regular people and therefore when they aren’t happy with the house they bought site-unseen it’s news. And this time it happened to Slash. He and his wife have filed a lawsuit against their brokers who found the house because it was not suitable for parties, a fact they may have noticed had they actually looked at the house before buying it. The agency said that it was a good location to hold big bashes. Slash and his wife are seeking 1 million dollars in punitive damages from the firm because they think the house is too small. And, because justice MUST BE SERVED to people who misrepresent the size of a house that their clients are too lazy to go look at themselves, a judge ruled that the lawsuit can proceed.

If you’re anything like me, you too would rather get a vasectomy from the spinning and superheated blades of a rototiller than watch Extreme Home Makeover. In the past, I have volunteered to pour soy sauce into open wounds, constructed and wore beehive moon boots and did the splits in the middle of the lane at a Professional Bowling Association tournament to avoid watching that show with my wife. So it should be no surprise that I missed the appearance of Bush’s Gavin Rossdale on the show last night. I was busy flaying sections of skin from my arms and pouring buckets of boiling lemon juice over my head, so I wasn’t able to catch Gavin serenading the family of the boneless kid who needed a new house because the last one was constructed from asbestos dust, black mold, depleted uranium bricks and rattlesnakes. I’m sure it was touching how the boneless kid cried and as the tears pooled up in his concave face, Ty Pennington ambles over for his close-up of sincerity, scoops up little meat bag, cries a little into the camera and wipes his tears off on the little blob’s floppy arm flaps. No doubt your wife was bawling right along with little boneless Timmy while Gavin Rossdale sang some song about having sex with Gwen Stefani. Well, if you were washing your eye with Tabasco sauce and fire ants like me, you can still catch Gavin’s performance of “Love Remains the Same” over at ABC.com.

Someone really needs to invent the sarcasm font for print. Just think of how many comments you’ve made via email or message board that were completely misunderstood because your intended sarcasm was not fully conveyed. There you are in some bestiality chat room, because… uhm, you like animals… a lot… and someone offers their prize winning llama to you for your own personal gratification. And you’re all like, “Pfft. Yeah, I’m totally going sex up your llama. Great idea. Genius.” Of course, to the cops operating the sting on the other end reads it more like, “Yeah, I’m totally going sex up your llama! LOL! Great idea! Genius! Get some! Llama-kabobs!” Then you’re spending the next three weeks going door to door in your neighborhood explaining that while you are technically a sex offender, there is a very slim chance that you will in fact sexually assault their pets so they can totally feel safe in letting their cats roam free, and if they ever need someone to walk their dogs that you’d be happy to do it. REAL happy.

This sort of misunderstanding happens more than you’d think. And that’s why I’m wondering if maybe it was a matter of a sarcastic tone not being conveyed through text when Chris Fehn of Slipknot suggested that his band would one day be bigger than Metallica. Chris said, “I think we’re going to overtake Metallica, We’re going to overtake any band that sells out soccer arenas in Europe. We’re going to do it. We’re the last chance as far as the world goes. We haven’t even made our ‘Black’ record yet. Wait until we do that. It’s over, dude.”Don’t get me wrong, Slipknot are definitely one of the larger bands in the rock and metal scene but I doubt they will ever overtake Metallica in any category other than the fright-mask hall-of-fame, although Lars Ulrich’s ugly mug could probably give them a run for their money in that category as well.

Ahhhh, whores. And not just whores, but skanks, skeezes, tramps and sluts. They really do make the world go round. I mean, they make it wobble on its axis a little as well because of the added weight stapled to their chests. And is there anything more uniquely American than a bunch trailer whores with Zip Lock bags full of seawater stuff in their chests slap-fighting for the attention of a rock star that plans to treat them the way a teenage boy treats his gym socks? The answer is no, there is none more American. And the only thing better than the slap-fight is the inevitable call to the EMTs when someone pops an implant. And that’s apparently what happened on a recent episode of VH1’s Rock of Love Bus. The show, as many people know, follows a grip of heavily made up but underdressed skanks competing for Bret Michaels’ attention. During one of the challenges one of the bimbos on the show fell face first on the ice during a hockey challenge. Like a fallen soldier on the field of battle she raised her hand and called for a medic claiming, “I popped my frickin’ implant!” An EMT addressed the situation and asked if the skeeze in question had saline or silicone implants, the difference being a cool drink of salt water for your blood stream and the other being an agonizing, cancerous death at the hands of a gelatinous, sand-based goo clogging her arteries like a bucket of Play Dough in a toilet bowl. Unsurprisingly the woman had no clue. Apparently it wasn’t a life or death situation because later in the show she was lopsidedly swinging around a stripper pole. Stay tuned for the very special cancer ward death bed episode of Rock of Love Bus later this season!