A thread for me - ME! - to ask Milky a bunch of questions

[Dark Age 0]

Can you explain everything there is to know about GG Allin to me? I get it, for the most part, and I like some of the music, but still, I feel I'm missing a little something. How much was the real him and how much performance? If you could say anything to him what would it be? Or if you could spend a day with GG, what would you get up to?

 

What's your favourite part of American Psycho, the book and the movie? I noticed you said something about no one really understanding it, except for you - what do you mean by that? Same with Johnny Cash.

 

Ten favourite bands? Ten favourite albums?

[The Niggardly King 0]

As for the guys... anybody black.

 

Just put a blonde wig on, cheery lipstick, and shave all facial hair... and we cool.

[Nighthawk 0]

Can you explain everything there is to know about GG Allin to me?

 

That's a tall order. Well, since you said you get it pretty much, that's good. GG said fuck everything and everybody else, and he did it better than any artist that I know of.

Have you seen Hated? The documentary about him? You (and everyone) should. In it, his drummer, Dino, describes GG as "An extremely outrageous and beautiful person, likes to have fun no holds barred, no limits. If it was up to him, he would do anything he could- and that includes everything- to make himself and others laugh, and he's also a serious social comment on the problems of violence in the human race. See, there's far to much violence, not enough sweetness and that's basically, if you ask me, what his whole act centers on."

 

It's an excellent description.

 

GG swung between narcissism and self-loathing, and many things about him didn't make sense, but that's fine. He was, not for nothing, a spectacular drunk. That'll make anybody erratic.

 

It's very simple, really. "Above all else, to thine own self be true." or to phrase it another way, "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law." [essentially the same concept. One's the up-side, one's the down-side. See there's two sides to every Schwartz.] GG lived it and died it.

 

How much was the real him and how much performance?

 

It was all real. Sure, he didn't roll around in shit on his nights off all the time, but that's one thing that everyone who knew him agrees on: he was the real deal. Dee Dee Ramone learned this when he wanted to play with GG, only to discover that GG was GG 24/7. He quit the band within days.

He made no money, just enough for hospital bills, bail money and booze. You could write to him, he'd send you his albums for free.

 

Another of my favorite quotes about him came from John Wayne Gacy, to the effect of "That GG's a great kid, love him like a brother, but man, if he doesn't stink like the worst, pissiest wino bum you've ever seen."

 

If you could say anything to him what would it be?

 

"Big fan."

 

Or if you could spend a day with GG, what would you get up to?

 

Fuck some whores, get drunk and fight each other.

[Nighthawk 0]

What's your favourite part of American Psycho, the book and the movie?

 

Book:

The Patty Winters Show this morning was Aspirin: Can It Save Your Life? "Jean?" I cry out. "Hello? Jean?" "Patrick? Is that you?" she calls back. "Hello?" "Jean, I need help," I shout. "Patrick?" "What?" "Jesse Forrest called," Jean says. "He has a reservation at Melrose tonight at eight, and Ted Madison and Jamie Conway want to meet you for drinks at Harry's. Patrick?" Jean asks. "Where are you?" "Jean?" I sigh, wiping my nose. "I'm not--" "Oh, and Todd Lauder called," Jean says, "no, I mean Chris--oh no, it was Todd Lauder. Yeah, Todd Lauder." "Oh god," I moan, loosening my tie, the August sun beating down on me, "what do you say, you dumb bitch?" "Not Bice, Patrick. The reservation is at Melrose. Not Bice." "What am I doing?" I cry out. Where are you?" and then, "Patrick? What's wrong?" "I'm not going to make it, Jean," I say, then choke out, "to the office this afternoon." "Why?" She sounds depressed or maybe it's just simple confusion. "Just.. say... no...," I scream. "What is it, Patrick? Are you all right?" "Stop sound so fucking... sad. Jesus," I shout. "Patrick. I'm sorry. I mean I meant to say Just say no, but--"

 

I hang up on her and lunge away from the phone booth and the Walkman around my neck suddenly feels like a boulder strapped around my throat (and the sound blaring from it--early Dizzy Gillespie--deeply irritate) and I have to throw the Walkman, a cheap one, into the nearest trash can I stumble into and then I hang on to the rim of the can, breathing heavily, the cheap Matsuda jacket tied around my waist, staring at the still-functioning Walkman, the sun melting the mousse on my head and it mingles with the sweat pouring down my face and I can taste it when I lick my lips and it starts tasting good and I'm suddenly ravenous and I run my hand through my hair and lick greedily at the palm while moving up Broadway, ignoring the old ladies passing out fliers, past jeans stores, music blasting from inside, pouring out onto the streets, people's movements matching the beat of the song, a Madonna single, Madonna crying out, "life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone...," bike messengers whiz by and I'm standing on a corner scowling at them, but people pass, oblivious, no one pays attention, they don't even pretend to not pay attention, and this fact sobers me up long enough that I walk toward a nearby Conran's to buy a teapot, but just when I assume my normalcy has returned and I'm all straightened out, my stomach tightens and the cramps are so intense that I hobble into the nearest doorway and clutch my waist, doubling over with pain, and as suddenly as it appears it fades long enough for me to stand up straight and rush into the next hardware store I come across, and once inside I buy a set of butcher knives, an ax, a bottle of hydrochloric acid, and then, at the pet store down the block, a Habitrail and two white rats that I plan to torture with the knives and acid, but somewhere, later in the afternoon, I leave the package with the rats in it at the Pottery Barn while shopping for candles or did I finally buy the teapot?

 

Now I'm lunging up Lafayette, sweating and moaning and pushing people out of my way, foam pouring out of my mouth, stomach contracting with horrendous abdominal cramps--they might be caused by the steroids but that's doubtful--and I calm myself down enough to walk into a Gristede's, rush up and down the aisles and shoplift a canned ham that I calmly walk out of the store with, hidden under the Matsuda jacket, and down the block, where I try to hide in the lobby of the American Felt Building, breaking the tin open with my keys, ignoring the doorman, who at first seems to recognize me, then, after I start stuffing handfuls of the ham into my mouth, scooping the lukewarm pink meat out of the can, getting it stuck beneath my nails, threatens to call the police. I'm outta there, outside, throwing up all the ham, leaning against a poster for Les Misérables at a bus stop and I kiss the drawing of Eponine's lovely face, her lips, leaving brown streaks of bile smeared across her soft, unassuming face and the word DYKE scrawled beneath it. Loosening my suspenders, ignoring beggars, beggars ignoring me, sweat-drenched, delirious, I find myself back downtown in Tower Records and I compose myself, muttering over and over to no one, "I've gotta return my videotapes, I've gotta return my videotapes," and I buy two copies of my favorite compact disc, Bruce Willis, The Return of Bruno, and then I'm stuck in the revolving door for five full spins and I trip out onto the street, bumping into Charles Murphy from Kidder Peabody or it could be Bruce Barker from Morgan Stanley, whoever, and he says "Hey, Kinsley" and I belch into his face, my eyes rolling back into my head, greenish bile dripping in strings from my bared fangs, and he suggests, unfazed, "See you at Fluties, okay? Severt too?" I screech and while backing away I bump into a fruit stand at a Korean deli, collapsing stacks of apples and oranges and lemons, that go rolling onto the sidewalk, over the curb and into the street where they're splattered by cabs and cars and buses and trucks and I'm apologizing, delirious, offering a screaming Korean my platinum AmEx accidentally, then a twenty, which he immediately takes, but still he grabs me by my the lapels of the stained, wrinkled jacket I've forced myself back into and when I look up into his slanty-eyed round face he suddenly bursts into the chorus of Lou Christie's "Lightnin' Strikes."

 

I pull away, horrified, stumbling uptown, toward home, but people, places, stores keep interrupting me, a drug dealer on Thirteenth Street who offers me crack and blindly I wave a fifty at him and he says "Oh, man" gratefully and shakes my hand, pressing five vials into my palm which I proceed to eat whole and the crack dealer stares at me, trying to mask his deep disturbance with an amused glare, and I grab him by the neck and croak out, my breath reeking, "The best engine is in the BMW 750iL," and then I move on to a phone booth, where I babble gibberish at the operator until I finally spit out my credit card number and then I'm speaking to the front office of Xclusive, where I cancel a massage appointment that I never made.

 

I'm able to compose myself by simply staring at my feet, actually at the A. Testoni loafers, kicking pigeons aside, and without even noticing, I enter a shabby delicatessen on Second Avenue and I'm still confused, mixed up, sweaty, and I walk over to a short, fat Jewish woman, old and hideously dressed. "Listen," I say. "I have a reservation. Bateman. Where's the maître d'? I know Jackie Mason," and she sighs, "I can seat you. Don't need a reservation," as she reaches for a menu. She leads me to a horrible table in back near the rest rooms and I grab the menu away from her and rush to a booth up front and I'm appalled by the cheapness of the food--"Is this a goddamn joke?"--and sensing a waitress is near I order without looking up. "A cheeseburger. I'd like a cheeseburger and I'd like it medium rare." "I'm sorry, sir," the waitress says. "No cheese. Kosher," and I have no idea what the fuck she's talking about and I say, "Fine. A kosherburger but with cheese, Monterey Jack perhaps, and--oh god," I moan, sensing more cramps coming on. "No cheese, sir," she says. "Kosher..." "Oh god, is this a nightmare, you fucking Jew?" I mutter, and then, "Cottage cheese? Just bring it?" "I'll get the manager," she says. "Whatever. But bring me a beverage in the meanwhile," I hiss. "Yes?" she asks. "A... vanilla... milk shake..." "No milk shakes. Kosher," she says, then, "I'll get the manager." "No, wait." "Mister I'll get the manager." "What in the fuck is going on?" I ask, seething, my platinum AmEx card already slapped on the greasy table. "No milk shake. Kosher," she says, thick-lipped, just one of billions of people who have passed over this planet. "Then bring me a fucking... vanilla... malted!" I roar, spraying spit all over my open menu. She just stares. "Extra thick!" I add. She walks away to get the manager and when I see him approaching, a bald carbon copy of the waitress, I get up and scream, "Fuck yourself you retarded cocksucking kike," and I run out of the delicatessen and onto the street where this

 

Movie:

 

[Nighthawk 0]

I noticed you said something about no one really understanding it, except for you - what do you mean by that? Same with Johnny Cash.

 

I believe I was probably referring to the people involved in the discussion at the time. Likely the idea the American Psycho was all in Bateman's head. Foolishness. Or how everyone pretended to care about Johnny Cash right after he died.

 

Ten favourite bands? Ten favourite albums?

 

Oh, it's nothing concrete, but bands, let's say...

 

Guns 'N' Roses

Motorhead

Motley Crue

Monster Magnet

Throbbing Gristle

Dethklok

Pig Destroyer

Bathory

My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult, and...

Current 93

 

Albums...

 

Appetite For Destruction

Spine of God

Blood Guts and Pussy

Me and My Brother

The Head on the Door

It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back

Master of Reality

Hunky Dory

Doggystyle

Transylvanian Hunger

[Copper Feel 0]

You listed Spine of God twice! My mind won't be able to rest until you make what the 10th album is clear. I'm waiting.

[Nighthawk 0]

My error. I've corrected it with the Ying Yang Twins' Me and My Brother.

[Lt. Al Giardello 0]

Who's your top 10 favorite rappers, dead or alive?

[Lord of The Curry 0]

Does people fawning over you on this board ever get old? Or is it just a consistent ego-stroke?

 

(Please be aware I'm not hating here. You just seem to be one of the more talked-about dudes aroud here.)

[Cran Da Maniac 0]

 

If you were a tree, what tree would you be?

[Nighthawk 0]

Who's your top 10 favorite rappers, dead or alive?

 

No order...

 

Biggie Smalls

Snoop Dogg

Eazy E

Kool Keith

Del TFH

Shock G

Trick Daddy

Eminem

Slick Rick

Ice Cube

 

Does people fawning over you on this board ever get old?

 

No. My ambition is always to be a great entertainer, and growing up one of my greatest fears was that I would be boring. It's gratifying to be successful at it, and not only as an ego stroke.

 

If you were a tree, what tree would you be?

 

[Lord of The Curry 0]

That's the Whomping Willow, yes?

[Nighthawk 0]

Correct.

[Cran Da Maniac 0]

Ok, serious question. Given your persona and reputation on this board, what would somebody be shocked to find out about you in real life? (Example: maybe you enjoy crocheting or something)

[Twisted Intestine 0]

That wouldn't shock me at all, I think that would fit right in with his persona.

[Nighthawk 0]

Ok, serious question. Given your persona and reputation on this board, what would somebody be shocked to find out about you in real life? (Example: maybe you enjoy crocheting or something)

 

Well, there's a way in which I wouldn't want anything about me to be surprising. But, in the spirit of your question... I do enjoy gardening when I get the chance to do it. I once voted for GW Bush. I'm currently wearing a sweater vest?

 

My domestic side would likely surprise some, but it shouldn't. I'm a quiet guy, most of the time.

[Twisted Intestine 0]

Hey, I don't think I've ever seen this asked of you. What do you do for a living/How do you support yourself?

[Nighthawk 0]

Construction, but I usually work a series of low paying/low demand jobs to avoid it. I've worked at thrift stores, sporting goods stores, record stores, chain retail, shit like that.

I can make the big bucks doing construction. My dad is in tight with a local contractor, and such. Thing is, I hate doing that. But it's there if I need it, and I suppose it's my primary "job"... I just barely ever do it.

So because I hate doing that, and I also have traditionally drank and screwed around far too much to make a go at any sort of career, so I haven't done that, but as I'm settling down and what not, I may do something more permanent.

 

In addition, I make money on the side doing this and that, if you know what I mean. I've done art commissions, thievery, every kind of scam, sold bone marrow, I'll accept money from my family and my girlfriend is also from a super rich family. I'm confident I will make it as an entertainer eventually.

 

So the short answer is... I'm a motherfucking hustler.

[Lt. Al Giardello 0]

Are you thrilled that Battlenuts is back?

[The Niggardly King 0]

that's just how us hustlin' niggas, roll!

 

 

[Nighthawk 0]

Are you thrilled that Battlenuts is back?

 

Not really. He's like a dumber version of Marney, which is fun for a while, but as long as he keeps to himself, should be fine.

[Psycho Penguin 0]

What's your favorite genre of movie, and what is your favorite movie?

[Nighthawk 0]

What's your favorite genre of movie, and what is your favorite movie?

 

Good question! I'm such a film nut, it's difficult for me to commit to anything.

 

I don't have a favorite genre, I like it all, but I would say I'm probably the most tolerant of horror... that is, I put up with the most crap from them.

 

For the longest time, I said my favorite movie was Texas Chain Saw Massacre... and maybe it is. Actually, I think movies attain a certain level of greatness, and that's it. They're perfect, and there are many movies that tie. But when I ask myself if I had to pick one movie to watch over and over again, it absolutely would not be Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

 

It is, probably... O Brother Where Art Thou?, or Ghostbusters.

[BruteSquad_BRODY 0]

Favorite Charity?

[Nighthawk 0]

Fuck charity. Didn't nobody give me shit.

[Angle-plex 0]

If I was a loser, what advice would you have. (P.S. I am a loser)

[Richard 0]

Who's your all time favorite wrestler and why?

[Lt. Al Giardello 0]

Whats your favorite achololic beverage? Also whats your favorite brand of beer?

[Nighthawk 0]

If I was a loser, what advice would you have. (P.S. I am a loser)

 

The most important advice is to stop thinking of yourself as a loser.

 

It's a simple answer, but attitude is pretty much everything here. Like Charles Foster Kane, or Daniel Plainview... successful in every ojective sense of the word, but miserable. Not to go all Fight Club on you, but it really is a matter of changing your perspective.

 

Look at religious people. They're all happy and satisfied. For no reason. It's a placebo effect.

 

You're not retarded. Or crippled.

 

Don't drink as much, either.

 

Who's your all time favorite wrestler and why?

 

Interesting question to answer, because I actually am such a huge fan of wrestling, but in a different way than most anyone here is, that I know of.

 

I'm a big fan of crazy death match wrestlers, mostly Japanese, some Americans, but the fan base here is so retarded that I prefer the Japanese approach. Necro Butcher is my favorite current American wrestler. I also don't really have any "respect" for the business, in the traditional sense, so I appreciate a guy who doesn't buy into all that.

 

Mick Foley is the answer... he was the closest to embodying all the qualities I enjoy in wrestling.

 

I really enjoy watching Jun Kasai as well, but I haven't seen enough of him to say much about it.

 

Whats your favorite achololic beverage? Also whats your favorite brand of beer?

 

Bourbon, I suppose. Once, when I was working in a sporting goods store, a customer complained to someone that I smelled like whiskey, to which they replied "Please... bourbon!" So I guess that's it. I once had an eighty dollar shot. Not worth it. Rageahol, which is Jim Beam and Rockstar.

 

My favorite brand of beer is Suffikator, based on the name alone, but I still haven't had it.

 

Nothing too fancy, but not too cheap, my usual beer that you can get most places is Stella Artois. It's a good default.

 

Otherwise it varies based on occasion/what I'm eating with it.

[Copper Feel 0]

How do you feel about cider? That's my favourite type of alcohol, which sort of ties me to my region.