"Do yourself a favor and never do a Google image search for GG Allin" -Me, to my father
Every Halloween, I like to pick a scary movie, turn off all the lights, and have myself a spooky good time. I make sure I have a pillow or a blankie to hide behind if the proceedings get a wittle too terrifying, and I usually spend the remaining, post-movie hours of Halloween unable to sleep (You know, cuz of all the nightmares and whatever.). It's a Halloween tradition I intend to pass down to my daughter one day. Why roam the neighborhood dressed as a Disney princess or a, I don't know, ladybug or some shit, when you can have a perfectly good time sitting in the dark staring at a television screen full of images that will inevitably haunt you for years and years to come? My wife and I both have jobs. We can buy Quinn candy whenever she wants it. No need to beg the neighbors.
This Halloween, I went in a different direction. Sure, there are plenty of zombie, ghost and sparkly vampire movies out there, but I wanted something scarier. Something real. Something visceral. Something involving an uncooked hot dog and a hooker's anus. This Halloween, I watched Todd Phillips' 1994 documentary Hated: GG Allin & The Murder Junkies.
For those of you who've never heard of GG Allin (i.e. squares), let me bring you up to speed. GG Allin, born Jesus Christ Allin on August 29, 1956, was a punk rock "singer" who was fond of fist fighting his fans during performances; smashing himself in the face with microphones/bottles/anything within arms reach until his head and face were literally drenched in blood; performing in tiny thong underpants; removing said underpants and performing totally nude; attempting to ram random knick-knacks up his butthole while performing; and pooping on the floor of the venue at which he was performing, covering his face and chest with the aforementioned poop, and tossing the excess poop into whatever crowd was left after he had taken the poop initially. He was, in essence, a true Renaissance man. And probably mentally ill.
This man is NOT GG Allin.
GG Allin was a rare breed of "rock star." He didn't tout his philosophy of poop-based rebellion in public and then retreat to his mansion in the Hollywood Hills at the end of the tour. He practiced what he preached, whatever that was exactly. There wasn't a clear endgame to GG's plan, unless you count his promise to commit suicide onstage as a worthy ultimate goal. GG punched, pooped, bled, growled, puked, and strutted proudly, his tiny penis a beacon of punk rock hope for his rabid disciples.
And, boy, did he have some disciples. One in particular, a bespectacled gentleman who describes GG as "God, Jesus and the Devil all rolled into one," recounts a touching story about a backyard barbecue he threw for GG's birthday. GG refused to attend unless this fan could promise to have a woman urinate and/or defecate into his mouth. The fan promised to make it so and promptly invited some prostitutes from a nearby corner to come down to the house and use GG's face as a toilet. One lucky lady agreed, and we get to see it! I don't want to give away what happens, but it is really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really gross.
I know what you're asking: "What about the music?" Well, the music is...um...it's...um...well, you really got to be in the mood for it. I can't say I have a favorite GG Allin song, but "I Kill Everything I Fuck" is pretty catchy:
Oh, that was in no way safe for work. Sorry. I always forget to warn people about that. Look, if "I Kill Everything I Fuck" isn't your cup of tea, there are plenty of other GG songs for you to check out. Songs like:
--"I'm Gonna Rape You"
--"Ten Year Old Fuck"
--"Suck My Ass It Smells"
--"Scars On My Body - Scabs On My Dick"
--"Expose Yourself to Kids"
--"Kill Thy Father, Rape They Mother"
--"Fucking The Dog"
and many, many more!!!
GG Allin seemed like a pretty sad guy. He was filled with a lot of rage and a lot of hate and a lot of heroin at the end. I don't know if he ever accomplished his goal of bringing the danger back to rock-n-roll - the continued popularity of Train seems to prove otherwise -- but I guess he touched some people. Usually with his fists. Or his poop.