Home Failing At Craigslist Failing At Craigslist: You Can't Handle The Metal.

Failing At Craigslist: You Can't Handle The Metal.


If you’re in a band and looking for a no-nonsense, hardcore metal ax-man, Craigslist has found you the match eHarmony didn’t have the flaming horns for.
He answers to no one, unless you’re a band that might be interested in, you know, giving him a shot and stuff. Really, though, would you be up for jamming? (He’s got some wicked licks. It’s totally, like, Children of Bodom, but, I mean, shreds like their earlier albums. Before that production value crap. Are you free this weekend? No, really, he’s asking.)
He doesn’t break because he refuses to bend, unless you’re, like, cool and get it and sh*t. I’m mean, that’s his only main objection, really. People just don’t get him, y’know?
I mean, he’s Chuck Norris with six strings (or, honestly, this could be the last seven-string defender) and an overpriced amplifier that he got a super deal on at Guitar Center before he moved up.
He is Animal incarnate – just, less muppety and probably bald. But with a goatee that totally makes up for it in an unavoidably savage, “you’ve gotta be f’in kidding me, bro” kinda way that he’s pretty sure Dave Mustaine would be all about.
Meet Alaska’s most metal Craigslist fail as he advertises his abilities to potential suitors:

I do NOT play to a click track or backing tracks and GO SCREW if you think I’m gonna “tone it down a little, bro” so you can piddle away on your stringed sissy box. I WILL NOT play hotel cafe and don’t take direction from ninnies who live in their f–king parents basement and whack off to dreams of hanging with Jack Johnson and rapping about his “process”, you piece of sh-t. I am a real mother f–ker with balls of steel and have a Guitar that loves to be as—-ked mercilessly from behind and I need to join a band who understands that stage-sex is part of the f–king game, dude. So when I’m f–king the sh-t outta the strings, you can’t be the guy in the corner beating your limp, taffy d–k wishing that you could stick your d–k in too, NO! You get that d–k hard and f–k the stage with me, p–sy boy. I’m so sick of stealing the show and would really love to meet some real sons of f–king b—hes who aren’t afraid to use a sweat band for its intended purpose: wiping off f–king sweat, c-m, groupies, p–sy juice, blood, etc.
Do not write me for reasons of sass because I will FIND YOU and shred your f–king face with my S–T-STORMING GUITAR GODLINESS!
Also, be jealous of my six pack, pansies!

Bravo, I say to you, sir. Sh-t-storming, string-f–king, “won’t tone it down, bro,” dude rocking a presumably aluminum-based six-pack and questionable bedside manner – I see bright things in your future. Mostly because everything looks really bright when you wake up after deeming it appropriate to stage-f–k your guitar because it’s, like, “just part of the game, dude.”
I’m sure the judge will push for leniency. If he doesn’t, he’s just part of the system anyway, man. Stupid system.
Rest assured, there are plenty of drunken, middle-aged musicians falling out of Iron Maiden concert porta-potties, while still singing along because “NOTHING WILL HOLD ME BACK FROM A GOOD TIME,” dying to wax vintage with you over a pint of “Are you guys really still trying?” And plenty of their ex-girlfriends, liver-deep in Monster and Jagermeister, are willing to teeter atop their valley bar stools, squint at you, and try to see their 80’s reflection while pretending you’re 80’s-Bret Michaels. Or, at least that dude who kind of looked like an older, uglier, beef jerky version of him who played the state fair. Either way, hi-five, amiright?
Live that dream. Never give up. Never surrender.
And thank you for sharing.
666 metal head full add edited