TNM Review: IWRESTLEDABEARONCE - Ruining it For Everybody

You will never love hating something, so much.

I sat atop a grassy hill, enjoying the sanctuary of a solitary maple's shade as a welcome escape from the summer heat. What began as a balmy morning quickly turned into a punishing afternoon, as winds cleared the skies of cloudy comfort, leaving the sun to aggressively gaze upon the land, unsubdued. My denim-covered bottom lay firmly planted on the checkered bed sheet we awkwardly spread across the ground. Atop it, along with yours truly, were various Tupperware containers, baskets, and dishes that held within, her determined kitchen-based efforts. I'll never admit out loud that she wasn't the greatest cook in the universe, but the bashful smirk that graced her face every time she watched me eat the meals she prepared for me, was the most luxurious taste a man could ever hope to enjoy.

In the eager anticipation to enjoy a picnic with one another, we had forgotten to bring along the main course from our vehicle's trunk. Despite my strong offering to personally do so, she assured me that she was perfectly capable of going back to the car to get it herself, and seemed insistent that I just sit there and relax. This was our first time ever doing anything like this, and she wasn't doing much to hide that she wished for everything to be perfect. Her intention to assure that I enjoyed myself to a degree where I would take her to do it again, was as clearly defined as the tattoo ink beautifully etched across her chest. So there I sat, awaiting her return. Left only to my thoughts and the iPod that withheld my bleak destiny. With pessimistic expectations, I began the first track, "Next Visible Delicious". Even on a softer volume, it blared through my ears with headache-inducing vigor; every note, riff, chorus, bridge and lead break carefully constructed as if it was done with the intention to personally upset me:

As much as I looked forward to pretending to enjoy the clumsy delicacies she prepared for me, I couldn't possibly do it now. My appetite was lost.

I felt myself jump out of my own skin as two soft, petite hands suddenly covered my sight, only to breathe easy the moment I realized who they belonged to. "Guess who?" She cooed. I didn't hear her coming with the aural assault drilling into my cranium, and was taken completely by surprise. She released my eyes, and I turned on my knees to face her. When I pulled the headphones from my ears, she immediately recognized the "music" I was listening to as her own, and her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink.

"Oh..." she uttered, her pessimism towards my opinion was painfully apparent. "So, what do you think so far?" 

My inability to speak right away was answer enough for her. She looked away from me and placed the large dish on a vacant area of the sheet. Busted. I could pretend to enjoy the fruits of her labor in many different regards, but this was different. As a music critic deeply in love with a musician, our paths were destined to cross in such a manner, and I always knew it wasn't going to be pleasant. After all, I have my heavy metal integrity to uphold. She is fully aware of this fact, but could do little to hide how hurt she was. 

"Krysta" I spoke her name to her softly, assuringly, while placing my hands on her fair-skinned shoulders. "You know this isn't anything personal. This is just the kind of person I am, this is what I do. You knew what to expect coming into this." She nodded, biting her lip. I couldn't help but despise myself for ever hurting her feelings. "It's just that - well - Break it Down Camacho is like the worst song I have ever heard. What were you thinking?"

My muse, my flame. 

She chuckled off her emotions and shrugged. My heart warmed at the sight of her gorgeous smile once again. It never ceased to amaze me how well she could roll with the punches. Performing music such as hers, it must have become like second nature to her."I know, I know." She replied with a sniff and another forced laugh. "Well, go easy on us would you, please? The guys and I worked really hard on that album."

"Be that as it may," I started, "I might be your beau, but I am still very much a metal elitist. The very concept of even enjoying a song such as "You Know That Ain't Them Dogs' Real Voices" would be outright blasphemy for a man in my position."



"I know this." She replied. "I would be lying if I said it wasn't what I find most attractive about you."

The lust in her eyes did little to falter my tirade. "Why are you guys singing like Elvis over surf music in the middle of that song? It's either Elvis or Danzig, and it's not funny. I just don't know what to think anymore. And that music video? Christ, who even are those people?" She picked a single, young daisy from the ground and ran it's pedals across my lips, silencing me immediately. She batted her long, dark, eyelashes, pursed her lips and let out a long, calming "Ssshh..." 

There was simply no way I could ever forgive this musical tragedy she had created. It would go against everything I've ever worked for in my life. It would tear me apart by every fiber, as a lover of true music. And yet, I loved her as well. Although I hadn't admitted it out loud to her or myself quite yet, she was my everything. I didn't want to lose that. In order to salvage the rest of our evening together, I decided against pressing it. I put the iPod aside, and began helping her set up plates and silverware. 

She couldn't help herself however, her female brain biologically wired to be incapable of ever dropping anything. "You know what, Bren? It's actually fine. I know you don't really mean anything you say on that page. Say what you want, I'm sure it will be really funny!" I miss the plate I was scooping her green bean casserole onto and it lands on the sheet with a splat. "Come again?"

"I know the whole page is satire. It's written as a dialogue on all of those closed-minded heavy metal purists that just aren't capable of enjoying music anymore." I grab some paper towels and clumsily try to clean up the mess I made, doing my best to ignore what she's telling me. Has she really been under such a ludicrous impression all this time?

A  forbidden love, growing from opposing scenes of the musical spectrum. They just wouldn't understand.

Despite her naiveté, I was overjoyed to see that she was in a pleasant mood again. I decided strongly against correcting her. I've always been fully aware of the fact that any relationship built around lies is certainly a doomed one, but how on Earth could I help myself? I would tell the biggest lies just to see that perfect face smile. "Well Ms. Cameron," I facetiously title her, much to her obvious delight. "I will say that you sing beautifully on this album, when you're not shrieking like a cat. You seem to do leaps and bounds greater with your voice than before. Especially in the track, This Head Music Makes My Eyes Rain. There are also some catchy melodies, here and there. It doesn't mean much, but in that regard, nicely done, mad'am." 

She blushes furiously and turns away from me, adjusting her black, plastic-rimmed glasses with one hand, whilst handing me a plate of her specially prepared chicken pot pie with the other. I was overcome with my feelings for her, whisked the dish aside and I firmly grasped her by her heavily tattooed arm. As I pulled her towards me, our eyes locked. Her dazzling brown eyes shimmered as they gazed deeply into mine. "No matter what happens, or what I say..." I whisper softly to her. "We will always be friends right?"

"Friends?" She replied with a soft smirk.

"You know what I mean..."

I closed my eyes and my heart fluttered with hot anticipation for what was about to occur. I leaned in close, my lips searching for the soft taste of her lip gloss and velvety tongue. There was no one else out here except us, and there was no telling how far this would go as our passion for one another burned savagely along with the mid day summer air. Suddenly my eyes open wide and I push her away. "Whats wrong?" She stuttered, taken aback by my sudden retreat from her grasp.

"Who is your synth player?"

"What?"

"Who the fuck is your synth player? I've never heard such over synthesized bullshit in my entire life. It is like the backbone of your entire musical structure! Yet, whenever I see you guys in music videos, photo shoots, or playing live, there is no keyboard player to speak of! What the hell is going on here? Where are we? How the hell did we even meet? You're from Alabama for God's sake!"

Drummer, Singer, Guitarist, Guitarist, Bassist, Invisible Keyboard Player

After my inquiry, it was at this point I realized that IWABO's lead vocalist, Krysta Cameron was a giant tyrannosaurus rex with perky breasts vomiting lava. The song Gold Jacket, Green Jacket starts whirring and whistling with obnoxious techno beats and generic chugging riffs. "Anal beads shit!" I hollered, trying to flee. Our picnic was totally ruined by lava and t-rex stomping. From the horizon appeared grand wizard of true metal Ronnie James Dio riding atop an armored Tiger's back. "LOOK OUT!!" He hollered, as he fired golden arrows into the eyes of the lava-hurling dinosaur. It's gorgeous breasts swung to and fro violently, as it was felled. It then viciously exploded into green liquid that tasted a lot like pineapple, and I couldn't stop drinking.

"Hey Dio," I shouted over to him. "I can see the tiger's stripes, but is he really clean?"

"Cleaner than your mother." The tiger replied. It was actually Joey DeMaio of Manowar, and Dio was riding around on his shoulders. Awesome. It was at this point that I realized I was having a picnic not on a field, but in fact, a giant version of my middle-school principal's face. He kept screaming my old locker combination at me and trying to eat our picnic food, but it was too high up on his face. What an asshole.

I awoke in a daze. My headphone cord was wrapped around my neck, my iPod was drained of battery, and a quarter full bottle of Maker's Mark glistened in the morning sun. I just reviewed IWABO's newest album Ruining it For Everybody in my fucking sleep, and I'm not really sure if I give enough of a shit to try it again.

Sweet dreams, folks.