Henry Rollins.

Rollins is EVIL! How many times do I have to remind you of this fact? He only dates underweight, socially retarded, self-hating women ("models"). On one record, he boasted of how, when girls don't fuck him, he'll jerk off in their hair-after they've gone to sleep. He hates any sign of weakness. His neck is swollen like it's been stung by a swarm of bees (rule one: never trust a man whose neck is thicker than his head). He faces down walls for calling his pint a poof. He likes metal. All he wears are Speedos and girls hang off them-that's not punk rock, that's cock rock.

His idea of a good conversation-piece is a bench press.

Listen, fuckheads. I'm a music critic, not journalist. Critics criticize. Journalists report hard news. Facts are only reported on by the winners. Go on-define me the truth. Back in England, we had only two slogans for American culture nerds. "If you can dance to it, it ain't music." "If a venue doesn't have seats, it isn't a venue. It's a cattle shed." I am not a journalist.

Answers to my two most commonly asked questions.
(i) Yes, I don't like any fucking music.
(ii) No, I'm not writing a fucking book.

©Everett True 1998.