Cardiac catheterization with gravy contrast
While driving home from the office yesterday evening and listening to the revered public radio institution The World on my local public radio station, I heard a spectacular piece on the herculean efforts of a particular president of the Bolivian Iron Maiden fan club to bring their idols to their homeland for a concert.
First, let me say to The World – This is news? Seriously? Wholesale slaughter in the Middle East, an American presidential election upon which the fate of the world may rest, a political shakeup in Taiwan, a planet cooking itself to death, and you’re reporting – in earnest, to boot – on some douchebag who’s trying to get Maiden to play in some third-world jungle? I don’t care if he’s trying to raise Stevie Ray Vaughn from the dead. This is not news. If I wanted to hear this guy’s “Why Iron Maiden is the wasp’s nipples” manifesto, I’d go look him up on YouTube.
Next, to 37 year-old Bolivian Iron Maiden fan club president Daniel Romano – Iron Maiden? Are you real, or just a composite character sketch of some bad SNL skit? Listen to me closely. Iron Maiden gargles my balls. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all about ‘live and let live’ in matters of artistic taste. You think that Larry the Cable guy is funny? I loathe you, but fine. You think P-Diddy’s music is high art? Whatever. You think that ‘Leave Britney Alone’ guy is a brilliant satirist? Go right ahead. But there are certain artistic views that cross from the gray area of opinion into the harsh black and white world of right and wrong. Maiden completely, indisputably, with the full force of its very existence, sucks, as Shakespeare once put it, ‘more than words can wield the matter.’ Iron Maiden sucks with the same raw, awesome power as a black hole – not even light can escape how bad Iron Maiden sucks. The World, however, is now a close second in my humble opinion.
Figure 1.1: Eddie makes the baby Jesus cry. Iron Maiden’s music makes the baby Jesus cry harder.
But not to worry, Danny Boy. I’m taking up your cause. I have begun the “Save Danny Romero” fund. Once I raise enough money, it will be spent on Danny’s rehabilitation. He’ll get a new record collection, ten one-hour visits with a board-certified cult deprogrammer, a haircut, and a shot at a new life. You’ll forget about The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner in no time, Danny. It’s going to be alright.