Art Show shines again.
Hardcore Hunga stories rock.
Vinnie Boom Boom Burrata kissed his Fender Stratocaster more than his ex-wife. In his ex-wife’s defense, she was a self-conscious kisser on pure MDMA. Plus, nothing made Vinne Boom Boom Burrata smile more inside than making his Fender Stratocaster cry. Big tits get played out on the same wife compared to copping endless slides down your electrified shaft, which Vinnie could make come to life like no other. BB King had Lucille and Vinne Boom Boom Burrata had Amanda, named after his favorite power ballad by Boston who also wrote his 2nd favorite song ever, A Man I’ll Never Be, which reminded him of his dear pop who died in his arms from fucking Gum cancer, despite giving up dip for Big League Chew ages ago.
Vinnie’s Dad, Roberto, hailed from a fine line of guitar makers in San Marzano Italy known for its olive farms and its fertile breeding ground of Ferrari red glimmery tomatoes that were sweet enough to pop in your mouth off the vine as if they were mother earth’s answer to organic nerd dispensers. After getting his strumming finger cut off by a local mob boss Domnick De-Gutter Grasi, for refusing to pay the protection money for his acoustic guitar making store for European royalty with plenty of free time on their hands to strum away the midday nappy booze under the sun. Because of that, Vinnie was forced to leave Italy for America and move in with his older brother in Staten Island who was an Italian Butcher known for his 100 Year Prosciutto curing hall beneath his shop on Arthur Kill Road.
Roberto became known as the 9 fingered butcher of Staten Island, who’d flip off the spoiled mafia offspring 6 degrees separated from the Gotti family whenever they’d drop by the shop expecting non-stop access to his primo aged pork samplings below the store, which sold for thousands per pound on the open market. Still, Roberto never lost his love of guitar creation and swore to God he’d make a Barolo wine red one for his 1st and only son Vitto Boom Boom Burrata to ensure he didn’t let the Italian Mafia kill off his family line’s gift of heart strumming serenades that put our heart’s together with our maker in one seemingly beautiful harmony.
But now Roberto’s only son, Vinnie Boom Boom Burrata, who was his best friend till the end can’t play his cherished Fender Stratocaster without crying his eyes out for his dearly departed Papa. Vinnie quit his band Shredder after they signed a recording contract with a new upstart record label Wailing Wall of Metal Records, based on the operatic, heart tingly instrumental guitar solo song, Roberto’s Son Shreds. Vinnie’s finger tapping work on Roberto’s Son Shreds was described by Guitar World as, “Getting finger blasted by Eddie Van Halen on your wedding night great.”
Little did Vinnie know, his biggest fan was a kid known on YouTube as Hardcore Hunga Rocks, who was considered pound for pound the greatest little drummer pounder prodigy since Buddy Rich headlined his own Bat Mitzvah at 10, like a young Cameron Crowe on the sticks from Almost Famous.
Hardcore Hunga Rocks tracks down his favorite shredder of all time in hopes of joining forces to make the greatest pop rock metal record Boston never made in the home recording studio Vinnie’s father had built for him before he was born to become the shredding beast of the six string that he could never be since pops fell in love with Led Zepplin and Jimmy Page’s masterful slide guitar work on In My Time of Dying.
Hardcore Hunga Rocks knocks on Vinnie’s door with such force, he knocks the entire door off its hinges in the process. Vinnie, a silky, long haired black stallion emerges from his Electric Playland Studio with a cigarette in hand and says, “Who invited you the fuck in?” Hardcore Hunga Rocks springs up from the marble floor and says, “How the fuck can you afford all marble floors? Your record advance from could’ve been that big? Besides, didn’t you have to give that record advance back after you quit the band to take care of your dad?” Vinnie takes a quizzical puff from his Camel Extra wide and says, “Your Hardcore Hunga Rocks. I’ve seen your drum solos on YouTube. I’ve never heard anyone smash the drums with harder edge than you kid. You should call your band Aftershock for Christ’s sake. Hardcore Hunga Rock says, “I’m not in a band, but I would want to form a supergroup with you. If Jack White and his fake news sister can do it, we can to. Make out with your guitar all you want. In fact, I was thinking we can make a video spoof of the November Rain video and have you walk down the aisle with your cherished Fender Stratocaster while doing a remake of the serially underrated cult classic, Till Death To Us Part by White Lion. ” Vinnie says, “Shit that’s my favorite song after A Man I’ll Never Be.” So, you want to join forces to become a super White Lion cover group?” Hardcore Hunga Rocks says, “When the Shredder Frets has a beautiful tonal ring to it already. Weird Al, I fucked him, I can’t take no more. My Dad was a huge Dice fan to.” Vinnie laughs for the 1st time in years as an incredible warm crash of sea calm washes over him and says, “Fuck Boston and Pete Davidson, let’s make Staten Island stand for something stand out special more than Russian gangsters sipping on espresso drinks in 25th Hour. I sold plenty of blow in the eighties, which paid for my marble laden home despite never touching the stuff. Hunter Biden was the gift that kept on giving my freshman year at Georgetown University.
Do It All Dad unmasks the birth of a Hair Metal Comedian.
The mother responsible for her son developing a near crippling neck condition that required corrective surgery at 2, called Torticollis, where the neck muscles contract causing the head to twist to one side as a result from too much newborn plopping time alone the crib, summoned the gaul to ask her son, whose about to turn 50 years old in his new Victorian Mansion home outside of Saratoga, NY lounging on a money Polo Lounge green Adirondack Chair, overlooking Lake George, “Why would you push your son into Fencing?” The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “Because the sport of fencing needs a metal edge. And your grandson, “Headbangers Baller is just the kid to do it. Plus, Christian Knights slayed Jews and Muslims for centuries because they didn’t wear crosses around their neck. So, it’s time to rock those Limey bastards on their ass like they just got hit by an American made Twister from Kansas City in the shape of Charlie Parker with the colossus wind power to match. Bruce Dickenson, the lead singer of Iron Maiden is a championship fencer yet his nerdy hued, Dungeons and Dragons stylings are no match more for my son’s budding Headbanger Baller Edge. I want my son to be the most famous American fencer who ever lived, who graces the cover of Rolling Stone and Sports Illustrated all at the same time. I envision my son becoming the dreamy child offshoot of John Belushi, Charles Bukowski and Slash wrapped into one. He’ll shred every fencer record to pieces and tear more than his share of hymens in the process. Assuming he identifies with highly addictive heterosexuality puss plowing play. Force =Mass x Acceleration and becoming a world class championship shredder will make my son an indominable force within the business world when he opens his own hair metal shredder fencing line which will be recession proof, because we’re all going to be stuck wearing nappies on our face in post COVID universe gone wild till our last dying breath anyway.”
The Torticollis Survivor Son adds, “Fencing will be more popular in the US than Basketball and Baseball combined after Headbanger Baller Kornbluth adds windmill celebration dances with his fencing sword, throwing all that old school fencing decorum bullshit out the window. Plus, he’ll be loaded from commercial endorsements from the Guitar Store, Bose, Spandex R Us, you name it, so he could afford to pay any fine for inappropriate, hot dogging behavior whenever the flamboyant showboating moods strikes again. Dana White will be inspired to go into the fencing business and make Headbanger Baller Kornbluth the face behind his new billion-dollar behemoth franchise, transforming Octagon rings into enormous steel cage fencing matches instead. Instead of having Michael Buffer in a tux before Fencing matches, boom, “Let’s get ready to rumble”, Dana White will find the new Cherry Pie girl to announce, “Let the shredding begin”, while Kickstart My Heart by Motely Crue blares on the state-of-the-art surround sound speaker system that gives the steel cage tremors of impending despair. I’d push my son into becoming a WWE Wrestler for a living, yet there will never be another Andrew the Giant, nor is he 3rd generation wrestling royalty like the Rock or have a Canadian hockey player dad like Chris Jericho. So, why not become a big fish in far smaller pond, while making the most humongous splash possible? He also plays with collection of lightsabers now more than he does with his cherished Wrestling figures and he owns the original rubber dog toy size Hulk Hogan and Ricky The Dragon Steamboat among many others with vintage WWF wrestling ring I got off ebay to match. Kayne West is worth 6 billion, mostly from his fashion line of sneakers that sell for 1 grand and up ma yet there’s no limited, in demand fashion line for the flamboyant hair metal shredder in us all. I envision a flashing middle F-You, finger logo that’s sporting the inscription of a Kosher Chalef butcher knife on it that says, “Live To Shred”, to slap on his own line of silver spaceman sneakers, ripped jeans and shorts, obviously in every color imaginable except Slayer Reign In Blood Red. He’ll have his own line of studded, belts, necklaces, metal cowboy hats and tang tops to show off his legions of groupies and adoring young male fans how his own line of core exercise work out videos involving jumping off box jumps through rings of fire as Moth Into Flame by Metallica plays at full blast, being responsible for his shredded physique once he steps into something more comfortable for post fencing fight interviews. I want to feed my son’s love for speed. I want my son to maximize his inherent shredding edge like Buckethead, Randy Rhodes and Steve Vai for love of God, kickass metal guitar solo’s and for his metal loving American Dad who pushed him to shred for bread. On a less poetic, baser level, I want my son to be an all-American athlete who gets a fencing scholarship for being the most rollicking, flamboyant, fencing front man of all time while making the sport less overtly nerdy in the process. I want him to be loved and feared like Sonny in the Bronx Tale mom. I want colleges to recruit him in junior high for fencing scholarships, so he can become a Headbanger Baller in life, instead of being a desperate flailing hounder. That’s why I’m pushing my son into Fencing mom.”
Mom says, “Your father thinks a team sport would be better for our grandson like Football for instance. The Torticollis Survivor Son says, “Will be sticking with Nerf football in yard ma. I also don’t like to take advice from fake news hippies like Dad, mom no offense. You’ve lived in Arizona for 9 years and haven’t visited the Grand Canyon once yet, case closed. Also, dad pushing eventual Pee Wee Football on his grandson is another example of him trying to make me bow down to his authoritative opinion, which makes me think he’s the one with brain trauma from feeding his head with too much acid at Woodstock. Because if I bowed down to this belabored, weak ass pitch command request, I would’ve shied away from doing political material during my speech at my younger brother’s wedding, when I said to his old pal from Boarding School, “Cam from Canada, make yourself at home and hit somebody. So, Jim Carrey can paint you as an alt right goon on the loose in Charlottesville, with a Tiki Torch in hand, looking like an angry rejected extra from the Sears Catalog in 89. And that material killed at the Montreal Comedy Festival in 2022, which got me the agent who got me my movie deal for Back To Hebrew School, which bought this Victorian mansion, wave runners for all 3 of my kids and my speedboat Slashing Thunder.”
Mom says, “Why do you hate me so much?” Son says, “Mom, I just hated how you always tried to shred my ego to pieces and cut me down to size in my divine powered pursuit to become a world-famous comedian author/light spreader shredder, who lives to bang out more sheets of electric fueled comedy gold. I hate your arrogance for thinking you get to tell me how to raise my kids because they’re my kids, not yours, especially after your lack of physical play with me as an infant resulted in my Torticollis correcting surgery, from being left to smoosh my face into the crib out of place for serially unhealthy, prolonged periods of time. I hated the way you always tried to make me feel like I was a crazy moron for trusting my instincts and for pursuing work I was good at, which made me feel most kick ass, happy alive.” Mom says, “I still think fencing is a dumb idea. I bet they only offer 2 fencing scholarships a year max.”
Headbanger Baller won the Olympic Gold in Fencing 3 times in a row, shredding every fencing record in the past. Dana White expanded his business empire to include MMA with fencing swords now, in steel cage Octagons with no protective gear required, although Headbanger Baller preferred to show off his shredding edge in the ring, sporting various items from his billion dollar fashion line of ripped jean shorts, tank tops and speed metal belt with his signature middle finger logo, sporting a ring with a Kosher Chalef butcher knife inscription on it that says, “Live To Shred”.
Shredding rocks, especially when you shred perceptions of what you’re capable of achieving in this world whether it’s through individual accomplishment or through coaching your speed addicted seed or not. Shredder’s soar. Shredder’s fly high with the angels like 3 Guitar Attack from Lynyrd Skynyrd on Free Bird. Shredders makes us feel most alive, for doing the rocking out for us. Shredders inspire us to unleash our own solo edge. Shredders make us feel most alive, because they put us in touch with our Sunset Strip strutting, Headbanger Baller inside.