47 Year Old Metal Fan Living In Tampa Is Still An Overgrown Edgy 16 year Old!


So there he was. Mr. Dave Warner woke up with his lower back aching on his sagging Serta mattress and prepared to face another day of the miserable life he had created for himself.  He’d always installed himself as the life of the party, but the party was catching up with him. Next month would be his 47th birthday but he was sputtering on fumes just to get there. He woke up in the usual Debbie downer style that he was accustomed to- reaching for likes on social media with self loathing posts. Afterward, he would start by self-medicating with a 24 pack of Natty Ice, then pick up some weed, take a trip to the local dive bar where he might get a few bumps of coke off the local crystal meth dealer in a bathroom, possibly make an ass of himself, and, if he made it home, pass out on the couch.

He rolled his morbidly obese body out of bed and moved sluggishly through the house, gasping for air.  He hobbled over to the kitchen table to take all the medications that he was prescribed. The Prozac and Xanax kept him from falling back into depression. Rounding out his dailies were Metformin for the diabetes, the Lyrica for diabetic nerve pain in his swollen feet,  Prednisone for psoriasis and the Albuterol inhaler to manage the out of control asthma and COPD. He also indulged in  Oxycontin, what with the bulging slipped disc in his lumbar region of the spine spawned from years of not exercising and carrying a mass of weight on his pint-sized frame. Last but not least, he relied on his hormone therapy regimen and thyroid meds to help with his unusually low T levels. With a 5’1″ frame carrying 375 lbs, he had carefully crafted a BMI that would make most physicians eyes go blind upon first sight. He used to be the out-of-control ‘party’ dude and the ‘wild and crazy’ guy who was a ‘rock n roll rebel’. He always said he was going to “shake shit up” with his band Death Wizard. Death Wizard had only played three shows in their entire 15 years of existence, but he still considered the band and his boys his life’s work. These days he was so terribly out of shape that every other week he was convinced he was dying and became a regular fixture at the Emergency Room. Through Medicaid he was able to get the medicine that he needed to prolong his miserable and partying lifestyle.

Dave always knew it was just a matter of time before he found the “right people” to jam with. He was going to get his dream of being famous off the ground and running . He fantasized about sharing the stage with Slayer and Morbid Angel. He wanted Evangelical Christians protesting outside of his shows the way he had seen them protest outside of the Genitorturers show in Tampa in 1995. He imagined going onto the Jerry Springer Show during daytime television and saying outrageous stuff like “GG Allin is God!” and that he “worshiped the altar of rock n roll!!!” while quoting lyrics by The Mentors and Gardy-Loo in a complete manic-like state. He just wanted to get back at all the rednecks and jocks who had made his life hell in high school. He needed to make every girl that turned him down and told him to fuck off regret that they decided to go with healthy, fully functioning guys who had stable careers and made them feel secure. He had to turn the clocks back to keep the party and zany antics going on forever. More than anything, he dreamed of being the dude that NOBODY could tell what to do – he should do whatever he wanted whenever his young heart pleased, even if his heart was beyond clogged and at risk for a heart attack.

It seemed like those dreams were still far away. All he really needed was the right people. Those right people did not include his now retired parents who had owned the same house for the past 40 years. Dave still remembered the day he moved into that house. He was 13 with a head full of hair and a “Mom’s Special” bowl cut that touched the tips of his ears. He remembers wearing a Motley CrueShout At The Devil” tour shirt that he copped from a friend who, let’s face it,  was a fucking poser. Those right people didn’t include his one girlfriend from 15 years ago that he was still brooding over. That break-up was the one which he contributed his years of hard partying and constant self-medication to. Those right people didn’t include his son who was supporting himself and his wife as a plumber and who was planning for a family of his own. He rarely talked to his wife who ringed his ass financially through the past 15 years of child support. Those right people didn’t include his brother who was about to retire from the Air Force with full VA benefits. In fact all the right people didn’t include ANYONE that actually knew him, which was 4 people total. They had all more or less given up on him after numerous attempts to get him the help he needed to get him into a better state of living. Oh sure, he attended the local Everest University located off Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd for computer programming . He proclaimed at age 42 that programming was his passion in life. He thought it was the sure-fire way to get everyone to respect him again and to also get them off his back. He was just trying to bide time. Outside of his failed attempt at trying to have a career in computer programming, his time was well-spent smoking pot, drinking Jaeger and blasting Slayer all hours of the night so that he could piss-off who he referred to as his “faggot” Christian neighbors. Time was well spent making lists of all he wanted to do with Death Wizard. To solidify his commitment, he even went to a local tattoo shop and got a huge anarchy symbol tattooed on his right shoulder. The tattoo artist welched him a good $300 for it and claimed it was a great price. He had never gotten any tattoos before. He did consider getting a barbed wire tattoo around his leg as a way of showing people he was not to be messed with for a whopping $500 price tag. He was still deciding on whether to get that one or not.

He just looked back on this and wondered -where did all the good times go? Fuck it. Today he was going to ‘live it up’ and continue those good times. To hell with the ‘man’!

He started off his productive day by updating the same profile photo on FB that he originally used 5 years ago and posted it three times in a row. Then he posted a status update of  himself- “Tired of being single and feeling that no woman ever wants me”. About an hour later he posted another status update and talked about doing nothing but wanting to “have sex and fuck all the hot young college sluts.” The third status update came an hour later -“Man, I wanna rock n roll all night and party everyday, but I don’t want to listen to faggot disco music and sell-out!” Only two likes for each, but those were from people he called “friends”  he met on the Plenty Of Fish dating website. Two of those friends were females who he had briefly chatted with on the dating website and had long since found mentally and financially stable boyfriends and husbands. 30 minutes after the third post, he updated his status again a fourth time stating how much he hated Republicans and cursed Donald Trump’s name and screamed about how he was going to be stripped of his entitled American benefits. He looked at his Casio wrist watch and then started to get ready for work. He just started working at Burger King two weeks ago but his health made him feel so out of shape. He called into work and when his manager told him he was getting fired, Dave was triggered in thinking it was another person telling him what to do with his life. “YOU’RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE! I HOPE SATAN BUTTFUCKS YOU AND RAPES YOUR WIFE AND FORCE FEEDS YOUR CHILDREN TO EAT SHIT!!!”  He slammed the phone down on the plastic Ikea table. He got up and proceeded to slip on a Slayer shirt he purchased at Hot Topic back in 2005 and put on his baggy, dirty Jnco denim shorts that he found for $5 at a local Salvation Army store- they smelled like senior citizens and moth balls. He put on white socks that came up to his calves and slipped on a pair of shabby all-white New Balance shoes his brother got for him from Sears for his last birthday. He wobbled out of his roach-infested trailer and hobbled over to his beat-up 1992 Dodge Neon. He bought the car for $400 from some alcoholic from the neighboring trailer park last year. He was told it was in “excellent shape” but he was now the proud owner of a car with no air conditioning and an oil leak. Already out of breath, he sat down in the broken driver’s seat, pulled out the Metro PCS LG phone that his parents bought for him and did a Facebook live stream. He told everyone about Death Wizard getting back together for the umpteenth time. He would tell everyone like twice a month but everyone knew he was just saying it for attention.

The music was “going to be a bit on the heavy metal side. Not like that faggot disco music or anything posers listen to.Death Wizard was all that he dreamed about. Outside of Death Wizard, he sang in a band called Dickbutt who sang about “fucking sluts in their butts”. It was nothing more than a crappy Punk band that sounded like a lazy Sex Pistols cover band. Sex Pistols, NOFX, and Rancid were the extent of what he knew about Punk music. He always thought that punk rock music was for posers. As far as Death Wizard went, the music was described as a “heavy as hell metal band”. It was nothing more than an atrocious Metallica/Slayer mish-mash of completely uninspired riffs and nights of partying and drinking Natty Ice from the local Marathon gas station. Song titles include  “You Fucked Us Up,” “I Get High,” “Dick In My Hand,” “You Don’t Know Fucking Shit,” “Fuck Your Goddamn,” “Bullshit I’ve Dealt With In My Life” and the little ditty about ‘fucking sluts up their butts’ which he was still trying to give an appropriate title to. He was a local legend and important to the Tampa Bay metal scene in his own mind. He had tried to attract a local musician who was in some semi-famous death metal band from the 90’s, but after the gentleman dealt with Dave’s shit for about two weeks he gave up. He saw Dave as just another white trash loser douchebag from one of the various trailer parks in the area and made fun of him whenever he updated his status on Facebook.

Man, I really can’t stand some people. Those that tell you what to do with your life. Those that try and think they know what is best with you and all they do is hold you back“, he slurred through his live post for fifteen minutes. He put his cell phone in the corn-syrup stained middle console drink holder and drove over to another trailer park a few minutes away from his. He pulled up to a mildew stained double-wide that was similar looking to his own. He met some guy that he drove from the county jail two weeks ago. The guy had hitched a ride from him outside of a Circle-K at 4:00 am. In return for the ride post-central processing, the shady-looking guy promised to sell him the best weed he could find in all of central Florida. Dave KNEW that smoking weed was the best way to control his fluctuating mood swings and daily bouts of depression. He handed Shady Guy the money and the guy said “We’ll smoke this shit at the bar dude!” He was broke and his rent was due 3 days from now. It didn’t matter because they would be off to the local bar where he would try and mingle with all the females and tell them how he was a musician. Tell them about Death Wizard. He was going to continue to have good times that night. It was also karaoke night at the bar so he decided to sing Slayer‘s “Raining Blood” and dedicate it to “all the faggot ass posers and stupid Christians” in the crowd but not before telling everyone to kiss his ass. He thought this was a way he could build an audience for Death Wizard when he would hit it big on Earache Records and brace them for the oncoming storm of the return of, in his own words, REAL hard rockin’ metal! Shock and Awe! After he drunkenly and barely slurred his way through the song he went back to try and mingle with the females in the bar but they wanted nothing to do with him. He got so furious that they didn’t want to know the local legend that was Dave Warner.  THE legendary Dave Warner who years ago walked through the same bar proclaiming that nobody knew what REAL black metal was while wearing a Cradle of Filth shirt- the one with “Jesus Is A Cunt” on the back. THE legendary Dave Warner who would have profound conversations about how Jesus didn’t exist and that Satanism was a better religion. THE super-legendary Dave Warner who claimed that he did coke with Pete Sandoval of Morbid Angel in Ybor City while giving him his 3-song CDR demo that he burnt off his Dell Computer he got in 2003 by using Limewire. THE super special snowflake Dave Warner who one night while getting drunk vowed that he would never sacrifice his artistic credibility and ‘sell-out like Metallica by cutting their long hair.’ How dare the local denizens of HIS stomping ground not know the hulking mass of flesh that struck terror in the eyes of mere mortals of whosoever even made eye contact with this pint-sized wobbling weeble of screwed-up metabolism, thinning-out long hair, and a fucked-up grill that he received from smashing a microphone in his mouth while doing a Dickbutt concert at the same bar he was currently located at? How dare they deny him of getting laid even though he had extremely low testosterone from years of drinking shitty Natty Ice and smoking crappy fucking ragweed??  He was FURIOUS and would let everyone know the next day on Facebook. The night ended with him getting kicked out of the bar for being an asshole to all the females. His buddy that tagged along with him stayed behind and went home with some methed-out female in her late 30’s.

The next morning he woke-up on the couch. he didn’t remember how he got there. He looked outside and saw his beat-up ’92 Dodge Neon parked on the lawn. He slowly walked over to his PC and made another Facebook status.

Everyone in Tampa can kiss my fucking ass! Nobody is real and wants to stir shit up. I’m going to do what I’ve always wanted and write a book about a homicidal maniac who fucks sluts and then stabs them with his long-ass dick like a fucking spear-chucker! This dude is going to murder all of those rappers and their bitches and hoes and plastic money! All they talk about is their bitches and how much money they got! They don’t talk about REAL shit, man!

It got 2 likes from the same people the previous day. A fellow dude he didn’t know from Nevada who was 45 years old commented on how Dave “finally someone had the courage to say what needed to be said ages ago! Rap stands for Retards Attempting Poetry!” Dave Warner then updated his same profile pic from 5 years ago again and then turned away from his aging PC and proceeded to take all of his medications prescribed to prolong his life. After taking everything, he thought…

Man…where did all the good times go?



(slow heavy metal music playing) 


One thought on “47 Year Old Metal Fan Living In Tampa Is Still An Overgrown Edgy 16 year Old!

  1. “If someone told me today that it had to be hand cranked I’d tend to believe it. Although I saw no evidence of a crank on it while I was dragging it. What I did see was a mind boggling array of tiny little arms, and levers inside of it. This thing was like a solid mass composed entirely of these little arms, and levers.”You’re not far off. They were powered by motors, a 360 degree rotation of the main shaft corresponded to a full clock cycle. Think of a rotating disk, with concentric conducting circles (not necessarily complete circles, but concentric tracks). Brushes ride on the tracks and make connections for portions of the main shaft rotation. Phased clocks, if you will. Cards get sucked in, and the rows on the card (starting at the 9 edge, of course!) correspond to sequential time slots of the main shaft cycle – first time slot is the 9 row, second is the 8-row, etc. 80 brushes, one for each column in the card. Lots and lots of wire telephone-type relays. LOTS of relays.


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