And the Names of the Colossi were Lucifer and Bone Saw; Part 1 - February 22, 2008

(Reconditioning Batteries)

"The Hells Angels have sued the Laconia licensing board, which denied the group permits to set up booths to sell T-shirts, jackets and other items at the city's Motorcycle Week rally, starting on June 8. The board cited security concerns stemming from recent violence that involved the Angels and rival gangs. The club has sponsored booths at past Motorcycle Weeks." - The New York Times; May 29, 2002

"The City of Laconia has decided to abandon the concept of creating a "gun-free zone" in the Weirs Beach area during Bike Week." - The Union Leader; June 1, 2002

"According to a 1999 national truce, the Hells Angels must allow the rival Outlaws to establish a chapter in the state without retaliation. In establishing its New Hampshire chapter, the Outlaws is converting members of the New Hampshire chapter of the Devils Disciples OMG into Outlaws. The rivalry that exists between the Hells Angels and the Outlaws has caused recent violent flare-ups throughout the state. This violence threatens to end the truce between the Hells Angels and the Outlaws, who often compete for control over lucrative drug markets." - National Drug Intelligence Center's New Hampshire Drug Threat Assessment; April 2001


My best friends Teddy and Timmy were stereotypical metal heads. Neither of them cared much for reading or writing. In fact, they didn't really care much for anything if it didn't involve boobs, fire, death metal or beer. I met them at a pretty early age and grew up with them in the local Portsmouth skateboarding and BMX spots. Just about six years ago, Teddy and I visited Timmy at his new place in Manchester. Manchester is the largest city in the Granite State; bigger even than Concord, our capital, which is really more of a tumbleweed factory surrounded by pine trees than a legitimate city. Timmy moved there with his long-term girlfriend to work as a tattoo artist. Around the same time, Teddy moved to Portland, Maine for art school.

At the time, I was 22 and back in my hometown after being thrown out of college. Back then, Portsmouth had more bars and restaurants per capita than any other city in the country, and all of them were within walking distance of each other in the downtown district where I lived. I was knee deep in no-strings-attached pussy and icy Jagermeister; and I was content with using them both to hide from reality for the time being. This trip to Manchester was going to be both a reunion and sort of an escape from my escape.

Whizzing down Route 101 toward Manchester, Teddy spent the hour drive schooling me on all the new music he'd downloaded, mostly brutal death metal. "Dude, check this out, " he said at one point, "This band is called Cryptopsy, and they are going to hate rape your ears with awesome right now." I am regularly out of the loop when it comes to music (my car is usually littered with burned CD's full of 80's tunes and most of them don't play because they're too scratched), so I welcomed the tutelage and head banging with open arms and an open road soda.

Timmy's apartment was the antithesis of the Timmy I knew; perfectly matching IKEA furniture, kiwi-melon scented decorative candles and framed prints of vintage French wine advertisements adorning earth toned walls. I half expected to find him delicately manicuring a pastel topiary with Andrea Bocelli playing in the background. Contrary to that visual, we found Timmy doing shots of Jack Daniels by himself while gut wrenching metal blared from Bose speakers shattering an otherwise pristine yuppie haven.

KungFu Mike: "Whoa there, buddy! Should you really be blasting Cannibal Corpse and swilling booze? Doesn't that require a pair of nuts? How did you get them back from your girlfriend?"

Teddy: "Yeah dude. Shouldn't you be like, wearing a sweater vest or something?"

Timmy: "Fuck the both of you pussies. The wife piece is out dancing with her friends."

KungFu Mike: "Are we going to bounce on your Pilates ball and scrap book our memories like the last time we came up here, or are you going to force us to have fun this time?"

Timmy: "Shut your fuck. Drink this." Timmy handed me the bottle of Jack with no shot glass.

The night was officially underway. The three of us put together in one room always meant one of us was going to end up burnt or bleeding, and something expensive and irreplaceable was going to end up in pieces. The details of the middle part of that evening escape me now; partly because six years is a long time ago and partly because thirty cans of beer and a sampling of the loudest, angriest music ever put to disc are enough to scramble anyone's circuits. I do remember that we decided to finish off the night at a bar in downtown Manchester with two dozen PBR tall boys, a smattering of Wild Turkey shooters and a rousing round of "let's make up hilarious names for heavy metal songs".

Timmy: "Jeweled Gauntlets of Evisceration!"

Teddy: "The Unveiling of the Gutted!"

KungFu Mike: "Nursing Home Sledgehammer Orgy!"

Teddy: "Tusk Armor Created by Lightning!"

KungFu Mike: "Chainsaw-domy!"

Last call, of course, brought our fun to a screeching halt and we piled into Timmy's cramped Toyota Echo steaming drunk for the short ride back to his place and the ritual handful of nightcap beers, drunken food preparation and the couch surfing booze coma that would typically follow. As we rolled up to Timmy's place, however, we noticed something peculiar; two grown, gristled looking men were passed out face-up on his front lawn with empty beer cans strewn around them. Being 2:00 a.m. in one of the few places you can feasibly call a city in the vastly unnoticed yet most drinkingest state in the country, this wasn't an entirely foreign event.

Both men woke up from their late night picnic nap when we pulled into the driveway blaring our music and Teddy fell out of the car when he opened the door. They struggled to their feet and, much to my surprise, the vagrant lawn jockeys began walking toward us as we waited for Timmy to unlock the door to his apartment. I immediately expected the worst and reached into my pocket for a box cutter. I always carried something with me whenever I visited Timmy in Manchester. Muggings and drunken, late night ambushes were regular occurrences in that neck of the woods. As I prepared to unleash my 9/11 instrument of death, the two men became visible under the naked bulb illuminating his back door and Timmy and Teddy's jaws both dropped.

Teddy: "Whoa, this dude is wearing an Emperor t-shirt. That fucking rules! These guys fucking rule!"

Standing across from Timmy and Teddy, both men sported stained, ripped t-shirts featuring brutal artwork and the band names "Emperor" and "King Diamond". I pulled my hand out of my pocket and started laughing hysterically. It was like Timmy and Teddy were looking at themselves 20 years into the future; aging, retarded metal heads. Tim and Ted's Excellent Adventure. It was uncanny. The only way these two could have looked any more stereotypically metal would have been for them to crawl out of a panel van with a medieval dragon airbrushed on the side.

"What's goin' on, brothers? You guys into metal, huh?" The one wearing the Emperor shirt spoke up first in a deep, gravely smoker's voice.

"Fucking A right we are, dude." Timmy was ecstatic. "What the shit are you guys doing passed out on my lawn?"

The man in the Emperor shirt pulled a fish-hooked Marlboro Red out of a well-worn soft pack and sparked it. He had long, greasy black hair down to his shoulders and a thick 5 o'clock shadow. He was a behemoth; much bigger than all of us, even if we could form like Voltron. I could totally picture him lugging amps for WASP on the Last Command Tour. "Oh yeah, that. We were drinkin' in some apartment in this here building when my friend and his old lady got into a huge brawl. We just took their beers and started pounding 'em on the front lawn hopin' that they'd calm down. I guess we took us a power nap by accident."

Timmy: "That's awesome. We just got back from the bars ourselves. You guys want to come in for a couple beers and listen to some metal?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I wanted to tell Timmy I thought it was a bad idea to invite two sketchy old men into his apartment to drink our beer after finding them unconscious on his landscaping, but he was drunk and there is no stopping Timmy's decision making processes when he is drunk out of his skull. It doesn't matter if he's trying to shit out of a third story bay window at 5 a.m. or running out into a blizzard in his boxers to head butt parked cars. Teddy didn't give a fuck because it wasn't his apartment and he was even more enamored with the strangers than Timmy was. Besides, he only lived an hour away and had a getaway car at his disposal.

I didn't share my friends' optimism. The prospect of hosting a late night after party with a pair of anonymous alley dwellers in a house full of valuables was starting to read like the first act of a horror movie. It definitely wasn't going to make the short list for 2002's Drunken Decision of the Year.

"Sure thing. Oh yeah, my name's Lucifer, and my friend over here's Bone Saw." Lucifer extended his bear paw of a hand to shake all of ours as Bone Saw stood silently in the background and waved. Bone Saw was short and stocky with a red ponytail. He'd look like Mario Batali's Down's Syndrome slighted son if God took a day off from protecting the world and allowed Mario to slip some of his vermicelli past the colander. My internal creep alarms were screaming. "Lucifer"? "Bone Saw"? Seriously?! We need to go inside, lock the door and leave these two degenerates outside of it. This is fucking ridiculous. They're probably going to harvest our organs and sell them on eBay. I need a beer to fully digest what is happening right now.

Within thirty seconds of getting inside, Lucifer and Bone Saw were piercing PBR tall boys in the living room. Timmy furiously rifled through Teddy's overflowing CD case. "Oh man, you guys are going to fucking love this band. They are so fucking metal. Oh man, you are going to shit your intestines out. THIS IS SO METAL!!!" I leaned on the kitchen counter, sipping my beer and struggling with my options. I could break down and accept the fact that those two guys were going to be part of the brat pack for a few hours, or I could convince Timmy and Teddy that our new friends needed to catch the first train to GoTheFuckHomesVille. Luckily, Lucifer and Bone Saw would help me make my decision right then and there.

Teddy: "Did you hear about the Hell's Angels fucking some Outlaw dude up at a bar here a few weeks ago?"

Timmy: "Yeah, the fucking HA's are some pretty tough dudes. They're awesome."

Lucifer: "Oh yeah? You know something about bike clubs, huh? Tell me a little something about bike clubs, brother."

Teddy and I looked at each other, immediately sensing that something was drastically wrong from the tone of Lucifer's voice. Timmy, as usual, continued to blindly trample right through a mine field of his own design.

Timmy: "All I know is that the Hell's Angels are where it's at, dude. You can't fuck with an outfit like that!"

Lucifer's demeanor quickly shifted when Timmy was finished with that sentence. Veins popped out of his neck and he clenched his jaw as he spoke.

"So yeah, me and Bone Saw here are Outlaws. You know who the fuck they are, right?"

Posted by KungFu Mike at 5:07 AM

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You should have stolen Timmy's car and got the fuck out of there.

Posted by: A at February 25, 2008 11:42 AM


Hurry up and write the rest of it!

Posted by: Crystal at February 25, 2008 12:05 PM

Seriously hurry up with the rest of the story...memories are flooding back about you guys...You can't forget "Bloody Fetus" either...pretty rad, homie.

Posted by: Judy at February 25, 2008 03:18 PM

Nice. I can't wait to see if this turns out horrible.

Posted by: Wayland at February 25, 2008 09:57 PM

Aw man, this story is fucking awesome, just because every band mentioned in this thing kicks ass. King Diamond mention = best story ever.

Posted by: The Great Cretaceous Bob at February 27, 2008 06:57 AM

Interestingly enough, Viral Load actually has a
song called "Chainsawdomy". Props for communal
metal premonition.

Posted by: at March 23, 2008 11:56 PM

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