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Destroyer... Angel... Jason... Meat Product 15...
The mighty Candy-ass Pansy Bitches
Bred and spread from Boone NC
The Candy-ass Pansy Bitches are
the formost experts on beauty. We are
the biggest braggarts, money grabbers.
Our mascot is a huge red snake. We can make
a song out of everything. We
can blow you away because we know we can.
If we couldn't we swear we'd shut up-but we can.
We're not macho monkeys.
We do what our crotches tell us to.
Now you want to know our names
but we get tired of telling
the same story
over and over
till we can't
tell it no more
and while your questions
and they're tedious....
Destroyer Bitch was looking for a new bass player for his band the
Nutsies. He was studying to be a doctor and wouldn't let drugs
get in his way. By pooling their money together and
borrowing the rest, they cut a record (the Nutsies) and
pressed it up. This led them right to their first taste of
getting ripped off by the record industry.
There was also severe tension within the band. One by one
the members had converted to Hare Krishnas.
Within their music lay the squirming seeds of the Candy-ass Pansy Bitches
mixed with the fanatical wailings of god worship. The band
split further and further apart. To retaliate against the
god fearing members, Destroyer started reading black magic
and claimed to worship the god Bapheme, or goat headed god.
He found enough flaws in the bass player to boot him out.
What he needed was a new band.
And a referee.
The house he shared with Angel Bitch had eight rooms,
and thirteen roommates. She thought her friend Jason Bitch
would get along good with Destroyer and she put the two in touch
with each other. The day they met it was one hundred degrees
inside carpet walls. Jason Bitch put down his head and locked in to
something. He played the same groove over and over
for about forty-five minutes. It was the first song the
Candy-ass Pansy Bitches ever played together. (The fact that
all their last names were Bitch was a pure coincidence.)
Our first show was out of town in Orange County. It was "old dog night".
All old dogs were let in free. We were booked with a top forty cover
band, who invited their I.B.M. friends from work to see them. The
Candy-ass Pansy Bitches got up on stage
and emptied the place. There was one guy with a beard who stayed. We
never learned the beard headed man's name, but we did discuss our
differences, leaving the band, the bartender, and the booker.
The next show was at the Roxy. We were to support some
English band who we killed.
At the time, band commitments were somewhat shakey. Besides the
drummer with the three bands, Angel Bitch believed herself to be
a germinating seed planted here on earth by U.F.O's.
You know we got signed to Warner Brothers.
Do you want to here about the bidding wars?
We had em all kissing our feet.
Getting a record label to put out the bucks is
the best insurance a band has.
The news papers developed a money fixation.
They couldn't get past discussing the deal.
The Pansies forgave them; after all
they knew nothing else about the band.
Do you want to know a secret?
We could have signed for twice as much!
Our first manager was a music loving prostitute. The band
loved her dearly, she was really enthusiastic but she too
left town and has not been heard of since. Some of our happiest
memories were shared with her. Some of our greatest shows were
financed by her. We rented out ballrooms, and put out shows in the
pure rock tradition. The fans were greeted at the box office by
manager #1, who insisted on going topless--honest. Inside, bands played
to their sweaty friends and occasionally dealt with their inner most
feelings watching a transsexual dance troupe.
There was one who sang the blues.
She was awful. Her friend saved the show--she danced with
flaming shish kabobs. She could excite any man alive. Manager #1
was out done. She found solace by the classic motorcycle display.
"I'm real" she assured the bikers who lit up the room with
pent up male aggression.
The president of Warners said upon listening to Death Harmony:
"You guys are gonna warp an entire generation".
After our shows, people attest to feeling as if they had
let a stranger touch them.
"I watched a man drown. I really did. I didn't get up to
help him at all. Of course he was on television...."
The first bassist had a business smuggling canaries in to
the country from Tahiti. He would drug them and then swallow
them. He overdosed on the canaries and died on a plane.
Meat Product 15 was the first basso's twin brother. He
took his place, never having played bass before.
He also started dating the dead brothers girlfriend,
who happened to be Leonardo Dicaprio's little sister.
WHEN DOES THE FUN EVER END?
DOES THIS HAVE ANY VALUE?
You must have heard we are the ultimate crowd pleasers.
We want you to know everything about us, I mean
everything. Honestly, do you think that if a journalist
found out something that was damaging to us, he would
spill it to the public?
WE LOVE BEING EXPLOITED
A matter of equal use, wouldn't you say?
A bottle and a drinker
Watching each other empty out.
Compare the Candy-ass Pansy Bitches to a life insurance agency.
There's really quite a difference, isn't there?
Destroyer Bitch: Who's a better guitarist? No one.
We broke up one night, playing in New York. He drank too
much... When he sits down on the stage
to play guitar, his world truly becomes his own. We were
something that night. "The Mighty Candy-ass Pansy Bitches"
as they say...
Be on the lookout for CH1's Behind the Music: The Candy-ass Pansy Bitches, an outrageous documentary about the fucking coolest death-metal band EVER!
To read the bio of another rock legend, Rogers Elliott, click the link below.