Yaaaarrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh

Posted by E

Monday, January 12, 2009

I will openly admit that I am as geektacular a person as you're ever likely to meet. Anywhere you look around me you're likely to find toys, movies, books and games all around. I take great glee in having unholy amounts of knowledge in the most trivial and pointless endeavors.

I have mentioned in the past that I have a collecting personality. I'm always on the lookout for something that I can spend years trying to finish a collection of. I find myself happiest when it's a collection that can never be completed. One of these unfinishable collections is autographs, a hobby I have admittedly cooled on in my later years, but which I pursued with a burning passion for many years.

In my teens I would constantly scour the newspapers and magazines looking for any kind of signing by any notables. Amongst the many in my collection are Johnnie Cochrane, Emo Phillips, Dimebag Darrell, and a whole host of others. (Sorry for lumping you with the dead guys, Emo.) One of my favorites is my autographed copy of "Seasons in the Abyss" by Slayer.

Let's get something clear. I like Slayer. I am not a fan of Slayer. Those guys you see decked out in the Naziesque tattoos looking to beat somebody's ass for looking at them? Yeah, not me. I'm more the doughy guy in the background who looks really out of place at a Slayer show. I know this for certain, as I've seen them three times.

Anyways, the year was 1994 and Slayer had just released their album Divine Intervention. Big changes were afoot in the lollipop lane world of Slayer, and drummer Dave Lombardo had left the band only to be replaced by Paul Bostaph. (Lombardo would later rejoin the band, but that's irrelevant to this story.)

I heard on the radio that Slayer would be doing a signing not too far from my home. Being a whore for autographs and a minor fan of Slayer (Hell Awaits and Reign in Blood are pretty good), I decided to make my way down and check out the goings on. My girlfriend Stacie got dragged along so that I wouldn't be too bored.

Stacie was the antithesis of a Slayer fan. In the grander scheme of things King Diamond would stand a better chance of fitting in at a Sikh revival than Stacie would at a Slayer signing.

At the time of this story her two favorite albums were "Heart in Motion" by Amy Grant and "Time, Love and Tenderness" by some no-talent ass clown. (Sadly, I know all the words to both albums to this day because of her.) After convincing my preppie girlfriend that spending the day surrounded by Satan worshipping rioters would be a hoot, we made our way down to the signing.

As is usually the case in Michigan, it was cold and wet that day and we found ourselves standing outside while winter's elements did their best to chase the last remnants of heat and comfort from our bodies. The Slayer crowd took it in stride and we stood around cracking the occasional joke and discussing our favorite songs. (My personal favorite is that one that goes really fast until Tom Araya starts screaming the lyrics.)

After the better part of three hours had passed, we reached the point where we could enter the building to meet the unholy quartet themselves. As we walked through the door we were handed cutouts that we could choose to have signed, delightful photographs of a person's arm, with Slayer carved in with a razor, blood streaming from the fresh wound.

I had brought a copy of "Seasons" to get signed, so I opted away from the free cutout. Stacie, having little to no interest in the whole affair, grabbed one of the cardboard affairs so she could at least go through the motions.

The items to be signed were placed on a table and pushed down past each member of the band. First was Paul Bostaph, the new guy, apparently enjoying his newfound fame. Beyond him lay Jeff Hanneman, one of the two guitarist. Next came Kerry King, one of the scariest looking guys I had ever laid eyes on up to that point. His bald head, smothering tattoos, and intimidating stare was enough to send my testicles back up into my midsection.

Finally there was Tom Araya, bassist and lead singer, a man demonstrating no lack of energy and enthusiasm for the fans. As he was last at the table, the fans would ultimately end up in front of him waiting for their autograph. He'd smile, get their name, scribble out a signature and then hop up from the table and scream in their faces. Full on "YAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH" scream.

Stacie wades through the endless waves of Slayer t-shirts and makes her way down the table to Tom. As her placard is placed in front of him he asks her name so that he can sign it.

"It's Stacie. Please don't scream at me."

A glint of mischief flashed through Tom's eye. He glanced up at her and as politely as he could said, "Please?"

"No," she said.

"Please," said Tom, his Cheshire grin widening.

"No."

"Pleeeeeeeease," he asked, almost whining.

"No."

"Fine," he said with a resigned sigh as he handed the autograph to her.

My turn was next, I got the signature and the scream and then headed out to see Stacie. She stood at the side of the building, staring at her autograph, giggling. I walked over and took a look at it myself.

The sheet bore 4 signatures, the three other members of the band and Tom's. Tom's had the word "please" written four times over the signature.

It may have ultimately been hers to keep, but that was the best autograph I ever saw.