Dark castle: looking to loot OZZY's house.

IN 1983 you could count on two things when you got back to school: hot sluts wearing Dolphin shorts without underwear and all us metal kids writing "OZZY" on our knuckles before the flag salute. Rumor was if you wrote it everyday in the same place on your hand it would eventually become a real tattoo. We all had the same hairdo too, called a crop, and I'm pretty sure it came complete with a comb for your back pocket. Back then we were too young to go to concerts, MTV was a new thing we had only heard about, and the radio never played any metal.

We found out about rock and roll from our older brothers and uncles who would go to Hollywood bars and clubs. That year my friend Andy turned 10 and he had a heavy metal sleepover. The entertainment was a video of the US Festival. This was the first time We had seen any footage of the bands we liked, and we instinctively crowded in front of the TV like it was the front row. Motorhead played, Rob Halford of Judas Priest rode out onto stage on a Harley, and Motley Crue and a bunch of other bands rocked. But the thing I remember most was Ozzy going totally nuts and Randy Rhodes completely ripping the fuck out of the guitar. We kept watching the Ozzy part until one of us cut his head open doing air-guitar: Our love for Ozzy was then written in blood.

2003--I was an hour early and one of the first to show up at Ozzy's house, so I did a lot of walking around and touching of things. I made sure to act natural in front of all the MTV cameras while I was snacking on the bland Euro-food. I had been hoping for free English beer, but Ozzy went with the endorsements and played the Pepsi card. I was looking at family pictures and petting their new dog when it hit me--I'm hanging out in Ozzy flicking Osbourne's house! Just then a voice right behind me shouted, "Sharon!" I turned around to find myself face to face with the Prince of Darkness. I said what's up, but my mouth was full of sausage-stuffed biscuit and some crap flew onto the floor. Ozzy studied my face for a second, then gave me a nod and yelled for his wife again as he headed upstairs. I started telling some cute chick that worked for Sharon's management company that I almost spit food at Ozzy and she asked, "How are you here?" Before I could even finish saying "Thrasher magazine," she walked away to gre et some people that looked more important than me. I started to feel like Forrest Gump at the White House, so I went to the backyard to play with the other world-famous dogs.

As the corny media showed up, I started looking for souvenirs to steal from the house. From autographed Beatles pictures to Mexican frog action figures, they had a shitload of nick-knacks just sitting out for the taking. Then they told us "press people" that it was about to start so we all went and sat down in the living room. We listened to Sharon announce some Ozzfest bands, then Jack came out with his best King Buzzo wig on telling us who's going to play the second stage. The whole time I'm thinking, "Isn't this information going to be shoved down our necks whenever the tour comes to whatever town?" I didn't start paying attention until Ozzy walked in, sat down, looked at the crowd and said, "Is this my fuckin' house, man?" Then the singer of Kom popped in with the singer of Chevelle. But wait! Who's that chick? Oh no, it's just Marilyn Manson. Dude, what freak. I had read a Marilyn interview in Playboy a few years back and I remember being surprised by his intelligence. I soon found out that not only is t he he-bitch smart, but he's a funny motherfucker too. In no time the whole room was busting up as he told stories of getting Ozzy's kids flicked up. and once jamming bananas and other stuff up the singer of Korn's ass. One of the elbow-rubbing shitheads asked about Ozzy drinking again. Ozzy being a nice guy, started to explain, "When I found out Sharon had colon cancer I wanted to die. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to tour. I didn't want to do anything so I started drinking again." Another asked Sharon how she was doing. "I feel good. I hook up to the chemotherapy machine at night and it's going well," she said.

As Sharon was talking about her bout with cancer I looked for signs of illness, but all I could see was one fine-ass mom. If I had to pick between Kelly or Mrs Osbourne, I have to say I would knock the dust off that cancer. At one point I think Ozzy fell asleep in his chair but someone asked why the LA Ozzfest wasn't going to be at the same place that it was last year. Sharon tried to explain some money reasons, but Ozzy interrupted, "The thing is about that venue--if a few kids get hurt because something happens and everyone's trying to leave, how are the kids going to get medical attention? There is only one road going in and out of that place. The paramedics wouldn't be able to get there in time." With that I decided I wasn't going to steal anything from Ozzy's house--he was my metal hero and he gives a shit about the kids. The Korn guy wasn't saying much, and when he did it was all mumbles. The Chevelle kid looked nervous, but not in a drugged out way. Maybe they're more fun when they play the keyboard an d microphone. All of a sudden, the rock stars all got up and went into Ozzy's bedroom.

I hung around in hopes a band might play or a bar would open up, but that was it. Just like that it was over--no picture with Ozzy, no autographs, no playing grab-ass with Kelly or the other daughter who's smart enough not to be on MTV. I asked the live-in maid if she could go get a picture of Ozzy holding a Thrasher mag, but it was a no-go. I took more pictures and I wanted to hang out but I had to eat something. I called my comedian Hollywood buddy Jonah Ray, 'cause he's usually more hungry, than he is funny.

RELATED ARTICLE: Blag Dhalia Bummed On Bunk Promoter

I SPLIT OZZY'S HOUSE in Beverly Hills and drove across town to get my grub on. We went to a little Mexican joint with outside seating and started talking about how much pollution was in every bite we took. All of a sudden I saw my old buddy Blag Dhalia of the Dwarves walking towards us. After bragged about being at Ozzy's crib I asked Blag why he was walking around Hollywood. "You remember Eric Vallintine from SF? He's got a studio right up the street and we're renovating it. Fiona Apple is going to come by later, but you guys should stop in before that."

The studio reeked of top 40 power. After a shitload of joking around and taking funny pictures, I asked Blag about what happened at the LA Shakedown...

I heard the Dwarves ditched the big show.

Thrasher has to set the record straight. This guy way over-sold his venue. He was selling tickets the day of the show and all these paying fans that paid 60 bucks for tickets couldn't get in. The dude let his greed get the better of him so the police and fire department came and started talking about fines. We knew he wasn't paying any of his people and he wasn't going to pay us, so we fucked him off. If anyone sees this guy, Ralf Carrara, they need to beat his ass. He needs to crawl away and die.

What other bands didn't play?

Supersuckers, Youth Brigade, the headliners from the next night. I'm not sure who played and who didn't, but all I know is the Dwarves are too smart to get fucked by an asshole promoter and I ain't going to play if I don't get paid. And I'm not going to play if half the people that paid can't come in, even if the other half packs the place. I don't play it like that--everyone that bought a ticket deserves to get in.

What if the half that gets in are all chicks?

I'll play if they have braces. This damn promoter is a pussy and he's passing out some disinformation, trying to make us bands that stand up for what's right look bad. I've been reading articles and seeing things online--this guy's bullshit. So, right here through Thrasher we are going to communicate. This guy Ralf, if I ever notice who the tuck he is, he's going to wind up with a knot on his melon for acting like a clown in Los Angeles. Go back to Vegas.

How many cities do you own?

I'm pretty much owning LA; San Francisco; Chicago, the place of my birth. I own New York because it's so boring there; half the people are dead. What else? Canada, because nobody else wants it.

The city of Canada?

Yeah. I want to get one of those beach towns with all the tits, Miami Beach or something. I've never been there but I hear it's great. So there's got to be some tits. I dig beach places, as long as there are no dudes there. I don't want to run into Sammy Hagar or something. Beach girls are fine, but beach guys are only one step removed from the retardation of skateboarders. Incidentally, who told people that just because they can ride a skateboard they can play in a rock band? I don't understand how that came about. You don't catch me riding a fucking skateboard, so put that guitar down before you hurt yourself, son.