Another week, another special Awesome Talk final word. I tested this one out on about seven different focus groups and they all agreed: “Those sure are words.” Were they right? READ ON.
Some say the existence of urban legends are, in fact, an urban legend.
The other day, due to circumstances I’d rather not disclose, I found myself with a large collection of teeth that I needed to dispose of. A few thousand frantic public library Google searches later, with phrases such as “teeth melt” “teeth melt no evidence” “teeth melt no evidence as few steps as possible”, I came across the old urban legend that said a tooth could dissolve in a can of soda. And that’s one of those things where you think, “Huh that’s kind of interesting” or you’re like me and you think, “Huh that’s kind of interesting, but what about like, an obscene amount of teeth. Like, more than an average person should have in a foot locker.” The library was closing, and there was no time for further research. It was, as Redman once said, time 4 sumaksion.
“Good morning John!” My neighbor waved at me from the next yard over as he watered his lawn. “What’s uh… going on over there?” I think he was talking about the bottles of soda I was pouring into a kiddie pool next to a foot locker labeled DEFINITELY NOT TEETH. “Hey good morning Bill. Oh you know, house stuff.” I stared at him, dead eyed, as I poured the last bottle into the pool. “Well, I’ll uh, let you get to it then,” Bill said as he dropped his hose and slowly walked backwards into his house. I grunted in his direction and stirred my concoction with a badminton racket. Long story short, I learned that teeth do not dissolve in soda. Not even cute little baby teeth. I also learned that it’s not easy to drag a kiddie pool full of soda and teeth onto your neighbor’s lawn when it’s swarming with bees. They don’t tell you these things on Snopes. Sometimes you need to visit thisissomerealshit.com/fucking_deal_with_it.html.
This happened once probably maybe not who gives a shit shut up
Heartbroken, it was time for more urband legend research. Maybe my favorite one is that Disney World visitors are not allowed to die on the premises. Say you were having a massive heart attack after a raucous twirl on the teacups, park workers would supposedly drag you into the parking lot to die, far away from the magic and whimsy. God that’s the best. What if you were decapitated on Space Mountain? Â Would they keep your head frozen in a jar like Walt Disney and throw it on a bus headed for Universal Studios? What if you saw a dude dressed up like Donald Duck and he was teaching little kids how to smoke meth and your soul died? Disney World representatives did not have answers to these questions, but I think “Sir you need to stop calling here, this is Dorney Park” is actually code for “We’re illuminati lizard men, and we can do whatever we want.”
So all I’m saying is, don’t trust the internet to debunk urban legends. You have to get out there in the field, get your hands dirty – flash your highbeams at passing cars in the night if their lights are off! I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen? How are you gonna know whether or not it’s a gang initiation thing unless you witness them pull a u-turn, run your car off the road and then stab you to death?  “I was right. I was so right,” you’ll gurgle as the newly initiated gang member is presented with his monogrammed jacket and plaque. The gang will all cheer and lift him up on their shoulders, but really, it’s you they should be celebrating. You, the stabbed to death, urban legend… what’s the opposite of debunking? Bunking, I guess. The stabbed to death, urban legend bunking hero.  Godspeed.
Now for the earthly possessions segment of my video will. I was a man of simple tastes. I loved nothing more than spending time with my family and friends, having a few drinks and heh heh, having a few laughs. That being said – All of my hard drives are to be destroyed. Drill a thousand holes into them, take them to a firing range and blast them to bits, then submerge the bits in some kind of super acid. As for my online presence, my password for every account is the same, and it is tattooed underneath my left eyelid. Granted, you’re going to have to get a little Aeon Flux on my face to retrieve my master password, but that’s what I would have wanted.
As an adult I look back at what drew me to GWAR besides the gore and the metal and the endless decapitations. They were underdogs. They were art school dropouts that created a world in which their characters, as godlike and powerful as they were, were always foiled by their own shortcomings. They dressed as barbarians from another planet, and no matter how hard they tried to escape it, they found themselves endlessly stuck on Earth.