I wonder if anyone still reads this. Probably, most likely, no. I’m sorry, but I had to go get caught up in the whirlwind of life. It’s something which happens every so often when you’re my age. People older than you always expecting you to do shit. Have a life. C’mon, what is that all about? Aha… so, yeah. I’ve been busy working, and going to school, and catching up with homework assignments, and I just generally haven’t had time to update this. I know you’re all really distressed about that, so I’ve got a new entry for you. It’s my one sentence summary of the Marilyn Manson show I saw about a week and a half ago.

Dude, that fucking sucked.

Now that we’re done with that… Time to really tell you about it! Now, to fully appreciate this story, you have to understand how big a part of my life Manson’s music has been to me. My mom bought Anti-Christ Superstar for me when I was about six, because The Beautiful People had been on MTV rotation, and I was obsessed with it. My first-grade love of Manson went away pretty fast, but was rekindled when I graduated the 6th grade and hit my WOE IS ME MALL GOTH phaze. In fact, I pretty much lived and breathed Marilyn Manson for a good year and a half. After their bassist, Jeordie White (Twiggy Ramirez) left, I was crushed. I followed his work from there, watching as he succeeded and Marilyn Manson (with new bassist Tim Skold) spiraled into complete uselessness.

Seeing “Heart Shaped Glasses,” “If I Was Your Vampire,” and Manson’s affair with miss Evan Rachel Wood (only a year older than my own girlfriend) made me sick. So, naturally, when I saw that Jeordie White was REJOINING the band, it made me even sicker. I saw they had a tour date in San Francisco. Could I do it? Could I go and see them still, after all that shit he’d put out? NOT FOR 60 BUCKS, BITCH. Screw that. Lucky for me, my mom thought it would be an excellent bonding experience, so she bought us both tickets. I was… thrilled and not thrilled. Thrilled, becasue – fuck, it was a Manson show! But less than thrilled due to the fact that I would have to watch my ex-hero parade on stage in a dress and makeup. Jeordie, you’re so much better than that. I guess money is money, though, right?

So. Alright. It’s the night of the concert, and I’m pretty psyched. I have to say that I was thoroughly impressed with the opening band, Ours. They were. Really, really amazing actually. I’m planning on buying their album as soon as I can. I was hoping that their set would set the mood for the show. Oh, how I was wrong.

Manson came on a good half-hour after the other band left. Not only was his entire set based around stolen songs from The Hunger, but he came out and fucking spun around on stage. That’s right, we weren’t supposed to be awed by his impressive songs and stage presence, we were supposed to applaude him, spinning around in a circle with his arms out, drowning in his own ego (as well as a little too much absinthe – he fell down three times during the set).

His voice was awful, his band mediocre. The man must’ve said “San Francisco!” ten times to get us to appalude, even going so far as to change his song lyrics to fit in our city’s name. It was like, dude, what the hell? Have you sunk so far as to resort to cheap stage tricks to get us to cheer you? Are you really lacking that much confidence in your song’s ability to keep me interested?

The answer, of course, being ‘yes.’

I’ll admit that I headbanged with the rest of them, screaming along to my favorite songs, but that aside? Nothing. I wasn’t moved. I just tried to make the best of what I was handed; total shit.

And that’s the epilogue, folks. If he comes to your city? Scalp your tickets, it’ll be better for you in the long run.