Rollins: FOX News Wouldn’t Know How to Take Back the Night if the Night Spotted ‘em 5 Bearded Lesbians & 10 Dead Hookers

Recently, while dig­ging through the site archives, I real­ized I never got around to com­ment­ing on Henry Rollins and his dumb, easy “Letter to Ann Coulter” gag from a few months ago. Greg Gutfeld at RED EYE did a fine job rip­ping it apart back in January, but I kind of regret not weigh­ing in on the brouhaha. And when an online acquaintance/friend at Denver Syntax pro­duced a piece crit­i­cal of Rollins’ VANITY FAIR scrib­blings, I felt it was def­i­nitely time to dis­trib­ute my unso­licited opin­ion on all things Henry. Away we go.

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Henry Rollins of the 1980s and 1990s, where did you go?

Your shtick was funny back then. All the “I know pain!!! Nobody knows pain like I know pain!!!” stuff was good. Stupid too, but stu­pid like a fox.

That was a long time ago, though. The fun is gone. The con­tem­pla­tive Henry of today causes hip trans­gres­sive chicks to chirp out such unin­ten­tional non-sequiturs as “I really like his poetry; he’s a com­plex man,” or “He makes me think about hard truths; I like that. Plus, he had a good friend die and wasn’t afraid to talk about the hurt.”

Whatever, impres­sion­able indie chick. Where you heard com­plex­ity, I heard uno­rig­i­nal dri­vel, such as:

HENRY’S LATEST BLOG ENTRY

“Don’t Drown in a World of Shit; Figure it Out”

by Henry Rollins, Gallows-Humor Prison Guard from LOST HIGHWAY

Today I was leaf­ing through the mem­oirs of polit­i­cal pris­oner Mumia Abu-Jamal, and tears of rage began stream­ing down my face. As I turned each tear-stained page, I real­ized that I had to help. I had to do some­thing. But what?

I called J-Bee. He’d know what to do. And the two of us deter­mined a good movie would chill us out. So we went to see BRUNO. Man! I haven’t laughed so hard since BORAT! Sacha Baron Cohen is genius! He, like, ambushes these homo­pho­bic retards and tells dick jokes and stuff! Too funny!

After the movie, J-Bee and I knew it was time to talk, so we went to the local anar­chist bistro. I ordered toast with Black Pride Marmalade and J-Bee had tofu wiener winks with Fight the Power Farmer’s Cheese. Place is fuck­ing awe­some. The per­fect war room for two under­ground shit-starters; Bad Brains play­ing on the juke­box; some trans­gen­der dude doing inter­pre­tive dance! (Yeah — I know! WTF? :) )

And finally J-Bee and I got down to the real shit. The ter­ri­ble truths. Talking about how to make this fucked-up world a bet­ter place. And we weren’t going to do it in that faggy way Bono does. Fuck that hip­pie crap. J-Bee and I were going to rock this boat in new, untold ways. Yeah, we’re lost at sea, we decided, but we’re not drown­ing! We’re not!

I started think­ing about that right-wing bitch, Ann Coulter. Fucking chick is all ‘Lower my taxes, Barack Hussein Obama! Protect me from the rag­heads! 9 – 11!’ Jesus! Enough! FUCK OFF! Aryan Barbie bitch wouldn’t know a good time if it goosed her. Stay classy, Ann!!! Bitch.

It was unreal. The anguish was fuck­ing with me, so I got to riff­ing on Bad Brains again. And I remem­bered that they were the great­est band I’d ever seen. Better than Jane’s Addiction, and fuck, that’s say­ing some­thing. But I went to their MySpace page and…Rupert Murdoch, go back to Australia and take your impere­ri­al­is­tic milk­shakes with you, you kangaroo-fucking crim­i­nal.

It’s sad, because when­ever I ven­ture into this kind of intel­lec­tual ter­ri­tory, I get a lit­tle depressed. So I called Bill Maher and he invited me and J-Bee to the Playboy Mansion to lift our spir­its. Fucking place rocks. Hef is a smooth moth­er­fucker. But Hef doesn’t exploit women like those fag­gots on FOX News do. FOX News wouldn’t know how to Take Back the Night if the night spot­ted ‘em five bearded les­bians and 10 dead hook­ers.

Glenn Beck, SHUT UP!!! JUST SHUT UP!!!!! RACIST FUCK!!!!!

Jesus, FOX News. All this drama in my head made me think about the good times; like lift­ing weights with the guys from Ween when we did that mini-tour together in Canada. WEEN ROCKS. Crazy, funny moth­er­fuck­ers. Canada is a cool place; I don’t have Ronald McReagan or the Bush Crime Family hold­ing a gun to my head there, no Walmart mar­gin­al­iz­ing me…chafing me. Fuck that cor­po­rate muzak. I want the gen­uine cha-cha-cha; the orig­i­nal motion-picture sound­track. FUCK HANNITY AND ALL THE RIGHT-WING BLOGS!!!! Cocksuckers!!!!

Seriously, though, I don’t mean to sound like some know-it-all ass­hole. I just wanted to get this stuff out, this…this fuck­ing bullshit…even though it’s kind of pri­vate and per­sonal. I’m cry­ing right now. Fucking cry­ing. Thanks every­one for lis­ten­ing, and try not to drown in this world of shit, all of this Motley Crue heavy-metal fag­got rock and Rush Limbaugh paint-by-numbers bull­shit. FIGURE IT OUT.”

Love,
Henry

All pro­ceeds from this post go to Henry’s favorite social foun­da­tion, the Southern Poverty Law Center.

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