SCENES FROM THE PRIVATE LIFE OF DAVE LANG
As faithful (and faithless) readers of this blog know, there has been a load of half-truths, distortions and outright lies levied against me by one Dave Lang, an antipodean mental midgie who frequents his own blog sight which goes under the nom-de-puke Lexicon Devil (send him hate mail). In the post in question, which masqueraded as a review of the latest issue of my maybe not-so-infamous BLACK TO COMM fanzine, Dave rattled off a lot of rather controversial opines about me and although our hero said he was "trying to make a point" with what he wrote, once you get down to it what was spewed from the fingertips of the gushy one was nothing more than a lowly attempt to smear and ruin a faithful friend (one who gave him price breaks and words of encouragement despite my better nature) just because it seemed the best politically expedient thing to do. Dave may believe that he was "doing his readers a service" when he wrote that post, but the truth of the matter is Dave was merely trying to grind my face into the dirt by stating various pseudo-items pertaining to me (way) out of context and twisto-changing the facts in order to suit his perverted desire to see me grovel in my own vomit. And no matter how much he may deny it ("...oh yeah, I've just called you a racist/sexist/homophobe [ed. note-not that I particularly care, but et tu, Lang?] and all of those sins against the great mass of people and have probably killed a few hundred magazine orders for you in the process, but maybe we can still be friends..."), Dave's big game plan wasn't anything close to passing for honest criticism or even a great chomp and run away like Meltzer used to do...it was plain ol' defamation and hatescreed that more or less reminds me of all the tricks and ploys that members of the chic literary/political left use against renegades who ever-so-slightly deviated from the norm, in the process doing their best to get their victims to don the old plastic bag over head and cash it in at the Big Casino (remember what happened to Jerzy Koscinski, a solid leftoid true, who got more than the cold-shoulder from his former comrats for seeing through the John Henry Abbott scam way back before Abbott ended up offing some PBS kidshow actor in a roughneck bar...well, it is fitting seeing these all-encompassing types preying on each other like they do!).
Well, since Lang was so eager to spew forth things about me and my personal habits/lifestyle, maybe I should feel fit to do the same thing about him. As it turns out, someone's told me more about the man whose personal life we also know so very little about, though for the sake of not hurting anyone's feelings I'm not going to mention just what Lang does for a living. I don't know why he would be embarrassed, even though such laws must be far more lax in Australia than they are here in the good ol' US of Whoa. So here are just a few things I've found out about Dave that I'm sure you (the enquiring blogschpieler) would love to know. Please don't send me any laundry bills for puke-stained shirts or extra-skidded underwear (if possible, read on toilet):
In order to prove to himself that he's NOT a racist as well as purge guilt-ridden feelings about his violence and venom-laden Ulster Scots upbringing/ancestry (which would explain a lot of the pure hatred Lang oozes for certain non-protected classes), Lang once gave ten humm jobs to various aboriginies in a single hour, a record in Australia and maybe the world.
Given his various cinematic scribings, it's no surprise that Lang yearned to be the technical advisor for SALO.
On Valentine's Day, Dave sends personalized scratch-n-sniff cards to Jay Hinman.
Dave likes the smell of his number two.
Even though not a drummer, a common nickname of Dave's is "rim shot."
After fifteen years in the "Real World" (TRANSLATION: the space between the various record shops and counseling centers Dave inhabits), Lexidev has come to the conclusion that "the common man is a brainless slob" which would either prove that perhaps Dave himself is (shudder!) "common," or maybe that any philosophical beliefs on his part would have been perfectly copasetic had Dave been operating in any elitist German university of his choosing sometime in the twenties and thirties. (Though believe it or not but Lang's ancestors really did come from Scotland despite the kraut surname, which I think is great...for krauts worried about being related to this walking piece of non-viable life, that is.)
Next planned article for PERFECT SOUND FOREVER to be ten-thousand- word essay on the cokeball in Neil Young's nose spotted in THE LAST WALTZ.
Oh yeah, he does believe in the Yeti.
Dave was given an award from the Australian branch of the Hemlock Society after it was found out that reading his March 7, 2005 post to the terminally ill leads to a quicker death (though w/o the much-ballyhooed "dignity") than the withdrawl of various life-support systems. Future revised editions of the FUNK AND WAGNALLS DICTIONARY have arranged to print this particular post under the entry "insipid."
Dave likes the smell of his number two.
And there you have it, Dave-in-a-nutshell, or bring me a malignant polyp and I'll bring you Dave Lang. And he sure as shooting continues to exist unlike his fabled unicorn head, his mere life being a big thorn in the side to not only my own personal existence, but generally good rock writing in general which seems in such short supply these days. He is a prime pud, and the sooner he takes his pretentious writing and supposedly spot-on tastes with him to the grave the better for all of us. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my li'l April Fool's post (and could you think of a better fool to ransack?)...next time I be serious.