I’d like to say a few words on behalf of the late G.G. Allin, an individual I once knew but never took very seriously. For those too square to know, G.G. was a singer in a series of punk bands that never made it big but he was on the verge of becoming famous before he died of an overdose. I don’t think his life particularly deserves a eulogy and if he were here he’d probably tell us all to fuck off. Not that that matters. Having witnessed more than a few of his celebrated performance pieces and successfully eluded the flying turds of this warrior poet, I can now pass judgement on his barbaric antics. Perhaps those of you less familiar with Mr. Allin’s oeuvre are looking to me for an opinion upon which to base a consensus. Think for yourselves, assholes.
Far be it for me to speak unkindly of the dead, but as far as I’m concerned, G.G. was a fool. Since he’s not here to defend himself, I don’t feel too good about having to say bad things about him, but the same thing will probably happen to me once I’m gone and in a way, G.G.’s death serves as a challenge to all of us to face the truth, which I’ve always tried to do anyway.
G.G. went out of his way to be hated. He spread hatred and stupidity everywhere he could. One theory advanced for his psychopathology was a childhood of sexual abuse. Who knows? Furthermore, who cares? I consider it a joke that I’m even writing about him. His minimal talents were focused on a crude form of infantile self-promotion manifested in public filthiness.