Neil Andrew Megson, a garden-variety psychopath, dies, is praised in the media because he was a trannie and was “punk rock.”

Boomers get a lot of shit because they are always boring everyone with stories of “their generation” and Woodstock and how groovy and meaningful everything was back then. Most people are turned off by the self-importance.

But the most obnoxious boomer can’t hold a candle to the “punk rock generation” when it comes to an overwhelming sense of self-importance and smelling their own farts.

At least the boomers had some good music, good drugs, and beautiful, long-haired naked hippie chicks.

The punk rockers had unlistenable garbage and gave us transsexualism, self-mutilation, and Social Justice Warriorism. The hippies may have been “liberals” but the punk rockers of the 70s and 80s are the ones that invented modern “Social Justice” which celebrates everything ugly, degenerate, and sick.

Neil Andrew Megson, who called xirself “Genesis P-Orridge,” was the center of an “art collective” that made some uninteresting industrial music. Listening to “The First Annual Report of Throbbing Gristle” today will simply remind everyone of exactly what everyone did when they first got a hold of cheap audio equipment back in the pre-digital age and didn’t have much talent. I’m sure I could release the cassette tapes me and my friends made at 13 years of age and it would hold up pretty well next to Throbbing Gristle. The only thing we lacked was the “art” aspect of it, which meant while we did have pretty silly looking haircuts (this was the days of skateboarding and Thrasher) we didn’t use hair dye nor did we cross-dress. So, while our “music” sucked as well as anyone’s, we didn’t have the “art” pretensions.

But in these days of #MeToo, what do you know, Megson’s rapes and sexual abuse against women aren’t considered “artful transgressions of social norms” or an “attempt to reveal the hypocrisy of British conservative politics” anymore. These days, “art performances involving enemas of blood, milk and urine, or masturbating with severed chicken heads” are old hat and are really only considered cool by the likes of Hillary Clinton’s Pizzagate Partiers and their Spirit Cookers.

Everyone else has seen this shit (often, literal shit) before. G. G. Alin used to take a shit onstage and call it “art” too.


What do you know, “P-Diddy” – oh, sorry, “P-Orridge” – actually changed himself into a woman, presumably for the same reason Bruce Jenner did, to gain some sympathy and distract from a history of – in the case of Jenner, vehicular manslaughter, and in the case of Megson, sociopathy and sexual abuse.

So now the articles “celebrating” this defective are “nuanced” because it’s no longer “edgy” and, well, all the women now say, “wow, what a jerk that guy was.”

Like other pathetic Social Justice Warriors for some bizarre reason celebrated by the worst of Generation X – like Black Flag (shit) and its front-person Henry Rollins, and nearly as awfully unlistenable Dead Kennedys and “Jello Biafra” – time puts everything into perspective. Henry Rollins, far from being some sort of artful intellectual poet, “spoken word artist,” is exactly what you would expect a dimwitted, aging bisexual roid-head juicer to be like. And “Jello” Biafra’s youthful sneer at the “establishment, man,” has softened into a beer belly, manboobz straining out of his tight-t-shirts, and a lisp worthy of a GLAAD spokes-person.

So “Genesis P-Orridge” looks, sounds, and speaks exactly like the old Drag Queen he/she/it is.

(I know some stupid lame-ass “Alt Right” types will think this shit is cool because they were all edgy with like swastikas and nazi shit, but that’s because the Alt Right is too stupid to know when people are making fun of them.)

But looks like they’ve all be cancelled because sociopathic rapist child molestors aren’t “edgy outsiders” anymore, but are, apparently – if the Epstein and Pizzagate stories are to be believed – actually the establishment.

Fuck him and them, instead of celebrating that trash, here’s a great song inspired by the diaries of a suicided Iraq war vet sung by Sesame Street’s Cookie Monster.

9/11 – Nevar Forget