The Seven Deadly Sins (9 page)

Anyone who feels that homosexuality is not only a sin but also a disease or a mental issue should take a look in the mirror and realize who the real crazy person is. Of all the gay and lesbian people I have ever known, there has only been one crazy candidate, and believe me he was truly crazy. He was convinced he had wings under his skin. Now I am not one to judge, but that shit is fucking crazy to me. But he was crazy because he thought
he was some kind of Thanagarian warrior, not because he knew who he was attracted to. There is a subtext to judgment that is hypocritical and openly selfish. If people spent more time minding their own business and less time in other people's business the world would be having a much bigger party. These are the same people who believe gay marriage isn't a constitutionally protected right. I bet the houses of their unions have more skeletons in their closets than brooms.

My blood is starting to boil, but I should be careful. This is not the wrath chapter. It is all things lust, all the time on this Sirius channel. Lust is such a fun thing too—it is a real shame that people cannot just relish it for what it is. Lust is a doorway to the very heart of our heart. Lust and sex were celebrated by many cultures as the tapping we hear on the doors of our ids. Mating rituals have been a part of us since we clubbed our first cavewoman. There are nuances and delicacies that we can still learn from our inner pervert. When we turn a blind eye and numb pelvis toward our spiritual horizons, we never get to see our suns peak. That is a mother-fucking shame.

Rest assured that nothing will be accomplished in the War of the Loins. Even if they were to legislate monogamous missionary sex by penalty of law, we as free-thinking rebellious folk would find a way to get around it. Lawmakers and judicious churchies, or Christos as I am fond of calling the uber-religious, will do their damnedest to stick their heads into our unanimous asses to see where our shit has been. But we—the few, the proud, the horny—will beat them back with the speed of our wits and the strength of our sexual resolve. This is not only the freedom we should all have but also the right we should all enjoy. The good fight starts when the bad shit happens. So bring it on—the world is waiting.

One brutal by-product comes from hetero lust though, and it involves panic, hysterics, and peeing on blue sticks. That is absolutely correct, Harry, I am talking about babies. For those of you not in the know, babies are tiny humans who cannot feed themselves, change their own diapers, or drive themselves to the gas station. For those of you (like myself) who are all too familiar with the concept of young ones, we are very aware that babies are loud, insane creatures who barely walk and never talk but cry continuously until they are distracted. Coming as that does from a father, please make no mistake, I love my children.

But holy shit, they will drive you to drink more.

This goes hand in hand with lust in general. The Good Book—and by that I mean
The Joy of Sex
—tells us “go forth and procreate.” So lust is the lube for our child-bearing gears, the gas in our engines so to speak. It is a part of our genetic unconscious to spread our seeds across the lust-filled landscape, a postcard of fleshy reminders that we were here. Orgasms are affectionately along for the wonderful ride. Thank god for that: If all we got out of sex were children and migraines, humanity would have phased out genitalia centuries ago, along with pinky toes and that snot tunnel that takes phlegm from your nose directly into your mouth. I will never understand that piece of our anatomy.

When did the necessary get lumped in with the ne'er do wells of our sinful never can tells? Who put the Sodom in Gomorra? Were our ancestors so fucked up that they crossed lines even ignorant, undeveloped ancient fuckers found distasteful? I mean, did ye old lust lead to sticking your cock into mountains? Were people chasing down frogs? Was mud being plunged into
with romantic fervor? These are the things the Bible conspicuously leaves out. I bet you a handful of Chili's coupons that Jesus had a foot fetish. People are just inherently weird, man. I got to be honest; I have sucked my fair share of toes myself, and it is some of the sexiest shit on the planet. Damn, I might have to take a break and work something out if you get my drift.

That reminds me: I do not know what the Catholics have against masturbation, but if there were a way to levee complaints on their heads, I would do so in an instant. What the Catholics and Christians call a sin against oneself, the great Woody Allen called “sex with the one you love.” Masturbation and a rented movie beat dinner and shitty conversation with a bad blind date any fucking day of the week. Quote me on that. A little push, a little pull, and a lot of imagination can be just what the doctor ordered after a hard day. Let's face it, sex sometimes requires talking. For guys, sometimes quite frankly we just need to tap the sexual valve. Pull up cam whores or your porn or red tube or porn hub or a plethora of other worldly Web sites that offer “visual horizontal recreation,” then get a “handle” on yourself and fall asleep watching
Forensic Files
. Besides, I would never listen to people who spend too much time in wooden booths listening to people's secrets all day.

The days of feeling humiliated about normal sexual escapades should all be behind us. Sadly, there are many among us who still equate sex with hateful things like rape and molestation. Small people have small minds cluttered with smaller ideas, and it is a shame that so many of them have giant reaches into huge pockets. If I would never hand control of my sexy bits to a falcon with epilepsy, then why would I be expected to do so with strangers who have no clue about pleasure? I feel like I am going
fucking nuts here. And when I go fucking nuts, I have a tendency to break my lucky Guinness glasses. Damn it guys, I only have so many of those things left!

Sentient beings with intelligence and morals should be allowed to put their pieces in whatever Reese's they want, whether they are gay or straight. The stigmas of the past should be eradicated. The powers that be should be the powers of free. Brothers and sisters, the twilight of our sexual revolution is going to give way to the dawn of our lusty victories. We can lead a march through the streets of every major city of the greatest country in the world and proclaim that our privates are private property. No one gets away with murdering our right to coitus. No one gets away with controlling how we feel about how we feel. The right to bare asses is right up there with licking apple pie off the tits of someone called Big Mama. America puts the cunt in country, damnit. We are fucking alive in here.

I am a big fan of pizza, with ranch dressing handy for dipping. I had no other reason for writing this than to lighten the mood a bit before I pull your panties off. Do you feel me, earth? Yeah, that is my hand on your thigh and my lips on your ear. Besides, does anyone really like having a tongue in their ear? It is akin to a worm trying to take over your head. It is just gross. I would rather have a raccoon's dick shoved into my navel than have a tongue stuffed into either one of my ears. Now nibbling is a different story. Just give me some tiny bites on any part of me and I am rendered harder than mahogany in the Arctic Circle. I think I am going to drag my wife upstairs and rub something against her. No, I mean it. She has lint on her sweater and the sticky lint brush is on the counter in our bathroom. What did you think I was talking about? You guys are fucking perverts,
man—get your head out of the gutter. That is my wife you are thinking about!

God, my wife is hot.

I have had sex with porn stars and rock stars. I have had sex with friends and strangers, with beauty queens and the stuff of wet dreams. I have fucked whores and hags. I have done so much that it is damn near impossible to put a finger on just where my own unique kink comes from sometimes. But one thing is for certain: If it were not for lust, half my stories would be boring wastes of breath. If it were not for lust, my little soirees would be nothing more than campfire sonnets designed to lull you to sleep—maybe not all of them, but most of these stories would be anyway. For the last thirty-five years, lust has been my copilot, I have been its captain, and we have gone down in the shit together.

I do not think I am unraveling the mysteries or the science behind our sexual drives or weakness. I am just a guy trying to make you feel better about having sex in the first place. The stains of the past can wash off with enough time and effort. People, the power is truly in our hands. From soup to nuts, from hello to the afterglow, from dinner to the postcoitus cigarette—every decision, every move you make, and every vibe you gauge is free will burning. You can dodge the bullet at any moment or bury it with the closest bone. Although sex feels great when it is dirty, it should never feel evil or, for that matter, deadly. We all live with lust in our hearts, the passionate pulse of being alive, and nothing the authorities say will do anything to make us become eunuchs.

So for all you uptight vanilla hard-on motherfuckers who are just hanging around the sandbox waiting for the first opportunity to kick dirt in our beds, how about you go ahead and stick your head deep in that very sand. The world is a little bit easier to cope with after a good bout of “Who Tied Me Up?,” and I for one can keep from plotting the deaths of my enemies when I have had a strong six-second orgasm. I am begging those of you who just do not get it or, more appropriately, do not get it enough to lay off! Better yet, get laid and get off. If you could view the world through blue-lined glasses, you would see most of us are just having fun, just kicking the mud off of our bodies and spirits. It is a fucking jungle out there, man. But thank Pete we all came equipped with a great stress-killing mechanism that hopefully never disappoints, never dies down, never gets old, and never ever makes anyone say “ow!” Is lust a sin? In my professional opinion, lust is not a sin at all. But I will say this: Sometimes it feels even better when you pretend it is one.

F
or those of you not very familiar with me, let me introduce myself.

My name is Corey Taylor. I was more or less born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa, although I had lived in twenty-five different states before I'd reached puberty. I am (apparently) a renowned artist, singer, songwriter, lyricist, entertainer, dancer (total lie), magi (another lie), aura reader (where's he going with this?), and all-around famous person. I have two very successful bands, Slipknot and Stone Sour, with multiplatinum albums and award-winning music. I have seen a million faces, and I've rocked several hundred of them. And I have been nominated for ten Grammies, winning one, making me the Susan Lucci of rock and roll. I also have had the privilege of writing my own monthly column for a British publication called
Rock Sound
since 2001.

Besides all those other super-cool things, I am a loving husband and father of two ultra-cool children. I am a manic geek who enjoys all things geek-tastic, such as comic books, movies, collectible action figures, and so on. I have been writing since I was nine years old, my first published piece being “The Tiger,” which was featured on the front page of the
Jackson Journal
(to be fair, the
Jackson Journal
was the leaflet handed out at my old elementary school, and it was only two pages—but I did score the front). I am not Elmer Fudd and I do not have a mansion and a yacht, but I have three houses, a commercial building, and I hope to have a house boat by the time I am old, or at least young enough to swim after it when it gets away from me.