The Rock N' Roll Horror Zine

REMEMBER 85 By Marc Shapiro Screaming guitars that made ears bleed. Drugs out the wazoo in firmly packed blunts and finely drawn lines. Women standing in line, legs wide open, falling all over themselves to partake of a real rock and roll ride. This was the stuff of Jesse Brand’s dreams. The rest was his reality. His nightmare Jesse woke from a troubled sleep with a shutter and a start, hung his head over a cot that passed for a bed and puked his guts out into a plastic bucket. The bucket was the latest in a seemingly never ending addition that had marked his physical and emotional decline. It was added when Jesse realized that he did not have the strength or desire to make it to the toilet when his every morning rush of upchuck said hello to the day. Nor did he have what it took to empty the bucket on a regular basis. The stench was palpable. The stench was something he had long since gotten used to. His innards now sufficiently purged, Jesse rolled back onto his cot

Long Strange R.I.P. by Josh Schlossberg “Long time no see, Mr. Garcia.” Satan slouched on his throne of charred rib cages and femurs at the center of a vast dim obsidian hall. “Whatever can I do for you?” The heavy-set, white-haired and bearded man—basically Santa Claus in glasses and a black T-shirt—stood with his feet planted wide on the ashy stone, sulfurous gases twining around his legs like friendly cats. “You know damn well why I’m here,” Jerry said. “Written any new jingles?” Satan’s black lidless eyes oozed like tar as he scratched the mushroom head of the ghoul squatting to his side. “I still get a kick out of that one song. How does it go? ‘Set out running but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine.’” “It’s gotta stop.” “Is my singing that bad?” Satan flashed hundreds of tiny, immaculate teeth and the thing beside him tittered. “I forgot to congratulate you on the Hall of Fame induction. Quite the honor.” “Leave Vince alone.” Jerry st

That Time I Hung Out With Warrant by Frank Edler I lived some prime years of my life through the decadent age of hard rock and heavy metal that dominated the music landscape in the 1980's. It was an incredible time. The music was loud, the clothing was loud and the hair went all the way to 11. Anything worth doing was worth overdoing. I followed those bands with the big hair and the black leather and the flashy guitars like they were a religion. I bought the rock magazines and studied the articles. I tore the glossy photos from the rags and plastered the walls of my bedroom with them. I bought cheap mall knockoff rock star clothing and frequented every local music store dreaming of the day I would be able to afford a sexy looking $700 guitar that would make women melt without even playing a single note. My dedication to the music, the bands and the scene led me on many great adventures. I frequently sought out the bands when they were in town. I would stalk thei