Taylor - Youre making me hate you: a cantankerous look at the common misconception that humans have any common sense left

Youre Making Me Hate You

Also by Corey Taylor

Seven Deadly Sins: Settling the Argument Between
Born Bad and Damaged Good

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Heaven:
Or, How I Made Peace with the Paranormal and
Stigmatized Zealots and Cynics in the Process

Youre Making Me
Hate You

A Cantankerous Look
At The Common Misconception
That Humans Have Any
Common Sense Left

Corey Taylor

Da Capo Press

A Member of the Perseus Books Group

Copyright 2015 by Corey Taylor

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address Da Capo Press, 44 Farnsworth Street, 3rd Floor, Boston, MA 02210.

Photos by Strati Hovartos

Designed by Jack Lenzo

Set in 11 point Warnock by The Perseus Books Group

Cataloging-in-Publication data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

First Da Capo Press edition 2015

ISBN: 978-0-306-82359-6 (e-book)

Published by Da Capo Press

A Member of the Perseus Books Group

www.dacapopress.com

Da Capo Press books are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the U.S. by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail special.markets@perseusbooks.com.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Ryan and Griffin, Haven and Lawson, Angeline and Aravis...

I love you all with the whole of my heart...

I only hope you grow to be better than me.

CT

The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits.

Albert Einstein

I have tried to know absolutely nothing about a great many things,

and I have succeeded fairly well.

Robert Benchley

Hell is other people.

Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

Which one of these words dont you understand?

Talking to you is like clapping with one hand!

Anthrax, Caught in a Mosh, Among the Living

Contents

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Chapter 11:

Just Before the Storm

F oreboding fake disclaimer: By reading this book and subsequently promoting its contents, whether in physical conversation or digital form, you are entering into an informal contractual congress with the author, one Corey Taylor, known from here on out as The Neck. This verbal agreement, semilegally recognized in several states and countries (including Guam), gives The Neck permission to smack any of you readers in the face with a plastic wiffle ball bat if and when you commit any of the ridiculously idiotic atrocities that will eventually be described in the tome you now hold in your hands. Herein there will be no warnings or recognition of first offenses regarding violation of this so-called dumbass agreement, and the resulting punishment will most likely happen when you least expect it, coming at the authors earliest convenience, depending on his amateur squash league schedule and other proclivities. If these terms do not appeal to the better angels of your judgment, you are encouraged to cease reading this book immediately or, better yet, pass it on to someone you are convinced will be susceptible to breaking this covenant, thus setting the stage for retribution. You will then be enlisted to assist The Neck in finding the offenders residence, affording you a front-row seat to watch the plastic violence firsthand. Thank you.

It was a weird, drunken, spooky night twelve years ago.

Id love to say I remember it well, but the fact of the matter is my old friend Jack Daniels and I had engaged in a battle of wills that night. Jack won; I placed. So what I can muster from my shitty college dorm room called a memory bank is fuzzy, at least for the first half of the proceedings. Through nobodys fault but my own, shit happened all down my leg. That is as close to foreshadowing as I am going to go at this point because what I do recall is precariously close to the sort of thing you hear about when someone sits you down for a cautionary tale about drugs and booze and bullshit. So pretend for a moment that I am the parent and you are the child. I think it goes without saying that youre snickering, and the paltry attempts to stave off that snickering is not appreciated, but I get it. It is indeed a strain to imagine yours truly as the voice of reason. After all, Im the guy who stuck his dick in an orange at a meet-and-greet for $26.10... in change. Please just bear with me if you can bear the tension. I promise the following story will not only set the stage for this book in rare form but will also hopefully make you chuckle, chortle, and snort as well. God forbid, you might even learn something. I highly doubt that last prediction.

If youve read any of my other tomes of torment, you will naturally understand that twelve years ago was my notorious epic run during the making of Vol. 3: The Subliminal Verses . Honestly, I could milk that period of my life for as long as I punch pain into inputs, but this book is much more about the present and the future. So I am only going to dip into this particular ink well for a brief moment because it has some insight into the topic at hand. It involves alcohol, various nefarious drugs, a party, a redhead, and a man in an ill-fitting bandana wearing leather pants. I dont even remember their namesprobably because I never bothered to learn them. So giving them names that are most likely not the ones they were blessed with isnt out of respect; its because I simply didnt give a shit about them in the first place. In fact, if they do read this and get offended I couldnt care less. Theyre the ones with enough egg on their faces to make omelets for an entire Los Angeles basketball team, so fuck them.

Thats the kind of book this is going to be: tug on your fucking helmets.

Any-who...

I started this night at the hole of holes, the heaven of hells: the Rainbow Bar and Grill. I knowthis place appears in so much of my writing that Id have to cast it as an actual person in any movie made about my life. However, it has always been a giant, beautiful nugget in the gold mine of my absurdities. Thank fuck this story is not a spotlight on my dumb shit; I am merely the one who had to witness the buggery. But all tales start somewhere. The starting pistol sounded off at the outside bar, where respectable people can still have a cigarette nuzzled up against finished mahogany while drowning themselves in libations. Theres another piece of fine intelligence: Hey, Im going to go inside this place and blow my brains out on alcohol, thereby killing my brain cells and liver while also doing damage to other vital organs. I might even do some blow in the bathroom. But those other fuckers better go outside to SMOKE! Fuckin savages...

I was hanging out with a friend who had been invited to a party in Silver Lake, a section of LA not too terribly far from the Rainbow. Well, I say not too terribly far: the truth is, I didnt know how far it wasI wasnt driving. All I remember was climbing into my friends sedan afterward and hanging out the window to let the cool air put the kibosh on my spins. I believe there was even a spirited debate about whether we could cruise through the Del Taco drive-thru for inexpensive meat envelopes. Now that I think about it, I do have a visual of taking a piss behind a dumpster in the parking lot while chatting with a nice gentleman who was none too pleased about the expulsion, maybe because I was singing And We Danced by the Hooters at concert volume. People in line at the outside menu couldnt be heard on the speaker. I guess I was calling way too much attention to his rummaging around in those giant canisters for fuck-knows-what. Once I was back in the car and loaded for bear with crappy fast food, we got back on track. Then before I knew it, we were at the party.