Disturbed is to Heavy Metal as Miley Cyrus is to Heavy Metal

First of all: What the Hell is this supposed to be?

I'll think about that face in the toilet first. It's fucking everywhere, so the band definitely really, really want to be associated with it. Is that supposed to be their Eddy? I might have thought so, except that the basin monster pictured left never looms over Disturbed's members menacingly as they perform on stage. That means it's nowhere near as cool as Eddy. Maybe they're trying to pull a Mushroomhead--maybe they've created a branding symbol to make themselves more recognizable while helping them look "mean" or "evil." But, Mushroomhead put (or at least used to put) passion into their performances and about 6/8 of the band wore masks to match their insignia on stage. So, if they're taking a page out of Mushroomhead's book, it's one of the useless ones like the dedication page.

So what is it? I've been thinking about it since I saw their embarrassing performance at the Mayhem Festival in San Antonio a few weeks ago, and I finally think I understand. They put shit face everywhere because David Draiman is an overcompensating pussy. I suppose he feels that if he can't in any way resemble a man when he performs, then maybe he can hire a two-dimensional drawing to help him out. It's kind of like giving a politician a mohawk, if you ask me. If he bears any relationship to the Prince of Darkness like that menacing visage in the throne would attempt to indicate, then he's the Devil's 3-year-old Christian niece. If you're unfamiliar with Disturbed's vocalist Draiman, then scroll down a bit--I managed to find a shot of him in action after one of his recent performances.

Draiman holds a fan's bottle of beer while the starstruck man pays his respects.

Now, how about that lackluster subtitle (see that picture which opened the post)? "Ten Thousand Fists?" Sorry guys, I know a bondage-obsessed sorority whore who already used that title somewhere else. As far as their band goes, though, it's another amateur way to connect with the junior high school preconception of heavy metal culture. Little kids think heavy metal is all about pumping your fist and anticonformity. In reality though, we all know it's about getting drunk, headbutting a buddy or two in the face, and a little bit of middle finger trading every now and then. Coincidentally, that full-fledged salute to prepubescence would also likely make a great title for any sex tapes he may leak in the future.

Secondly: Disturbed are a four-piece testament to weakness and yeast infections. Listen to them on their records and they just sound like a meager version of what Jock Jams would sound like if it were a metal album. "Get up, come on, get down with the sickness. You mother get up, come on get down with the sickness. You fucker get up...[3 minutes later without any section changes]...come on get down with the sickness." Ok, Dave, we understand what it is you want us to do--give the motivational chant a rest. What's next? "Get, get, get...get psycho. Get, get, get, I wanna get psycho. Get, get, get, get...get psycho [x5 or a million]." Somebody go and get this guy a pair of basketball shorts and a mesh tank top before anyone else confuses his band for a metal act.

They Can't Even Make Themselves Say It

This beer sucks. You know it, I know it and, apparently, the good people in the Natural Light marketing department know it, too. They can't bring themselves to use the word "natural" in their own logo.

In this first installment of a series I'm calling "Natural Plight," I'll examine the first of five Natural-Light-spawned marketing mockeries called "Nattyisms." The fact that they even attempt to position their beer as anything but a cheap way to forget that you're a complete loser is laughable. If you think about their marketing plan in any more detail than that, it might do serious damage to your central nervous system.

Natastrophe: According to the fine folks at "Natty Light," a natastrophe occurs some time just after some klutzy shit-for-brains wanders into a party at his older brother's frat house. Naturally, said shit-for-brains has brought a twelve pack of "Natty" with him to show his brother's brothers that he knows how to party. A resounding "nattaboy!" from the Northface chorus immediately drowns out whichever Jack Johnson song happens to be playing at the time, and young SFB feels accepted. His comfort level peaks as the featured artist changes from Jack to Rascal Flatts, and then he notices the throng of scantily-clad dick bait howling the lyrics of Maybury (or whatever the Hell that song about Cherry Coke is) atop every raised surface of the house. Distracted by his overpowering horniness (he's not used to seeing that much self-esteem-induced desparation this side of a computer screen), he backs into some chick and dumps all the Natural Plight everywhere. Uh oh--the night's ruined.

Spilling Natty Light is a catastrophe like spilling toxic waste is a catastrophe--you have to stop ignoring its presence, someone has to take responsibility for introducing it into the environment in the first place and, finally, someone has to come into contact with it in order to clean it up. Here's the bad news: unlike waste disposal professionals, the one responsible for a "natastrophe" has to clean up that liquid virginity with their bare hands. I'm pretty sure that's what made the Toxic Avenger the man he is today.