FUNERAL

GG ALLIN'S FUNERAL

Hey, have you heard of GG Allin? He died a couple years ago of a heroin
overdose. For about 15 years he was the most aggressive, extreme, hated punk
rocker on the planet - and the reputation was well deserved. The music he put
out was not exactly well produced, but it's power was immense. The best cd to
get is "Dirty Love Songs", which is a collection from many of his bands. The
following is the tale of his funeral...
GG Allin's funeral - I was there less than two months after meeting the guy.
Now, we all knew he wasn't going to die of old age and we all knew it wouldn't
be an ordinary service, but I wasn't quite prepared for that I saw. The band's
drummer was drawing on GG's leg with a magic marker. The body was dressed in
his leather jacket and a jockstrap that said "Eat Me". He held a microphone in
one hand and a jug of Jim Beam in the other. Everyone was hammered. When the
beer ran out, people wrenched the jug from his arms to swig from it. GG looked
like hell.
There were gouges and scars everywhere and he was discolored, and frankly,
starting to go bad after five days. He was leaking embalming fluid noticeable.
One girl put her underwear on his face. Other people were putting stickers on
the casket, pushing pills and liquor into GG's mouth, having their smiling
pictures taken up by his face, taking his dick out and playing with it.. the
works. It was as though everyone ELSE was finally having THEIR way with HIM.
The parlor director thought it was a scream. Most common phrase of the night
had to be, "He woulda" wanted it this way."
At a convenience store afterwards, a clerk overheard us talking about what
we'd seen and asked "where the hell WHERE you?" We told her a wake, "WHOSE
wake?" We told her, but GG didn't ring a bell.. "You know, Kevin?"" "Oh,
Kevin! OK, that makes sense. Say.. was Al Chappel there?" We told her he was.
"He hung my cat, you know." We said, "What, back in the Jabbers days..
'79-ish?" "No, just last week!" This guy must be almost 40 now and still hangs
cats.
At graveside the next day, the drummer stepped up to the ditch and told those
in attendance, "The Lunachicks are number one. They were my husband, and he
(GG Allin) was my wife. Thank you." He then went into a sort of interpretive
art-dance in his gray hot pants and t-shirt. We noticed him looking solemn at
the end, and asked if he was OK, "I shoulda' mentioned that Caprice parked on
the hill up there, because Chevys number one, too. I used to have a van."
If you are not familiar with the legend of GG Allin, it may be tempting to
dismiss this story as totally fabricated bullshit similar to the Jim Morrison
article in this section, but the joke's on you - this story is true.
This article was written by Joe Coughlin. The HEATHEN WORLD originally printed
"GG's Funeral" with the Joe's permission in the zine "Pretentious Shit".


HEATHEN WORLD