Pee Wee Herman mugshot

Ozzy Osbourne better live forever. When he dies, I fear that SiriusXM will reprogram Ch. 38: Ozzy's Boneyard to something terrible. Ozzy used to live at #3 on my radio presets, but over the past five years and between two different cars, I've pushed it completely off the dial. I didn't want to hear Man On The Silver Mountain ever again. I exhausted the fun of making fart noises alongside the melody of that dumb song long ago.

I still occasionally stop by Ozzy’s Boneyard. These moments are whenever Ch. 40 Liquid Metal plays dumb Slipknot or Lamb of God. Please stop playing these bands. They are for rednecks.  Thank you. Unfortunately, odds are that Ozzy is playing Van Halen or Aerosmith. Yuck. Believe it or not, but either of those options are better than whatever Ch. 39 is playing. Yes. Hair Nation. Also called Construction Worker Radio by me and me alone.

Hair Nation plays a lot of songs by some band called Great White. All of their songs sound like men in denim and leather slapping five and displaying excellent teamwork. During these songs, it’s easy for my mind to arrive at a place where these same men are running naked around a locker room and snapping towels at each other’s hairy asses.

Hair Nation is the perfect soundtrack for when you need to run to the gas station for some scratch-offs and a Red Bull. You may not know where you’ll ultimately end up, but you’re guaranteed to grow a goatee in the process. The only other redneck joke I could come up with is that Hair Nation sounds best in a red 2001 Chevy Silverado or Dodge Neon, but only if the front bumper is missing.

Unlike Ozzy, Hair Nation will never die. It’s the aural equivalent to a Midwestern daydream of leaving town and starting a better life. It’s the safe place for anyone to embrace the absolute worst part of them—the part that likes Motley Crüe. It’s the last place on earth where anyone will judge you. Except me, because you’re probably a fucking redneck.

A stain on a wall Imagine going through life and seeing this every time you descended into your basement. You’d probably end up like me—32 years old and still terrified of every basement on earth. Let me know if you’re interested in seeing the greatest paranormal landmark in all of Dearborn Heights. Guided tours start at $25. I’ll knock $5 off if you hold my hand the entire time.
An annoyed man working on a car At your left is one of my favorite skateboard graphics ever. At you right is something I made whenever I wasn't too busy giggling at the thought of it.