When you see the above image, there's the overwhelming initial WTF. In the aftermath, the quiet after the bomb, there is time to ponder. Is this a joke? Are those guns real? Is that a toddler bed???
People have been using this image to illustrate their point internetly since 2008. Which is quite a long shelf life these days. About a month ago, a friend of mine forwarded that pic and one of Private Lindy England who tortured her prisoners in Abu Ghraib in a game of "Who'd You Choose?" (to sleep with). We started this game long before TMZ, and our aim is to stump rather than to stimulate. A Sophie's Choice of the loins. (I got stumped when forced to pick either my father or Michael Jackson.) So I went looking for him. Lots of people had stories about him (mostly untrue), but the ones he told me once I found him were the best. Mostly what surprised me was to learn that there's a heart under the ammo-belt. My second surprise was that itty bitty bikini bottom houses a hundred-dollar-an-hour cock! VICE: I've been hearing stories about you for years. Is this one (from a barista/Vice reader) true? Are you Frostbolt? "I used to work at the Starbucks. He was a regular in at the corner of Colorado and Bonnie in Pasadena, CA. Frostbolt: Hey man, I’m really sorry, I feel bad, but I put a spell on you Barista: Oh no really that's OK dude, no problem. Frostbolt: No really, it was a bad bad spell; like daggers and thorns and frostbolts…but it’s OK, I have given you that power now. I felt bad so now you have the spell. It’’s yours. Barista: Um, thanks." Rockglockcock: I've never been to California. So unfortunately, I am not Frostbolt. Why do you think your photos caused such a sensation? I think the reason the photos evoke such emotion in people is the majority don't realize a gun is a screwdriver. It's not something that's going to jump off the bed and kill you. It's a tool. So when people see two guns, they think, "Oh my god, this is more than is normal." And then they see a BUNCH of guns and that makes them lose all reason. Then you have to compound that with this ridiculous fat hairy guy who has no shame whatsoever and is posing as if he has a reason to pose, which obviously he doesn't because he's so ugly. Which is bullshit. Seems like the internets made you. What would your life have been like had you been born in medieval times? I'd be out there wearing a kilt and covered in blood--same as now. There's an event here in Tennessee called Bonnaroo. I wear nothing but a kilt and boots and a bandana. Last year it was the Beastie Boys, Public Enemy, Erykah Badu, Snoop Dog, and Nine Inch Nails. That's the main stage. There are two sub-stages, crazy food. I go to the X-box tent and play Rock Band. This will hopefully be my third year in a row of winning an 80-gigabite Zune. Do you go to Renn Faires? I have and I do still own a tunic made for me by my ex-wife. Ex? I read that you won your wandering wife back and you guys had a shooting frenzy to celebrate your reuniting. What happened? There's a whole lot of misinformation out there about my life. The sad truth is… my family is dead. Everybody has been dropping like flies for the last few years and I've got a stepbrother and an aunt left. This means that the majority of my relationships were my wife, my kids, and the friends I had accrued locally. One by one, my friends started drifting off or stopped calling, and my last friend moved away to North Carolina in March of '08. So I looked at my wife and said, "We have got to find a way to come together. I need you now more than ever." We'd been having problems for years. First week of March '08 I said to my wife, "I got nothing. I got nobody else. We gotta find a way to make this work." Well, the second week of March, she fell in love with someone on the internet, and the first week of April, he moved in. [gasps] Yeah. I spent three months living with her and my replacement, hoping she'd change her mind, and she didn't. So first week of June, I moved out. Where on the internet did she meet him? In a MUD--a multi-player game. Um… that's horrible. During the three months we all lived together, I lost it. I did some pretty crazy things, and one of them was, the first week of May, I was browsing the SomethingAwful forums at The Firing Range, and somebody had asked for pictures of a gun that I had--a TEC-22--with core trigger disciplines. He wanted action shots, so I took those pictures and said, "I hope this isn't too much action for you." Did your wife take the pictures? Yes. What was the deal with the toddler bed? No, that was the bed I slept in. Oh my god, because you'd gotten kicked out of the master bed for the MUD guy! [At this point in the transcribing I hurriedly forwarded what I'd gotten so far to my fellow longtime glockrockcock wonderer, Daphne Young. She replied: "I am practically tearing up that the dream is actually the dream. You see that picture and think, 'There has to be a story behind that.' Other interviewers have tried to figure him out, but they just scratched the surface. This explains everything we were wondering about the kiddie bed! He was displaced. After reading this, I no longer find him a source of comedy. He just wants love and security. He sounds reasonable. The pictures are the actions of a desperate man (maybe overtly sexual and violent because he had been so emasculated). His wife was clearly gaslighting him. You don't take erotic photographs of a man you no longer love if you aren't fucking with his head a little. What you have uncovered is gold." But idealistic Daphne didn't know that the glockrockcock story was about to turn… dark. Darker.] Please describe the photos. The first one was captioned: "I heard something." That was me listening off in the distance, wearing a thong and a gun belt and a regular belt across my chest; I think I had eleven guns tucked in the belt. It was just a joke. It was for a few people I hang out with in this little corner of the internet. It was never supposed to get farther than that. We were just supposed to laugh and go on with our lives. Unfortunately what happened was some guys on the forum said to other people, "Hey, you gotta see this." And they told two friends, and they told two friends. I think it took about an hour and a half for about 90,000 people to see it. Within a couple weeks, I was featured on 20 websites that I found out about. FailBlog. CollegeHumor. E-bombs. LosersOfMySpace. About a year later, I got contacted by Comedy Central, and they put it up--my "calendar shot." Which is me spread out on the bed with all of my guns laid out neatly, my ammunition boxes, my Guitar Hero guitar and my Rock Band guitar, as I lay there with a 45 pointed at my johnson. So there was a hostage in that photo. Ohhhhh. Were some of the guns real and some of the guns fake? All of the guns were real. The guns that were not as real as they could have been were the three air pistols. And all of the information I put with it was real. Anyone who wants to find out who the fat guy with the guns is can. The website I host has my phone number. Don't call yourself fat and ugly! Oh, make no mistake, I do NOT consider myself ugly. Most of the rest of the world does. But I like who I am. I like the size I am. I'm never going to be an Adonis, and I don't want to be. I don't want to be some muscle-bound jerk. I'm a good guy. The opinion of other people is, they tell me: "Hey, you're ugly." I don't have a problem with that. You don't have to find me attractive. But NOBODY is attractive to everybody. I don't care how hot you think you are, SOMEBODY thinks you're ugly. I gotta tell you, whatever the majority of the people who read whatever it is you do think, I am a prostitute! I am not kidding. People pay me to have sex with them. As much as one hundred bucks a liason. I am capable of dating people. I am capable of having people so attracted to me that they won't leave me alone. I have stalkers. How can you tell the difference between attention and stalking? When you say, "You're a dangerous person and you're creeping me out, I can't have you in my life," and they don't take the hint. That was one case of prostitution. With a stalker? What did she look like? She was attractive. I had dealt with her previously and she had done some stuff that I didn't appreciate and so I broke it off with her, and she tried to convince me to get back with her, and I said no, and she said yes really, so basically the money was a deterrent. I didn't expect her to take me up on it. I told her, "If you want to be with me to try to convince me to look past the reasons why I don't want to be around you anymore, then you're going to have to bribe me." Then she came up with the money, so I thought, 'Well, I guess I have to come through with my end.' If I say I'm going to do something, I do it. How did you come up with the figure of a hundred dollars? Actually the rate is fifty. Tipping is appreciated but not necessary. Was that your first time turning a trick? No, there were others. When I was a teenager. When I was a kid, I had people buy me stuff. Are you concerned about the IRS reading this and demanding their 16 percent? This year I've made $225 in prostitution, so if I declared that on my taxes, that would fall under the $600 you're allowed to make outside of your general work. But I don't mind if they want a piece when I'm getting a piece. [groans] You're not GETTING a piece, you're GIVING a piece. Renting, actually. How do you go over with the menfolk? I've been accused of being a bear. I'm not. I'm a space heater. I heat space. Do you swing both ways? I do not. I'm bi-nauseated. I could absolutely date and sleep with a man if I didn't find them both physically and psychologically repulsive. I don't know how women do it. And yet you find yourself very attractive. It's only step from there to other man love. Only one step. I'll have to think about that. Okay, I've thought about that, and no, thanks. LISA CRYSTAL CARVER
Did you enjoy that? Sure you did. Now check out: