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I’m still not sure what was going on. Maybe most people just skimmed the story or read the headline. Maybe they all really sorta knew it was a joke and just went along with it for shits and giggles. Or maybe in the context of the reality television universe, donkey-semen chug-a-lug contests on Fear Factor, Honey Boo-Boo Child shaking a belly full of go-go juice on Toddlers and Tiaras, the triumph of the human spirit that is Wife Swap, and the feminist sheroes of the Bad Girls Club, a goat entrail soup/chili cook-off seems fairly tame, even logical.Truth be told, I had a difficult time letting go of this thing. I had soared so high, but inside of me there was still an empty place. I needed more. I was determined to get inside the head of the man himself. That was what I wanted more than anything else, to know that I had pissed off his Satanic Majesty. I fantasized about going mano a mano with an enraged Danzig, settling the score with a no-holds-barred cage-fighting match. We would each be armed with a single scorpion and a Swiss Army knife.I started a fake Danzig twitter feed to keep it going. I amassed a respectable number of followers, around 400. My tweets got more and more absurd:“Lured Bible salesmen into cellar. Game on. Skinny gets it, but fatty still won't put lotion on its skin.”“Never trust a mongoose. Gone 30 minutes and the bastard uproots herb garden & poops on Tibetan Book of the Dead. This relationship is over!!”
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