With two days of hard partyin’ and heavy drinkin’ behind us, our bodies are super pissed. Livers world wide are exhausted, blood-shot eyes are caked shut with dried ocular boogers, along with stomachs grumbling for some McDonald’s Breakfast. After you slip on your (insert favorite band name here) sweat pants, then zip up your (insert other favorite band here) hoodie, slide a little Judas Priest into the car stereo. Face it…the bastard’s begging for it.
Judas Priest – Painkiller
Not too many bands out there can pump out an album where every song is fucking spectacular, let alone a string of them. Screaming for Vengeance, Defenders of the Faith, Turbo, Ram it Down, and Painkiller are a must for any mp3 player, iPod, CD visor sleeve, or injecting metal into your veins. For the rest of the day, my ears will be feasting on the face shredding riffs of Glenn Tipton and K. K. Downing, the mighty fist pounding bass lines of Ian Hill, and Rob Halford’s super sonic screams that turn birds into dust, set fire to nature, and cause bowels to rupture for hours. Those who pussy out will have the wrath of an angry Defender to deal with, so man up! \m/
(Oh Mars and Probot are excluded, for they are more man than any lady can handle as it is. Any more manliness will cause lycanthropy, or possible Super Saiyan activity)