I remember at age 15 saving up my allowance and buying a record every other week while visiting my dad in Bay City, Michigan ... while he bowled I scoured the nearby mall and occasionally ventured a few extra blocks to check out this used vinyl joint some guy had opened up in his house. At one point I had Nugent, Sabbath, AC/DC, Ozzy, MC5, Ramones, Alice, and when I stumbled upon a cut-out bin copy of the Plasmatics' Metal Priestess, I thought I had finally found the record that would top 'em all, the crown jewel in my collection, the apex of heavy. Until I got the record home and listened to it, that is. Even as a particularly naive 15-year old, I knew I'd been had.
But I kept that record -- it's now a prized possession for the sheer numbskull nihilism at work, and I proudly own Wendy O. Williams' solo album too. Any woman who introduces a promotional video by declaring "smashing up expensive things makes me cum" deserves my respect. RIP, Wendy.