Nurae the Hate: Hate AC/DC

Yesterday I heard that AC/DC drummer Phil Rudd was arrested for attempting to hire a hit man to kill two men in New Zealand.  This is going to be my favorite news story of 2014, without question.  The only way to top that would be if we could switch some details out to something like “David Bowie Leads Mexican Drug Cartel”, “Geezer Butler Beheads Area Teen”, or “Kenny Aronoff Kidnaps Mary-Kate Olsen, Suspected Of Horrific Sex Crimes”.  What possible reason would AC/DC’s drummer have to have a couple of guys killed (or “whacked” as I suppose he would say)?  AC/DC has a never ending stream of live concert revenue coming in, with more on the way with a new release waiting in the wings.  Rudd is 60 years old, so I assume that whatever screwed up female relationships he has can be simply walked away from with minimal collateral damage.  What could possibly lead him to think “I ought to hire a hit man!  That is the solution!”

The natural answer is that he is a drummer.  Drummers are stereotypically off kilter.  This is probably due to being so close to continual impact of drums, much the same way that jackhammer operators are probably totally out of their gourds.  The brain gets damaged.  When someone does something really stupid backstage at a rock show, the answer of “he’s a drummer” is generally enough to gain understanding from the offended party.  They are on the bottom of the rock totem pole, and with every stereotype come a shred of truth.  Q:  What’s the difference between a drummer and a pig?  A:  The pig won’t stay up all night trying to fuck a drummer. 

Only a drummer would think to hire a hit man.  Drummers live in a world very different from you and I.  Most drummers news and information comes to them via animated programming from The Cartoon Network.  The idea that a hit man would be the solution to their problem makes sense through a haze of weed smoke and cable TV.  Leo thinks South Park is a documentary.  The line between reality and fantasy gets confusing.  I firmly believe that the very existence of “hit man” is something dreamt up by Hollywood movies.  Every few months a story comes to light about someone being arrested for trying to hire a hit man, which always turns out to be an undercover cop.  ALWAYS.  I cannot ever recall reading a news story that states “John Doe was found dead in his apartment, the apparent victim of a hit man.  Area detectives noted, “You could tell this was a professional hit.  We have no known motives or evidence.  It was a real pro that did this.”  The police have no idea who could have committed this crime.”

Maybe I am way off base in this, and many of my friends are right now planning “hits” on the population as I type.  Maybe they are planning a hit on me.  Who knows?  Perhaps there is a reliable online source to hire hit men, like an Angie’s List of crime.  “Spider Jenkins was a reliable hit man.  He killed my ex-husband with a piano wire, and left no trail back to me.  I would recommend using Spider for any future murders I plan.  Four stars.”  However, if that is the case, I would think that perfectly executed clandestine murders would be the norm.  The chance of anyone being left alive at any insurance company claims office is almost none.  Good luck at trying to hire clerks at the DMV.  “Well, we are short handed since Nancy refused to give that guy his sticker for his plate and got poisoned while she slept…” 

I will be watching this developing story very closely.  Fear not , the machine that is AC/DC will roll on.  Some amazing session drummer just received the best phone call ever.  That lucky fella will soon be settling comfortably in the old Phil Rudd bunk on the tour bus, ready to stare at Cartoon Network flickering on the screen as the bus rolls from Detroit to Chicago.  He may even catch a Phil Rudd news update if he rolls over the remote and it flips to CNN.  I don’t really care abut Phil Rudd one way or the other, but perhaps this can shed a little light on the New Zealand Hit Man Community, and by default the Cleveland Hit Man Community.  Until I know what’s going on for sure, I’ll sleep with one eye open.  Oi!