Think you’ll “Get Lucky” with those faux Durex Daft Punk condoms? What a laugh riot. While crazed fans will clench onto them in hopes of avoiding a night with the spank bank, Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo will be laughing their way to an actual bank. (Well, that is, if they’re actually real.) But you and I both know that’s not the first piece of rubbish to surface from any band’s camp. Not in a world where KISS exists, and especially not one where ravenous consumers are a dime a dozen.
Truth: Music fans are no different than the hulking masses that loiter next to Wal-Mart at 3 p.m. on the Monday before Thanksgiving. They have the same potential chaotic chutzpah as the idiots shooting people for a pair of LeBrons. And while our punk rock might say otherwise, we’re innate consumers, ready to feast upon whatever we can get and whenever it’s available. At the end of the night, no band manager needs to be Richard M. Schulze to get their band a quick buck or five.
That explains why those condoms exist (?) or why your next-door neighbor’s unemployed father hits Aspen every February with his tacky Rolling Stones skis in tow or how Gene Simmons continues to drink wine from the arteries of his newborn fans. Look, I get it, baby. I’m just as guilty as the poor sap waiting to order the Rammstein dildos. Fuck, slap on a Pearl Jam logo and woo-wee I’m sold.
Well, while that doesn’t exist (yet), we did find a few other items of note, the sort of purchases that would make your wallet literally jump out of your pocket, evolve into a cartoon character, and scream obscenities at you in disgust. Preferably in the mall. Or with Sinbad. You’ve stopped reading, haven’t you?
KISS Him Cologne
In an ideal world, nobody has ever wanted to smell like KISS. But, that utopia is galaxies away and worlds apart, leaving us, instead, at the mercy of carbon emissions and the not-so-subtle fragrances of Gene Simmons & Co. Back in 2006, the well-endowed bassist (at least in the mouth) unveiled the band’s unlikely (?) cash grab, and rockists haven’t smelled the same since. Here’s hoping the majority of Earth is allergic to one of the following: bergamot fir, balsam, black cumin, white pepper, moss, sandalwood, and anise. What’s even scarier? There’s a woman’s perfume, too. –Michael Roffman
Creep Factor: 7.3/10
Perfect for: The guy working multiple late-night shifts in need of a party.
Gift wrap? Hey, why not. Say it’s from Doctor Love while you’re at it.
The fact that something as ridiculous as a GWAR-themed barbecue sauce is maybe the least ridiculous thing GWAR has ever done speaks volumes as to how truly out of their intergalactic skulls the legendary comic metal outfit really is. But while it lacks the shock value of decapitating the president or conducting mock abortions onstage, the idea of marketing their own barbecue sauce is something you wouldn’t exactly put past them. Fuck, they’ve done everything else, so why not, right? –Ryan Bray
Creep Factor: 4/10
Perfect for: Anyone who likes it bloody… their steaks, that is. Sicko.
Gift wrap? And get the paper all burnt on the grill? Shit son.
Katy Perry panties
Somewhere in California the pitch went something like this to Ms. Perry: “Because, really, let’s face it. This is the closest any fan will ever get to your panties, am I right, KP?” At the time, she was either a.) on the phone with her then-husband Russell Brand, b.) still getting those braces removed, or c.) just nodding at everything to stave off the creepy suits. To play Devil’s advocate for a second, why wouldn’t the over-sexualized Perry sell something as over-sexualized as a pair of panties with her name on it? Here’s why: all the 12-year-olds yearning to be teenagers who flock to her shows anytime she’s in town. Yeah, put that wallet away. –Michael Roffman
Creep Factor: Depending on the scene, we could be talking a 14 out of 10.
Perfect for: Katy Perry
Gift wrap? “Just one more thing to take off, dude.” — Mulch, your dealer