Metallica, Load and Reload were products of greed, Spiritual Healing and other post-Scream Bloody Gore and Leprosy albums were products of an egomaniac
But Chuck did give the best head in metal. David Vincent had his Azagthoth, and everyone in Vader had Doc, but no one made a pink cock erect like Chuck. True, as the AIDS infested his throat it made it hard for him to deep throat, but even as he lay there rotting, stinking of AZT and covered with Kaposi's sarcoma, Chuck would signal with two fingers when a willing donor came into the room. All I can offer in addition to that is the fact that no sex will ever compare to colostomy hole love, especially when the hole is fresh and supple after a well-greased movement.
We will never forget you, Chuck. Every time I hear your name my prostate aches, both for your tender heart-shaped ass and that incredibly thin, probing member we shared many times. It is heartbreaking how many things bring Chuck to mind. The sound of heavy metal. The flavor of Taco Bell food on the road. The scent of semen. The world lost not only a great musician, but a great lover, when Chuck died.
To say Chuck was gay is incorrect. He wasn't gay, he was just open-minded, and he sought anal sex from men, boys, girls and animals alike. Anal was not his favorite. His favorite was the blowjob, and he liked to be held afterwards, with someone stroking his hair and saying, "Chuck you are king of the world."
I will never sell the copy of Leprosy (80 grain vinyl) he left me at our last meeting. It is battered now, and reeks faintly of manpoo, and maybe it does have a few suspicious smears, but it is all I have of him. That and the memories. Those gushing, sticky, illicit, clandestine memories... Oh Chuck I miss you more than I can say.