April 1970, 9:00 am. A teenager, walking down Beverly Boulevard with his brother and sister stumbled upon the old building. It must've been three-stories high. Despite heavy traffic on the streets, near the eerie looking structure there was no-one about. There was certainly nobody residing within the walls, the forlorn face of the building had blackened windows, and there were no signs to indicate it had been in use recently. The kids found a door.......

Marilyn Manson and Slayer bashed open our collective brains, and feasted on our souls. We in turn worshiped and thanked them for every second of it. Of course, it's a haul getting one's ass all the way out to the damned Irvine Meadows/Verizon Wireless Amphitheater, but where else can these dudes play? Promoters aren't letting all of us head bangers and moshers into the Hollywood Bowl anytime soon. Pffft... we'd destroy that place. The......

COOP doesn't play. If you tell him you're going to have a couple dozen questions emailed to him, and you shoot them to him, when you come back from your little party, there they are, answered, beautifully, honestly, no problems, no worries. The man is a pro. He takes his art just as seriously. Well, as seriously as you can take big-tittie devil girls and hot rods and demons and now Atari joysticks. He's your......