The trophy heads are SO Norman Bates…this guy definitely seems like a serial killer in the making. He’s one step away from an episode of Dexter, to be sure. If Dexter had a time machine and a martini shaker, that is.

By the way, if you like the Turntabling WTF album cover collection, why not join us on Facebook for regular updates of atrocious album covers, bad album art, and etc? We’d love to have you in this growing little community of bad album cover lovers.

See if you can guess what kind of a record this is just by looking at that idiotic “please laugh at my jokes” expression on Rodney Carrington’s southern-fried face for a moment.

That’s right, kids, Rodney Carrington is perched on a woman’s breasts in order to sell his particular brand of “comedy”, which seems to entail a sort of sub-Jeff Foxworthy redneck-in-the-city schtick, complete with an “aw, shucks” delivery in the most contrived tractor pull accent he can muster.

And to make things worse, he’s a SINGING comedian, too. Oh, lord, please kill us all now in a torrent of nuclear fire so that we never, EVER have to endure another listen to this crap. It’s not just funny, it’s offensively not funny. As in, these jokes are so stupid you’ll actually get offended that someone is trying to sell an album full of them.

Here’s a direct quote: “”The zoo is so dayumm boring, they need to make it more exciting…take a Slim Jim, stick it in the ayuss of a death row inmate and haive heyum rum thraw the lion cage widdowt geddin beeyut.”

Effing HILARIOUS, to somebody somewhere, probably. But not anywhere near an area with a population greater than three.

Don’t get the wrong idea–we’re not in favor of whitewashing comedy in favor of an all PC landscape free from anything that might be “wrong”. Transgressive humor is funny because, well, because it’s not supposed to BE funny. But there’s a big difference between pushing boundaries and brick-in-the-face DUMB, which really gets the hackles up for certain writers who discover these things while idly surfing the internet for bizarre recordings.

But wait, the horror doesn’t stop here! More awfulness…

I don’t want to know about their happy hands. I do NOT want to know about their happy hands. Please don’t tell me about their happy hands.

Burning question: how much cocaine did it take for this cover to seem like a GOOD IDEA? The name of this record is “Ride A Rock Horse” but “rock” isn’t the word you’re thinking of right now. It does RHYME with “rock” though.

And finally, an open letter from the future to born again recording artists of the past. KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE EFFING PUPPETS ALREADY. Thank you.

Honor Blackman recorded a record? The former Bond girl turns songstress? Or was she always a singer and I just didn’t know it? That album cover isn’t as awful as some, but Ellen DeGeneres does have just as much fun at Honor Blackman’s expense as I would here–her riffs on these records were pretty funny. And I hate daytime TV.

Then again, maybe some producer out there in TV land has been watching this space, and I should consider a lawsuit.

Only kidding–there are plenty of crap album covers and enough jokes to go around for all eternity. Plus, right-wing extremist knuckle-draggers hate Ellen DeGeneres, which makes her a good egg in my book. How could I possibly tilt lances at her when she gives the righties nightmares? Behold three wretched album covers and commentary as featured on the Ellen show:

Let’s start with the obvious. This may look, feel, and SMELL like a Creed record, but it’s not. Wait–you mean the guy on the left ISN’T a cartoon rendition of that whiny lead singer with a pair of horns on?

Oh, sorry then.

But if you actually heard this record, you’d SWEAR it was Creed–it’s every bit as wretched and filled with half-baked, warmed over doofus-shite. Some might argue that it’s not a fair comparison to put Creed side by side with Christmas At The Devil’s House, but lest we forget, Creed was responsible for bringing generic guitar twaddle with what sounds like Eddie Vedder’s untalented half-brother at the mic.

And they had a right-wing “family values” type songwriting agenda which makes all their lyrics as suspect as John Travolta’s motives for making “Battlefield Earth”. Whenever you hear “I love you,” lead singer boy is probably talking about Mister God. Yuck.

Christmas At The Devil’s House is every bit as uninspired–it’s that “Let’s play classical music with metal guitar noises” crap that makes people vomit uncontrollably after exactly ten seconds.

The album cover itself is merely goofy–but it promises something the record itself won’t deliver. WHERE ARE THE SATAN-THEMED CHRISTMAS SONGS? It’s almost July at the time of this writing, which means Christmas in July sales and other nonsense to do with Santa wearing a bathing suit.

But there’s no real presence of Satan on this album unless you think a metaloid cover of “Greensleeves” is a secret message from The Dark Overlord commanding us to slaughter our neighbors and make love to the parrot.

This album wouldn’t really make it into the Turntabling WTF gallery of crap record covers except for the fact that you really, really expect the record to have more Satan on it. Instead, you wind up feeling cruelly misled by the crude artwork. And maybe that’s the Devil’s trick; if you were dumb enough to PAY for this you got what you deserved?

This album cover tells a story. It’s the story of how the Oak Ridge Boys broke into your apartment, made love to your pets, ate all the barbecue, and then sat patiently waiting for you to come home from work so they could re-enact scenes from Bergman’s The Virgin Spring.

This is how they sat while they waited for you to come home from a long holiday shift you didn’t want to take, but had to at the last minute. Cue the scary music, because now, you’re putting the key into the lock of your apartment door and you’ll soon be face to face with The Men With The Sentient Facial Hair.

–Joe Wallace