This week’s Rock-a-Ramas were written by Mandy Brownholtz, Dan Morrissey, Zachary Lipez, Grace Scott, and Maria Sherman. Read last week’s reviews here.

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Ozzy Osbourne, Patient Number 9
I once met a lady who claimed to be a broken glass wrestler for Ozzfest. She and other women wrestlers would wear some heavy metal variation of wrestling onesies (the style associated with the genre of music, not, like, plate mail armor) and they’d do the usual choreographed passion plays for the (not insignificant) overlap between Ozzfest and WWE fans. There’s only one difference between what they did and what normal wrestlers did: she and her peers did their wrangling on a thin bed of broken glass.

I asked her what the trick was, how they avoided getting cut up but by all that, you know, broken glass. She looked at me like I was asking if working at the box making factory ever got boring and said, “There is no trick. We just get cut a lot.”

It occurs to me now that the trick may have been that she was making the whole thing up; that there’s no such thing as broken glass wrestling. I’m not googling it though. I’m worried enough about how disconnected we are from nature. Packaged pork chops in grocery stores are enough, I don’t think I can take it, if it turns out that no one ever wrestled on shards of broken bottles at Ozzfest.—Z.L.

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