I once made the late, great, decrepit Wally George cry because I called him a coffin-dodger. Mater Dei boys' basketball coach Gary McKnight threatened to sue me mostly because I wrote that he “waddles.” Articles I've written in the past have prompted screaming telephone calls, nasty emails, in-person confrontations, and other precious moments. But, man, no one has ever had quite the hissy fit over one of my stories the way Martin Cox whined about my piece on his pal Bret Hicks, one of the four members of the Candy-Ass Gang.
In it, I uncovered clips of the 88 Degrees show Cox and Hicks co-hosted on the Orange-based Radio White in which Hicks told his audience he felt it was “time to actually go out and kill” and clean neighborhoods of minorities. Cox–a towering figure in the O.C. white-power movement, acolyte of Tom Metzger, lead singer for crucial hate-core groups, and subject of more than a couple of documentaries–was really just a side note in the post, but that didn't stop him and new co-host Jeremy Moody from devoting almost two hours to trashing me and my post and tossing other Valentines.
Cox said my article was “full of slanderous bullshit” but never told readers exactly what was wrong with my reporting. He dismissed Hicks' comments as “idle gossip,” which begs the question, Marty: Why is it now nigh-impossible to find the non-offending clips on your archives? And why did Moody cry about Hicks' statements being “incriminating”?
Nevertheless, Cox insisted I “really [haven't] pissed me off in one percent.” LIES. Poor Cox was hyperventilating like an asthmatic at times. He titled the episode for archival purposes, “Gustavo the Gay Mexican.” Throughout the show, Cox called me a “bastard,”
“whining bitch,” “prick,” “faggot communist,” “dirty beaner,” queer,”
“piece of shit Mexican, “faggot,” “douchebag,” “gay,” a “homosexual
Mexican,” “piece of shit,” “bitch,” a “fricking reporter for a newspaper
that comes out once a week and it's free,” “scum of the bottom of the
barrel,” “nothing but a joke,” the “spic version of Jarrod from Subway,”
a “loser,” a “worthless piece of garbage,” “stupid Mexican,” “Mexican
homosexual beaner,” “amateur journalist,” and “border brother” who “dresses
funny” and has “fucked-up teeth.” Idiot: I'm the spic version of the Verizon guy!
And then, he got personal.
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Cox threatened to “crush [me] like a weak little grape,” in a debate and said his friends
should invite me to a barbecue but remembered “they can't barbecue refried beans.”
“You pissed off one big-ass skinhead,” Moody laughed at one point.
“Now, it's on,” Cox said, constantly mentioning he's now “through the door” to start attacking me. “Now, I know who he is, where he works. I know everything about this dude… We have his home address. We have everything we need to know about that dude.”
“He needs to be careful about what he says,” Jeremy added.
Gentle readers: You know who the only other person to ever threaten me by claiming to know where I live? Hector Carreon, the gay-bashing, Jew-trashing pendejo behind La Voz de Aztlan. Congrats, Marty: You're no better than a beaner!
Postscript: Cox is still sore at former Weekly managing editor Rich Kane over this piece that shut down a club that neo-Nazis had claimed as their own years ago. Tee-hee!
