By David Browne
Updated January 11, 1991 at 05:00 AM EST

Pretend you’re stuck in a basement with two brats who insist on subjecting you to every infantile, obnoxious, expletive-strewn, half-baked semblance of a song they’ve ever written. That’s how it feels to wade through this 26-track treatise by the mysterious Gene and Dean Ween (actually Aaron Freeman and Mickey Melchiondo) of New Hope, Pa. For most of the record, the duo specializes in screaming, raving rant, set to bludgeoning meat-grinder guitars. Tracks like ”Bumblebee,” about getting stung, spew so much pent-up bile that they’re almost scary. But the Weens can also be funny. Amidst the maelstrom, they pause to contemplate other urgent topics, like pimples and ticks; with equally silly abandon, they toss off the treacly ”Don’t Laugh (I Love You),” which simulates a schlock ’70s AM-radio hit, while another track, ”Squelch the Weasel,” parodies pretentious British art-rock almost as well as Spinal Tap’s ”Stonehenge.” As it veers uncontrollably from the stupid to the unlistenable, God Ween Satan becomes the energizing sound of two street-corner nutjobs railing as best they can against the entire world. Equal opportunity for clever morons to punish the masses with the aid of modern recording equipment — it’s truly a wonderful thing.