WORLD WAR A GAZILLION (original) (raw)
Mon, May. 17th, 2004, 12:40 pm
a bunch of albinos learn to play instruments with their minds. they decide to cover Spazz songs. Powder Violence is born.
Tue, Feb. 10th, 2004, 07:56 am
Tin whistle, timpani, moog synth set to 'rock organ' and me screaming about goblins at the top of my lungs. brilliant.
Sat, Oct. 18th, 2003, 09:57 pm
should not be worn by ladies with back acne. Backney? Bacne? Backne? especially if your particular dermatological condition involves a cornocopia of colors and swirls and textures like some kind of gnarly modern art piece that has been burgled from a museum and used for target practice by Napoleon's army. and speaking of french people, i had to turn down my invitation to the Cannes film festival this year because on the day of the RSVP deadline there was a crisis. you see, rob halford called me up. it seems that he uncovered a home video that had been shot sometime in 1988. the video shows a drunken halford and a coked up Freddie mercury involved in some kind of bizarre fetish orgy. rob had no recollection of the event whatsoever. he was all scared that he was going to come down with the HIV and i had to calm him down, console him, and take him to get tested. on the way back from clinic we were carjacked by seth putnam, who had been freebasing for 3 days straight. well he obviously didn't like the looks of halford and he needed a car to sell so his landlord wouldn't kick him out. so he beat us up and my RSVP to Cannes was in the car. it was never recovered, but i did see a Taurus wagon with my 300 dollar rims on it one day. i tried chasing but the only transportation i had since my car was gone was a bicycle built for two. of course the bike came with raymond herrera and he's just fucking slow and fat so we didnt catch up.
Tue, Oct. 14th, 2003, 04:43 am
and now that you have me on the subject
my coffee is all cold and it tastes like a bucket of queefs. not the good kind, either. and i'm afraid to use the microwave because the little turntable in it had raw meat on it at one time and was never cleaned. i sure as hell am not going to clean it. i saw fucking mad cows in spain one summer, many moons ago, and i'm not about to let that shit happen to me (the new Anthrax album freaking rules, by the way) so the point is my coffee gets to stay cold as do my french toast sticks in the morning. i could put them in the oven but that's just kind of creepy in the old miser who hoards stamps and photographs the neighbor girls from his back porch way. but the real point is that in regards to queefing we actually talked about this in class today. i mean, say what you want about community college, but the shit is awesome if you ask me. it was in Funeral Service Psychology and we somehow got off the topic of grief therapy and onto the topic of dead women queefing when their body is moved. apparently it happens about 80 percent of the time and is more common than any other gas release that occurs when a bloated corpse is shifted. shit must be rank. once i get my embalming license i'm going to bottle the p-farts and chuck them at those posers down at Vintage Vinyl who never seem to keep any Gorgoroth or Negura Bunget 12 inch picture discs in stock. i mean, i love the swedes as much as the next guy but you could give the kvlt fan a break and send back a couple dozen copies of 'reroute to remain' and at least order one or two Driller Killer repressings or any of the Blood splits. finland is where it's fucking at, faithful readers. and i'm not talking about that Timo Tolkki unicorn shit (no offense to unicorns, i love those little guys) with like bells and harmonies and songs about ice princesses. i'm talking about the true kvlt shit. the hard stuff. harder than Truman Capote's throbbing package on Rock Hudson Day in Haight Ashbury circa 1967.
Tue, Oct. 14th, 2003, 03:18 am
i'm sure the fine men and women and kit-kat are paying him handsomely, but that doesn't change the fact that Andrew WK is the soundtrack to an UMSL date rape.
and speaking of date rape, when i grow up i want to be el duce and play hackysack with brad nowell's rotted genitals out in front of pointfest. that is going on the assumption that the poor guy wasn't cremated, which may well have been the case.
and speaking of cremation, i hear the family of drummer from Exhorder still gets royalty checks for 15 cents here, 32 cents there, every couple weeks from Roadrunner, while Tony Choy's kids are literally begging on the streets because RR tricked their daddy into signing a bum contract. the moral being that bass wanking doesn't put food on the table, unless you're in Manowar but those guys don't use tables (or plates for that matter) anyway, being the stout heathen warriors that they are.
and speaking of stout heathen warriors, i read a thing the other day about Rudy, the unlikely football hero, walking in on his dad being pleasured by a disembodied hand while some bald dude spent 30 fucking minutes trying to find grandma addams to get the noose and defeat the Cyclops but he even when he did she only gave him the whip down which fucking sucks because the damned spore guys get faster and harder to kill and they're everywhere and unavoidable and i need my whip to be strong to get through level 5. GAY.
Tue, Oct. 14th, 2003, 01:47 am
...that even after I level up my +3 Ice Dirk won't do a damned lick of good against faggots.
Mon, Oct. 13th, 2003, 05:12 am
so i was in a forest listening to Darkthrone on an old Craig cassette walkman (for the best Darkthrone listening experience possible) and it was really cold because it was the winter solstice and i was only in a loincloth and leather vest with a Sarcofago backpatch. when out of nowhere Wes Eisold walks up, and he's wearing only a bullet belt with pockets sown onto the sides, naked everywhere else. and instead of his stump he's got this awesome cannon machine gun hand and he calls himself MegaWes and says he's on a mission from Dr. Light. Whatever. I ask him what his mission is and he tells me it's to 'heat me up' if i know what he means, which i do. i'm trying to tell him 'no it's cool man, i need a sweet lady and a sweet lady only for me to get off on some Kombat style action.' but he keeps inching closer and by this time he's taken off his cannon hand so it's just the stump again because i guess it gets in the way when he's doing his thing. so i pull the whole 'what about protection?' routine to try and buy some time but he's on top of the game and he tries reaching into his pocket to grab a rubber but he's doesn't have any fingers or anything and apparently hes too horny or dumb to just use the other hand that has a hand. so while he's so absorbed i pray to Goat that my aim is true and chuck the walkman, Darkthrone demo tape and all, at his fat head. that mop top must've taken the brunt of the blast because he recovers quick, but he's still trying to get that condom so i grab his hand cannon and blow his face into the next world. so he's laying in the snow, dead, steam rising fro his wounds, and i grab the rubbers that were his downfall. i didn't mention this before but there were like wood nymphs and shit prancing around while this was going down so i had these rubbers and the nymphs were all like 'you're so brave, Roderigo' (Roderigo was what they knew me as in this forest) and basically i just went kombat style with some wood nymph tail and it was the best time of my life. after i was done for like the eighth time i fell asleep in the snowy forest wastes and had this really crazy dream. remind me to tell you about it some time.
Sat, Oct. 4th, 2003, 05:14 am
i totally forgot i had a livejournal account. ha.