I'd begun to think that nobody was reading this thread anymore. That my brilliance was but pearls before poseur swine. I have been pleasantly surprised, but I am watching you.

I've been reading all of it yo.

My advice is to mix up your journal, but keep the epics and maybe try and tie them into a really big epic, just think of Wheel of Time which you know well and how slow and fleshed out that was.

If you start a journal and are relying on people making comments then you're going to be disappointed, most people just read and don't comment! As for mine, I just did it to finally get all my musical ideas down on paper (so to speak) and express something that I'm really interested in. I have a few friends who are not members of this forum, but they still read my journal and comment to me about it, along with people that make comments about it on here. So it gets enough attention from others.

I heard you were in talks with Guillermo del Toro about bringing your idea to the big screen. I'd pay to see that! :thumb:

Ditto what US says: look at my journal. You'll see post after post after post after post (you get the idea) with maybe a comment stuffed in here and there, but mostly it's almost like someone muttering to themselves (who said that?) and decidedly unhealthy for sure, but lobotomies are no longer available on the HSE (our version of the NHS) so what can you do?

As an old ad for "Kit Kat" once had it: just enjoy it!
Oh, and don't forget to check your "views": this'll show you how many people are checking out the journal, even if they don't post comments. Helps keep you sane sometimes (though you're probably way past that).

I think you and US should go on a bitchin' quest together... nah, too gay, huh? ;)

Thanks for PMing me asshat. :finger:

A New Inquisition

I've decided to start an inquiry into the poseur menace on this site. I ask you to PM me a list of any poseur members that you are aware of. I shall then contact them via PM, demand that they repent, and request the names of their poseur associates. Do not be afraid to throw wild and unsubstantiated claims about. I will decide who is and who is not a poseur. Your cooperation is appreciated and compulsory.

http://th05.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/...en-d3k5yck.jpg

By the way, :clap: on the new avatar. Mmmm... Debbie! Much better! ;)

I have no idea what you're talking about!

I know of a number of heavy metal poseurs on this site, I'm working on a list at the moment and will send it for your appraisal.

Hmm. It would appear that an imposter is trying to discredit me. Any True Metalhead would of course see through this and realize that a poseur has somehow managed to post as me and is implying that I am somehow "in character" and that my stories are in fact made up. Truly despicable.

Rob Halford: Glam Metal God

Everyone knows that Rob Halford is the Metal God that the term "Metal God" was coined for. What not everyone may know is that Rob Halford isn't just metal royalty, but a true glamazon as well. In this post, we shall take a journey into the fashion world of this iconic man-god.




What can I say about this little number. Simple, classic, and understated. Leather and studs just scream metal and class.




Just the epitome of manly authority. The sensuously masculine lines of this uniform make you want to get on your knees and submit.



Epic fringe is epic. Seriously, what says raging masculinity like waving leather fringe?




What's that you say? A motorcycle doesn't count as fashion? Well, fuck you you gaping cunt! Rob Halford's motorcycle is the greatest fashion accessory in the history of mankind. What I wouldn't give to grip his handlebars and rev his engine

I want that fringe jacket.

Hmm. All sounds a little gay to me. :laughing: "Makes you want to get down on your knees and submit? "Grip his handlebars and rev his engine"? Is there a subtext here? Something you're not telling us, Batty? Hmm? :shycouch:

Well, it is a post about Halford after all.

:love:

He is a metal icon. I adore his fashion. I think Lady Gaga was influenced by him with her references to motorbikes and having a motorbike piano. But let's get back to Rob.

What would a woman know of the intense, chaste love that a man can feel for another man? It is pure and beautiful.

Nice Rob Halford thing. Although I thought you should know that him & the band didn't adopt the studs & leather look until the Stained Class album came out and that for the first 3 albums they were going around looking like a human curtain factory...
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l9...riest_1976.jpg

I'm guessing that's why there's no band photo on the Sad Wings Of Destiny or Sin After Sin albums. :laughing:

I am aware of this. We all make mistakes sometimes.

The Batlord Answers Some Common Questions from People Far Less Bitchin' than He

In my infinite wisdom and generosity, I have decided to answer some questions that you may be too scared to ask me out of fear that I might mock you and decide to mail you a package filled with dog turds, and with good reason. It is also understandable that you might assume that I have the answers for your queries, since any knowledge that is worth having is within my considerable expertise. So, without further ado:


Q. How can I become a True Metalhead?

A. Step 1: Listen to more metal.
Step 2: Don't listen to prog. Prog blows.
Step 3: Kill your parents.


Q. How old is the Pope.

A. Fuck if I know. Quit asking stupid questions.


Q. How can I bang more bitches?

A. First of all, bitches don't like poseurs, so see the first question. Now, it's well known that bitches decide whether or not to bang you within five seconds of seeing you, so you gotta stop looking like fungus. May I suggest wearing this shirt?


Bitches love Cannibal Corpse.

Now the bitches should be falling over themselves to slob on your knob, but if not, all is not lost. Bitches love a man to show that they care by making a grand gesture. May I suggest that you mark your territory by urinating on their doorstep. If you are more daring, defecation would be even more effective. Of course, you may just be fugly, and no amount of effort will be able to get the bitches' attention. If so, I suggest this fail safe trick: when at a party, hit any other dudes in the face with a wrench. This will not only take out your competition, but will cause any bitches in sight's panties to become soaked at the virulence of your manliness, fugly or no fugly.


Q. Do you ever experience problems with erectile dysfunction?

A. Ask your mother.


Q. Does Janszoon like the Dirty Sanchez?

A. Yes.


Q. My co-workers keep playing shitty rap and top 40 radio stations at work. What should I do?

A. First, explain the gloriousness of True Metal and try playing a little Napalm Death to show them the error of their ways. If this doesn't work, burn the place to the ground.


Q. My relative/friend/hooker has just passed away. How should I conduct the funeral?

A. There are many suitable ways to honor one's departed loved ones (ritual cannibalism, donation to the Necrophiliac Society of America, spreading their ashes over someone's clean laundry), but the most tried and true method is a viking funeral.

First, you need to construct a viking longship. If you don't know any vikings to build one for you, then find some nuns to hang around. Vikings love nuns. After you have your longship, you now need to gather your loved one's belongings and place them around them. If they have any Slipknot albums, you should burn them before you put them on the ship. One lesser known, but no less important part of the ceremony is that the deceased's wife must be killed and placed on the ship as will. If the wife won't agree to this, might I suggest putting rat poison into a casserole and giving it to the grieving widow. Now all that's left is to set the longboat adrift on a lake and set it on fire. If you don't have access to a trained archer, then your best bet is a TOW missile launcher. If you don't know how to obtain one, then call me. I know people. Another option is to have a military bomber drop a fuel-air bomb. This will have the added benefit of killing all of your relatives, and anybody who posts on this website's relatives probably smell like feet anyway.


Now if you have any further questions, please hesitate to ask or you might be receiving a package in the mail.

A Review of Suffocation's Human Waste EP

So, if you're aren't aware of the severe and intense awesomeness that is Suffocation, then you deserve to be molested by a chimpanzee on Viagra. They are one of the most important bands to the evolution of brutal death metal and are quite possibly the greatest thing to come out of New York since the Son of Sam. I've been aware of them for years, but have only recently listened to this, their debut EP. It would be rather pointless to do a song-by-song review, since they all pretty much sound the same, like Satan fucking you in the ass with a spiked condom. The levels of sheer awesomeness are in fact so great that I was forced to turn it off, leave my house, and murder my next door neighbors. An extreme reaction no doubt, but that's just how awesome this album is. So, I suggest you listen to it immediately, but first, get a lawyer.

I was looking for a really brutal death metal song to impress somebody with and started toying over all the death metal bands that I know, but I remembered this and remembered just how brutal it was, my decision was made.

A wise decision. Nile and Cryptopsy are pretty amazing brutal death metal bands, but Suffocation take the cake.

Tad Will Kill You and Take Your Drugs

One night in the dead of winter, I was driving down the wooded back roads of Washington state and blasting 8-Way Santa in my El Camino, which is, of course, the most metal car known to man. I was high on meth and drinkin' a bottle of Jack Daniels' with a duffel bag full of heroin in the passenger seat that I was planning to sell to all the rednecks in the area. It was dark as shit and I could only see directly in front of me where my headlights were shining. All of a sudden, a pick up truck full of flannel clad rednecks pulled up alongside me to the left of my car. I immediately realized that they were the band Tad, and I knew that I was fucked, since everyone knows that Tad can smell drugs from a mile away, and they were obviously about to rob me and leave me for dead by the side of the road. I looked over at their truck and saw that their eyes were glowing an eerie shade of red. Yeah, I was fucked. That fat, greasy looking vocalist motherfucker was the one driving, and he turned to me and, in a raspy, inhuman voice spoke, "Give us the drugs...give us the drugs...give us the drugs." I flipped him off and pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, but they kept up with me. What kind of world are we living in when you can't even sell a little heroin in peace without a truck full of undead drug fiends trying to kill you?

Now, the fat fuck tried to ram my car from the side and knock me off the road, but this was useless since I was driving an El Camino, and I rammed him right back. It appeared that this was just a ploy to bring their truck close to my car, because two of the other band members jumped from the flat bed of their truck onto the flatbed of the El Camino. One of them punched out my back window and tried to grab me from behind while the other one tried to get into the car by crawling spider like around the outside and grabbing for the passenger door. I managed to evade the one trying to grab me and picked up the sawed off shotgun in the passenger seat. I then pointed the gun behind me while trying to keep my eyes on the road and fired. My ears were pierced by an inhuman screech that quickly receded into the distance. One down. The second one had finally succeeded in opening the passenger door and leaned into the car with a feral hiss. Not about to take this shit, I pointed my shotgun in his face, told him, "This is where you get off, freak!", and pulled the trigger. The blast hit him point blank, and his face exploded, drenching me in blood and brains. Bad ass. Two down.

Having dealt with these two, I turned back to Tad's truck, only to see the third creature leap onto the hood of my car. Fuck this shit. Crawling like a lizard on my hood, it punched a hole through my windshield, and tried to grab me like its companion, but my shotgun was out of ammunition so I could only evade him. To make things worse, fatboy started to ram me again, and with the other one obscuring my vision, I started to swerve. A lesser man would have panicked, but I was far too bitchin' for that, so I tried to think of a plan. Then, I noticed that the road ahead of me veered sharply to the right, and beyond that was a river that was frozen over with ice. Since the truck was to my left, it couldn't turn, so I kept going straight. When we reached the turn, both vehicles flew over the embankment and crashed into the ice. Soon, both my car and the truck started to sink into the freezing water. My car immediately began filling with water as I struggled to undo my seatbelt. Finally freeing myself, I grabbed the drugs, opened the door, and swam into the frigid water. I climbed onto the ice and looked back to see both vehicles submerged, but neither of the two members of the band were coming up, which wasn't surprising, since running water robs Tad of their powers. I knew that they weren't dead though, or the other two, for Tad do not die, and their hunger for drugs is eternal.

Bloody hell Batlord! Does nothing interesting ever happen to you? You lead such a boring life... :rofl:

What can I say? It was a slow Tuesday.

The Tad episode was one your best yet, in fact the scenario kind of reminded me of the road scenes from "Race With the Devil" in which our intepid heroes were pursued by a bunch of fiendish devil worshippers (no different to heroin worshippers I guess):clap:

1. Smells Like Rotting Flesh
2. In Brains
3. Come as You Are Being Devoured
4. Bleed
5. Lithium Turned Me Into a Zombie
6. Polly Tastes Like Chicken
7. Pussitorial Pissings
7. Brain You
8. Lounge Act of the Damned
9. Stay Away (I've Been Bitten)
10. On a Plain (Better Find Some High Ground)
11. Some Zombies In the Way

I have learned that there is a music artist who is known as the Batlord. Obviously this is not acceptable. So I have sent him an email:

I expect his surrender shortly.

:laughing:

That is friggen awesome!

I have received a response...

Reading between the lines I think it is obvious that this Scorpio person is terrified of my sheer kick assery. Out of kindness I shall spare him, for I am a merciful Lord.

Scorpio was the loco killer from the first ever Dirty Harry film, oh and look....he's finally got The Batlord as his prisoner.

http://www.imfdb.org/images/thumb/1/...ltherP38-5.jpg

Yeah, and rearrange the letters in his name, throw in a e and you have one of the baddest mofos of the seventies. Would YOU mess with this guy? :eek:
https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/i...S0Mgx5657ib1rw

An Edumacation for You Dumb Cunts: Part Ein

It is obvious that the ignorant poseur scum of this site are too incompetent to be able to find quality metal without my help, so this is the first installment of a series that will educate you taint lickers on some of the lesser known but totally kickass True Metal bands out there. So without further ado...

Necro Schizma

It is a cold, moonless night. You are lost in a forest. It would be pitch black except that the forest is bathed in a sickly, eerie light that seems to have no source. The trees have all color bleached from them from this light, but all else is cloaked in the blackness of night. Suddenly you hear a hideous cry that seems to come from everywhere at once. You panic and flee, not knowing whether the cries that seem to be following you belong to some maniac or something even more sinister. You feel lost in a seemingly endless forest yet claustrophobic due to the darkness and cries that surround you. But what's this? BAM!!! That's Necro Schizma with an ice pick to your fucking cornea!

That's the feeling given off by this absolutely putrid band of nutbags. If you dig extreme doom then this is your band. If you prefer your black metal of the eighties variety then this is totally your fucking band! If you take the primitive racket of Hellhammer, slow it down to a snail's pace, and let it sit till the late eighties and absorb all the advances in extreme metal, then you get Necro Schizma. But these guys are more than just some ugly, lo fi version of Electric Wizard or Disembowelment. These righteous dudes were one of, if not the first, death/doom bands. Too bad they only released one demo, Erupted Evil, along with a rehearsal demo before breaking up. Don't let that stop you though. Erupted Evil is a forgotten classic with an ultra shitty production that, along with the primitive and sparse instrumentation that gives the music spaces of silence that build tension, captures the evil, claustrophobic atmosphere of Mayhem better than most black metal bands can ever dream of. Approach with caution.

Top Ten Reasons Why a Metal Show Is Better than Sex

1. To have sex, you need to wear a condom. To go to a metal show, all you need is a denim vest.

2. If you tell everyone that you saw Slayer last night, people will think you're awesome. If you tell everyone that you banged some chick last time, the bitch'll set your car on fire.

3. If you see a crazy show, you have a good time. If you bang a crazy chick, you have a good time. At first.

4. Have you ever tried to crowd surf at an orgy?

5. If you give someone a black eye at a show, it's all good. If you give a girl a black eye, the cops'll arrest you and beat you down back at the precinct.

6. I've never had to throw an angry boyfriend down the stairs at a metal show.

7. Two words: child support.

8. If there's a long line at a show, it'll still be just as much fun for the last guy in line as the guy in front.

9. If Bruce Dickinson's tits are saggy, at least I don't have to feel them anyway.

10. Thirty bucks can either get you into a show, or it can get you crabs.

Gold.

A Review of Fueled By Fire's Album Cover

A few years ago, Fueled By Fire released the album, Spread the Fire. Unfortunately. This album was everything that is wrong with the thrash revival. Third rate Exodus worship at it's worst. But all was not lost, since it has a cover that truly captures the spirit of the War On Poseurs. They may be untalented pretenders, but they are truly my brothers in arms. I suggest you all take a page from their book and wage war on the poseur menace as these True Metalheads are surely doing.

There are, of course, many ways to do this. The obvious way is to find a poseur and punch him in the face/solar plexus/ballbag, but that isn't the only way. One of my favorites is to steal a poseur's phone without them knowing, make threatening calls to the President, and then return it to them without them being any the wiser. This will be especially effective if you live in Russia. Another option is to tell him that his makeup/hipster glasses/purse/etc is six months out of fashion. This will likely send him crying into a bathroom. If you have used an especially biting remark he might even start cutting himself. Good job. Of course, you may not always be fighting an offensive war. A poseur may have made war upon you himself. You must then puff out your chest, wave your arms in the air, and jump up and down to make yourself appear bigger. This will probably intimidate him and show that you are a True Metalhead not to be trifled with. If however, this is not effective, then you must now bare your teeth and charge him. Now he will be terrified and fall to the ground feigning death. Do not be fooled. Sniff him and roll him on his back to show your dominance, and as a finishing touch, rub your scrotum up and down his forehead. Remember. The only good poseur is a teabagged poseur.

Stay metal my friends.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part I

It was a dark and stormy night. That's a lie. It was like 3 pm on a Tuesday, but that doesn't sound nearly as bad ass. So why the fuck did I even say anything? Fuck it. So, it was a bright and sunny afternoon, and I was bumpin' Somewhere In Time by Iron Maiden, when the most awesome fucking idea came to me. I should go time travelling. Hell yeah! First, I had to go tell my boss that I wasn't coming in to work today. I woulda called, but I had to throw my phone at some kid wearing a Slipknot hoodie. I went up to my job, and long story short, I hit him in the face with a brick. Now I just had to find a time machine. There was only one dude I could think of who might have one. Devin Townsend. What's that you say? Why would Devin Townsend have a time machine? Cause Devin Townsend is the mad scientist of metal, the mastermind behind Strapping Young Lad, and an uber genius who routinely kicks Stephen Hawking's ass at Scrabble. But a True Metalhead would know that. Which means that you're a fucking poseur. Don't let me catch you around here, bitch. I will fuck your mother in the ass and make her lick the shit off my dick while you watch. I guess I got kinda carried away there, but poseurs just get my goat. Anyways, now I just had to go to Antarctica and find Devin's secret laboratory.

Unfortunately, I couldn't take a plane, since I was on the no-fly list. Apparently you're not allowed to go on a plane with C4 in your underwear. Long story short, if you wanna get all the way down to the tip of South America without any money and you're not willing to suck trucker cock, your only real option is hijacking a mother of two and handcuffing her to radiators in sleazy motels at night to keep her from going to the cops until you get to Chile. But that's another story. After that, it was a simple matter to stow away in a ship going to Antarctica to resupply some science base. Most of the scientists were poseurs, but I'd found a contact on the UMU (Underground Metal Underground) who worked there who could take me to Devin's laboratory. Time machine, here I come!

Once I arrived at the laboratory, I rang the doorbell and waited for several minutes until Devin's face appeared on a monitor next to the entrance. "Who the fuck are you?! If you're the pizza guy, I called you guys like six months ago, so you can kiss my ass if you expect a tip!" "No", I said, "I just wanna use your time machine." "No one but a True Metalhead may step foot in the Devlab. If you would enter my sanctuary, then you must prove that you're not a poseur. After all, anyone can buy a Morbid Angel t-shirt." "I am a Defender of the Faith until the day I die. I can pass any test." "Then answer this question: who would win in a fight between Lemmy and God?" "Dude, Lemmy is God." Then, the screen went black and the door opened. I entered the Devlab and made my way into Devin's inner sanctuary, where I found him making the Millennium Falcon out of LEGOs. Sweet. When he saw me, he asked, "So, how did you know that I had a time machine?" I responded, "Dude, you wrote City. Of course you have a time machine. So can I use it or not?" "Any True Metalhead is more than welcome to use my time machine. Follow me." With that, we left his sanctuary and went into another room with a bunch of time machiney looking shit. Use your imagination. I'm fucking lazy. Long story short, there was a pod, and buttons, and a switch, and a midget named Miguel, and before I knew it, I was a time travelling motherfucker. Kick ass.

The Batlord scores again! Now, where are my jelly babies? Just settle down and enjoy this wild ride while listening to Devil's Train --- what do you mean, I have to leave? Goofy name? Hey, look, if you shift one letter it becomes "Devil strain", which is more like Satan taking a dump. Any better? No? Then (pulls out BFG --- what? Doesn't anyone play DOOM anymore?) just suck on this, mofo! I'm a-stayin'!

:D

Please?

Take your meds and go sit down. BTW I keep seeing this copy of DOOM for Gameboy Advance at the local used game shop and I keep wanting to hit the clerk over the head with a rock and jack it. Fuck paying twenty bucks for a twenty year old game!

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part II

Devin had asked me where I wanted to go when I was about to go time travelling, and I just told him "Send me someplace bitchin'!" Naturally, he sent me to Norway in the time of the Vikings. I guess that's why he's a fucking genius. Anyways, that's exactly where I now was. Fucking awesome! I'd been making mead in my bathtub since I was five years old, but now I was gonna get to have the real shit. Did I already say "Fucking awesome!"? Well I'm saying it again since it bears repeating. I was in a snow covered clearing in the middle of a particularly grim and frostbitten forest. It was cold as balls, but I'd listened to far too much Immortal to let a little thing like sub-zero temperatures bother me. While looking around, I noticed a column of smoke coming from somewhere to the south, so I started making my way there.

After about twenty minutes of walking, I came upon a clearing with a small house in the middle. There was what appeared to be a forge off to the side. It looked...forgey. You know the drill. If you want more detail, then you're gonna have to spoon me first. That actually sounded pretty gay now that I think about it. If you tell anybody about this I'll drive across the country, smoking meth and shitting in an adult diaper, just to find you and punch you in the throat. Anyways, there was some dude at the forge hammering at a piece of metal on an anvil. I approached the dude, intent on asking him directions to someplace bitchin', like a wizard's tower or a pagan orgy, when I noticed that the blacksmith was actually Varg Vikernes of Burzum. I was sorta weirded out, since, as any non-poseur will know, Varg Vikernes is a convicted murderer, neo-nazi, and just an all around nutbag. Of course, he was the only person I'd seen here, and he'd recorded Filosofem, so I guess I had no choice but to be cool. He finally noticed me when I got closer, and I thought I saw him sneer at my Morbid Angel shirt, but he quickly covered it up and greeted me. "Hail fellow Defender of the Faith! What brings you to my humble abode?" "Uh...what's up, uh...dude. Devin Townsend sent me through time, and now I'm here to engage in bitchin' adventures." Then he got a funny look on his face for a second and said, "If you were anyone but a True Metalhead I would say anything, but...no, this is too much for even one such as you." Obviously I wasn't gonna take this kinda shit from a chode like him, so I demanded that he tell me what he was talking about. "Well, if you really must know; far from here lies the land of Gnitaheith. It is a barren wasteland where nothing now grows. It has been poisoned by the fiercest of all dragons, Fafnir. He is a fearful and terrible beast with scales as hard as iron, and a gaze that would bring even the bravest of men to madness. In his dark cave lair, he guards a great treasure. I say that we slay Fafnir and split the treasure between us." I didn't trust the prick, but slaying a dragon? "Fuck yeah, motherfucker! What the fuckin' fuck are we fuckin' waiting for?! Let's go turn that bitch into a purse! Not for me of course, I'm just saying." Then he told me, "Not yet, my hot blooded friend. First, you need a sword that can pierce Fafnir's armored scales." He then handed me a bitchin' sword. I swung it around a few times, and then struck it against the anvil. It instantly shattered into tiny pieces. I shouted at him, "What the fuck? This sword fucking blows!", after which he handed me an even more bitchin' sword. I swung it at the anvil and again it shattered. Varg looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "I see that you are a True Metalhead of the highest caliber, and that you need a sword to match. I shall give you Gram." I was quite stoked about this, "You got a gram?! Oh hell yes! Roll us a fattie and call some of your neo-nazi bitches so we can get this party started!" But he responded, "No, you fool! The hero Sigmund was given the sword Gram by Odin himself. This sword was shattered when Sigmund met his doom, but I have forged it anew and now give it to you to slay the dragon." With that he produced the most bitchin' sword yet and hand it to me. For the third time I struck the anvil, but this time the anvil was split in two. Bitchin'. After that, Varg Vikernes and I began our journey to Gnitaheith to slay the dragon Fafnir. Hold on to your butts, folks. Asses shall be smote, and names shall be taken.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part III a.

While travelling to Gnitaheith to slay Fafnir, I became so weary that I could barely stand. My throat was raw and cracked from the ragged breaths that I had to force into my fatigued lungs. Each step was a force of will, every mile an eternity. I did not know how much longer I could go on. PSYCHE!!! That's fucking bitch shit! A badass motherfucker such as myself could run ten miles and still fuck your sister. I even punched a bear on the way. That bitch. So anyways, after a journey of several days, Varg and I finally entered the land of Gnitaheith. The ground was scorched and cracked. The few trees that remained were blackened and dead. A fetid mist hung over the land that stung the eyes and burned our lungs. It was a truly bleak landscape. Needless to say, I had a raging boner. What can I say, barren wastelands make me horny. Varg was considerably less enthused by all this than I was, but fuck him. Dude smelled like hot dog water. After about half a day of trudging through this bitchin' desolation, the fetid mist finally parted and we saw a hill.

Upon seeing this, Varg spoke, "Hidden in that hill is Fafnir's lair." "Bout fucking time! I gotta take a shit that could choke an ogre. After I take a dump, we can go and ruin that asshole's shit", but Varg stopped me and said, "That is not wise. There is a river near here that Fafnir drinks from every night whose banks are sheer. My counsel is that we hide behind the bank and wait for the dragon to come, and then pierce his belly with our swords when he bends his neck to drink." I thought that was a pretty gay thing to do, but perhaps discretion was the better part of valor in this case. With that, we made our way to the river, which we discovered after several minutes. It was as Varg had said, a swiftly moving river with almost vertical banks half again as high as a man. The fuck am I talking like this for? Have I contracted gay or something? I sound all epic and shit. Fuck it. I'm too lazy to go all the way back and rewrite this shit, and changing shit up now would make the tone of the narrative inconsistent. I'll just have to deal with it and hope I don't grow a clit and start using body wash. So yeah, after I popped a squat on a dead turtle, we went to the river and started to wait.

It was still several hours till dark, and the awkward silence was getting pretty lame, so I figured I might as well try to start some sort of conversation to pass the time. "So...dragons, huh? They always seem to be guarding some kind of treasure. What's up with that? It's not like they can just walk into Best Buy and get a TV." Varg nodded at this, "They are like the Jew. Always coveting gold that is not their's but unwilling to earn it with the sweat of their brow. They take as much as they can from honest, hard working people and hoard it for themselves as misers. I will take back what they have stolen for the rightful rulers of this land." I'd had enough of this dick sauce, so I tried to subtly change the subject, "Uh...yeah. So, your last album kinda blew ass chunks. Do creative juices not mix well with prison rape juices or something?" We waited in silence after that.