The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part III b.

After what seemed like fucking forever, the sun finally set and nightfall came, which was good, cause I was getting pretty sick of waiting here with Mr. Nazi Hot Dog Water. I woulda tied his shoelaces around his balls and used him to go fishing in the river, but I figured it would be good to have him around to help fight the dragon. Just then, I felt the ground shake beneath me, and Varg said, "The dragon is awake!", and I responded, "No shit, Sherlock! Now shut the fuck up and get your bitch ass ready!" Soon, the shaking of the earth became ever more intense, and we became overwhelmed by a foul stench. The ground was now continuously heaving and it became hard to stand. I drew Gram and looked to my right to make sure that Varg was ready, only to find that Varg had disappeared. The fucking shit cunt! I didn't have time to look for him though, for the massive head of Fafnir appeared over my head and wicked talons big enough to hold me in their scaly palms clawed at the banks of the river. The stench was now almost completely overpowering. Fafnir was truly massive and terrible, with scales so black that it was as if the stars themselves had disappeared, but his belly was pale and wrinkled and covered in a foul slime. He dipped his great neck down toward the river and began to drink. A true Defender of the Faith such as myself fears nothing, be it man or beast, but even I could feel a tremor of fear at the site of such an abomination. Gathering my courage, I invoked the name of Dio, patron saint of dragon slaying, and thrust up with Gram into Fafnir's belly all the way up to the hilt. The beast let out a scream that deafened my ears, and reared up on his hind legs before falling to the ground. He writhed and screamed and breathed flame in agony, forcing me to hide behind the bank. After several minutes, the dragon eventually ceased its struggles and lay still, appearing to be dead. I climbed out of the river bed and approached the inert body of the hideous creature, careful that its stillness might be an act.

When I approached Fafnir's great head, his eye opened and looked at me with such hate and malice that I understood what a poseur must see when he sees my gaze. Then, the dragon spoke, "Hail, son of Sabbath. I have long known that you would one day come, for I have seen you in my dreams. You are truly the greatest of your kind. You have long held aloft the banner of True Metal, and have bravely fought it's enemies, but your battle is doomed. Even now, the forces of false metal eat at the roots of all that you love, and, day by day, bring True Metal ever closer to its inevitable destruction. One day, you shall stand alone as the last of your kind, and shall know the taste of despair. Enjoy your triumph this day, but know that it shall be short lived", and then he let out a wicked laugh. With a look of contempt I said, "That's what all poseur dragons who're about to get teabagged say", and with what that, I unzipped my pants and dropped my nuts right on his eye. "Yeah, right in the center of the pupil. Now, clockwise around the iris. Now, counter clockwise. Oh, and what's that? That's a nutsack figure eight is what that is. You've just been teabagged times infinity. True Metal for life, bitch!" Apparently he died at some point during this, but I'm sure he got the gist. So, I just done slayeth a motherfucking dragon. What have you ever done?

Alright, there were some issues with posting the last chapter (poseur sabotage no doubt) but they have been fixed and Chapter III is now as it should be.

One of your best entries yet.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IV a.

The last time we joined our intrepid motherfucking hero, he was rubbing his awe inspiring scrotum on the cornea of his defeated enemy, the dragon Fafnir. We now rejoin him as he is zipping his pants and retrieving his sword. As I was struggling to put my massive meat missile back in my pants, I turn my eyes to the hill with the dragon's cave and went off to see my new treasure. Upon arriving at the cave, I saw that it was indeed pretty damn cavey. It was all rocky and stalagmitey and stalactitey and shit. It was also a big ass cave with many chambers, all filled with gold and jewels. It was all very nice and shiny, but all I'd really wanted was to kill the dragon. I mean, fuck money. With money comes responsibility. The very thought makes me wanna punch some upright, contributing member of society in the solar plexus and expose myself to his wife. There was one thing that caught my eye though: a vinyl copy of Bathory's self titled debut, and not just any copy, but the rare version with the golden goat head. Kick fucking ass! Grabbing this most holy of holy relics, I left the cave, intent on finding some large breasted viking wenches to "pillage".

Just then, who should appear but Varg fucking Vikernes, walking up to me as if he hadn't pussed out on me like he'd just gotten his period and needed to go find a tampon. I was so fucking pissed, I could've drop kicked a kitten. "You fucking cunt ass pussy bitch! What the fuck happened to you, you fucking poseur?!" At this, a shadow of hatred rage over his face, but he quickly covered it with a look of repentance, "Alas, when I heard the dragon approach, I was overcome with fear and fled. I see though, that you have completed your task and slayed Fafnir. You are indeed a True Metalhead of the first rank. I apologize for not being as brave as you." At this, I flipped him off, and said, "Yeah, what the fuck ever, asstwat. By the way, you can have whatever gold you want from the cave, I've already got what I want." A strange greedy light came into his eyes when he saw the album, but he again covered it up and said, "You are most generous, my friend, but before we part, I have one last piece of counsel. It is said that one may gain wisdom if one eats the heart of a dragon. We should cook the heart of Fafnir and partake of it." I already knew just about everything there was to know about True Metal, so I didn't know how much more wisdom I could gain, but what the hell? Eating a dragon's heart sounded about as badass a thing as one could do, so I agreed.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IV b.

After we had cut out Fafnir's heart, put it on a fire, and let it cook for over an hour, I decided to taste it to see if it was cooked yet. I took Gram and cut into the heart, but blood spurted onto my hand and burned it, and I instinctively put my hand in my mouth. When I tasted the blood, a weird feeling came over me. Suddenly, I realized that I could understand the birds around me. Bad ass? Specifically, I could hear two birds talking to each other in a nearby tree, "Man, fuck that bitch! I was all like, 'Hey baby! Looks like we're birds of a feather, so why don't we flock together?' and she was all like, 'Talk to the wing, cause whatever the fuck birds have for ears ain't listening,'" and the second bird told him, "She was probably molting. You know how chicks get when it's that time of the year." Then the first bird noticed me looking at them, "Hey! Who the fuck are you?! This is an "A" and "B" conversation, so why don't you fuck off?!" I wasn't gonna take that shit from some fucking bird, so I yelled back at his bitch ass, "Fuck you, you sparrow ass son of a bitch! Why don't you peck my sweaty ballsack?!" Man, fuck birds. Then the second bird tapped his friend and was like, "Dude, chill out. That guy's got a Morbid Angel shirt. He's cool, man," and the first bird turned back to me, "My bad, dude. I saw you with that asshole, Varg Vikerness, and figured you were a poseur." Now I was all fucking confused, "Dude, I didn't even know birds listened to metal", and the second bird piped up, "Fuck yeah, dude! Stormcrowfleet all up in this bitch! By the way, you know that punk motherfucker you're hangin' out with is planning to kill you and take your Bathory record, don't you?" I wasn't surprised, but still, "How do you know?" and the first bird responded, "Mind your own fucking business. Birds just know these kinda things. We're all mysterious and shit." Thanking the birds for their help, I now turned to Varg, who had just returned from gathering more fire wood.

Smiling, I called out to him, "Hail, Varg!" and he seemed slightly confused by my friendliness to him, but he returned my greeting. I then walked up to him and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. He tried to get up, but I stepped on his chest and leaned down on him. "So, motherfucker. I hear you're planning on killing me and taking my Bathory album." He tried to protest, "Of course not! Who told you that?!", and I smiled even wider, "A little bird told me. Two of them, in fact." He tried again to deny my accusation, "My friend, I may have fled when the dragon approached, but in every other instance I have done nothing but help you!" "Shut up! I don't really fucking care to be perfectly honest. You see, I just don't fucking like you, asshole. So, just to be safe, I'm gonna do the world a fucking favor and kill you." Still he tried to reason with me, but I stepped even harder on his chest, so that he could no longer speak. I then drew Gram, and looked down on the sniveling coward, now crying tears of fear, and I cried "This is for Euronymous!" I then cut Varg Vikernes' head from his shoulders.

Having now slain a dragon and killed Varg Vikernes, I needed something to do. So, I turned back to the birds, "Hey, you! Uh...birds! You know where I can find some bangin' viking chicks?" The first bird looked thoughtful for a second, and then chirped, "Yeah, dude. If you just want some straight pussy, there's some village a couple days from here, but down that way, like a week's journey, there's a fucking volcano called Hindarfjell. Apparently Odin got pissed at one of his Valkyries for spilling his mead, and you know Odin doesn't fuck around with his mead, so he bitch smacked her and put her in the middle of the volcano. Then he put this bitchin' spell on her so she would sleep until a True fucking Metalhead found her and woke her up." I thought this sounded promising, since any chick who rides a wolf has gotta give good head. So, I thanked the birds and went on my way. God Norway rules!

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part V a.

Where are we? Chapter V? God damn it. All this fucking writing blows ass. If I wanted to put this much effort into something I wasn't getting anything out of I'd enter into a mature, adult relationship with a woman who I loved and respected. Fuck that. If you bitch ass motherfuckers weren't desperately in need of a proper role model then I'd just say "Fuck it!" and go throw rocks at children. You should be grateful, you poseur cunts! Whatever. Anyways, dead dragon, Euronymous avenged, yadda yadda yadda. So, I was on my way to the volcano, Hindarfell, to wake up some Valkyrie and I'd been on the road for about a week. I could see the volcano slowly getting closer, and I was nearing my destination. I was walking down a busted ass old road near the base of the mountain when I saw some old dude standing in the middle of the road wearing grey robes, a pointy hat, a long grey beard, and an eye patch. As I got closer, he seemed to notice me and hollered, "Hey you! Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?!" I wasn't about to take that kinda shit from some crusty old douche, so I yelled back, "None of you business, you old bitch! Who the fuck are you anyway?!" He responded, "I'm fuckin' Odin, bitch! This is my road, and that's my fucking mountain, and if you don't like it then you can suck my Asgardian balls!" Confuzzled, I asked him, "Wait, you're Odin? Then why the fuck do you look like Gandalf?" and he said, "Cause fuck you that's why! Now why are you here?" Well, I though that this was a pretty kick ass development, so I was willing to forgive Odin's douchiness, so I told him, "I've just come from slaying the dragon Fafnir, and now I'm here to wake the Valkyrie up on the mountain so I can get me a tit wank." He nodded at this and smiled, saying, "Well that's pretty kick ass, and your Morbid Angel shirt marks you as a True Metalhead, but if you're going to wake up my daughter for a tit wank, then you must prove that you are truly worthy." This sounded fair. I mean, if I was gonna let some dude bang my daughter, he'd have to show that he kicked the proper amount of ass, so I agreed.

Then Odin spoke thusly, "If you would prove yourself worthy of my daughter, then you must show me your might. Therefore, you must run a mile in eight minutes." "Wait, what the fuck?! I gotta do some fucking high school fitness test?! That's fucking retarded!", and, angry, Odin pointed a gnarled finger at me and spoke, "Silence, mortal! You will do what I say or have thy ass presented to you!" So, I did as Odin asked, and when I returned, Odin bitched at me, "You asshole! You took almost an hour! You didn't even run! You just walked around like a lazy tool and smoked cigarettes the whole time!" "Fuck you!", I responded, "I didn't run for some fascist PE teacher, and I'm not gonna run for some douchebag god." He seemed amused by this and said, "I like the cut of your jib, son, so I'm gonna say that you passed my test. You may proceed," and Odin stepped aside and let me pass. Now I went on my way and finally reached the volcano Hindarfell.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part V b.

It was a pretty bitchin' volcano. There were crags and vents billowing steam and the smell of sulfur permeated the air. I made my way up the mountain and, after several hours of hiking, came to came to the top and looked out over the edge. It gradually sloped down until the rock ran into a bubbling cauldron of lava. Even from up here the heat was sweltering, but as you know, I kick ass, so I wasn't worried. I was, however, worried that my pits would start stinkin' and the chick would be all, "Ew! You smell musty!", but I figured a kick ass Valkyrie would think BO smelled sexy. I looked out over the vast pool and saw a narrow pathway of rock leading out into the center of the lava, but the shimmering waves of heat obscured where it led to. Saying a quick prayer to Quorthon, I made my way down the slope and started down the pathway. It was now hotter than balls, and my nuts were swimming in my underwear, but I persevered for the sake of poon. After about twenty minutes of walking, I finally saw what looked like an island of rock at the end of the path. Making my way onto it I saw in the middle a woman laying on her back asleep on a raised stone slab. She was wearing a shining breastplate and a winged helm. Her hair was a fiery shade of red, her face was pale and striking in its beauty, and her hooties were bigger than her head. Fuck yeah. Aside from True Metal, titties are the greatest thing on Earth. If I were a pansy I would compose sonnets to the gloriousness of sweater kittens. But I'm not, so I don't.

I knew that to wake her up I would have to prove myself to be a True Metalhead, so I did the only thing I could think of. I recited the evil prayer from Morbid Angels' song, "Lord of All Fevers and Plagues", "Ninnghizhidda. Open my eyes. Ninnghizhidda. Hear my cries. Plumed serpent of the deep. Plumed serpent of the gate. I command, come before me. I command, bring the key. Rise from the depths. See the fire in my wand. Ia iak sakkakh iak sakkakth. Ia shaxul." As soon as I finished, her eyes opened and she sat up on the stone slab. Then, looking at me she said, "If thou hast awakened me, then thou must be only the truest of metalheads. I congratulate thee, Defender of the Faith. I am Brynhild, and I am the most valiant of Odin's Valkyries. There can be no more worthy bride to one such as thou, and there can be no more worthy husband than a True Metalhead of thy caliber. Now come to me so that we may consummate our union." Ah shit. Why'd I have to get the clingy bitch? Normally if some crazy chick started talking about marriage I'd be out the door quicker than you could say "Fuck off, you crazy whackadoo bitch!", but I'd come all this way and I had a week's worth of blue balls to work off, so I figured I'd play along for now. So, I said, "Hey, sugar tits, uh...let's consummate this shit." And so it was. Many deeds of renown were done that day, both wondrous and terrible. The gods themselves trembled with fear and awe at the gloriousness of our banging. In the ages to come, the tales of that day would pass into legend, and become myth, and would inspire A Midsummer Night's Dream. I was Nick Bottom. Fuck Shakespeare. And after it was over and we were spent, I did what any True Metalhead would do. I waited until Brynhild was asleep and then I booked it. Cause bitches be trippin'.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VI a.

Long did I ride from the mountain of Hindarfell, fleeing the horror of a committed relationship. I flew fleet as the wind on my glorious steed, Grani, said to have been descended from Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse of Odin. How did I come by such a bitchin' horse? None of your fucking business! It's certainly not a plot hole that I'm too lazy to go back and fix. I came to the sea after riding over many leagues and did what any man would do when faced with the threat of romantic enslavement. I fled the country. Crossing the sea I came to Denmark and then made my way to Germany, where I found along the Rhine the land of the Gjukings. I had heard that this land was a haven for True Metal with a king who was a True Metalhead of the highest caliber and who welcomed fellow Defenders of the Faith into his great hall. I figured that this was as good a place as any to hide out from Brynhild, so I decided to see what I could see.

When I finally came to the Gjuking capital I was truly impressed with its Conanness. It was sprawled over a steep hill that would have been easy to defend against marauding poseurs. At the very top of the hill was a great wooden hall that I was sure smelled of mead, vomit, and semi-consensual sex. I rode through the gates of the city and looked about at the sites. The rumors of this land's metalness appeared to be accurate. The people were clothed in an assortment of denim, leather, spiked and studded belts and wristbands, and other accouterments of the True Metalhead. Their hair was either long or shaved bald with a bitchin' tattoo. The shops were selling band shirts, Flying V guitars, and vinyl albums (this was ancient times after all.) Yet the mood of the city was dark and oppressive, but there was still a fire in every eye that was the mark of a True Metalhead.

Soon I came to the hall and was stopped by the guards, "Halt in the name of True Metal! None may pass who are not Defenders of the Faith." Then he noticed my Morbid Angel shirt, apologized, and let me pass. When I entered the hall I saw at the far side a man seated on a great throne. As I approached him I noticed that he had the most kickass viking beard that I had ever seen. It was assuredly covered in dried mead and the blood of his enemies. Sweet. It was in fact such a kickass beard that I knew it to be the beard of none other than Amon Amarth's vocalist, Johan Hegg. Kick the fuck ass! Seeing my Morbid Angel shirt he knew that I was a fellow True Metalhead and, throwing the horns, addressed me, "Hail, motherfucker! It kicks ass to see another Defender of the Faith in my kingdom. Morbid Angel fucking rule!" I threw the horns back at him and said, " Fuck yeah, dude! You got a kickass fucking kingdom here, man. Nothing but headbangers as far as the eye can see. If I was a pussy this shit'd make me fucking cry." He beamed proudly saying, "This place seriously needed metal, so I came here to bring True Metal to this forsaken land." This was a truly worthy and selfless endeaver and what better kick and badass a motherfucker than Johan Hegg was there to spread the True Faith to the darkest corners of the time-space continuum? Throwing up the horns again I told him, "Long live the King and shit! That fucking rules! So, uh...I'm sorta trying to hide out from this crazy chick who's trying to put the ol' ball and chain on me, so...do you think you could help a fellow headbanger out?" Standing up he declared, "Say no more, dude. Metalheads before chickenheads. Mi hall es su hall. You're just in time for dinner too. We got like ten tons of meat cooking. None of that pussy ass vegetarian bullshit in my fucking hall!" I was all like "Fuck yeah!" and soon a long wooden table was brought out and much food was laid upon it.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VI b.

Johan was seated at the head of the table as befitted a badass viking metal motherfucker such as him. I was seated at his right, and at his left was a girl who he introduced as his sister, Gudrun. She seemed to be a shy girl who would glance at me when she thought that no one was looking. I was pretty sure she wanted to get with this, but she was a fat chick and I don't play that shit. I mean she wasn't a whale or anything, but she was definitely about twenty pounds outside my legal limit. Too bad, cause she had a nice face and some quality fat girl titties, but I'd need a few more tankards of ale to be able to hit that. Anyways, the food was fuckin' bangin'. Pork and beef and chicken and venison as far as the eye could see and not one piece of fucking tofu in site. Anybody who thinks that tofu dogs or veggie burgers or whatever are just as good as real meat should be sterilized. If a veggie burger was just as good as a real burger then people other than deluded vegetarians would actually eat them. And if tofu was as good as a burger then you wouldn't have to dress it up like one just so you could remind yourself what it was like to eat meat. Fucking hippy sons of bitches! So anyway, I was eatin' mucho meato, dodging fat fat fatty fatty fat fat over there, and generally enjoying myself.

Eventually the feast wound down, bongs were brought out, and an air of contentment and zootedness descended upon the hall. Then a bard came out with an electric lute and began a bitchin' tune while the assorted guests took turns singing songs of glorious deeds and kickass tales. After a while Johan rose from his seat and turned to me, "Dude, I can tell that you're a bitchin' motherfucker who's probably kicked some epic ass, so why don't you sing of your adventures?" 'Aw shit!' I thought. I fucking hate singing, but since I was a guest and I was properly tanked off of some quality mead I stood up and started to sing...

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VI c.

After I had sung my surprisingly brilliant song Johan stood and spoke, "Fucking hell, dude! You are truly the most righteous motherfucker in all the land! I wouldn't ask this of just any dude, but you are obviously a True Metalhead of the highest caliber and would defend the True Faith with every bone in your body. There's a fucking shadow lying over the land, man. For the last year the poseur armies of Metallica have been ravaging this land. They intend to overthrow this kingdom of True Metal and plunge it into the darkness of poseurdom. It's fuckin' bullshit! We've managed to throw them back 'til now, but our armies have been decimated, and now Metallica is coming with a bigass fucking host. But we've built this kingdom with our blood, sweat, and tears, and we're not about to let the cause of True Metal die without a fight! Tomorrow I will ride with five thousand men, the last of our strength, to the fortress of Wacken to mount one final stand against the poseurs and to lay down my life as a Defender of the Faith. Even though we're fucked and I can promise you nothing but almost certain death and that Rhapsody with probably make a concept album about us, will you stand with us to defend True Metal?" I felt something welling up in my breast at that moment. I think that it was what some might call "Giving a shit." In any case I am a True Metalhead; a Defender of the Faith 'til the day I die, and I wasn't about to let Metallica do any more damage to True Metal than they already had. So I stood up and declared, "Man, fuck Metallica! I've been tryin' to kill those shit stabbers for years and an army of poseurs is just a bonus. I'd lay down my life for True Metal any day of the fuckin' week, so I'll ride with you to the ends of the Earth." Understandably tearing up at my magnanimity, Johan proclaimed, "Kick ass! The army rides to battle at dawn, and you shall ride with me at its head. I pledge blood brotherhood with you, my friend, and will stand for you as you stand for me." Now also weeping openly I said, "Hell yeah, dude!" We then cut our palms on our swords and let the blood flow into a goblet which we both drank from, sealing our pact. Unfortunately, I didn't have the heart to tell him that he now had Herpes. After this there was much rejoicing. Mead was drunk, weed was smoked, and wenches were slain. Figuratively speaking of course. The next morning epic shiznit was about to go down.

A proposed alternative title for your journal should Brynhild ever catch you and force you at swordpoint of her many sisters to make an honest Valkyrie of her...

"The Batcave: where the Batlord sits on his Bat Throne and hatches his batschemes, providing he has first fixed that leaky tap and mowed the lawn as his wife asked him seven times already this week to, how many more time must he be asked? Oh and don't forget to pick up my dry cleaning before you waste your time on that Bathrone listening to that awful heavy metal music that rots your brain why eon't you give Taylor Swift a try she's not so bad" etc

Keep runnin' man! :laughing:

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VII a.

Dawn came bright and early the next morning. The dawn of war. Unfortunately it was also the dawn of our hangovers. So we took the traditional Viking hangover cure. Fermented ox semen. It's not gay if it's fermented. Soon enough the army was mustered and mounted on their horses. The Army of True Metal was truly glorious to behold. Their spears and swords shone like fire in the sun. Their faces were grim and determined and filled with a longing to spill poseur blood. Their shields were emblazoned with the logos of the bands dear to their hearts. There was Exodus and Immortal and Obituary and Angra and Candlemass and Hellhammer and Godflesh and even one dude with David Bowie on his shield. Okay I guess. My shield of course bore the name of Morbid Angel. I was mounted atop Grani, Gram was at my side, and the king, Johan Hegg, was beside me. Bitchin'. Everyone knew their role, everyone knew the stakes, and everyone knew that they were riding to their deaths, so Johan made no speeches. He merely gave the order to ride and the company set out to their fate.

The army rode at an easy yet brisk pace, and it wasn't long before the usual heated debates that happen whenever True Metalheads gather together began. One man declared, "Dude, everyone knows that Black Sabbath's first album is their best. It's just got this crazy, dark atmosphere that none of their other albums have." But a second man retorted, "Fuck that shit! The first half of that album rules, but the rest of it fucking blows. Paranoid is where it's at. It's easily their most solid album." The first man snorted in derision, "Are you fucking kidding me? The second half of the debut might not be all that great, but the first half is so brilliant that it makes up for it. Just four songs of sheer perfection that are better than anything else they ever did." Then a third man chimed in, "Yeah, man. Besides, Paranoid might be solid throughout, but "Paranoid" and "Planet Caravan" shouldn't be right after "War Pigs". It just kills the whole ultra-heavy vibe and you have to wait until "Iron Man" for the album to really get going. Master of Reality is their best album. Great all the way through and it basically invented stoner metal." The second man rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever, dude. "After Forever" and "Lord of This World" aren't all that great and the whiny, Christian bullshit lyrics are fucking annoying. Then you've got two instrumentals, so you've only got like four songs that really kick ass." Now a fourth man interjected, "I think Sabotage is underrated," to which all three of the others responded, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" They would have drawn swords right there and then, but just then a scout came over the ridge in front of the army and galloped down to the king. "My lord! A poseur raiding party has attacked the town over the hill!" Enraged, Johan ordered the army to a full gallop. When we came to the crest of the hill we gazed down upon a town in ruins.

When we entered the town we saw that it had been almost entirely burned to the ground. Burned and blackened corpses lay strewn all about. It was obvious that the men had bravely mounted a hopeless defense and had been cut down to a man. The women had then been violated and slaughtered. Even the children had been shown no mercy. There was not a single thing left alive or unspoiled in the entire town. But the worst was yet to come. When we came to the center of town there was a ring of at least fifty mutilated bodies impaled upon stakes. Vultures and crows had descended on the murdured villagers and were feasting. The stench of decay was overpowering. In the middle of the hideous ring was a great pile of True Metal albums that had been burned. Johan turned to me, "These poseurs have no honor. How can we withstand such reckless hate?" I turned to him with resolve and barely suppressed rage and said, "By killing every single one of these poseur fucks! These pussies might be good at killing women and children, but an army with True Metal on its side will fuck their shit up." He nodded and said, "Fucking right! After we bury these people we're gonna go collect some poseur heads and have us a skullfuck!"

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VII b.

After the villagers had been buried Johan called the army together and spoke, "Fuck this bullshit! We left on this campaign ready to die for True Metal! Fuck! That! Shit! Now there is no fucking way that I'm gonna die before I've seen to it that every single poseur who would set foot upon this sacred land and desecrate it has tasted my fucking steel! This is no longer a last stand! This is a war of vengeance! Now let's go and kill some fucking poseurs!" When Johan had finished a great cheer rose up. "DEATH TO POSERS! DEATH TO FALSE METAL! GLORY TO THE BRAVE!" Looking over the assemblage I saw the four men who had been willing to kill each other earlier embracing. The first said, "Dude, Paranoid kicks ass!", the second, "Master of Reality is heavy as fuck, man!", the third, "Sabotage is okay!", and the fourth, "Heaven and Hell fucking rules!", and they all said, "FUCK YEAH!"

The Army of True Metal, now united and determined as never before, mounted their steeds and headed to the fortress of Wacken. After a full night and day of riding we finally came within sight of it. It was in a valley with steep sides that towered over us as we rode between them. At the end of the valley was a sheer cliff wall, and against the cliff was the fortress. A great stone wall ran from ridge to ridge and could only be attacked by frontal assault. The only way through the wall was a high, thick gate. Beyond the gate was a paved courtyard and beyond that a great tower with a view of the entire valley. When we entered the fortress there would be no escape for the only way into or out of the valley was the way that we had come in. The only way that we would be leaving this place would be by cutting our way through the poseur army that would soon be arriving. It would be a good day to die.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VIII a.

I stood on the walls of Wacken fortress with my fellow Defenders of the Faith, gazing out at the poseur army of Metallica as it marched down into the valley towards us. The poseur army was even more vast than we had suspected. At least fifty thousand men were coming to throw themselves against the fortress. We were outnumbered ten to one. Sweet. Fifty thousand dead poseurs would be a new personal best for me. I turned to the man standing next to me, "So I hear that when poseurs play Battleship they're such pussies that they just say, 'My battleship has returned to port and the sailors are having tearful reunions with their families'." The man turned to me and responded, "I was playing Monopoly with this poseur and that bitch started crying when he got sent to jail, so I punched him in the face, took his money, and then banged his girlfriend." Then a third man spoke up, "Dude, I heard that when poseurs play Mousetrap, when they catch the mouse they stick it up their ass." Then I was like, "Naw, man. You're thinking of Richard Gere, but you have a point. That dude's done way too many movies with Julia Roberts to not be a poseur. But enough of that, the poseurs are almost here."

When the poseur army finally reached the wall the entire valley was black with their numbers. Just shy of bow range they stopped and a single poseur rider approached and spoke, "The great and valiant Lord Hetfield greets you and bids me to give you a chance to surrender! If you put down your weapons and acknowledge his sovereignty then you will be shown mercy and your lands will be safe! If you resist then you will all be destroyed and your land will run red with blood! What say you?" I came to the edge of the wall and shouted down to him, "Hey, buttwhipe! You think we're gonna trust that fucker ever again after he said that St. Anger wouldn't suck? I ain't acknowledging shit 'til Lord Homofield apologizes for that abortion! That shit gave me a ball rash! Obama needs to quit fucking around with Al-Qaeda and launch a drone strike on that threat to national security! Pedophiles are better than St. Anger! You tell that poseur fuck what I said and get the hell off my lawn!" With that our army cheered, "DEATH TO POSEURS! DEATH TO FALSE METAL! GLORY TO THE BRAVE!", and the poseur lackey fled in terror from the glory of True Metal. The poseur army now started forward and the Battle of Wacken finally began.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VIII b.

With vile cries invoking the names of As I Lay Dying and Bullet for My Valentine the poseurs surged toward the wall in a great wave. Our archers loosed their arrows and slew many of them, but for every one that fell ten took his place. They carried with them great ladders that they pushed against the wall and crawled up like vermin. At first only a few could make it to the top of the wall, but more and more came and soon we were hard beset. I became trapped between two groups of poseurs with five men against thrice the number of poseurs. Raising Gram into the air I cried, "Killing is my business...", and my men responded, "...And business is good!", and we charged at the poseurs. They fled from us, for the poseurs of Metallica's army feared Dave Mustaine above all else and could not suffer to hear his words. We cut down many of them, but they eventually regrouped and began to push us back. But the Light of True Metal was with us and the poseurs could not stand against us for long. But as soon as we finished with these scum, more poured in and we were harder beset than ever. We readied ourselves for one final attack only to see the poseurs open a path down the middle of them and a man walk through and stalk up to us. This was no ordinary man. He was almost seven feet tall and massively built. He wore only tattered pants and a black hood. Strangest of all though was his weapon. In both hands he carried a huge chainsaw. He pulled the chord and it started up with a great roar that chilled our hearts. I turned to a man behind me, "Dude, since when do ancient, Germanic poseurs carry chainsaws?", and he said with fear in his eyes, "I don't know man, but this is some fucked up shit right here!" Suddenly, with a wordless scream of mad, animalistic rage he charged at us with his chainsaw held in the air above his head. He was much faster than his bulk suggested, and it was all I could do to roll out of the way. The man behind me wasn't so lucky. The chainsaw split him from head to wang in a spray of blood and viscera. That's a cool word. Viscera. Yeah. Dripping red and with blank, insane eyes the chainsaw wielding behemoth turned to me, swung his weapon over his head, and brought it down with bone crushing force. I managed to bring Gram up to block, but the force of the blow brought me to my knees. Sparks flew like rain as the saw tried to eat through my sword. A lesser sword would have broken, but Gram was forged by Odin himself and its holy steel snapped the saw's chain. The broken chain flew through the air and struck the monster in the face, covering it in blood. Screaming in agony and holding his face in his hands he dropped to his knees. Triumphantly I got to my feet and stood over him. I brought Gram over my head, saying, "Decapitation! It's what's for dinner!" and then I cut his head from his shoulders. My four remaining men cheered and renewed their attack. The poseurs panicked and fled with us in close pursuit. Their terror was so complete that they ran headlong into their own people causing chaos in the poseur ranks. Soon they had been driven into a tightly packed mass of confusion that we cut our way through with impunity. All over the wall panic and despair were descending on the enemy and they were being eradicated and even thrown screaming from the wall. We had driven the poseurs from the walls of Wacken.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VIII c.

It was a hollow victory. A look beyond the walls showed that Metallica's army had been hardly diminished. It also became apparent that the assault on the wall had been a diversion. Poseurs were at the gate trying to force it open with a battering ram. The great timbers of the gate were already starting to bend and crack. Once they breached the gate there would be nothing to stop them from pouring into the fortress. Not on my watch, bitch! I rushed down the stairs and found Johan organizing the defense of the gate. When he saw me he looked relieved and said, "Dude, thank fuck you're here! The gate is about to fall and I need as many badass motherfuckers as possible to hold the poseurs off!" I threw him the horns, "Fuck yeah, dude! Any poseur that steps foot in this bitch'll get short shrift from me!" We braced the gate with great timbers to gain time while men on the walls rained arrows and boiling hot oil down on the attackers. The poseurs fell back with great losses, and the men at the gates cheered in relief. It was only a short reprieve, for one of the poseurs had an RPG and fired it at the already damaged gate. There was a great explosion and for several moments I remembered nothing. I slowly came to and realized that I was on the ground. I was dazed and only semiconscious and the only thing that I could hear was a loud ringing sound in my ears. I saw dead and dying men all around me. Some had been blown apart. Some were merely missing limbs. Some silently screamed while frantically pulling at foot long wooden splinters embedded in their flesh. I wasn't sure why this should be or what had happened to me or where I was or anything else. Then men started flooding in and killing the wounded as they silently cheered for their triumph. Then I remembered the words of the dragon Fafnir and my blood ran cold: You have long held aloft the banner of True Metal, and have bravely fought it's enemies, but your battle is doomed. Even now, the forces of false metal eat at the roots of all that you love, and, day by day, bring True Metal ever closer to its inevitable destruction. One day, you shall stand alone as the last of your kind, and shall know the taste of despair. But almost as soon as they appeared they stopped with looks of confusion and fear on their faces. Gradually I became aware of a sound other than the ringing. It was the blast of a horn. The entire valley was reverberating with the deafening sound of a great horn. I staggered to my feet and gazed at one of the ridges towering over the fortress. At the top was an army, and at its head was Joey DeMaio of Manowar.

I absolutely love this! You should be a writer, although you'd probably say that was gay. Mad to find out who the guy with the chainsaw was? Thought maybe a Slipknot reference? But the crowning glory was the appearance of Manowar. Man, you have surpassed yourself! This needs to be seen by more people!
:clap: :clap:

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IX a.

The fortress was about to be overrun. The Light of True Metal was about to be dimmed. Everything that we had fought and died for was about to come to naught when a great horn sounded and an army appeared on the hill that towered over the walls of Wacken. At its head, proud and magnificent, was Joey DeMaio of Manowar. Behind him, rank upon glorious rank, was assembled an army of all of the great captains of True Metal with armor that reflected only the Light of True Metal. There were Bruce Dickinson of Iron Maiden and Rob Halford of Judas Priest side by side. With the stoic visage of a great king of men was Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath. With barely restrained wrath sat Kerry King of Slayer on his horse, impatient to take poseur heads. George "Corpsegrinder" Fisher of Cannibal Corpse laughed with Gary Holt of Exodus boasting that he would kill two poseurs for every one that the other slayed. Terrible to behold, with armor as black as night, was King Diamond of Mercyful Fate. Beside Joey DeMaio and proudly holding aloft the army's banner, an eagle behind a pentagram, was Oscar Dronjak of Hammerfall. Ten thousand of the greatest Defenders of the Faith the world has ever known were gathered together, the Army of the Immortals, and ready to make war upon the poseur menace in the name of True Metal. The enemy was struck dumb with disbelief and horror at this sight, for the Light of True Metal fell so brightly on these Metal Gods that they shone like the sun. Joey DeMaio raised his sword into the air and declared, "Death to poseurs! Death to false metal! Glory to the brave!" Behind him the Army of the Immortals beat their spears against their shields and echoed his cry, and we, rejoicing at this miracle joined them, "DEATH TO POSEURS! DEATH TO FALSE METAL! GLORY TO THE BRAVE!"

Joey then called out, "For True Metal, charge!" and the army surged forward down the steep slope of the hill like the thrust of a great spear. The thunder of their horses' hooves made the ground tremble. They descended on the poseurs assaulting the walls with the force of a hammer. Outflanked and caught unprepared the enemy could only be cut down and trampled. Their victory had become a rout. Some tried to retreat into the fortress in their panic, but there they found no shelter. Now recovered and remounted we ran them down and slaughtered any poseurs that stood in our way as we cut our way past the gate. The poseurs of their army's vanguard now found themselves caught between the Army of True Metal and the Army of the Immortals. Between the Hammer and the Anvil. They tried to mount a counterattack to rejoin with the rest of their army, but they were outnumbered and surrounded. For poseurs they fought valiantly, but they were soon cut down to the last man. With that we joined with the Army of the Immortals and I greeted my old friend Joey, "Dude, fuckin' hell yeah with the assist! You came just in time. We were about to kill all the poseurs ourselves and leave you with jack shit!" He laughed as he quipped, "You fucking dumbass! Why do I always have to bail you out when you're about to get your ass kicked? Do I have to show you which end of your sword to stick into the poseurs?" I woulda flipped him off, but I figured that would be ungracious given the circumstances. Then Johan rode up and hailed Joey, "Dude, kickass timing! I'd love to sit here and play grabass with you ladies, but I think we've got some poseurs to fuck up!" Throwing up the horns I said, "Fuck yeah! It's not everyday you get to kill fifty thousand poseurs," and Joey turned to me, "Dude, really? You need to get out more." We then broke up and readied to renew our attack.

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IX b.

The poseur army was regrouping and setting up a defensive line. They drove a line of pikes into the ground pointing outward to impale our horses. But Joey held his sword into the air and the Light of True Metal shone on it so that the enemy was blinded and cast their faces into the dirt. We then drove into their ranks and the poseurs could do naught to stand against the assault of the True Faith. They tried to flee, but their army was enclosed by the steep walls of the valley and their own numbers so that there was no place to maneuver and no place to run. We slew on the left hand and we slew on the right. All who came before us fell with fear and blood. Yet the enemy was great and their numbers almost endless, and it was long ere we fought our way to the mouth of the valley, but eventually all had fallen or were fleeing except for one mass of poseurs. In the middle, mounted on four great horses, were Metallica. They had been Defenders of the Faith in days past, and a slender ray of that Light still shone even now and they refused to retreat or surrender. Their bodyguard was valiant, but even they could not long stand before us and we soon breached their line. While these forces fought fiercely Johan Hegg, Joey DeMaio with his bannerman, Oscar Dronjak, and I rode before Metallica and halted.

They were proud and scornful and gazed at us with wrath. As if by tacit agreement we all dismounted and faced one another. Joey with head held high and his sword held at his side squared off with Robert Trujillo saying, "You were a fool to sell out and side with these poseurs. I'll show you what a real bassist looks like." Trujillo only smirked and drew his sword. Oscar Dronjak pointed his sword at Kirk Hammett with a challenge, "I am Oscar Dronjak, bannerman to Lord Joey DeMaio, and I shall cut you down in the name of my Lord and True Metal." Raising his sword, Hammett spoke, "I accept your challenge, cur, and I promise that this mistake shall be your last." With his sword perched on his shoulder and an amused look on his face Johan approached Lars Ulrich, "I would cut off your head, Master Ulrich, if it stood but a little higher from the ground. I guess I'll give it a shot anyway." Enraged, Ulrich retorted, "You would die before your stroke fell!" With only one opponent left I called out to James Hetfield, "You don't know how long I've waited for this, Jim. I'm gonna kill the fuck outta you for the disillusionment of my childhood!" Hetfield looked at me with mirthful contempt, "Pathetic. Losers with bad haircuts like you are a dime a dozen." With that the battle was joined. I charged Hetfield and swung Gram over my head. He blocked it one-handed and I swung again at his side, but again he blocked my stroke as if I were a child. I hacked and slashed at him but he only laughed as he easily blocked every blow. Angered, I stabbed straight for his chest, but he parried and sidestepped. I stumbled forward and he struck me in the temple with the hilt of his sword. I crumpled to the ground, my vision swimming. He laughed cruelly and mocked me, "Pathetic. Is this the best that True Metal has to offer? True Metal! Nothing but shitty music for sad rejects and angry teenagers who hate their parents. Perhaps you should grow up and stop being such a fool." I staggered to my feet and now I was the one laughing. Frowning, Hetfield asked, "And what's so funny?" and I said with contempt, "You. You're the one who's pathetic. You betrayed True metal and everything that it stands for, and for what? Money? Idiots who'd be just as happy listening to Limp Bizkit or Linkin Park or Three Days Grace? I used to hate you. Now I see that you're just sad and weak. Now I feel sorry for you. You're not even worth hating." His face twisted with rage, he attacked me with reckless abandon, but the Light of True Metal had suffused my limbs and now it was I who turned aside every one of his blows. With rage he swung with all of his strength at my head and I brought Gram up to block. When Hetfield's sword struck my own it shattered and he became off balance. With all of my strength I struck him in the face with the flat of my blade and he collapsed to the ground, his face streaming with blood. With the last of his strength he dragged himself to his knees and gazed up at me in a daze. With a smile on my face I told Hetfield, "You know all this aside, I just want to say that Master of Puppets changed my life and that I'm a huge fan!" and then I struck off his head. Then I looked to see that Joey, Johan, and Oscar had all likewise slain their foes and were smiling in weary triumph. Looking down I grasped the head by its hair, lifted it into the air, and shouted, "The poseur king is dead! Long live True Metal!" A great cheer rose from our armies, "LONG LIVE TRUE METAL!!!"

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IX c.

The remaining poseurs were overcome with despair and threw down their weapons. But it was too late and our armies slaughtered them without mercy. After all had been hunted down Johan and Joey gathered together the armies and Johan spoke, "Glory to the brave! We are victorious! True Metal will survive in this land thanks to your resolve and your bravery! But this victory comes at a terrible price! Many of our brothers have given their lives for the cause of True Metal! We must have a moment of silence to honor the fallen!" Every Defender of the Faith lowered his head and was silent. For one minute the only sound in the valley was the low, mournful moan of the wind. Eventually Johan raised his head and again spoke, "NOW LET'S ALL GO GET FUCKING WASTED!!!" The valley that had been silent now reverberated with the cheers of fifteen thousand True Metalheads. We set about getting properly wrecked with the same determination and vigor with which we fought for True Metal. We raided the poseurs' abandoned baggage train and found ale enough to last for several days. Then a massive stage was set up before the walls of Wacken and the assembled Metal Gods let loose a torrent of metal that shook the very stones of the fortress. Before long people from all over the kingdom came to the fortress to celebrate our great victory and partake in a bacchanal the likes of which had not been seen in living memory. Thus was held the very first Wacken Open Air festival. And nobody got more shitwrecked than me. I'm pretty sure that at some point I tried to do a stage dive off the wall. Awesome. After a few too many ales I even ended up in a porta potty with Johan's fat sister, Gudrun. Fuck it. Like riding a moped you know? It was all good 'til the door busted open and who should be there but that crazy bitch, Brynhild. Trembling with rage she shrieked, "I gavest thou my body and my love! Then I awoke to find that thou hadst abandoned me! And now I find that thou art shacked up with this fat slut?!" I put up both of my hands and tried to defuse the situation. "Calm down, baby. There's more than enough of me for the both of you." And so it was.


P.S. If you wanna know how I got back to the present then you can mind your own fucking business.

Again, absolutely brilliant and worthy of a movie: no, a series of movies! Lots of cool merchandising tie-ins, of course. And several albums with the soundtrack.

As for how you got back, I heard a minstrel wandering away from the wall of noise that was the festival spake thusly:

"And when the Batlord, who had helped us all rid the land of False Metal forever, was accosted most grievously by his bride-to-be in the latrine, there was only one place he could go, one escape, and so it proved. Headfirst down the bog he went, and that was the last the land ever saw of this brave hero."

What they didn't know was that the toilet had been built on a wormhole, and that led you back to the present. Maybe. Or off on another, unplanned adventure? The choice is yours.... :clap: :bowdown:

Just finished Part IV.B the only problem I've got with this, is that you gave Varg too easy a death.

Just out of curiosity, are you just getting around to it or were you waiting til the whole thing was up?

An Edumacation for You Dumb Cunts: Part Zwei

James Chance and the Contortions

Yeah, so The Contortions aren't a metal band. What, you thought I only listened to metal? Well, FUCK YOU! There are plenty of non-metal bands out there for the open minded metalhead, and James Chance and the Contortions are one of the finest. How should I describe them? Well...you know how sometimes you get a bit antsy, and you just need to stop taking the Ritalin for a bit cause you feel like it's eating your brain and you get sick of all the judgmental FUCKS trying to HANDLE YOU and turn you into some carbon copy pretty person who's FUCKING NORMAL and BORING and whose soul is just as DEAD as their's so you quit taking THE DEMON PILL but now your mind is going HERE and HERE and THERE and EVERYWHERE but not there never there that's the bad place so you gotta put on some righteous tunes to bring order to the madman's breakfast that is now your mind.

Excuse me as I wipe the spittle from my computer screen. There. All better.

The Contortions are the perfect band for this. Part of the New York No Wave scene of the late seventies along with such well adjusted and sensible bands as Swans and Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, the Contortions were out to finish the job that punk started and finally burn rock'n'roll to the ground and make an abstract, stream-of-conscious finger painting out of the blood and ashes even while the flames were still burning unchecked and the screams of the dying surrounded them but those who were burning had brought it on themselves so they're only getting what they deserve but when all is quiet and the rubble is cool then the Contortions will have nothing left no reason to exist all their energy spent empty meaningless dead and they shall cease to exist.

First you got the rhythm section. Frantic and chaotic, but with an infectious groove like old school R&B on cocaine and acid that hypnotizes your addled mind with its simple hysteria. Jaggedly zig-zagging around the beat like a deranged hummingbird are the shrill blasts of James Chance's saxophone capturing the formless thoughts flitting about in the background of your brain and bringing them into alignment. And to finally pummel your now terrified and desensitized consciousness into submission come Chance's vocals. They switch from a playful, nihilistic croon to a tortured scream that makes Henry Rollins sound like James Blunt at the drop of a dime. Sick nasty. You should now either be calm and centered, or are being forcibly removed from a potted plant in the mall and are now on your way to a mental institution. Either way, the Contortions fucking rule.

I was waiting until the whole saga was done, but I noticed that it was getting bigger and bigger (no sexual pun intended here) and decided to dive in and read some of it before the monster of a saga got out of control.

:laughing:

Who are we kidding, Batlord will make it sexual!

Batlord you're a great writer, I'm currently still working on that 5-6 part piece that you have written. You really are my Metal God.

I have now finished relating my totally true story. You may bask in my gloriousness.
Of course I am.

The Most Metal People In History

Some Baby Smoking a Cigarette

Just look at this fucking baby! If he's smoking as an infant, then just imagine how badass he will be when he's an adult. I might have to kill him while he's young, lest he challenge my hegemony as the most badass person on Earth. And I'll just bet that he's not looking at the camera because he's looking at two chicks mud wrestling to Slayer.

General George S. Patton

I'm sure that this won't surprise anybody, since George Patton is a well known kicker of asses and taker of names. During the Battle of Kasserine Pass it is said that when the American forces were about to be defeated, Patton dropped paratroopers behind German lines where they started a circle pit, bringing panic to the enemy and allowing the American army to retreat.

Sanada Yukimura (a.k.a. Sanada Nobushige)

If Steven Seagal and Arnold Schwarzenegger had a child, Sanada Yukimura would strangle him to death with his pubes. Dude fought overwhelming numbers against the Shogun, Tokugawa Ieyasu, and managed to win many battles, but when he was finally faced with defeat, and exhausted from putting his foot in and then removing said foot from his enemies' asses he told them, "I am Sanada Nobushige, no doubt an adversary quite worthy of you, but I am exhausted and can fight no longer. Go on, take my head as your trophy." Now, don't you feel like a pussy?

Iggy Pop

I'm sure even you foot lickers know of the sheer awesomeness of Iggy Pop, but if you're an ignoramus who's been living in a cave and talking to a ring for your whole life, then I shall educate you: dude invented the stage-dive just to explore the art of the concussion, he rolled around in broken glass on stage just because he had an itch that he couldn't scratch, and he once fought a moose because it stole his heroin. Alright, I made that last one up, but I'm sure he would if it came to that.

Jet Li

I would talk about Jet Li, but even descriptions of Jet Li move so fast that they become a blur to weaklings like you.

Can I just say, wtf??? Where did this line come from? I hate that ****ing show! Remove this accusation immediately, or face the wrath of my highly-priced lawyers! :bringit:

I have no idea what show you're talking about, but if you want it taken down then stop wiping your poop dick on innocent girls' upper lips.

I'm kinda sick of all this hillbilly music for the moment, so I'm gonna take a break from taking a break from metal and go through a few albums that I've been meaning to listen to for a while now. So first up is...

Mayhem: Live In Leipzig

I've never really been the biggest fan of Mayhem's music. I think that if it weren't for their outrageous band history they would be just a footnote in metal history. But their band history does make them sort of unforgettable. Murder. Suicide. Church burnings. Possible cannibalism. What more could you want from an extreme metal band? This is a live album featuring their former vocalist Dead who, ironically, is now dead. The aforementioned suicide. He is generally regarded as their best vocalist and this is the only official recording he appears on, which is why this live album is so (in)famous. The version of "Necrolust" on this album is actually the first Mayhem song I ever heard, but I've never listened to the whole thing before, so here goes...

P.S. I'd just like to mention that Dead sort of gets forgotten in the wake of the whole Varg/Euronymous/stabby stabby thing, but he's a nutbag worthy of note in his own right. Among other stories he used to bury his clothes in the ground before a show so that they would smell like the grave, he had a dead crow that he kept in a plastic bag that he would inhale from before shows, apparently he even kept a dead guinea pig in his pocket because...who knows? My kinda dude.




Alright, basically when you take Mayhem out of the studio you lose the atmosphere and get even more noise. The shitty production doesn't help. Of course, this is black metal after all, so what do you expect? It's sometimes entertaining noise, but you'd have to be a legitimate Mayhem fan (i.e. stupid) to really like this. Dead is a much better vocalist than Attila though. Or at least he doesn't sound like the B-movie version of an extreme metal vocalist. I'm gonna give this some more time to sink in, but I'm not expecting much.

If I had to say that this album had a selling point it would be that Mayhem often sounds like a two dimensional band who only knows how to make noise and do blast beats on De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas. On this album, this is sort of buried in the noise. They definitely sound like a band who only knows how to play noise, but the energy of a live show gives this a hardcore punk quality (which could actually just be down to them being a terrible band who can't even play their songs) that makes them sound less goofy if no more listenable. Like on Mysteriis when they decide to slow down and quit with the two dimensional noise they don't actually sound too bad. "Freezing Moon", "Pagan Fears", "Chainsaw Gutsfuck" (best song name ever), and "Pure Fucking Armageddon" actually sound pretty kewl at times. But yeah, I'm sort of glad I didn't waste fifteen bucks on this when I saw it at FYE that one time.

Just finished your epic and an epic it is, you know it kind of reminds me of a Warhammer novel especially the Gotrek and Felix ones. :clap:

Arcturus: La Masquerade Infernale

I've listened to Arcturus' first album and loved it. Probably the only symphonic black metal album I do anything more than tolerate. This, their second album is a different kettle of fish. It completely dropped the black metal and went "avant garde". Which usually means a bunch of weirdos who don't really know what avant garde is making something goofy. Just look at that album cover. It says it all. Well, I've never given it more than five or ten minutes of my time, so I'm giving it another chance...







Alright, those vocals are just as ludicrous as I remember. That dude needs to realize that this is the real world, and real people are going to laugh at you if you sing that way. It's clean singing, but with this self consciously "gothy" thing to it that sounds like he's doing the world's worst impression of opera, but without actually singing opera. He doesn't always sound that goofy, but sometimes it's just laughable.

The music is symphonic progressive metal apparently, and doesn't really seem that avant garde to me. It just sounds like the metal version of ludicrously over-the-top, hey nonny nonny 70's prog rock, and I don't know that anyone who wasn't a fan of that kind of music could take this seriously. It's not so much terrible as I'm just not a prog fan and couldn't give less of a shit about this. There are parts that I like, even a song or two, but in general it's just overblown weirdness that flies by while I just tune out until something that I like actually comes on. Maybe Trollheart or Unknown Soldier would get more out of this, but not me.

Why General Hospital Is Metal as Fuck

Alright, so I was just watching my new favorite show, General Hospital, which I'm sure some of you pussies would say is a most unmetal thing to be doing. Well you are a fool. In the last few episodes a woman was abducted by an unknown person and her parents were trying to find her. They tracked her down to a ship in international waters and went to save her where they were captured. They were then taken to a private island where they discovered that the abductor was a madman thought to have been dead for over ten years. Apparently this wackadoo was in love and obsessed with the mother in the past, but has now transferred his affections to the daughter, who he views as the perfect version of the mother. To keep her perfect he has cryogenically frozen the daughter. Metal. As. Fuck. If you don't believe me, just ask Slayer...

My Thoughts On Goatpenis

Once upon a time in the late eighties there was a black/death metal band called Blasphemy. Aside from kicking some serious ass, Blasphemy started the sub-genre of war metal. Out of this movement came a band called Goatpenis. Just thinking about Goatpenis makes me happy. They are bar none one of my all time favorite bands. Is their music just that stupendously awesome? I have no idea because I have never listened to them. I love them because their name is Goatpenis. I know that may seem shallow and stupid, but hear me out. Lower your voice a little bit, but not so much that it sounds like you're doing a Rammstein impression. Then say "Goatpenis". Really give the "P" and the "G" some emphasis, and say the name quickly, but don't rush it. It's not about the speed, it's about the rhythm. If you've done it right then you will see that Goatpenis is the greatest name in all of metal. It's vulgar, blasphemous, and so moronic and cliched that it is somehow brilliant. It gives me the image of the perfectly realized archetype of an extreme metal band. You know like when in a show they want to show you that a teenager is mopey and rebellious so they make him listen to some ludicrously stereotypical band with a ridiculous name and that plays really dumb, angry music that no band in history has ever played? Goatpenis would beat the shit out of that band. Unfortunately there is no possible way that Goatpenis' music can ever live up to this image, so listening to them would only ruin their mystique. This is why I have never listened to them and have no intention of ever doing so. My greatest wish is that I might one day buy a Goatpenis album and never listen to it. God I love Goatpenis.

Pre-Electric Wizard Is Pretty Wizard: Part I

Electric Wizard is pretty ubiquitous for anyone into doom metal, but they had a few earlier incarnations that never got past the demo stage that are worthy of note. I'm not necessarily unfamiliar with them, but I just feel like going over them again. First up...


P.S. If you have taste and want to buy this stuff, there is a collection of all three of these band's only demos that should seriously kick your ass.

Lord of Putrefaction: Wings Over a Black Funeral

Jus Osbourne's first band was a pretty rudimentary death/doom band. This is primitive and ugly as this kind of music gets. This is also, along with Thorr's Hammer and Necro Schizma one of my all time favorite death/doom bands. Perhaps it says something about death/doom that none of these bands ever released a full length album. Perhaps death/doom is not a genre that particularly needs to be refined. Now I'm gonna reacquaint myself with this band because I fucking feel like it...




I'd forgotten how much straight up death metal was on this. There is some pretty generic fast 'n' furious death metal riffing on here, but the whole thing is so primitive that anything more refined or original would just be out of place. The doom doesn't take long to rear it's ugly head though, and being an Electric Wizard-adjacent band this means that your skull is well and truly crushed with some simple, brutal riffs that must weigh more than your average city block. The guitar tone helps this immensely, and is just as distorted and raw as every death metal band's guitar tone should be as far as I am concerned. And I have to mention Jus Osbourne's vocals. They are as guttural as DM vocals get and suit the music perfectly.

"At the Cemetery Gates" actually totally lifts the riff to "Raining Blood" from 1:39 to 2:15 and from 5:16 to 5:51. And I mean it is a blatant rip off. This would be a problem if they didn't use it to make one of those most insanely kick ass doom metal songs I've ever heard. If more bands could rip Slayer off so well then the world would be a better place.

Tasty. I'm already looking forward to the next band...

Pre-Electric Wizard Is Pretty Wizard: Part II

Thy Grief Eternal: ...On Blackened Wings

I'm not as familiar with Jus Osbourne's second incarnation of what would become Electric Wizard, but I remember it being similar to Lord of Putrefaction, just a bit closer to Electric Wizard. Time to remind myself...




Yeah, the death metal vocals are still present (and sweet), but the rest of the death metal influences have been purged and we are left with pure unadulterated death/doom. Gone are the furious death metal riffs, and we are left with only slow and heavy doom. This is actually some pretty depressing stuff. The raw production of Lord of Putrefaction has also been ditched for a more atmospheric and creepy atmosphere, though it is no less putrid or heavy. If Lord of Putrefaction was city block heavy, then Thy Grief Eternal is another two city blocks on top of that one. It's not Dopethrone heavy, but it's definitely on it's way to bigger and better things. I imagine Jus was listening to a fair share of funeral doom at the time, though this is definitely not funeral doom. Just funeral doom-ish. As such, this isn't as easily approachable as Lord of Putrefaction, and it hasn't quite mastered the art of making slow, drony riffs that work like in Electric Wizard, but this is still quality stuff that is worth your time.

Pre-Electric Wizard Is Pretty Wizard: Part III

Eternal: Lucifer's Children

Finally we come to the final band that would eventually come to be known as Electric Wizard. I remember this band the least and would partake of them again...




The first thing to notice is that any remaining death metal influences in Thy Grief Eternal are gone. Even the doom isn't as prominent. This is pure stoner metal. Jus had obviously been jamming out to his assuredly used and abused copy of Master of Reality, cause that album is all over this shit. The production on this album isn't the greatest though. It's not quite as heavy as I'd like an Electric Wizard associated band to be even though it's pretty good and muddy. That said, this is some highly fun, if not particularly original stoner metal that shouts it's Sabbath worship from the rooftops. Electric Wizard would soon overshadow this band, but it's good stuff none the less.

Side note: The album begins with the same sample from the beginning of "Wizard In Black" off Come My Fanatics... Kewl.

Cant... stop... laughing...

Where the fuq do you find these?

:rofl:

An Edumacation for You Dumb Cunts: Part Drei

Madball

So I'm chillin' in my bedroom one day thinking about what a shitty day I'd just had. I was fired from my job, my car got rear-ended by some asshole with no insurance, and my girlfriend had just filed a restraining order against me. That bitch. So I did the only thing I could do to forget that the world had just had diarrhea in my mouth. I put on Madball's debut album, Set It Off. As soon as I pressed play, Freddy Cricien, Madball's vocalist, busted a hole in my wall and stalked into my room. He then stepped up to me and punched me in the face. I was knocked back against the wall, and then he kicked me in the chest. This knocked the wind out of me and dropped me to the floor. He then kicked me in the face, shattering my nose. Blood was now gushing down my face and soaking my shirt. Crician proceeded to repeatedly punch me in the face, pounding my head against the wall, and knocked several of my teeth out. Not content with this wanton brutality, he grabbed me by the hair and kneed me in the face, breaking my jaw. He then dragged me by the hair into the middle of my room and began kicking me in the stomach. I was pretty sure that he'd broken several of my ribs, and possibly ruptured one of my kidneys. Now he grabbed my hair again and started slamming my head into the floor. In the pool of blood under my face I saw what remained of my front teeth. For the next twenty-six minutes and thirty-eight seconds he continued to beat me senseless. After the album was over Cricien loudly hocked a loogey, and spat on my broken body. With that he knocked another hole in my wall and left, stealing my Spiderman comic books along the way. Summoning the last of my strength I managed to crawl to my stereo. Then I pressed play...