I hate Metal-Archives.com.
This is not to say, however, that I hate Metal. Quite the opposite, I love Metal. For me, Metal is the one true religion. It's also the most convenient; other religions make you go to church and dress up and drink cranberry juice that's supposed to be wine that's supposed to be a cosmic Jew zombie's blood. Metal asks nothing of you but you're faith in it. All you must do to please the Metal Gods is not take shit from anyone and listen to the baddest, most balls out riffs this side of the Pacific.
That being said, there is nothing Metal about Metal-Archives. This is a website founded by fat nerdy virgins who are such losers they categorize Death-Metal grunters and bloody vagina Screamo guys as 'singers'. Bitch, please. You wanna scream? Go get a nut pierced. Stay the hell away from the mic. As for the cookie monster guys, just stop. You're not funny anymore.
Why is Metal-Archives so non-Metal? They hate everything great about Metal, for one. I don't know what they did to anger the Metal Gods so, but indeed this site has been cursed to non-Metaldom for eternity. But the infractions against the Code of Metaldom seem voluntary; no one told these assholes to write horrible, spelling error riddled reviews of classic Metal albums. What's that Mallcore faggot? Judas Priest's Defenders of the Faith not have enough screaming for you? Iron Maiden's Killers lack the idiotic blast-beats you so crave? Fuck off and die.
The fact is children, Metal is dying. Sorry, I worded that wrong; Metal is being tortured to death and jerked off on by non-Metal asswipes like these guys. They get kicked around by real Metalheads and take refuge on the Internet where you can say anything (nataS teews, ouy ot luos latrommi ym edgelp I) within the safety of your Mom's basement. Then they say, 'you know who sucks? Everyone who doesn't have every demo from Mayhem even though they only have about ten songs and they all sound alike. And also, everything from before 1989. All that sucks.'
What's worse is these guys are getting bands together and actually getting record deals. Let me repeat that... NON-METAL ASSWIPES ARE GETTING SIGNED TO METAL RECORD COMPANIES. When is it enough? You disgrace Metal with your awful music, you blaspheme your way into non-Metal Hell beside Kenny G and John Denver, and you go on MTV and 'represent' your horrible, horrible lifestyle choice. But is that enough? Suck your balls it is. You have to whore your destructive music at innocent Metallists from all angles-radio shows, the innernette, fUSE television... it will never be enough, will it?
Their are so few real Metal bands out there, and so many great ones have died away. rather than give you a list (it would have to be written in ichor on a scroll made of Satan's leathery wings) of all the great Metal bands and their best albums, I'll give you the warning signs of non-Metal infidels who have slithered into the belly of the beast like the greedy parasites they are.
Do they scream at least 50% of the time? Do they have annoying break-downs stolen from Limp Bizkit songs? Do they write songs about 'feelings'? Do they wear eyeliner? Did you go to high school with them? Are they not Bang Camaro? If you answered yes to any of these, you are being tricked into buying a non-Metal album. I beg of you to reconsider. I'll bet the next time you're being bombarded with non-Metal ass music in you're Vinyl Shoppe that you could pick out a handful of actual Metal albums for the price of one non-Metal albums. Just give it a shot.
In closing, I'd like to tell all the assholes at Metal-Archives AKA Encyclopaedia Metallum that I have their names, phone numbers, and home addresses. Just sayin'...
See you in your nightmares...
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Paycheck, Please!
I have one of the shittiest jobs in the world. I bag groceries. I am a sack-stuffing engineer. It sucks, and everyday that I work at that stupid peice of shit (name removed at the threat of lawsuit), is a day I consider a killing spree. Thank God the Chinese will soon destroy us all with their vast numbers and gun-point management tactics.
Today was the worst however, as I was told of a job frontier where people pay you for your ideas based on how old you are. Imagine: all my great ideas brought to life, and I'm getting paid for them. Better than being a bag bitch at that terrible (name removed at the threat of lawsuit); I wonder how many people realize we spit on the produce?
I was talking with my friend "Dumbass", and he was being an asshole as usual; crackin' wise 'bout my job down at (name removed at the threat of lawsuit). I say, "well, what are you doing for work?" I said this in a very insinuating tone, because I knew he had been out of work ever since the DeVry institute accepted him. Contrary to popular belief, their entry exam is pretty hard; you have to figure out how to open a door without any signs indicating whether it is a 'push', or a 'pull' (hint: it's an automatic sliding door).
"Dumbass" started bragging about how he was a consultant at a big-name advertising agency, and that he got paid ungodly amounts of money to sit on his ass and nod one way or the other. Outraged, I screamed loudly, 'I can't believe you do that to twelve-year-olds!'. Needless to say, everyone at the Cinnabon was giving him the stink-eye for the rest of the day. Homo.
As the security guards led us away, I began to think; my career wasn't exactly 'hot'. Maybe I should attend the DeVry institute and get a cushy consulting job. I even wrote down a few ideas to get myself started, which I will now share to you all. Please note that if any of these ideas are stolen from me, I will hunt you, I will find you... and I will kill you. Have you seen Taken yet? Best Liam Neeson role since Qui-Gon Jinn!
1) TOILETS IN DELIVERY ROOMS. This way, if you are giving birth and a retard pops out of your once-beautiful vadge, you can flush that shit and start anew. Hopefully, you will be able to find a guy who likes gross, saggy vaginae.
2) GLASS TOILETS. I love to shit. It's great, and akin to what I imagine giving birth would be like, except socially acceptable. But whenever I shit, I always ask myself, what's on the bottom of my shit? Did I eat any corn yesterday? If I had a glass toilet, I could simply get on my knees and inspect, rather than pick it up out of the bowl and check. This would be especially useful in restaurants; the guys at Bertucci's become total dicks if they catch you handling feces in their bathrooms. To be fair, I was on my break, Julio.
3) LARGE CARDBOARD BOXES. I know what you're thinking: silly Darsh, that's not an invention. A) fuck you for calling me silly, and B) shut up. If we had stores devoted solely to the sale of large cardboard boxes, the corporate world would be a much better place. Having spent a summer as an intern at Brookstone, I should know. When payday comes, and you don't want your sense of self-worth being destroyed by a check for eighty dollars at the end of a forty-hour work week, you need a place to hide. Why not bring your hiding spot with you? Plus, you can use it to prank your fellow employees by writing funny things on the side of the box. Once, I hid in a box for a life-like sex-doll inside the boss's office with the door open, and soon , everyone was calling him a pervert. He now lives the life of a disgraced former millionaire.
4) HOTDOG CONDOMS. We have hotdog-flavored condoms; this is a no-brainer. Plus, hotdogs have a lot more nutrients and protein in them than semen, and I base that on absolutely nothing.
5) ONE BIG RESTAURANT. Tired of trying to find that one 'good' restaurant in a long chain of local greasy spoons? Well, look no further than One Big Restaurant. One Big Restaurant houses all the best parts of a billion tiny restaurants in one big restaurant. The sole location will be located approximately where Montana is. Ever noticed how no one lives in Montana? Yeah, me too. One Big Restaurant will serve only the biggest of meals. I mean, you and your brood are just eating your own portions of essentially the same thing; why not share One Big Burger, weighing in at twenty-six pounds, twenty of which is all Grade C or better cow(?) meat. Enjoy that with One Big Fry: it's as long as a yardstick and as wide as Mike Tyson's fist. One Big Restaurant will also feature One Big Hospital, which will treat all the victims of cardiac arrest. You may be wondering how many heart attacks we expect to have serving this kind of food. We at One Big Restaurant don't like to see it as a couple hundred thousand heart attacks. We see One Big Heart Attack.
Today was the worst however, as I was told of a job frontier where people pay you for your ideas based on how old you are. Imagine: all my great ideas brought to life, and I'm getting paid for them. Better than being a bag bitch at that terrible (name removed at the threat of lawsuit); I wonder how many people realize we spit on the produce?
I was talking with my friend "Dumbass", and he was being an asshole as usual; crackin' wise 'bout my job down at (name removed at the threat of lawsuit). I say, "well, what are you doing for work?" I said this in a very insinuating tone, because I knew he had been out of work ever since the DeVry institute accepted him. Contrary to popular belief, their entry exam is pretty hard; you have to figure out how to open a door without any signs indicating whether it is a 'push', or a 'pull' (hint: it's an automatic sliding door).
"Dumbass" started bragging about how he was a consultant at a big-name advertising agency, and that he got paid ungodly amounts of money to sit on his ass and nod one way or the other. Outraged, I screamed loudly, 'I can't believe you do that to twelve-year-olds!'. Needless to say, everyone at the Cinnabon was giving him the stink-eye for the rest of the day. Homo.
As the security guards led us away, I began to think; my career wasn't exactly 'hot'. Maybe I should attend the DeVry institute and get a cushy consulting job. I even wrote down a few ideas to get myself started, which I will now share to you all. Please note that if any of these ideas are stolen from me, I will hunt you, I will find you... and I will kill you. Have you seen Taken yet? Best Liam Neeson role since Qui-Gon Jinn!
1) TOILETS IN DELIVERY ROOMS. This way, if you are giving birth and a retard pops out of your once-beautiful vadge, you can flush that shit and start anew. Hopefully, you will be able to find a guy who likes gross, saggy vaginae.
2) GLASS TOILETS. I love to shit. It's great, and akin to what I imagine giving birth would be like, except socially acceptable. But whenever I shit, I always ask myself, what's on the bottom of my shit? Did I eat any corn yesterday? If I had a glass toilet, I could simply get on my knees and inspect, rather than pick it up out of the bowl and check. This would be especially useful in restaurants; the guys at Bertucci's become total dicks if they catch you handling feces in their bathrooms. To be fair, I was on my break, Julio.
3) LARGE CARDBOARD BOXES. I know what you're thinking: silly Darsh, that's not an invention. A) fuck you for calling me silly, and B) shut up. If we had stores devoted solely to the sale of large cardboard boxes, the corporate world would be a much better place. Having spent a summer as an intern at Brookstone, I should know. When payday comes, and you don't want your sense of self-worth being destroyed by a check for eighty dollars at the end of a forty-hour work week, you need a place to hide. Why not bring your hiding spot with you? Plus, you can use it to prank your fellow employees by writing funny things on the side of the box. Once, I hid in a box for a life-like sex-doll inside the boss's office with the door open, and soon , everyone was calling him a pervert. He now lives the life of a disgraced former millionaire.
4) HOTDOG CONDOMS. We have hotdog-flavored condoms; this is a no-brainer. Plus, hotdogs have a lot more nutrients and protein in them than semen, and I base that on absolutely nothing.
5) ONE BIG RESTAURANT. Tired of trying to find that one 'good' restaurant in a long chain of local greasy spoons? Well, look no further than One Big Restaurant. One Big Restaurant houses all the best parts of a billion tiny restaurants in one big restaurant. The sole location will be located approximately where Montana is. Ever noticed how no one lives in Montana? Yeah, me too. One Big Restaurant will serve only the biggest of meals. I mean, you and your brood are just eating your own portions of essentially the same thing; why not share One Big Burger, weighing in at twenty-six pounds, twenty of which is all Grade C or better cow(?) meat. Enjoy that with One Big Fry: it's as long as a yardstick and as wide as Mike Tyson's fist. One Big Restaurant will also feature One Big Hospital, which will treat all the victims of cardiac arrest. You may be wondering how many heart attacks we expect to have serving this kind of food. We at One Big Restaurant don't like to see it as a couple hundred thousand heart attacks. We see One Big Heart Attack.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Indicted!
I'm sure many of you, my loyal readers, have noticed how disjointed and infrequent my posts have become. Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I'll have about eight thousand consecutive hours of free time, and will update whenever I can.
The bad news is I'm being indicted for fraud in Australia.
As many of you know, I've spent the last few days on vacation in Australia (sidebar: if you didn't know, then I must not like you all that much). I've always been taught that what happens in Australia stays in Australia; just look at Steve Irwin. But now I see what can happen when you take a joke too far; just look at Steve Irwin.
My friends, the Prince and Princess of Saudi Arabia, and I were on a tour of the Odwalla factory in some Australian city with a crazy name, when we decided to check out the mail room to see if we could steal some staplers, or better yet, manila envelopes. Upon entering the mail room, however, we were confronted by a very boorish and rude security guard named 'Lance'. I asked Lance if there were as many gay guys named 'Lance' in Australia as there were in America. He punched me. Needless to say I complained later on, during my arraignment.
As my friends collected me, I demanded to see Lance's credentials; I wanted to see if punching people was in his job description. He in turn asked to see my credentials. I reminded him that I had asked him first. He informed me that no, I had not. I told him that the Archduke of Gelderland did not have to show his credentials to a security guard who hits like a girl. Lance in turn asked me who the Archduke of Gelderland was. I hitched both thumbs back and shouted, "ME!", as loud and as long as I could.
After being punched a second time, I was called a liar and spat upon by Lance, and maybe once or twice by the Prince and Princess; it was all a blur, and everyone was spitting on everyone else. Once I regained my balance, I told Lance I would see him in court. He asked me what that meant. God, the Australians are idiots.
I sued Odwalla for a negligent hire of a dangerous man. Did those assholes even know they hired an Australian? I mean, I realize it's an Australian company, but haven't they ever heard of outsourcing? Sheesh.
After my case was dismissed as 'frivolous', which means 'totally correct' in Australian, I was promptly arrested and brought up on charges of fraudulent declarations of regalia. I guess that meant I was being sued for defending myself. Hey, I wasn't in America. In Australia, there is no such thing as freedom, and kangaroos walk men around on leashes. It's a fucked up planet, dude, one with much less gravity than ours.
I assumed that the arrest was a joke, informing the judge that I was an American citizen and therefore better than him. I told him that I, being an American, don't have to obey silly laws, and yes, I do have the right to wipe with your flag. How's it taste, motherfucker? That's what I said before the lashings began.
I awoke in a cell, where I can only assume I'll spend the rest of my life. I was handed an eight to ten month 'banishment' (Australian for 'sentence') off of Australian soil. So I now reside in some weird prison called the U.S. Embassy. I can only guess what an embassy is in Australia, because it's definitely not the same as in America. In America, we use foreign embassies to house embarrassing diplomats on their own soil. In Australia, they use them to imprison me.
I have asked the guy outside my cell if he can help hook up my Xbox 360 to my plasma screen three times, but he keeps saying 'can't talk, eating'. Rude bastard. And on top of that, my air conditioner is really shitty. I can only guess as to when the Dementors will show themselves and complete this hellish nightmare.
If I don't survive, please bury me with my stuff because you know it's mine. And also, screw a knife into my hand before you bury me. And also, springload my corpse. Trust me, when I'm a skeleton, I will be one scary-ass mother. See you in a hundred years, suckers!
The bad news is I'm being indicted for fraud in Australia.
As many of you know, I've spent the last few days on vacation in Australia (sidebar: if you didn't know, then I must not like you all that much). I've always been taught that what happens in Australia stays in Australia; just look at Steve Irwin. But now I see what can happen when you take a joke too far; just look at Steve Irwin.
My friends, the Prince and Princess of Saudi Arabia, and I were on a tour of the Odwalla factory in some Australian city with a crazy name, when we decided to check out the mail room to see if we could steal some staplers, or better yet, manila envelopes. Upon entering the mail room, however, we were confronted by a very boorish and rude security guard named 'Lance'. I asked Lance if there were as many gay guys named 'Lance' in Australia as there were in America. He punched me. Needless to say I complained later on, during my arraignment.
As my friends collected me, I demanded to see Lance's credentials; I wanted to see if punching people was in his job description. He in turn asked to see my credentials. I reminded him that I had asked him first. He informed me that no, I had not. I told him that the Archduke of Gelderland did not have to show his credentials to a security guard who hits like a girl. Lance in turn asked me who the Archduke of Gelderland was. I hitched both thumbs back and shouted, "ME!", as loud and as long as I could.
After being punched a second time, I was called a liar and spat upon by Lance, and maybe once or twice by the Prince and Princess; it was all a blur, and everyone was spitting on everyone else. Once I regained my balance, I told Lance I would see him in court. He asked me what that meant. God, the Australians are idiots.
I sued Odwalla for a negligent hire of a dangerous man. Did those assholes even know they hired an Australian? I mean, I realize it's an Australian company, but haven't they ever heard of outsourcing? Sheesh.
After my case was dismissed as 'frivolous', which means 'totally correct' in Australian, I was promptly arrested and brought up on charges of fraudulent declarations of regalia. I guess that meant I was being sued for defending myself. Hey, I wasn't in America. In Australia, there is no such thing as freedom, and kangaroos walk men around on leashes. It's a fucked up planet, dude, one with much less gravity than ours.
I assumed that the arrest was a joke, informing the judge that I was an American citizen and therefore better than him. I told him that I, being an American, don't have to obey silly laws, and yes, I do have the right to wipe with your flag. How's it taste, motherfucker? That's what I said before the lashings began.
I awoke in a cell, where I can only assume I'll spend the rest of my life. I was handed an eight to ten month 'banishment' (Australian for 'sentence') off of Australian soil. So I now reside in some weird prison called the U.S. Embassy. I can only guess what an embassy is in Australia, because it's definitely not the same as in America. In America, we use foreign embassies to house embarrassing diplomats on their own soil. In Australia, they use them to imprison me.
I have asked the guy outside my cell if he can help hook up my Xbox 360 to my plasma screen three times, but he keeps saying 'can't talk, eating'. Rude bastard. And on top of that, my air conditioner is really shitty. I can only guess as to when the Dementors will show themselves and complete this hellish nightmare.
If I don't survive, please bury me with my stuff because you know it's mine. And also, screw a knife into my hand before you bury me. And also, springload my corpse. Trust me, when I'm a skeleton, I will be one scary-ass mother. See you in a hundred years, suckers!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
How I Will Save Your Children
Kids: fuck 'em. I hate children. All they do is waste taxpayer money and complain. Babies are even worse, though. They ruin perfectly good vaginae. Fuck your children and fuck you.
You come to me and say, 'Darsh, how can I keep my children from being retarded?'. The answer is simple: flush the shits. That way, they aren't yours anymore. Let the sewer gators and molemen take care of them.
But some kids are just too big flush. For them, I've a shining, silver plunger of knowledge for them to suck on: Cable In The Classroom. This was that thing you'd always see on Nickelodeon at, like, four a.m., before NICK News. I know, no one watched it ever, mostly because their logo looked like a big purple penis with a pencil lead on the end. Cable In The Classroom sucked... until now.
I present to you, My Big Fat Education Proposal. The MBFEP clearly outlines exactly how to revive Cable In The Classroom, keep kids from becoming morons, and give money back to the community. Specifically, one member of the community: me.
Children hate educational television programming, and with mostly good reason. Children's shows blow most of the time anyway, but add some ridiculous 'moral' to the mix, and you get a twenty minute sleeping pill for toddlers. Do you really wanna cram sleeping pills down an innocent youngling's throat? Because I do! Wanna hook up later, maybe make a baby and then raise it while I'm away dodging child support payments? Yeah, I knew you would.
Back to the MBFEP. In my proposal , I state the nature of the programs I'll be producing with the help of a generous government grant (see My Big Fat Government Grant for more details). The first of which will be one I'll be very deeply involved with. You see, after studying numerous very big and well made charts on Cartoon Network's website, I've discovered two things: 1) kids love new shows, and B), kids love anime. I have combined both of these aspects to create a new anime series for kids that is sure to stimulate their minds and teach them to be productive members of society.
My TV show is called Underpants Frenzy, and will air in Prime Time on HBO. Basically, I'll play myself, but in a world where people own giant robots. These robots will be fairly common, though, so it's not like a status symbol or anything. My robot will be named Captain Horny after the two large horns on either side of his head. Captain Horny and I will ramble all across the globe, solving mysteries like, 'who stole the nubile cheerleader's underwear?', and 'who's videotaping me in the shower?'. At the end of each episode, Captain Horny and I will solve the crime, accept a pair of underwear as payment, and take our leave. Bear in mind, for most episodes, the culprit will either be myself, or myself via the cold, robotic hands of Captain Horny, but no matter how you cut the cake, the icing is vanilla: Underpants Frenzy is sure to get crunk in your kid's cranium.
Keep in mind, these TV shows will not be cheap. I'm going to be burning through my weekly million like Warren Buffett in a crack house. In order to keep up with my spending, this proud country is going to have to print mo' money, honey. Yes, that means devaluing our currency, and yes that means a huge deficit for our children to inherit. But trust me, you'll be glad you invested in my television show when you see how calmly the kids handle the fucked up world we've handed. Emotional deadness and constant malaise: making children more stable since the price of Ritalin went up. You're welcome, bitches.
You come to me and say, 'Darsh, how can I keep my children from being retarded?'. The answer is simple: flush the shits. That way, they aren't yours anymore. Let the sewer gators and molemen take care of them.
But some kids are just too big flush. For them, I've a shining, silver plunger of knowledge for them to suck on: Cable In The Classroom. This was that thing you'd always see on Nickelodeon at, like, four a.m., before NICK News. I know, no one watched it ever, mostly because their logo looked like a big purple penis with a pencil lead on the end. Cable In The Classroom sucked... until now.
I present to you, My Big Fat Education Proposal. The MBFEP clearly outlines exactly how to revive Cable In The Classroom, keep kids from becoming morons, and give money back to the community. Specifically, one member of the community: me.
Children hate educational television programming, and with mostly good reason. Children's shows blow most of the time anyway, but add some ridiculous 'moral' to the mix, and you get a twenty minute sleeping pill for toddlers. Do you really wanna cram sleeping pills down an innocent youngling's throat? Because I do! Wanna hook up later, maybe make a baby and then raise it while I'm away dodging child support payments? Yeah, I knew you would.
Back to the MBFEP. In my proposal , I state the nature of the programs I'll be producing with the help of a generous government grant (see My Big Fat Government Grant for more details). The first of which will be one I'll be very deeply involved with. You see, after studying numerous very big and well made charts on Cartoon Network's website, I've discovered two things: 1) kids love new shows, and B), kids love anime. I have combined both of these aspects to create a new anime series for kids that is sure to stimulate their minds and teach them to be productive members of society.
My TV show is called Underpants Frenzy, and will air in Prime Time on HBO. Basically, I'll play myself, but in a world where people own giant robots. These robots will be fairly common, though, so it's not like a status symbol or anything. My robot will be named Captain Horny after the two large horns on either side of his head. Captain Horny and I will ramble all across the globe, solving mysteries like, 'who stole the nubile cheerleader's underwear?', and 'who's videotaping me in the shower?'. At the end of each episode, Captain Horny and I will solve the crime, accept a pair of underwear as payment, and take our leave. Bear in mind, for most episodes, the culprit will either be myself, or myself via the cold, robotic hands of Captain Horny, but no matter how you cut the cake, the icing is vanilla: Underpants Frenzy is sure to get crunk in your kid's cranium.
Keep in mind, these TV shows will not be cheap. I'm going to be burning through my weekly million like Warren Buffett in a crack house. In order to keep up with my spending, this proud country is going to have to print mo' money, honey. Yes, that means devaluing our currency, and yes that means a huge deficit for our children to inherit. But trust me, you'll be glad you invested in my television show when you see how calmly the kids handle the fucked up world we've handed. Emotional deadness and constant malaise: making children more stable since the price of Ritalin went up. You're welcome, bitches.
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