Warning, suck my fat balls! That’s right, Dick is writing his own warnings now, so get this, your band is probably bad and not going anywhere, but it’s ok. Neither is this report. Now, on to the part that was forced by my boss; I wrote this before I regrouped with the rest of the staff, so some events might have been ssssslightly exagerated. But ONLY slightly. Anyway, I already wrote it, not changing it now, so there.”
Back to Metalpoint huh? This dirty degrading hole again… fine, there’s no avoiding it I guess. The place is a shit maelstrom and I keep getting sucked back in. Their beer is sold in cans…
Anyfuck, on to the impending waste of everything that followed, starting by the fucking poster on the door. It looked like a fur ball vomited out by the most grotesque, most disease stricken, other-dimensional cat to ever crawl out of a radioactive landfill.
Inside, everything was blue and boring. I’ve never seen such fucking slow, nowhere-going death metal in my life. Someone please kill me now with plenty of blunt force.
“Spectral Voice” they say? The only voice I heard was my conscience telling me to quit fucking around with my precious time on this planet, but clearly my boss disagrees. That asshole only drags me to see shitty band after shitty band.
Their drummer was singing, which was a nice touch… keep that fucking “Spectral Voice” as far from me as possible.
The next shit show was basically the same garbage but in red. Where “Spectral Voice” were shy and quiet, “Blood Incantation” had a vocalist who spoke in the same fucking monotone key for fucking ever. I believe he was a robot, both bands were robots, that’s why all the members are the same except one guy!
Wake up! The band is THAT ONE GUY, he programs and builds robots because no one would ever volunteer to play such terrible sounding garbage. He even made a whole band without him in it… it’s all a hoax!
Before the robot on human holocaust began, I bailed on the show to get hammered somewhere far away. I haven’t heard from Partyboy in a while, I can only assume him and the rest of the crew are dead, sacrificed on the altar of robot bloodlust, as is the rest of the world.
I am writing this last report from my fallout shelter (the food will last me only a few days) in hopes that one day, perhaps, some future civilization will find it and know of the dangers of artificial robot armies controlled by beings with bad music taste disguised as shitty bands.
I was too late to warn the world, no one listened to me because Partyboy is always denouncing my ass… it was their downfall.
Whoever you are, do not make the same mistakes humanity did. Always remember, bad music means robotic genocide on a planetary scale.
“Yes, I know, nobody is dead, but I can dream. Here is Partyboy’s dumb video for the week.”
Text by Hugh Dick