the naked room

why don't you and i get a little more comfortable?

Music #4.69

I decided to stick with the number four because that’s how many testicles I have divided by two. Sixty-nine isn’t great, mostly because of all the bum involved and also the chance of contracting hepatitis. Or what if she’s like “o gawd im cumming nao” and then shits into your eyeball. No thanks. I’d be fine with 19 though.


22. In This Moment – Black Widow

3f2f332f2332233223f23f23I started listening to Miss FluffyFlops and ITM about 30 months ago when I began hallucinating daily and needed something to drown everything out (I also figured a reversion to a teenage ragecore mentality would fix my problems–it didn’t). I kept listening to them because Blood is a great album and their style is comfortably between sk9er-park condom drivel and female-fronted metal (my favorite!). Also because I’m insane and I don’t have to explain my actions to anyone.

Black Widow is the reason I’ve been saving my spaff up for the last six months, and by god, my balls have thanked me this day. Most In This Moment shitfists justifiably lost their Billie Joe Armstrong-addled minds when Blood was released, primarily because it represented a niche LA metalcore group going “mainstream,” with sophisticated production and slick songwriting. Then they went on huge tours to support that “cesspool,” which made them a big name in rock (nevermind that “rock” has become a ubiquitous entity “the man” uses to blanketize anything with a riff). I’m sure it has nothing to do with her Saturn-sized shimmies.

Well fuck those skateboarding fuckfaces. Blood is glorious. It’s the perfect blend of thrash and heavy metal (what we call “alt rock” these days, thanks to Jared Leto and his performance in Alexander). And besides, metalcore is the single worst thing to happen to music since Elvis’ pelvis fell off and danced back to the producers at CBS and gave them brain hemorrhages. It’s literally (and I mean in the definitive ‘literal,’ not like “durr I LITERALLY just had the best shit ever”) the worst genre. It’s so bad I would actually kill myself in order to vanquish it from this gay earth.

So Black Widow comes along and the metalcore assjabbers on the internet (the only place in the universe where they are accepted) start cutting themselves again. Good. I’ve listened to this new album more than 30 times 41 times already, and I’m convinced it’s better than Blood. Well……equally as good…or, slightly less good on a scale of “this is as good, but incrementally lower than that.” But still, that’s saying quite a lot. The songs here are just too…..produced. They still have that mix of screamo and rock and a bit of metal, but they are–admittedly–just a bit too mainstream. The lot plays like they were written for mass-market airtime. Not necessarily a bad thing, and I commend ITM for upping their style in order to be successful, but if it comes at the price of alienating your original audience, it’s a dirty move.

In any case, the first single “Sick Like Me” is quite the track. My page tells me I’ve listened to it 96 times, which seems about right for how much I enjoy it. The lyrics and pacing are dripping with substance, and the entire composition seduces rather completely. It showcases Brink’s vocals while not cramming its cock down your throat and simultaneously blasting your ears clear into the next continent. It’s a triumph, and I would say it’s even a little better than “Blood,” which informs me has been played 190 times.

“Big Bad Wolf” is arguably the most alluring track, as evidenced by user statistics. It’s part Marilyn Manson and part audio porn. It’s bomby and angry while at the same time relaxing, which is a powerful combination to produce. Addictive crap.

As a whole, Black Widow is a spectacular piece of work and it more than lives up to my personal hype. I’ve only touched myself eight times while listening to it, but give it some time. I also plan on getting a shotgun mic and squeezing it between my hairy buns so I can literally get off by it.

Conclusion: Exactly what I wanted, even though it’s become too produced. 4.0/5.0




Baiting naysayers naysaying on the internet is a hobby I hold very dear. The metal audience hates Amaranthe because they’re too poppy, and the pop crowd hates them because they’re too metally. Both audiences have their hamfists too far up their butts to realize when something actually original comes along. Sure, their lyrics are empty lines with pompous bullshit that makes no sense whatsoever (even while sober!), but the production is mindbogglingly clean. The music flows into your ears just like a few jets of pecker snot; it’s easy to listen to while also being energizing. It’s motivational aural happy dust.

I can’t stress how flawless Elize Ryd’s voice is. At first hear I’d chalk it up to overly-ambitious label execs milking her [vocal] tit paste for dollars, but when you listen to her guest vocals on other albums it becomes clear that she’s pure talent.

“Digital World” is unholy mooncandy for your ears. It’s so smooth it feels like metaphysical soul drainage into your brain goo. This one of Amaranthe’s few tracks wherein the lyrics make a little bit of sense and Henrik’s percussive screams actually add something to the mix and aren’t irritating. The same goes for Jake, although a little bit less so.

Putting out two full-length albums in eighteen months is no simple feat, and I commend the group on continuing to enhance their hooks and choruses. At the same time I have to wonder when they’ll outsource the lyrics to someone who doesn’t know English as a second+ language. I also have to wonder when Elize is going to ditch those other two and do what she’s meant to: headline a big-time metal supergroup. This lady has some lungs on her, and I’m actually shocked she’s still sticking with the nutsac badgers who made her big. I mean I don’t wish the two dudes ill or anything, but they have so little to offer comparably and it’s sad to see Elize held back by mediocrity.

So is MASSIVE ADDICTIVE any good? Well of fucking course it is. It’s great. Style-wise it’s better than The Nexus, as they evolve and perfect what they have. As a complete package it doesn’t flow quite as well when listened to front-to-back, and there are more “hang-on” tracks which aren’t that great, so it spoils a “ZOMGZ 11/10 ALBUM OF THE YEAR” chance. But it’s refined, ecstatic noise and it feels good to listen to. So fuck you.

Conclusion: If it were a woman I might consider doing anal. 5.0/5.0


Music on the quick #4.5

I actually forgot to write the rest of this last night because it had been a bad day in general and night specifically. But now I’ve parachuted my daily heroin and so I’m totally ready to savage my keyboard. Also I flew through the Dallas airport a couple weeks ago so I’m fairly confident I have Ebola now. That or mild retardation. Time will tell.


20. Regardless of Me – Pleasures and Fear


Even though this the best track “Until I Die” is strongly reminiscent of The Moxy’s “Step Down” (except, you know, there’s 100% less of Bam Margera’s wrinkly cock all over it), Pleasures and Fear is fucking great. Usually I just listen to terrible crap so I can draw my own seedy conclusions and then barf it all over the internet along with a ton of butt and dick jokes, but sometimes I find something relatively-obscure which makes me listen to it over and over again. And plus, Pamela looks nothing like Greta, who is basically the sk8trgrrrrl version of Hayley Williams, except there she has 100% more of Bam Margera’s wrinkly cock all over her. Implying he would direct her video if she didn’t swallow several gallons of Bam’s Pennsylvania Special Sauce ™.

In any case, this album is something special (huehue). Pamela has a strong voice which carries the melodies over her male counterpart, who is grating at worst and tolerable at best. The aforementioned “Until I Die” along with “The Way You Are” and “Dispositions” are the preeminent offerings and are catchy as all hell. So is “Frozen.” And “Never Lose Myself.” Damn, the entire album is catchy as all hell.

It’s a rare type of LP which fails to have something bad on it. It’s even rarer where all but one are two are on my starred list and have been there for over a month. I play Hearts of Iron III for hours with this and The World Within playing on a loop, and it’s some of the happiest moments I’ve had in recent times. Heroin excluded. Just like heroin, though, Regardless of Me are among the best in their genre and are a solid addition to my playlist. And should be to yours too, unless you’re a cunt.

Conclusion: Please don’t be a cunt. 4.0/5.0


21. Regardless of Me – The World Within


HOLY SHIT THERE’S ANOTHER ONE? Yes, in fact, RoM have two albums, and it’s a task to determine which one is superior. It gets even better too, because they are both wildly different in terms of execution. Pleasures and Fear is far more aggressive and features the male growls with all implied menace, while The World Within borders somewhere between progressive metal, gothic, and trip hop, which makes little sense even to me.

“City of Glass” introduces the album and it’s an interesting baptism. Catchy, smooth, loud, with a dash of serenity for good measure. “No One Cares” follows it up with some depression and a huge injection of trip hopiness because why not. In all reality, I figure The World Within appeals to an immense spectrum of listeners because it’s so challenging to pin down exactly what the fuck it is. I really have no idea. Particularly when you factor in “Regardless,” which is an odd one (albeit awesome).

It’s a real shame the band gave their singer a swift kick in the ass. Their new one looks like a divine being took a normal face and then stretched it out by holding onto her ears and pulling as hard as possible. She still looks like she’d be interesting in bed, but I’ve watched some of their live shit with her in the lead and she’s not even in the same league as Pamela. Not even the same sport. Unless wearing cum for contact lenses is a sport, in which case she’s probably an all star.

Conclusion: Different, but in a good way. 4.0/5.0

Music on the quick #4


17. Butcher Babies – Goliath


I’m big enough [penis reference] to admit that I started listening to this band because the two lead singers perform with their tits out. And I don’t that mean metaphorically or as an allegory to mammary size: they literally perform with their boobs exposed. At first I hated the music, but that was only because I wasn’t actively cutting myself any longer. I’m still not actively cutting myself, but I’m still enough of an emotional planewreck to listen to angry music while being angry about things angrily.

And Goliath does a pretty sound (lol) job of that. It’s like a less harmonic version of In This Moment, except instead of one gorgeous blonde singer with enormous breasts, Butcher Babies has one singer with regular boobs and the other has these disgusting plastic footballs attached to her sternum. Thankfully this discussion is about music and not the implications of gluing four pounds of jelly to your titties. Although I do find it amusing that the one with the artificial knockers comes from a Mormon family. Ha ha, nothing like a little heavenly irony to go along with your regretful life decisions. Or wait…………

But really, Goliath is fun to hear. It’s got some interesting mixes of growls with some melodic singing and it creates an interesting……..jux……ta……..FUCK I JUST CAN’T SAY THE WORD IT’S TOO AWFUL…..ition. But instead of the beauty-beast relationship of gothic metal, it’s more an infusion of “fuck da pohlees” with average guitar riffs behind the action. And by “action” I obviously mean “intense lesbian relations backstage while all the roadies jerk off onto each other’s leather biker jackets while stuffing stage mics up their assholes.”

It’s better than painfully basic, but I feel that’s more because its contemporaries (ITM excepted) are lackluster sacks of tampons rather than the skill they possess as a collective. Huntress is embarrassingly bad, and Infected Rain just tries to be The Agonist except their lead singer has her tits out in promo shots too. Well, okay, I’ll admit Infected Rain is not really that bad, but the growls are really there for no reason other than to shout (lol) “GROOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLL” and then return to the singing as if nothing has happened. Kind of like The Agonist. Except her tits are out. So……..yeah.

Conclusion: I’ve listened to the entire album five times in the last week. I think that means they’ve won. God dammit. 2.5/5.0



18. Lyriel – Skin and Bones


Regression is to Lyriel as expediency is to my prostate vibrator. Skin and Bones is just…I mean…it’s legitimate bullshit. It’s shiny bullshit, like the metal dildo always is before it goes in your butt, but just like that same dildo five minutes later, it’s caked in ass rubble. And you’ll never get the smell out no matter how hard you try, just like getting your dignity back. Don’t worry though, your GF probably wasn’t filming the pegging session so she can laugh with all her GFs about how hairy your bum is.

This album is the basic bitch of folk metal. Except of being metal, it’s far closer to soft rock. The riffs sound like Jessica Thierjung had a baby and the whole band was in her living room trying to rock out without waking the wee little accident from its slumber. It’s all so textbook as to become redundant before it was even released. “Falling Skies” sounds like someone heard a cool song once and took notes on how it succeeded, but instead of improving on the formula they just regurgitated it with different chords and lyrics.

All of this is compounded by how terrific Paranoid Circus was. That album was a great (read: “textbook”) introduction to folk metal (oh I’m sorry, is it folk rock now?) and was even good outside of its genre. The title track has been on my starred list for about two years now and I’m still not tired of hearing it. There is not a single song on Skin and Bones that I would listen to again, unless I was threatened with a good pegging, in which case I’d just sew up my sphincter with some duct tape fibers and fuck off into space.

Conclusion: I don’t actually own a prostate vibrator because I can’t imagine the smell. 0.5/5.0



19. King Charles – LoveBlood


So there was a period of my life wherein indie rock and electronica/synthpunk (anyone remember Alice Glass? me neither) were the predominant force on my…my iP……..nah fuck you I just use my computer. I regularly “purchased” the monthly Indie Rock Playlist and heard its offerings with vigor. There are still CDs in the car (anyone remember CDs? me neither) with King Charles and bands like Crystal Fighters and CSS on it, which every now again I put in only because I forgot my phone and the drive to the hospital is terrifically boring. I actually get way less dirty looks than with the Die Antwoord tracks, which is shocking considering the inner city is about as multiracial as the fucking sun.

LoveBlood is a feature-length ballad to Charles Costa getting it in. I honestly cannot fathom how many times this guy has been balls-deep in the butt pussy after recording this album. I even get hard listening to it. “Mississippi Isabel” and “Lady Percy make me moisturize when I hear them, and that’s particularly intriguing considering that last time I checked I don’t even own a vagina. “Polar Bear is pretty good too.

But every time I listen to this album (and believe me, it’s been a considerable amount) I can only imagine this guy–wispy ‘stache and all–burying his man business doggy style into a someone’s lady business. It’s like he was literally getting laid while he wrote every track, simultaneously with petting a corgi, playing a viola, and conducting a symphony. It’s a real mess because I don’t have room for that bullshit in my head, and yet at the same time I can’t stop listening to it. It would take quantum physics to extract this crap from my ears.


The rest of the album is all right too. Bust just barely. And only because it’s attached to the good stuff.

Conclusion: Stroke me, Charles. 4.5/5.0

Quick thoughts on some MMOs

There’s no denying that MMOs are the flypaper of video games. Just like that time I glued mouse traps to my ass cheeks and took a dive into a ball pit except the balls were actually my own testicles and the pit was a glass of orange juice, MMOs attract everything from omega nerds to loin-dry soccer moms in search of a good dicking. Even worse are the F2P variety, because those are like Ritalin for kids on summer break who have parents less qualified than Clarence Thomas is with matters of race.

Coincidentally, every summer I seem to gravitate towards time-wasting endeavors with the voracity of a Gaza child with his legs blown off trying to crawl around in the jelly that used to be his mom with a confused look on his face as if saying “if we actually wanted to stop this conflict my mother wouldn’t be sidewalk paste.” I really don’t know what it is. I graduated university four years ago so it’s not like I’m on the eternal timetable of a student, and yet my aversion to sunlight and heat appears to generate a lust for fetch quests and writing slash fic with my female elf ranger and an orc warrior with a cock like a fallen redwood.


1. Star Trek Online


Star Trek is less exciting than tying a rubber band around your nuts and dipping them into a velociraptor’s anus. The sets remind me of the ones I used to draw on construction paper with melted crayons when I was five and the special effects look like they were animated in MS Paint. J.J. Abrams rescued the franchise from the depths, where it languished in obscure fandoms while Star Wars nerds flaunted their George Lucas pajamas and fucked each other in the butt with lightsaber replicas while pretending to be nerf herders. None of that really matters any longer because Star Trek is, like, totally cool again because Alice Eve has a nice bra and all that controversial bullshit.

Anyway, Star Trek Online is one of the finest MMOs I’ve ever played. Of course my experience to MMOs is limited to masturbating to blown-up pics of TradeChat’s boobs while shouting the lyrics to “The Howling” and wiping boogers on my fapsock, but hey at least I’ve played 1900 hours of TF2. That qualifies me for opinions related to everything vidya associated, up to and including the statement that Star Citizen is overhyped will probably suck about as much as Freelancer did without mods. (Daikatana reference.)

But seriously. STO is the best embodiment of adventure I’ve seen in an MMO to date, with the exception of one game I’ll detail later on. Combat is naturally a huge component of the game because it’s 2014 and gamers can’t deal with any title that doesn’t involve blowing shit up in space, but it’s the implementation of exploration which really sets this one apart. I should make a remark here that I’ve by no means leveled a character yet and I’m only a Captain, but my hours thus far have been spent about 60% in combat and 40% doing other things, from solving simple-to-mild puzzles, traveling through time, to scanning things to uncover mysteries of the galaxy. I’ve actually only come across a couple fetch quests or typical “go to x, kill y of z, collect reward” which in itself is worthy of comment. After my first twenty hours of play when I first noticed this I was overjoyed and vowed to play STO for the rest of my life, or until they stop hocking P2W shit in my face and fold as a company.

Combat itself is split between the vastly more interesting space and basic -although by no means awful- TPS which is the ground/space station segments. Space combat is fun at first, but once you get a ship with more weapon slots and a some leveled gear it makes the entire experience a dynamic pleasure. From positioning, speed, energy consumption, and balancing shield dispersion to deciding which order to fire phasers or torpedoes, STO has something to offer for tacticians or pimply 12-year olds who are just beginning to notice how weird it is not to be circumcised while undressing for gym class. Ground combat, as I said, is basic and pretty easy but not bad by any stretch. There’s not much else to say about it really. It’s better than mere filler for the space elements, but by itself it would have drowned the game in 0/10 ratings.

It’s free, so there’s really no reason not to give it a shot unless you’re too busy penning angry letters to Blizzard about Project Titan or tweeting to WowAcai about not making videos any longer. Or just generally being a piece of shit.

Conclusion: Make like bowel and move…your mouse and fucking do it. 4.0/5.0


2. Defiance


Yeah I didn’t play this one very long because a quest was broken so I relogged and it spawned me like a mile away from my objective and I didn’t feel like sprinting through spiders just to root around for some corpses to asspillage. Stupid design decisions like that make me wonder where the bulk of the $70 million budget really went. I’m guessing it was spent by the executives on trips to Thailand to get pegged by women with floppy dicks from all the estrogen injections and whose chest cushions are more firm than overfilled basketballs.

Case in point: crouch is bound to C.


There is no reason, EVER, that crouch should be bound to C. Ever. This shouldn’t even need to be a thing QA testers make a memo about. This shouldn’t even have been a thing thought of by the fucking intern whose job it was to lay out the key bindings in the basic documents based on the lead designer’s hand-farted messages. “Oh but Ben, the quick menu is bound to CTRL. It had to be C!” FUCK YOU, SALTED DICK LIPS. Quick menu is useless. It could be bound to CAPS for fuck’s sake, or the numpad 0, because that’s how fucking useful it is. Kind of like that time I tried to use a tweezers to twist off one of my nipples because I didn’t enjoy how it looked and I thought instead I’d install a beer tap.

The rest of my time with the game was bitching about how terrible the Glyph platform is. Defiance was finally fixed on Steam two days ago. It was about 15 gigs, which is no problem on my internet connection. Then I had to install Glyph, even though I already had it because of Rift, which then had to patch itself, then download another 700mb patch for the game, which then took LITERALLY OVER TWENTY MINUTES to install. It’s like they’ve given up entirely on the game and just thought “screw it, we’re making enough profit from ad deals on the TV show, the game will just take care of itself.”

Everything else was fun though. I went with the survivalist/sniper build because duh. I was highly disappointed by the lack of beard options for the human male, because my character* in STO has a beard worthy of Auguste Rodin. The TPS mechanics are good enough, even though with blur enabled it looks like I’m swimming in a lake of jism produced by the population of Sony’s E3 2014 presentation. Oh boy, I bet No Man’s Sky is going to be just fucking spectacular.

Conclusion: Stupid design choices made me rage before I got into it. 1.0/5.0

*You are literally a fucking beta neckbearded** retard if you refer to “characters” as “toons.” It’s not a fucking toon, it’s a fucking character. PC works fine, if you’re into that sort of thing.

**For women, your neckbeard is on your inner thighs and lower stomach.


3. Guild Wars 2


I’ve never encountered a game which rewards exploration more than GW2, unless you’re playing Tomb Raider with a nude mod and you’re trying to find just the right angle to see into her pixelated uterus. Everything about the game is fashioned from the basic premise of moving from place-to-place in search of new things to see and do. While it’s less successful than it intends to be, it’s still mightily above most of the competition, including that one game with orcs who have cocks like redwoods. Unfortunately, it’s this drive to expand which kind of killed GW2 for me in the end, even though there’s no sub fee so it’s not like I can’t just fire it up again whenever I feel like it. Because sub fees are for pedophiles.

From the start it’s clear GW2 isn’t a normal MMO. There are no side quests. And I mean none. The main storyline is fairly gripping although the spaces between level-ups is irritating. In any case, leveling consists of exploration, gathering resources for one of the several professions, and participating in world events. The events can be anything from escorting a caravan to picking apples or stopping rapists bandits from poisoning the town’s well. They pop up relatively randomly on the map and every player in the vicinity flocks around the objective and spams it to completion. It’s all cooperative, and that’s better than the time I realized I didn’t have to take shit from women for being who I want to be.

Each zone has a number of reasons to explore and get a nice completion bonus gift. Some are exceptionally difficult to acquire while others are simply walking around trying not to get ganked by some fucking rock beast while dodging the absurdly-high respawn rate of enemies you’ve already molested into nonexistence. And I really can’t emphasize that part enough (the respawn rate, not the molestation bit): enemies spawn way, way too fast. I would run into a cave, killing every little bitch in my way to mine some ore and by the time I was done, the last enemy I’d killed before the ore was already alive. And it’s not the mine rate, that takes like two seconds. It’s worse because XP for kills is low so there’s not a ton of benefit to grinding.

Which leads to my next point: by studiously doing everything they could to avoid grinding, the devs of GW2 turned it into a huge grindfest. I persistently felt as if I was underleveled for everything. Beyond exploration the bulk of my time was just frolicking around like a spastic jackrabbit on speed waiting for world events to pop up. And then I’d come across world events which would absolutely pile drive my rectum into the ninth gate of Hell. The difficulty gap between escorting a caravan and battling some plague lords or what-the-fuck-ever is monstrous. And because they’re so hard, no one’s ever doing them. So they never get done, which means they’re always sitting there, cutting off access to that little area. And by the way, it’s not like I didn’t get 100% completion in each zone. I found every little piece of shit in the zones and was still underleveled. Which meant I had to grind events.

By completely avoiding fetch and WoW quests, GW2 turned into the biggest grinding MMO I’ve ever seen. Perhaps if the XP gain from killing the fast-spawning enemies was larger it wouldn’t feel so bad, but it drove me batshit insane. And I mean more insane than I legitimately already am. Which is saying a lot.

It’s not all bad, obviously, just like having sex in a bar’s bathroom with a woman who sports an untamed bush and smelly asshole and insists on doing it from behind so you have to take in all the pooey goodness of her last few meals. The exploration is top-notch, the dialogue and voice acting are simply beautiful, and the story quests are varied and interesting. Environments are magnificent, and to be honest I’ve rarely seen better in any game, MMO or not. Particularly Divinity’s Reach. That shit will make your jaw droop. Also underwater combat is excellent and unique, although again, I always felt underleved and/or underpowered so that I consistently got pounded in the metaphorical ass by a crab or small fish. Also I have a terrible computer with a GPU which would have been outdated six years ago and it still ran silky smooth on my LCD’s native resolution. I’m not going to tell you what that resolution is because I’m ashamed, but at least it’s above 1024×768. Barely.

And yeah, the no-sub thing is great. Kind of like that time I smoked some rotting weed and masturbated while fingering my butthole and watching bisexual porn. Except unlike that, it’s actually great. The crafting system is fun, although some of the professions are way, way more difficult than others. At least you can switch between them at will without losing progress.

Conclusion: Kudos for making something outside the box, but instead of finding a middle ground, it went too far man. 3.5/5.0


4. Rift


And thus concludes with Rift, which is so close to nailing neutral ground between WoW-type and GW2, kind of like divorce court between two bitter parents more concerned with splitting visitation time than caring what the kid wants. It’s got the fetch and kill x shit, but also the world events of GW2. The world events are too short and play more like a late addition in the design of the game, but it’s still nice. There are occasional massive zone-wide events called invasions which last for half an hour or so and involve pretty much everyone in the zone as there are so many enemies they block virtually all the quests, but they’re still a bit less refined than GW2‘s effort.

Rift is basically what I wanted out of GW2. It’s so close to the perfect mesh, like that time I figured I’d go bald but didn’t consider my outdated razor doesn’t configure well with the elbow skin that is one’s ballsac and taint. Or like making sour lemonade but you pour too much vodka in and screw everything up so you toss the jug against the wall and accidentally kill your dog with the shattering debris. Except replace “dog” with “infant.”

My main is a necro, which I picked thinking I’d make like Diablo 2 and summon an army of undead to suck my dick aggro enemies for me. Well as far as I’ve seen there’s only one pet, so it’s basically just death magic with some fire thrown in because pouring all your soul points into one tree is too complex so the game forces you to split things up even though you don’t god damn want to. The skill system is flexible though, so you can basically be whatever you want. Or whatever your hardcore RP guild wants you to be so the scribe can write a badass novel which will sell approximately as many copies that story I penned involving the geometry of Katy Perry’s vagina and my flesh palace post digger. But yeah, leveling and completely fucking up playing around with your skill tree is great fun.

The story….well…..I don’t even. I read all the quests like some megalomaniac autist and yet I still have no idea what the hell is going on in the world. I think it’s called Telaria, but I don’t really know because processing this caliber of data dump is far beyond my cerebral output. The graphics are great and run great and look great and everything else is just great.

It’s definitely grindy though. There’s no denying that. And yet it’s still a more satisfying adventure than GW2, which I guess makes a fairly huge statement about what needs to be in MMOs and what doesn’t. Kind of like the things which spew from SO’s mouths.

Conclusion: Make like a fetus and head out…to the official site and download it because it’s fucking free. 4.5/5.0

Films on the quick #2

It’s not easy being me.

I’ll just leave it at that.


8. American Mary


To me, body modification is about as attractive as getting a metal stake through the nuts or being dragged behind a jet fighter as it pulls 15g before crashing into a telephone wire and exploding. I have no desire to modify myself in any way. My second year at university I was moments away from getting inked before I was castigated by a woman and shamed myself into relenting. Tattoos on some people look great and on others they look fantastic. On some women they give me an erection worthy of James Jeffray. But on me: no thanks. The only body modification I would get would be one of the following:

  • An extra arm, for…………stuff
  • An extra penis, for…………..stuff
  • A jet engine on my ass, for FUCKING FLYING
  • Better eyes, because these suck
  • An extra person grafted on my back who can play the banjo and rap

Anyway, American Mary is about body modification. I expected a gore-fest in the vein of Repo Men, but it’s really not all that graphic. There is one scene where a woman gets her nipples sawn off and her vagina sewn shut, but you don’t see the surgery and only get a brief glimpse later on. Actually, there isn’t much to see at all in terms of blood. It was a little disappointing, but I still applaud the Soska Sisters for restraint. This could have been a splashy, cheap attempt at narrative divergence and/or avoidance, but it’s not.

I disagree with the use of rape as a plot device, however. I can’t stand this trend. It’s supremely annoying. I mean, if writers can’t figure out another way to expose a tragic history of a character, they shouldn’t fucking be writers. Sure, it makes for a beautiful revenge story, but it’s so fucking inappropriate. I just finished reading Nylon Angel and the author uses rape there too. IDIOTS.

Conclusion: I won’t watch it again because the ending is lame, but it’s definitely worth your time. 4.0/5.0


9. Equilibrium


This is proper dystopia, not some young adult urban action adventure romance fantasy sci-fi epic with a strong female protagonist in her late teens who is a chosen one destined to overthrow “the system” and restore harmony to the remnants of humanity decades after a nuclear war. This is bleak, grim, hopeless, dark, and above all, it’s ominous. Oh and Sean Bean is in it…..for about ten minutes, before he dies. Nothing unexpected of course.

Equilibrium is a story told through lack of emotion, which, naturally, is powered by emotion. There’s some terrible, histrionic reasoning about destroying feelings because they cause war and discomfort, but that’s really a backdrop for Christian Bale to shit excellence all over the screen. His fall from a chief executioner to a man who feels is naturally melodramatic, but all of the narrative shortcomings are fucked away by Bale and his unmatched skill as a thespian. It’s really too bad this and Ultraviolet did so poorly at the box office, because Kurt Wimmer has skill when it comes to framing and blocking. The special effects are certainly weak, but that’s negligible because Wimmer positions scenes so flawlessly that these shortcomings are almost meaningless.

There’s a reason this one has a 7.6 on IMDb: it’s really fucking good. Anything with Christian Bale in it is going to be worth watching, but this is a Complete Package. Good story, good flow, great acting, and also a guy gets his face cut off. It’s not as pretty a slice as Underworld, but it’s good for a hearty laugh and a minute or so of gleeful giggling. I’ve seen Equilibrium three times in the past five or six years, and every time I still grin and cackle at that scene.

Conclusion: If you haven’t seen this, go fuck yourself. 5.0/5.0


10. Lone Survivor


[Insert tons of respect-filled prose about honor, courage, killing Muslims, blowing up civilian funerals, assassinating citizens, drone strikes, misdirected invasions, political scheming, saber-rattling, weapons ra………okay well whatever you get the point.]

All that’s great and all, but Lone Survivor is a piece of shit.

Honestly, this is a clichéd and formulaic two-hour bawwwwfest filled with lengthy bro-love shots and dramatic explosions of ketchup packages. It’s got everything from “let’s throw shit at the new guy and laugh BUT NOW WE’RE SUPR SURS CUT TO MONTAGE OF HELIIIIIIIIICUPTIRS” to the pre-credits roll of photos and names. Honestly, this movie is shit from start to finish. Peter Berg did a better job with Battleship (fuck you) than Lone Survivor. The only reason people liked it is due to the MURKAN PATRYASM EAGLEBUTTFUK FLAGSALOOTS. Seriously: this one made like $150 million USD, of which 125 was from Murka itself. Translation: NO ONE ELSE GIVES A FUCK.

I honestly didn’t have a good time, even though I love “action” films and anything with sustained gun fights. I watched about 45 minutes of it half-screen while I browsed the internet looking for something stimulating. That I landed on a King Zlatan fan site in Swedish, of which I only understood like 15% (mostly the bits involving “MESY @1 PLAYR IN WURLD” or “HURRRFFFFFLEDURFLE CRISTIANOOOOOOOOO”), is irrelevant. I could have been dual-screening bisexual interracial gangbangs where two guys were balls-deep in a Brazilian prostitute with massive fake tits that looked like googly eyes while two other dudes were pounding away at their assholes AND I STILL WOULD HAVE FOUND THAT MORE INTERESTING.

Lone Survivor is a cliché-filled sack of bullshit, wrapped up in American Patriotism Bullshit and fed to American Patriotism Bullshit-hungry American Patriotism-Bleeding Bullshit Eaters. I think Marky is a great screen persona, but here he has the conviction of a crusty cold sore on the tip of your dick. I honestly didn’t know a human being’s eyebrows could look angrier, but jesus fuck christ Marky sure showed me wrong here. I kind of think he injects a shitload of steroids into his eyebrows just so he can flex them more and look like the most pissed-off motherfucker in the world.

Conclusion: If you think this is a quality film, fucking kill yourself. 0.5/5.0


12. Ultraviolet


Honestly, it’s not very often that I am disgusted with humanity as a whole.


No that’s not true at all. I hate everybody, always, forever.

But rarely do I get emotional about something like this. Ultraviolet is like a fly lamp for assholes. It’s got a 4.4 rating on IMDb with the general consensus that it licks dick. Everybody loathes this one. There is contempt for Kurt Wimmer because of his apparent fall from social grace in producing this as a followup to Equilibrium. It’s terrible, the studio fucked it in the ass by chopping 30 minutes off, and it looks like shit. Oh and also the plot makes no sense and it’s boring and confusing. Thanks specifically to this debacle, Wimmer hasn’t landed another directing gig (though I attribute that to him looking like a flamboyant, flaming douchebag who received the Douchebag Catalog in the mail and ordered every single item).

All lies.

Ultraviolet is an AMAZING film. The visual style alone is breathtaking. I don’t know why the evil henchmen wear ceramic armor, but who gives a shit when it looks this gorgeous. The environment, the weapons, the colors, the small touches no one really notices; EVERYTHING IS STUNNING. So the plot is a wee bit nonsensical, but that doesn’t make the visual feast any less fantastic. Moreover, anyone who thought it was confusing is obviously an inbred fuckwit with less brains than a street condom. It’s entirely straightforward and simplistic. But that works well with the extraordinary action unfolding onscreen. Inception bungled this by being stupidly complex, while Ultraviolet‘s narrative floats just high enough for the entire experience to gel and amaze.

And plus Milla Jovovich is hot with purple (I mean VIOLET hfidoghiohgs) hair. And speaking of, while I mentioned it a bit ago, the colors in Ultraviolet are dazzling. Everything has a striking hue complemented by vivid imagination and superb artistic design. I only have two real complaints with this one: First, the music doesn’t fit with the action. It’s epic and orchestral where a thumping electronic beat would have meshed better. And second, someone in post went a little wild with the bloom and blur tools. At first I couldn’t really tell if it was simply my shitty monitor or the copy of the movie, but then it kept on happening with a second copy. My conclusion is that this is yet another fiddlefuck by the studio.

When studios mess with movies, the result never works. We all remember what happened with The Golden Compass, or Die Hard 4.0, or Fox’s absolute assreaming of Kingdom of Heaven. There’s a reason they’re studio executives with the creative savvy of a dead squirrel getting gnawed on by a starving Syrian kid with polio and the directors are the people they hired to actually CREATE THINGS. That would be like John Fox getting pissy, putting on the #18 jersey and playing grabass with Manny Ramirez while Richard Sherman jumps around like it’s Christmas morning in the ghetto and his one shiny new gift is actually his mom’s uncleansed vibrator but he’s okay with that because one time he stuck a K’Nex in his butt and it felt pretty good.

But even so, Ultraviolet is a triumph. All the reasons people (read: assholes) dislike this film are the reasons why it’s spectacular. I was never bored and oft-pleased in this non-stop adrenaline blast to the testicles.

Conclusion: Sheer brilliance. 5.0/5.0

Films on the quick #1

I enjoy films. I don’t really watch much television -besides sports, obvi- but movies are something entirely different. Okay I think that was enough of an intro. Let’s be about it.


1. Immortals


I absolutely adore this movie. I wasn’t so much a fan of The Cell, and The Fall was stupid. I don’t remember much about Mirror Mirror except for Lily Collins’ eyebrows and that the whole thing fucking sucked. But Tarsem Singh has produced a masterpiece here. The first time I saw it, I thought it was excellent. The second time I watched Immortals, I immediately added it to my Top Ten of All Time list. The visuals, the acting, the violence, the interpretation of gods: it’s all done flawlessly.

It only occurs twice, and each scene is a little short, but what happens when the gods intervene in manly affairs is a thing of cinematic glory. It’s like Bourne, with a little Gladiator and 300, and maybe even some Crank added in for taste. I’ve never been so floored by a combat sequence since The Matrix; it really can’t be missed. That the rest of the movie is good enough to hold up on its own is simply an added bonus.

Verdict: If you haven’t seen this, I hope you die tomorrow. 5.0/5.0


2. Oldboy (2013 Spike Lee disaster film)


About five years ago I wrote a post here about how horrible a human being Spike Lee is; it mostly centered around Miracle at St. Anna, which is the most wretched war film I’ve ever seen, bar none. Also that he’s a gargantuan racist on par with Robert Mugabe. “OMG BLACK PEPPLE CANT BE RASSICT.” Check your privilege, shitlord. But Oldboy is a revenge flick, and I fucking love revenge flicks. Most of the time I roleplay myself stalking and murdering my exes with hatchets or rocket-propelled grenades, or former employers with pikes and bills.

Oldboy is smashed balls. Dick cancer. Vaginal puss. Decayed litter of kittens chucked into a jet engine. Blended dogs. Rotten eggs with mustard and bile. Cannibals’ poop.


I can’t even really express how miserable Oldboy is. I only watched with interest until Elizabeth Olsen took her clothes off, and from then on I had it split-screen with Olympic parody porn. I could have crammed a bushel of MDMA up my ass and still have been bored. Everything sucks. There is not one redeeming feature. I was so disengaged that even Olsen’s globular boobies couldn’t retain my intrigue.

Oh yeah, and how the hell does spending twenty years in a room turn you into a world-class killer? I’d like Spak Li to assplain that.

Verdict: Build a glider and glide your way up the unlubed bung hole of a decomposed corpse. 0.5/5.0


3. The Dyatlov Pass Incident


Found footage movies are fucking stupid. Cloverfield is the only example I can recall which doesn’t actively seek to drill a screwdriver made of frozen piss into your eyeballs. Chronicle was borderline, but in the end it tried too hard. With this film, I saw “Directed by Renny Harlin” and almost laughed myself into a coma. Talk about deterioration of talent. Him combined with “found footage” made me expect to rupture my diaphragm and die from LOLing too hard.

Not even close.

I don’t really think this one even qualifies as found footage. I doubt people drag around cameras with this stability and quality of motion up a fucking mountain during winter on an expedition funded by a university grant. Or maybe that’s what kids do these days, I don’t know. But this is not your typical rushed-frame, blurred quick-panning mess of disjointed scenes with the filmic quality of a starving child grilling his goldfish in a tuna can with a book of wet matches. It only becomes “found-ish” in the last twenty minutes, and by then I was so hooked and entranced that it didn’t matter.

[Insert twelve paragraphs of evidence proving the Dyatlov thing was aliens and/or secret nuclear tests.]

The first half hour is throwaway as it covers the beginnings of the expedition and lame attempts at character building. Then spoopy things begin happening with increasing regularity which ratchets the tension and made me even more entangled with the experience. I’m not going to spoil the ending because it’s rather good, even though the special effects are something I could have put together in a week on my PC.

Verdict: Shockingly good. No one was more surprised by this one than me. 4.0/5.0


4. I, Frankenstein


I just saw this a couple days ago in 3D, in a theater which had just renovated its entire sound system. I still fell asleep twice. I mean granted I’d slept for less than ten hours combined in the previous three days, but good god. I love this type of movie; a medium-budget special effects extravaganza with loud action, pumping bass, and an hour and a half of monsters and humans beating the shit out of each other. Arguments notwithstanding about their critical merit, this is the reason I shell out real money to see things on the big screen. I would never pay my own money for a comedy or drama – those are just as good on a computer screen or TV.

But fucking christ, I, Frankenstein is missing pretty much every component imaginable for an entertaining experience. On the good side, the graphics are pretty solid and the 3D was unobtrusive and even creative in a few spots. Like 95% of 3D movies, it wasn’t really needed, but neither did it take away from the experience (cough cough Jack the Giant SlayerGreat Gatsby). Also Bill Nighy is hilarious and could pretty much play any role, ever.

And then the rest of the movie was awful. The primary reason -for me- that this whole thing failed is that it doesn’t take place in reality. It seems to be based in a vaguely-Czechoslovakian city with some parts of London and/or Amsterdam tossed in because “DURR IT NEIDS 2B MAOR YURPOORIAN.” No one really addresses that there’s this giant fucking cathedral/citadel right in the goddamn middle of the entire city. Tour guides read: “Welcome to Europolis, where long avenues intertwine with scenic walking paths which accentuate a vibrant nightlife and active young crowd. Make sure to stop by the HUGE FUCKING BUILDING IN THE CENTER OF TOWN that no one really knows anything about.”

Also the gargoyles v. demons charade is so cheesy I actually laughed out loud. I mean angels v. demons, gargoyles v. dragons, nerds with scars and glasses v. dafuq or even zombie hookers v. Charlie Sheen would have made sense. But this does not. Oh, and in taking a page from the Blade series, the demons can be slain simply by tapping them lightly with a “blessed” weapon. Except important demons -those can take lots of hits because of reasons.

Really I could continue bitching about this for hours. It was so generic I almost expected it to be written and directed by a collective of special needs children hopped up on ADHD drugs their caretakers laced with amphetamines and GHB. Like I said, I love loud and explosive action experiences. But not ones that fucking suck.

Verdict: I would prefer marrying the reanimated corpse of a Bratislavan witch burned by a commune of devil-worshipping Lutherans in 1658 than ever wasting my time on this again. 1.0/5.0


5. American Hustle


Amy Adams’ tits.

Verdict: This thing felt like four hours even though it was only two. And no, rampant cleavage doesn’t make your boring film any better. 1.0/5.0


6. Riddick


I fucking love Vin Diesel and I fucking love the Riddick series. Pitch Black was a creepy, dark sci-fi horror flick with character and finesse, something the Alien series forgot back in the ’80s. While everyone else on the planet shit all over The Chronicles of Riddick, I saw it opening day and own three copies of it on DVD (regular release, director’s cut, and then the trilogy version with Dark Fury). I’ve said it so many times I’m boring even myself: I live for big-budget sci-fi. Everything about the creation of new worlds and new technology makes me achieve a boner which would make the builders of the Burj Khalifa drop their jaws in adoration. I even loved Babylon AD, which most connoisseurs of film consider a disaster on par with the 1998 version of Godzilla. WELL SCREW YOU GUYS, IT WAS GREAT.

Also, Riddick is a really, really good experience. Much to my dismay, it sheds all the epicness from Chronicles and dips its balls back in the dripping mouth of Pitch Black. It’s gritty and sensual with a cast of “tough guy” characters and some terrific scenes of Vin Diesel fuckbashing people with his assorted weaponry. Besides an out-of-place almost-rape and the jarring interruption that was Starbuck’s sideboobage, Riddick is pulse-pounding from start to finish. Really my only complaint is the whole “space dog” bit. Very stupid and childish.

Verdict: See it. Love it. 5.0/5.0


7. Escape Plan


I’m on a boat.

There, I literally just ruined the entire movie for you. Except that it makes no sense, because even in the most habitually-calm waters on one of the calmest coasts on the planet, you couldn’t not fucking notice that the prison isn’t stable. Thanks to things called WIND and GRAVITY along with that big round asshole up there in the sky, we have WAVES. These are SIGNIFICANT FLUCTUATIONS in current and motion, which are noticeable even in a goddamn SWIMMING POOL. You could have the biggest ship in the universe on the ocean and it would still be subjected to the force of waves.


Anyway the rest of Escape Plan isn’t half bad. It’s a by-the-numbers prison escape narrative which has remained more or less unchanged in half a century, but that’s not to the film’s detriment. I doubt Stallone or Schwarzenegger could believably act their way out of a strip club purpose-built for visiting isopods from the planet Mercon 17G, and yet I’ve seen almost all their works and I’m still immensely entertained. Escape Plan is pretty much the same deal: shallow, predictable, and yet fun. Also Jim Caviezel is awesome and I think he’s one of the most underrated actors of all time. Seriously, go watch Outlander. It’s glorious.

Verdict: B-grade A-film. 3.5/5.0

Music on the quick #3

I was finishing up The Last Wish the other day when I almost tossed my Kindle through the wall in frustration. I mean I get the title of the book, but at least tell me what the wish was. You can’t just have a jovial fuckfest in the ruins of an inn and then hop-skip-jump to the last page. That’s like edging for two straight weeks and then getting a one-roped dribble.

That has absolutely nothing to do with music, but I figured I might as well bitch about it because it really pissed me off. I mean I still turned around and bought both the video games (with real money!) after I was done, but that doesn’t excuse shitty authorship. I mean the guy’s Polish so that explains most of it, but FUCK.


13. Colette Carr – Skitszo


I never listen to rap. Or “hip-hop” or whatever the hell it’s called these days. I hear tell there’s a difference between the two and they’re distinct genres, but to me it’s like comparing being shit on by a Sumatran rhinoceros or being shit on by a post-op stripper with plastic knockers larger than a diamond-gilded globe.

A hipster-looking white chick from America probably isn’t what most people think of when it comes to rap. Whenever I heard the word “rap” in secondary school it was either from the ghetto kids whose parents scraped together the legendary tuition by selling crack to local politicians or the ultra-rich crowds who drove bigass SUVs with spinners and twin 1200-watt spine readjusters strapped in the back. Either way it was music only listened to by posers and wannabes, because my school was “unintentionally” all-white.

None of that has anything to do with Colette Carr or this album. Like I said, I never listen to rap because I think it’s annoying, like being shit on by a squadron of soldier ants. But Scitszo, a title which rests close to my heart, is a pretty big success in my mind. For starters, it’s a rap album which I can actually listen to from the beginning to end without wanting to impale myself on an apple corer. Last time I tried this was with Mackloverrated and that almost resulted in the intentional removal of my ears with an HPV-crusted wrecked dick. I think I like Scitszo so much because it has heavy electronic overtones and that really appeals to me. It’s not so much in-your-fucking-face-with-a-flurry-of-N-bombs “music,” but instead a well-constructed collection of electrohop (copyright) stuck together in a cohesive and entertaining package.

My obsessive personality has informed me that I’ve listened to Carr about 185 times in the last couple weeks. That speaks more about my enjoyment of this than any overwrought joke-riddled prose could. I’ll probably listen to it that many times more before my eyes bleed and I cram fistfuls of nails up my nose.

Verdict: Borneo. 3.5/5.0


14. Sirah – Inhale


I never listen to rap or “hip-hop.” To me it’s like being jacked off by either a colony of Africanised honey bees or a pride of rabid lions stalking a pack of meth-addled babies in Detroit. 

A hipster-looking white chick from America probably isn’t what most people think of when it comes to rap. Whenever I used to think of the word “rap,” I instinctively dove for cover while yanking my gat from my checkered boxers and denim shorts and spraying bullets in the general direction of the bumping. It’s kind of like the first time I listened to Skrillex without vomiting my appendix or eating a few dozen poppy flowers; part of me wondered if this sort of thing should be used to torture people or if it actually qualified as music. But I liked “Kyoto” a great deal, and that had Sirah.

Inhale also has Sirah, given that it’s her fucking EP. I’m also including C.U.L.T. here because talking about one without the other is like forcing old people to shuffle across burning coals drenched in jet fuel in order to get their dentures back. I like these EPs for same reasons I enjoyed Colette Carr; it’s laced with so much electronic production values that it’s difficult to determine where one ends and the other begins. Except here, Sirah has that sort of ghetto twang to her lyric delivery, which is biting and acidic but also fascinating to hear. I mean like I said, I never listen to rap, but it almost wanders into the formulaic genre rapping style (at least what I imagine that would be).

But then it doesn’t. On To the NextInhaleBlew Your Mind, and C.U.L.T. are pretty goddamned amazing. Some of the filler tracks don’t really measure up, kind of like what I imagine Katy Perry looks like naked to what she probably actually does look like naked. We can’t all be winners.

Verdict: Waffles are overrated, but sometimes I still eat them because they’re easy to make. 4.0/5.0


15. Ke$ha – Warrior


I love Kesha. I’ve listened to her over one thousand times. The first time I heard Tik Tok I just about drowned myself in the collected saliva of the unraped inmates at the State Prison of Southern Michigan (that’s totally not another Detroit reference). The second time I was exposed to Kesha I started sweating and nervously looked around for fear that someone would notice me and then I’d have to go postal with two chopsticks and a condom loaded with AIDS vaccines. Then I accidentally discovered Animal on my computer. I have no idea how it got there, and I assume to this day that a Romanian SRI agent tracking down an international ring of smut peddlers infiltrated my system and planted pirated music on my drive to attract scrutiny from the NSA and RIAA along with their butt-trained, sue-happy corporate law farms.

Anyway, I kept listening to it, and after a few days more Kesha songs and albums were found on my computer. I’m betting that a terrorist cell from Cameroon put them there so I wouldn’t notice that they stole my bank account information and my collection of lemur pictures. I fell into some kind of trance then got my GF to shave all over and made a movie where she got full frontal and then nothing else fucking happens. (That was not a Danny Boyle reference.)

I also went ahead and watched both seasons of Kesha’s TV show twice; once because I was interested and the second time only to satisfy my burgeoning obsession with her. Unfortunately I noticed she basically became a skeleton by the end of the second series and that’s less appealing than choosing between having brain cancer or growing a vagina on your face. Of course that really doesn’t have anything to do with Warrior, but I don’t really care. I mean I’ve fucking listened to her over a thousand times. Assuming each song was around 4:10 in length (which probably isn’t accurate), that’s about 69.17 hours. Flying to the moon takes less time than that (citation needed).

Verdict: I really like Kesha. That I’ve now publicly admitted such should be evidence enough to qualify my appreciation. 4.5/5.0


16. Brain MRIs


Wow this is the best album of all time. Having a strap put over your skull, foam pads crammed beside your ears, and a hard plastic assembly lowered around your entire head, then being stuffed into a tube about the width of Lil’ Kim’s asshole and blasted with what I would imagine a retarded freight train logging on to AOL in 1997 would sound like is the best music a soul can endure without imploding into a black hole which connects us to 1066 England.

What’s better than one? Having a second right after some incompetent technician stabs your arms with a syringe only two gauges smaller around than an industrial PVC pipe which is loaded with Gadolinium and probably SARS. If you’ve ever had an MRI, you’re aware that it could certainly be classified as music. In fact, it’s actually better in a phonic sense than The Beatles and Eminem put together. I mean at least I’ll know if I have a testicle-sized brain growth now, but there has got to be better tests than this. If this is the pinnacle of contemporary medical technology I have no hope for the longevity of humanity.

Verdict: Cancer. 14/88

I can’t handle Sunbather; it’s too complex for me, and I’m not smart enough

So after I wrote that other post, and particularly the two bits about Deafheaven’s Sunbather, I kept on reading reviews. It has been almost universally acclaimed, by critics (real, professional, paid ones) and listeners alike, and I anticipated a glorious riff-fest of orgiastic blackened death metal. In my first two listens, I experienced more or less the worst “music” ever produced. To me, it sounds like a few 15-year olds got together in a garage, equipped with shitty amps from their fathers’ ’70s bands, and bashed together their instruments for an hour. There isn’t any structure to these songs. It’s garbled, wobbly, and more inconsistent than a Mongolian clusterfuck. This is how I imagine the “creative” process went down for Sunbather:

Idiot #1: Man dude bro let’s make like music and shit like totes guitars
Idiot #2: Yeah bro man dude but let’s like add like bro METAL
Idiot #1: Good idea dude man bro I know some good lyrics too
Idiot #2: Really bro like what are they?

And then they snorted some heroin, set their shitty half-price plastic guitars to MAXIMUM OVERSHRED and recorded everything on a tape deck.

I guess I’m not smart enough for Sunbather. I’ve listened to it two more fucking times, and it still makes less sense than a fuckbrained gutterslut reading Article 53 of Chapter VIII of the UN Charter while taking it in the ass from Peter North. Is this supposed to be music? I mean actual, tangible, real music? With structure, rhythm, lyrics, and melodies? What the fuck am I missing? 

What could possibly be so complex that taintlicking fuckpuddles wearing ball-strangling torn jeans and Doc Martens and huge glasses while typing blogs on their iPhones at Starbucks can understand this and I can’t? Am I that much of a musical reverse-pleb that this sort of cerebral magnificence just soars over my simpleton ears and leaves me grasping for a quick suck of its noble feet? I at least expected something tolerable, and yet what I received was like a forced vasectomy followed by a nice long swim in a crocodile tank. Here are things actualreal people have said about Sunbather (green = listeners, red = critics):


If you’ve read as many reviews of this shitpile as I have, you’ll begin to notice a lot of buzzwords: “post-rock,” “emotional,” “wall of noise,” “shoegaze,” “intense,” “accessible,” “Mogwai,” and “deep.” Well I’m pleased to report that none of these fucking words apply to this piss piñata. Calling this “post-rock” is like calling every other piece of real tunage “post-music.” You can’t stick “post-” in front of a genre and then apply that moniker to whatever the hell you want. That’s not how music works. But if you must, then Sunbather is “post-sensibility,” “post-good,” “post-quality,” “post-ears,” “post-reality,” and “post-listenable.”

My theory is that Deafheaven is so popular because it’s popular. In other words, some assfucking mouth breather wrote a love poem about Sunbather, and then, like fruit flies to a rotten banana, all the hipsters in the world jumped all over the fucking thing and began humping it with their trimmed pubes, scented balls, and minuscule peckers (because it’s too mainstream to have a regular-sized penis).

Pitchfork, those overstated and malignant personified skid marks, closed their “review” of this “album” by saying “talk to your friends about what it feels like to listen to a modern classic.” If this is considered a “classic” by any definition, and if it indicates a direction towards which music is headed, I’d rather fucking shoot myself in the eyeball with a spear gun than experience it. This isn’t innovation, this is exactly the opposite. This is a couple of talentless buttjockeys attempting to mimic a genre they’ve never heard while blowing each other. The only emotion conveyed by Sunbather is a deep depression given that I’ve now listened to the entire fucking thing five times in an effort to “get” it. But there’s nothing to get; there’s no hidden meaning or transitive narrative. There is only a fuckbad interpretation of a genre far too complex for assmashing hipsters to understand, and a failed attempt to combine two epically-dissimilar groups into one homogeneous amalgamation.

I honestly wish that any and all individuals who consider this music would lie down and die. This is immaculate bullshit. I hand-fart better tunes than Deafheaven could ever compose.

Verdict #2: Fucking kill yourself. 0.0/5.0

Music on the quick #2

Just like a dick-breathed bumblefuck writing for Yet Another Hole-in-the-Wall Internet Review Engine, I ingest, process, and discard new music daily. Most of it I’ll never listen to again, such as the 30 gigs of Goa trance I spammed through my headphones for a week straight in September (before, obviously, I discovered that Goa trance is like regular trance, except with some DnB elements and a generous helping of shitbagged anal phlegm). Some stands out as exceptional and I put that on repeat for hours on end (Lords of Acid comes to mind). Okay I’ve written enough for an introduction. Imagine I put a pretentious and melodramatic thesis here, crammed with braggadocio and an Olympic-class ego disquisition.


8. Lady Gaga – ARTPOP


I really want to hate ARTPOP, but I can’t. There is plenty of evidence to support its shittiness -uninspired lyrics, a persistent lazy vibe, a stylistic statement which diverges wildly from Ke$ha-like dance-pop to something between Inna, Röyksopp, Molotov Jukebox, and Emilie Autumn- but contrarily, I can’t fault Lady Gaga for expanding beyond her comfort zone. Katy Perry and Eminem and sMilEy Cyfuck (what “she” will change “her” name to) can churn out the same shitgargling dickbread over and over, like a phonic Call of Duty, but at least Gaga tries to induct an ever-shifting miasma of dexterity which expands beyond the overwrought and lunkheaded genre of electropop. More than a few reviews have stated ARTPOP lacks creativity and ingenuity and instead falls victim to the horizontal “sameness” of contemporary pop. Those people are fucking retarded.

ARTPOP is one of the most creative and ingenious albums I’ve ever heard. I mean, it’s not necessarily good, but it deftly avoids any platitudes erected by its predecessors. It’s dynamic in execution and flamboyant in self-awareness, and it stands as a beacon to the Auto-Tuned masses of wannabe pop stars (I’m looking at you, Emii).

The whole LP is a piss salad bookended by three presumptively-iconic tracks. “Aura,” “Venus,” and “Applause” are imaginative and shrewd, and appear classic Gaga-y. Everything in between isn’t very good, led specifically by “Jewels n’ Drugs” and “Do What U Want,” which are both shockingly and simultaneous barbaric and grody. But at least it all sounds different.

Verdict: By far her worst album to date, but it’s still leaps and bounds above 65% of the rest of the shit out there. 3.5/5.0


9. Amaranthe – The Nexus


I don’t think a group has pissed of an entire genre’s fans as much as Amaranthe. One peek at their shoutbox will educate you in ways I never could. Almost the entirely of complaints and/or “lively debates” regard its classification as “melodic death metal” rather than its content. Question: is it melodic death metal? Answer: unless you’re a complete dingleball who gives a fuck.

Amaranthe successfully fuses elements of symphonic metal, metalcore (emo/screamo bullshit), electronica, and power metal into a manageable, obvious, and practical format. By no means is it subgenre forerunner, since bands have attempted this type of melding before, but Amaranthe does it with gusto and produces a very attractive album. There are three “lead” singers present; Elize on clean female vocals, Jake on clean male, and Andreas (though now replaced with Henrik) on the harsh male vocals. Individually, Elize embodies the prototypical symphonic/pop-metal songstress, and her alchemical authority of the craft speaks volumes about her future; Jake is passable, but evokes a cock-first macho-type with little to differentiate himself; and Andreas is pretty annoying. He would be at home on a Brokencyde collaboration, and in my opinion, he’s nothing but a distraction. If Amaranthe had focused on one thing or another its arrangement, the result would have been far better. Here, unfortunately, they attempted to toss too much into one pot and fail to wrangle the most out of their potential.

But, seven of The Nexus‘ twelve tracks are on my favorites list. I’ve listened to “The Nexus” 134 times according to, with the other six not far behind. I certainly enjoy what’s here, and if the other five songs aren’t quite as polished, the entire record is very well-produced. Classify it however you want, but it still remains a quality entry into a subgenre that I’m positive will expand within the next decade. It seems quite a few groups and producers are trying to flourish metal into something more consumable by the masses. Expect many piles of dried scrotal warts to pop up soon.

Verdict: It’s easy to sing along with, and Elize is hot enough to fap to–repeatedly. It’s squeaky clean, but in a good way. Impossible not to like. 4.5/5.0


10. Sky Ferreira – Night Time, My Time

fuck off christfag

I don’t really know what genre this is supposed to be. It sounds like a watered-down Sleigh Bells, sort of a noise-pop synthfest with more than a little art rock. I don’t really care though; I’m not a whacked-out asshead who focuses more on genre gymnastics than fucking enjoying it. (This is definitely not a statement referencing Sunbather.) Either way, this album plays like an eclectic mixture of alternative, indie subgenres rolled into a tenacious package with plenty of sprightliness and earnestness to imbue a comfortable feeling.

A quick Googling will reveal all you could care about Sky’s life, record deal, modelling, or the biographical lyrics from “I Blame Myself.” Whatever; I don’t find any of that relevant to the music contained within. There’s enough indie here to revolt a more grungy listener, while anyone strictly following the path of the alternative music snob might be disgruntled by Night Time, My Time‘s steadfast rejection of genre stereotypes. But if listeners can overlook its classification, this album is a relaxing, sometimes-melancholy collection of charismatic tunes.

Verdict: It probably could have been better, but it most certainly is worth a listen or two. 3.0/5.0


11. Skylar Grey – Don’t Look Down


Oh for fuck’s sake. What is going on with this stupid fucking trend of having a singer with a jaw-droppingly beautiful voice create a gorgeous song…but then have some stupid, no-talent fucking herpes-crusted buttplugging sphincter samurai-like rapper come on and fucking DESTROY the entire goddamned thing? This album’s first track, “Back From the Dead,” is elegant -almost sublime- while retaining a luxurious construction, and then some fucking piece of shit named “Big Sean” comes on and turds all over the fucking song. If the track ended at 2:49, it would immediately enter my top-10 most listened on Spotify. But it doesn’t. It keeps fucking going and then everything is ruined for everyone for all time. Perhaps if it were a rapper with talent (though this notion is a paradoxical misnomer, since such a thing doesn’t exist) it might not have been so embarrassing, but “Big Sean” attempting to “sing” (or even “rap”) is like trying to ignore the refractory period and force another condom on your half chub.

I simply cannot get over how good that song could have been. What prompted Grey to think this up is beyond me. It’s kind of like if Botticelli had painted Primavera, and then, right before he announced it was done, he fucking jacked off all over the panel and smeared around his jism with a rock. Then burned the whole fucking thing and snorted the ashes.

Anyway, “Back From the Dead” pretty much sets up the rest of the album. It’s more disappointing since that time I found a bag of cocaine  in my closet but it turned out it was just baking soda I’d put there to freak out my roommate. “Weirdo” is by far Don’t Look Down‘s best offering, and it demonstrates what could have been. Eminem’s cameo on “C’mon Let Me Ride” is convincing and even pleasant sometimes, but everything else is mediocre. If only she had begun the record with a non-fucked version of “Back From the Dead,” everything which followed would have been a lot better.

Verdict: Listen to “Love the Way You Lie” twenty times instead of this. 1.0/5.0


12. Amon Amarth – Deceiver of the Gods


If you can’t appreciate some Viking metal (or are they calling it melodic death these days?)  every now and again, then I don’t understand how you can call yourself a human being. Amon Amarth is probably one of the most accessible “death-type” metal bands around, and they have nine albums to show for it -something not accomplished by under-performing snoozefests. Lead singer Johan Hegg’s growls are atypical in that lyrics are easily interpretable and thus self-evident to listeners. Unlike other genre dickshits such as Eluveitie or Wintersun (2016 edit: I retract both these statements), which take the fundamental premise of Viking (or Celtic) lore and then stretch it far beyond its breaking point, Amon Amarth stays true to their dependable formula. AKA they haven’t changed their tune, metaphorically or literally. So is their ninth any good?

Of course it is. Like unleashing a blast of loin thunder onto an unsuspecting passerby, Deceiver of the Gods debuts with an explosive first track. The titular hymn is what we’ve all come to expect from Amon Amarth: a cacophony of aggressive rhythm, a vociferous hook, and Hegg’s roaring growls. The lyrics aren’t half bad either. From there, the next standout is “Father of the Wolf,” with an obstreperous chorus and blazing, thumping tempo. Both are prompt favorites and will be repeatedly blasted through my headphones. “Hel,” the much-ballyhooed track featuring Messiah Marcolin, is a stark disappointment. I found it bland and flat, without energy. Perhaps the pace was too slow, or maybe Marcolin’s vocals were uninspiring, but whatever the case, the album’s conclusion, “Warriors of the North” wraps things up in a rambunctious, eight-minute canticle.

Okay, so there’s nothing particularly deviceful or cutting-edge about Deceiver of the Gods, and if it’s your first Amon Amarth foray, you probably won’t give up whatever you’re currently listening to. But for fans of the group, it’s what we want.

Verdict: Not original, but persuasively sound. 3.5/5.0


Next up: Blood, Interlude, Waldschrein, Shaking the Habitual, Silverthorn, Retrospect, Fight Like a Girl, Perils of the Deep Blue, Random Access Memories


Music on the quick #1

I’m a busy person. Here is a breakdown of my time expenditures:

  • 15% porn and masturbation
  • 15% drugs and hookers
  • 20% finding a creative way to off myself
  • 25% music
  • 25% sports

And while a quarter of my effort is devoted to music, that still doesn’t mean I have the time or patience to sit down and think of new terms for penises, buttholes, or descriptions of bridges, choruses, or riffs.  If I was forced to review music for a living, I would either be the poorest person outside of Djibouti or I’d rent a speedboat, sail to Cuba, smoke sixteen cigars, then wrap tampons around my feet and jump from the HOCSA Building. People would wonder about the tampons, but that would only serve as a distraction for the four butterflies, two elephants, and one hornet that I’d had tattooed on my lower back and ankles. Also a floral design around the inside of my wrists which surrounded the phrase “POWERFUL” on my left, and “WOMAN” on the right. Also that I’d had SRS and trimmed my pubes into the shape of  hearts. Anyway, here are some of the albums I’ve been listening to recently, and my thoughts regarding them.


1. Leaves’ Eyes – Symphonies of the Night


This album fucking sucks. I’d like to sugar coat it, maybe offer some valid criticisms, but there’s not much to say. I was so utterly disappointed that by “Galswintha” I was ready to tear off my ears and staple them to an Episcopalian’s ass cheeks. Njord was one of my favorite symphonic metal albums of all time, and it was enchanting, epic, and romantic all at the same time. Vinland Saga was a powerful, mystic ballad forged around a core of emotion. But here, Leaves’ Eyes has taken their formula of folk-y love songs and shit all over it. There is not one track here which is worth listening to again, and I’m half-tempted to simply delete the whole album and demand a refund. I haven’t been this completely let down since Dragonette’s 2012 fuckfactory that was Bodyparts. Leaves’ Eyes has lost their way, and by trading in their dire whimsy for “mainstream” metal, they’ve destroyed their intrigue.

Verdict: Avoid at all costs. If you come in contact with this album, apply vinegar, lye, and applesauce to the affected area and then plug your ears with a nail gun. 1.0/5.0


2. Deafheaven – Sunbather


This isn’t music. This is bullshit. This is bullshit wrapped up inside a pretty package and marketed as “Exclusive, Elite Bullshit, suitable for all ages.”

I first listened to Sunbather over the summer months, after Pitchfork gave it an 8.9. I don’t read Pitchfork often, but when I do, it’s exclusively to mock their pompous, pseudo-highbrow, flannel-and-tight-jeans attitude towards music. However, when something begenred as “black metal” gets reviewed by a group of tryharding indie assfucks, it might be worth listening to. At least that’s what I thought.

I was wrong, of course, because Sunbather is so bad I almost gouged out my testicles with a table knife and crammed them into my hearing canals to prevent ever having to experience something so goddamned atrocious again. I listened to it again today, because, I thought to myself, well, maybe I was just in a bad mood. It can’t be that bad, right? I mean it does have a 92 on Metacritic. Yeah let’s listen to it again!

I was wrong again. Sunbather is still fucking bullshit, and I wasted another sixty minutes on this chunk of celestial smegma.

I get black metal. I get thrash, extreme, pagan, doom, death or any other related subgenre. I listen to and even sort of enjoy it on occasion, specifically Dimmu Borgir and Finntroll, but this…this is just…bullshit. It’s as if a couple of emo nerds with big black frames, greasy combovers, and glasses full of gluten-free milk decided that if they mixed Weezer with Cradle of Filth it would be pretty neat. But it’s not. It’s sixty minutes of uninspired noise with a vague screamo-esque backtrack of cockthirsty, lyricless shouts which are about as pleasant as getting your penis caught in a food processor. I can’t even begin to describe how amazingly pointless this heap of rotting corpses is.

But it’s not all bad with Sunbather. Reading critical and listener reviews and then laughing endlessly at their hopeless attempts of describing what is nothing but trash is good fun. For example, the A.V. Club review said “Whenever there’s a pause in the pandemonium, it’s impossible to know if the sonic trajectory is about to rise to the heavens or hit the ground, shattering everywhere. ” What he meant was “this has the sonic legitimacy of two autistic gorillas rubbing their furry ballsacs over an electric guitar for an hour.”

Verdict: If you have two options, one of which is listening to this album and the other is being skinned alive, choose the latter. 0.0/5.0




I know I used the word “tryharding” just a little while ago, but there’s not really a more suitable term for Icon For Hire’s sophomore outing. Their first studio album, Scripted, is very good. It’s polished, convincing, and catchy; I’ve listened to it approximately twenty times and I still enjoy it. This album is nothing like that one. It mixes bits of electronic, parts of country, and even a little hip-hop in an effort to -I assume- innovate. Instead, they’ve produced a mess of what-ifs and dead ends.

Apparently there is/was controversy as to IFH’s status as a “Christian” rock group. From what I’ve heard of “Christian rock,” it relies on powerful melodies and positive mores. It also sounds pretty good. Icon For Hire is nothing like that; it’s shallow and overproduced, and each track screams “we have a label now, and we’re totally mainstream and not Christian.” I don’t know how this album was envisioned, but the final product smells like ass.

Verdict: It sounds like sushi tastes. 1.5/5.0


4. Icona Pop – This Is…


This is an excellent album.

I was familiarized with Icona Pop in 2011 and then again in 2012 along with everyone else; “Manners” and “I Love It” were heard by pretty much everyone who finds comfort in the indie-pop/electronic/synthpop genres, and the consensus was and is that Icona Pop is a rising sensation. I don’t mean to claim I liked them before they were huge, but….

This Is… has three stellar tracks and then the rest are worth listening to many times over. “I Love It” is the obvious fore/frontrunner here, but “On a Roll” and “All Night” are incredible followups. “Then We Kiss,” the album’s conclusion, sums up the entire experience rather well; this is one of those rare CDs which lacks a “bad” song. Certainly, not every one is an instant classic, but nothing here screamed “skip me now, I smell butts.”

Verdict: Obtain, listen, enjoy, repeat. 4.0/5.0


5. Ellie Goulding – Halcyon Days


Ellie Goulding has one of the most unique voices popular music has ever produced. Sometimes it sounds like a little girl whining about cookies, sometimes it sounds like a sorority chick guzzling a cum-and-champagne cocktail, and other times it sounds like an Auto-Tuned transsexual. On her forgettable, throwaway tracks like “Without Your Love,” “Flashlight,” and “Hearts Without Chains,” her voice is the largest obstacle for enjoyment. It’s just so…grating.

But, on the best songs, her voice is stunning. “Goodness Gracious” stands out as a beacon for originality. It’s peppy and sprightly while being well-engineered and not something [seemingly] conceived for radio airtime. It’s far-and-away the best I’ve ever heard of Goulding, and that’s a bold statement considering how good “Figure 8” and “Don’t Say a Word” are. “Burn” and “Ritual” are also immensely satisfying and, as a whole, Halcyon Days is definitely worth the price of admission.

Verdict: I could easily masturbate while listening to this. 4.0/5.0


6. Amberian Dawn – Re-Evolution


Oh, my god. This album is fucking atrocious. It is most definitely the worst symphonic metal production I’ve ever heard, and it makes me want to hire someone to break Capri’s fucking face and rip out her vocal cords so she can never pollute the world with her fizzbitch voice and general cockmonglering existence. Nothing more disastrous has ever happened in this genre, even including when Tarja fucked off from Nightwish.

Amberian Dawn was already hit-or-miss in terms of quality. River of Tuoni was excellent, The Clouds of Northland Thunder was exceptionally bad, End of Eden was passable (except for “Arctica”), while Circus Black was an apex triumph. So when I learned Amberian Dawn had released a new album which consisted of a “best of” tracklist headlined by their new frontwoman, I was excited. And then I listened to it.

Capri, the new singer, sounds like someone invited Justin Bieber, Yoko Ono, Rebecca Black, and Alizée into one big room, mashed them all up, added four or five trucks of cow dung, then had turtles eat the mixture and shit it out all over a nice bed of collard greens. Then had the population of Senegal add AIDS and hopelessness, plus some sand, and then ate and barfed it all over John C. Reilly’s stupid fucking ugly face.

She is the flattest singer of all time. Her vocal range extends from “opera school dropout” to “deaf person getting cochlear implants and hearing herself speak for the first time.” I didn’t even know it was possible to be this flat. I have a very monotone voice. I didn’t have this when I was younger, but after a lifetime of bullshit, it’s sort of developed into a peak-less plateau of monotony. But even I am not this flat. It’s so, so bad. Even worse, she sings with an overproduced urgency as if a few homeless people were digging around in her ass for some shekels.

Yes, this is a collection of Amberian Dawn’s best work. If it were sung by Heidi Parviainen, it would have been a success. But Capri is a dreadful singer. And she’s irritating to look at,  like Robin Tunney mixed with Tia Carrere–and that’s not a fucking compliment. This album isn’t even worth downloading if it were free. The effort required to navigate your browser somewhere, click “download,” and then import the music into your player far outstrips the quality of this dingleberry-ridden cockfarm.

Verdict: I would rather get prostate cancer than listen to this again. 0.0/5.0


7. Powerwolf – Preachers of the Night


I’ve made no secret of the fact that Powerwolf is fucking glorious. Bible of the Beast is one of the top five best power metal albums of all time, and Blood of the Saints and Lupus Dei aren’t far behind. I’ve never listened to their first LP because I can’t find it anywhere, legally or otherwise. So when I grabbed Preachers of the Night, I expected a power metal extravaganza worthy of Roy Khan.

Not really what I got.

There’s nothing actually wrong with this album, but there’s nothing outstanding about it either. It plays more like a debut demo than an established act’s fifth studio recording; it sounds identical to its predecessors in a way which leaves nothing to imagination. There isn’t that one epic anthem which stands above the others on your playcount column: Blood of the Saints had “Sanctified With Dynamite,” Lupus Dei had “Saturday Satan,” and Bible of the Beast had “Resurrection By Erection.” Here, there isn’t a standout track. Everything rings of a same-y vibe, and that’s kind of depressing all things considered.

Is it worth listening to? Well yes, and I imagine over the course of the next few months I’ll play it around five times. Is it better than their previous work? Not even close. I expected much, much better.

Verdict: Meh. 2.0/5.0


Next up: The NexusDeceiver of the GodsWar of Ages, Don’t Look Down, stuff from before 2013


A quick(ish) note regarding Sunbather

In all honesty, I’m not particularly well-versed in “black metal,” and I’m even less acquainted with hipster jizzgobbling and/or screamo. Black metal is good -for me- in bursts, surrounded by something more symphonic (with the aforementioned two exceptions). I’m going to throw out a number, and I believe it to be accurate within fifteen percent: in my life, I have heard roughly six hundred black metal songs. I don’t consider that a number associated with expert testimony, but neither is it in the vicinity of utter virginity. I also dabble in dreampop, with my number of listens about the same.

That being said, I affiliate the praise and glory surrounding Sunbather with the pure, unadulterated absurdity of modern art. An “artist” can toss paint over a canvas or “draw” a vertical black bar on a white poster board and that is considered art. This sort of thing is not.

Sunbather is a magnet for hipster queefsniffers who desire to be even edgier than making a Nickelback joke. It’s a nice “crossover” between post-rock dreamshit and black death metal. They like to make up fun new genres for this album, like post-black grunge dreamgore deathgaze shiteating metal.

In reality, Sunbather is a flagrant assault on sensibility. It’s fucking god-awful, and calling it “music” is like calling Kendall Jenner an actual celebrity. If I hooked a guitar up to Pro Tools and took a steaming dump on the strings, then rubbed it around with my nuts, it would sound better than this. Someone could have a grand mal seizure while in anaphylactic shock, enter into a coma, and be placed on a MIDI keyboard and produce something more convincing than Sunbather.

I imagine Sunbather was created in one session. A man with a guitar told a man with a voice to start screaming, then he played random notes which in no way meshed with the shouting. Later, a drummer was told to bash away at his instruments for an hour, after which someone from a mental asylum pressed some keys and printed it on CDs, then sent it to Spin and Pitchfork along with an ass dildo which someone had repeatedly used and not cleaned.

If you think Sunbather is music, and that it’s good, just fucking kill yourself.