Sunday, 30 May 2010

'God Backwards' Soup

Look at the current logic of the Anti-Christ Alliance we're living our lives by - and merely by observing, dear reader, so are you. Our logic is as follows; that which is holy must be reversed and upon being reversed shall become inexorably eviler. We have proved this logic by turning white crosses upside down, painting them black and, ‘lo, a Satanic implement is born.

Let’s go a step further with this knowledge. What would you say is the holiest thing? God? Correct. But we can’t turn god upside down or reverse him can we? Well a lesser man would say no, but we are not lesser and we’re not sure if we are technically men anymore either. As it says in the Bible;

“in the beginning was the word, and the word was with god, and the word was god.” John 1.1

Well as far as I’m concerned thats irrefutable proof that God is a word. And that the word that God is just so happens to be the word ‘God’.

Very convenient Christians. Very convenient indeed.

Anyway, if we get back on the boat of horribly skewed logic that means that one can reverse God and make him evil! How? By simply reversing the word! And what do we get? Dog!

From there it was a very simple mental step towards the realisation that if we were to make soup out of Dogs we may have the most powerful dark potion man has ever devised.

Thus we set about procuring the most evil dogs we could find to make soup from.

We called upon a friend of ours who ran an Asylum for Dogs that are too mentally unstable to even be put down, in case they come back as bastard ghosts. Our friend started the venture as a stable and pleasant 21 year old woman whose favourite musician was katy perry. However the nightmares of a thousand deranged canines seeping their way into her dreams over the years has warped her aesthetic and disposition somewhat.

Pictured - Her favourite band is now Gorelord.

She told us that two of the troubled hounds had gone missing and if we could find them then we could make soup out of them. The fact that she acted so unshocked about the fact that we were planning on making such a magical potion took the wind out of our sails somewhat as we though we were being badass and cool. She was above our bullshit apparently. But then again look at her, you would be hard pressed to shock that woman, she's seen things that would make even the toughest 'Nam veterans scoop out their eyes instead of risking seeing them again.

Anyway we went to look for the dogs...

We found them quickly because we're awesome. That and because Vice Chancellor S'harmuel Fihhn has a sixth sense that means he can find a dog anywhere. (usualy he pulls them too.) (whey-oh)

Heres one, on the top of bluebell hill, no doubt trying to guard the gate to heaven/hunt down the hellbeasts in the caverns to the side of the A229 that we explored only weeks previous. His name is Jasper, his favourite colour is black (ours too!) and when he grows up he wants to be that dog off the TV programme where some old woman flies a dog around in her light aeroplane and inexplicably shows dogs how certain factories work. (he had forgotten what it was called and so had we.)
Pictured - Jasper just after having fought some crime. awesome.

We reached a group decision that Jasper was too bodacious to cook, even if we would get super powers from him. So after a brief photo session and discussion we moved on to find the other dog that had escaped from the Asylum.

Once again Vice-Chancellor Fihhn found the offending canine with worrying speed and accuracy in some chick's back garden. This purveyor of woofs was called 'Rocco' and was as hard as his name suggests. He had in fact been sectioned, not because he was mad, but because he just loved fighting, everyone and everything and all the time. He was a fighting machine, there was such power here. He was pretty safe to us, told us his backstory, bitched about the state of the Asylum and its recent staffing issues due to the recession etc. But he was only safe because he didn't know we were going to make him into soup. But thats the case with most people, if you were to turn up to a party full of people you didn't know and announced your intentions to turn them all into a liquid meal you would make few friends, and i would seriously question the friends you did make.

Pictured - Rocco taking our attempts to restrain him in his stride

We breifly flirted with the idea of pacifying him by a quick Satanic baptism, which would hopefully fill him with evil intelligence, and enough for him to know that being made into soup would be good for the dark cause. However our attempts at holding the bugger down were met with furious strength and aggression. We had to act afterwards like it was all just a matey wrestle thing and that he had gone overboard and over-reacted.
He got embarrassed.
It got awkward.
He went inside to get a drink and never came back.
We accepted our failure.

So where did we go wrong?
If you are ever to attempt to make a potion that grants you the powers of Our Father who doesn't deserve to be in Heaven, hallowed be his name, then don't make the two major mistakes we did;

1 - Don't source your dogs from an Asylum for crazed fighting dogs.
2 - Don't then befriend both dogs.

Hope that helps guys, send any questions on the topic our way, we try and answer mail as quickly as possible.

Next Week - Tar'lor's guide to downing planes solely with the power of the mind.

Saturday, 22 May 2010

Oh i do like to be beside the suicide.

A dark day for all when the ocean itself rises up against our master, a dark day for all.
we're not exactly sure what the sea did because, as ever, we never get any memos from hell.
what we are sure of is that Satan got pretty fed up with the sea's shit (haven't we all) and decided to paint it black. and in one of the nicest bluest parts, the gulf of mexico. He did so by combining two of his powers; control of all things under the earth's crust, in this case oil. And his control of the darkest and most slovenly of the Oil companies, in this case BP, which few know actually stands for Bastards and Parties, for if you join his evil ranks you are a bastard, and he rewards your ill deeds with, like, endless parties. This too is a bonus as it means the whole operation is run very sloppily on account of everybody being hungover as fuck/out and out drunk.

The 'disaster'/victory has three main obvious merits:
1- Black things are more Satanic.
2- Fuck the south eastern american coastline.
3- Everything that lives under the ocean is far too chirpy for our liking and must be punished.

Pictured - Local bastard.

To encourage the further destruction of ecosystems and with the vague hope that Satan would see it fit to turn the entire sea black we went and performed a Baptism on the North Sea. We chose the north sea as we knew it had oil deposits and also it wasn't that big. the Atlantic would have been crazy, we just ain't that powerful yet (calm it ladies, i know you think we're, like, these mega dark warlocks and stuff but we have our limits). The Black sea is pretty famous for already being black so there was no point in that shit. We also considered the Caspian but then it turned out that the flights to Baku were a tad too expensive, also Tar'lor is banned from Azerbaijan for reasons we won't go into (some say dog rape, others say 'shh').
Thus we just got on our bikes and went to Sheppy, this is doubly useful as it borders the North Sea and is also a font of such evil few stray there and return with any of their money, mobile phones or teeth.
We didn't really know how to baptise the sea so we just faffed around near it.
the following pictures will shock and astound.

Pictured - 'dunno really'

Pictured - 'Yeah fuck it that'll do'

Pictured -'fuck you sea, in the name of all that is damned'

Pictured - 'someone get me down i'm scared'

Shortly afterwards the sea turned black as a ps3 (a black ps3) and we all went home for crumpets and dancing.
here is proof of the aforementioned statement;

'hey but that doesn't prove anything. those are just three unrelated pictures you've lazily googled, i am tempted to argue that the North sea hasn't turned black at all and you aren't warlocks, but liars'

I am getting pretty fed up with your shit, Disembodied Voice of Criticism. If you don't seriously start curbing all this nonsense i am going to have you gassed.

Tuesday, 11 May 2010

31st Annual Bob Marley Remembrance Service & Rat Burial

Pictured -Artist's impression of Bob Marley today.

We gothic servants of Lucifer are not so much unlike you normal, colour wearing folk. Every year on the anniversary of Bob Marley's death, just like you, we offer his ghost a rat's corpse 3 minutes after midnight. We merely (bob merely) do it in a more satanic way, praying that Bob Marley remain in the VIP lounge in hell, jamming with all the other people who preferred the warm, drug filled caves of hell over the boring clean marble corridors of heaven, where the only thing to look forward to all week is christian bingo.
(its like normal bingo but more boring because everybody wins and you can't smoke or swear and theres no cash prize)
As with your traditional normal human method of celebrating the passing of Robert Nesta Marley you must first accumulate 5 people who are all ready to shed a tear and bury a rat.

Here are our five, notice the far away look in their eyes, you can guarantee that a black metal version of 'One Love' is playing on repeat in their heads and that they are imagining themselves on a Gothic version of a tropical beach. For those of you not intitiated into the way of the dark imagination; imagine pitch black palm trees with spiky coconuts full of blood, and the sand is black and instead of crabs there are whip spiders.

Pictured - Gothic Crab

The next thing you must do to satisfy The Marley's lust for rat flesh is to dig a hole in preperation for the sacred rituals. Thats right. A hole. No swinging the rat round our heads in an old sainsbury's bag until the ghost of Marley comes and rips it from our hands like you fucking pencil pushing normal people. Our hole is in the midst of a pentagram with candles at the five points of Karlok, but obviously that goes without saying, thats the case whenever we dig a hole.

Here you notice where things really start differing from the traditional ways of celebrating Marley's passing. Whilst two start digging the hole, the fifth of our number(usually male), has to dress up like the 'Ghost of Dark Christmas'. The Ghost of Dark Christmas is a pretty shoddy ghost and easy to dress up like, as he is just a sheet with a black cross on him. He's one of the earth's oldest ghosts, from back in the day when people were much much easier to scare.

Once the pit of rodent rastafarianism has been cut into the soil the means of calling upon the Dark Prince Marley can begin...

Start with the standard salute to Satan, just to clear the runway with the big man down there. This is possibly unecessary as Robert will have been all over the earth this night eating the bodies of rats handed to him both by Satanic soldiers like ourselves and disgusting normal people who are only sacrificing to him because they do not want his reggae music desecrating their childrens ears and the sauces in their cupboards.
(there are some unconfirmed reports that some sauces have already turned reggae, some twice.)
Anyhow its always prudent to start proceeding with a salute to 'he who cannot be any other colour but red'.

After this the sermons start;

This year new topics that were touched upon included our acknowledging Bob's eternal place in our hearts and soul, a request for his autograph when we get to hell and another request for a good reference from him so maybe we get into the VIP section too. Then there was also the standard talk about Satan's eventual rising because of the eventual military domination of the world that Jamaica will acheive thanks in no small part to Marley's patriotic words in the call to war; 'Get up, Stand up'. This is a long way off unfortunately but with Usain Bolt we have already had a sneaky peek at the prowess of their shock troops. I am as scared as i am excited.

The rat was then buried in his cellar of jah.
Satanists bury the rat as it is easier to reach from hell if it is in the ground. It saves Dark Prince Marley having to fly around the planet to collect his meal, which he has to do in chains for some reason unbeknownst to anybody. This pain in the arse for Marley's ghost is famously illustrated in Charles Dickens' prediction of the future; 'A Christmas Carol'

Then cannabis scented candles are lighted and the 5 satanists slowly collapse into a deep slumber...
Only to awake four hours later at about 5am. One of the young disciples of the underworld has heard the earth being rummaged through by something that sounds like the spiritual embodification of a sweet carribean lullaby.

The rat has been taken, Lord Marley's thirst for blood has been quenched...

Friday, 7 May 2010

Dismayedstone ; A Town of Hate

"It starts with one thing I don't know why It doesn't even matter how hard you try keep that in mind I designed this rhyme To explain in due time All I know Time is a valuable thing Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings Watch it count down to the end of the day The clock ticks life away It's so unreal"
From the audio lecture; 'In the End' by the philosophers Linkin Park

In the shadow of the infamous North Downs lies a terrifying hamlet of pain and economic mismanagement called Maidstone. It has a church which has the biggest wooden roof of any church in the UK, also softmints were invented there, a classic example of the malice to waft forth from this bastardly conurbation.
Also we come from there, which certainly points toward the fact that the Devil has had his eye on this, the county town of kent, for some time.
Yet as tight as Lucifer's grip may seem on this historic river town, it has not been consolidated. The river stills flows towards the sea instead of backwards. and it is still full of water instead of virgin blood. On top of this there are rumours that the crown courts have been handing out life sentences for murder, instead of Satan's preferred punishment; being immersed up to your eyebrows in a box of angry and confused barn owls until dead.

Pictured - Artists impression of the Crown Courts under the yoke of Satan. (the people are covered in silly string, which they are upset about)

To really ensure everything in Maidstone goes as darkly as possible, we have to metaphorically piss in god's metaphorical barbecue. This is performed through burning down his headquarters in the area, the uberchurch.

Without hesitation we burnt it down.
We used petrol and firelighters, in the future we will stick to petrol, in retrospect the firelighters were unecessary.

Pictured - Our Father who art in heaven getting his shit ruined.

Once you've done that you need to go find the place in your town where the town's name has been sculpted in 6 foot high letters. (if your town doesn't have this somewhere then its not a town, its a village. if you live in a city the letters need to be 12 foot high)
When there peform a default Satanic baptism, you all know how to do this by now, and finish it off by jumping over the fuckers.

Maidstone now had its name changed to 'Dismayedstone' and everybody in it immediately grew horns and started rocking out to Cannibal Corpse. Satan was pleased. Everyone in Dismayedstone was closer than ever before, meeting everyday to rock out, smoke cigars and burn down churches in the vicinity.
Oddly enough they all voted Tory, though.

Pictured - a local Dismayedstone family celebrating a birthday.

Tuesday, 4 May 2010

Fellowship of the Wrong - part 2.

"Fuck 'gro. in those days everybody was on K. Do you really think i would have convinced Sherpa Tenzing to climb that huge assed bitch without me spiking his drink with about a gram? of course not! Fuck, when he got home to his family he didn't even know he'd climbed Everest, he thought he'd been talking to Mormons in a well for three days! Look, if you're going to get involved with a crazy vendetta against nature, you're going to need some drugs. Either that or a really serious partnership with God... or... y'know, him down below."
Edmund Hillary in 'Everest and Me', 1965, pg 133

And after the bank holiday (it applies to Satan's minions too) continues the story of two lowly servants of the Dark Lord of the Underworld carrying out a simple damage evaluation reconnaissance mission to file with the insurace department in Hell. We had both already overcome the white chalk cliffs that embodied God's vengeance against our ongoing plan to keep Jesus well out of Maidstone and the Weald in general.
(it was universally accepted that if Jesus ever managed to get to Tunbridge Wells our mission was a failure and we should burn all the documents pertaining to evil then shoot ourselves in our underground bunker.)
We had only just entered the Valley of Forgiveness that Odin/Allah/God had created when we came across what looked like normal woods, upon entering however we breathed a sigh of relief. These weren't those fucking pissy McGaylord woods you see in Disney films. Instead of the animals helping you with your housework, the ones residing in these woods were more likely to cook an overly complex meal that used more pans and pots than necessary, then would leave the washing up in your sink and fuck off. Yeah, these woods were dark.
Before long we came across signs that confirmed our blackest hopes and dreams.

Above is a picture of one of our Malicious number, standing in front of Dark signs sprayed onto trees with demon blood, which is black. As i'm sure you can all see he carries with him a can of spray cream (half fat) which was one of the few supplies we managed to grab before the pack mules took off in fear. We pushed on and found much more interesting signs of Lucifer's touch in these woods.

Pictured - Tar'lor presenting a Goblin Den

Our old friend the Goblin den makes an appearance, as any good follower of the heathen faith will know, a goblin den is only ever about 4 nautical miles away from a demon cave. Since the Demon Safety and Salience Act 1986 came in under Thatcher theres always had to be a band of lesser evil spirits/monsters protecting the big boys. Goblins live in trees and eat moths, the ones of this tree weren't in but you could clearly see their family name above the door and the standard petrine crosses along the sides of the entrance. The family name 'Evil' is to Goblins what 'Smith' is to the English. There was also a tit load of dead moths around.

We pressed on for another two days and eventually came to the sight we had been travelling so long without water or non-can based food for.

A Demon Cave.

Pictured - FUCK.

We knew we were close when all we could hear for the 4 hours preceding our discovery of the cave was the sound of people being raped and eaten... dark right? Actually the demons play it over huge loudspeakers to ward off any trespassers. Although i don't doubt that a fair amount of people have been raped and eaten in the past few days near the area. We saw alot of Demon semen (which is black) speckling the ground we covered, and lots of blood (which is red), suggesting a number of rape 'n' eats.
The cave itself was small but deep, fortunately we didn't actually have to deal with any demons as they were all out doing demon business, which at the moment involves turning invisible and whispering in prominent politician's ears funny things to say that will fuck up their election prospects. We've heard recently that GarNath K'goure scored a fucking touchdown by managing to get Gordon Brown to say something about a bigoted woman, we don't know the full details as we've been traversing a ravine for over a week.

Regardless of the lack of demons we took some photos and generally enjoyed our lives.

Pictured - one of the clauses of the Demon Safety and Salience Act 1986 was that all demons should have their abodes clearly signposted, as many are short sighted but don't enjoy the benefits of NHS Opticians as they have dual passports, between Hell and the UK.

You may scoff but for us this is like walking round Buckingham palace or the X factor or some shit. Fuck. I don't know what you humans like.

Next week - We come round your house and set it on fire in the name of Beelzebub.