July 24th, 2007
Begrudgingly trotting through this chapter of life, it would seem that there would be little left to catch the eye, put an extra pep in the ole step, as it were. Well, as always, The Man from G.O.T.H.I.K.U.S. knew not what lay before him.
It all seems like a distant, far away, long ago dream. An invitation was made to your dashing narrator upon the space of my. An invitation to view Dani Filth and the rest of his cradle came at a time when the Kinder, Gentler Th0rn had been laid to rest. 'Twas time to experience black metal screams, and let the tribal drums beat dark and proud yet again.
Appropriately naming his latest album Thornography, which your worshipped scribe felt quite honored by, the Filthster had the audience hypnotized with his guttural groans, and gothic soliloquy that his fans have become oh so accustomed to. The
album title was a winner me thinks for certain, as well as the tile track "I am the Thorn". Heed mine warning and tread carefully Filthmeister, for there can be only one.
Sunsetter was joyously indulging in the song of her namesake Nymphetamine, and there was much fun to be had. As she unwittingly stepped into an argument while both urging and encouraging the Sith Princess's decision to purchase a fiddy dolla skirt. Her Dark Lord was quite dead set against this, alluring as the garment was, until mention was made of a certain and very recent mind you purchase of a Fred Flintstone motorcycle action figure around the same price.
Theresoonafter met a maiden of song. Twas an interesting 3 month ride me thinks.
And now a word from our sponsors:
Brandi is sad. Little Brandi is sad cuz she doesn't want to go
play "Gangsta" with the other little kids dressed in
black. Little Brandi just doesn't feel like she fits in. Why she
is being the best lil gangsta she can possibly be. After all, she
is just your average Wiccan, Clove smoking, Bi-polar, Bi-sexual,
Black no. 1 hair dyed maiden at the university majoring in
Psychology and minoring in fashion design with deep seeded roots
in Celtic lore and adorning rod iron and silver jewelry and
several exquisite black&white jail house looking tattoos with
only 6 piercings.
Then Little Brandi comes across a little known, but more and more commonly diagnosed condition whilst busily cramming for her Psych exam, Gothic-Denial-Syndrome. GDS, Brandi reflects upon herself...Could I possibly be afflicted with this ailment? Quickly surveying the following texts for symptoms as well as any known GDS cures, she reads that five test subjects in the Cleveland area have responded favorably to a concentrated dose of video therapy. Their recovery was near immediate after a double-viewing of the now cult classic documentary, Gothikus. Sounds like the tribal drums beat dark and proud in yet another blackened heart.
Little Brandi soon after converted to Mormonism and moved to Utah and married a man named Ezekiel who lives in a dubba-wide with three other wives and eighteen kids.
And now back to our story:
'Twas the fourth of Joo-Lie. A maiden of madness and craze had stood up poor ole Th0rn only days prior to their 2nd date. Determined not to let a perfectly good drinking day go to waste, your delightfully dashing scribe ventured to where the land runs flat, and there are shots and drinks o'plenty. 'Twas there that your thirsty, humble poet stood on the banks of a party of might. Shooter's was the name of the watering hole, and quite accidentally and rather quickly your devilish friend discovered a drink aptly named Gilligan's Island whilst perusing what the natives were all sipping. Took your sire for a three hour tour alright. After a mere, slight, and meager three of the aforementioned concoctions in one hours time, the place where the land runs flat did not seem as level as once thought. Why, how dare they keep putting wooden planks of steps on the walls for your poor, confused and now bumpy headed story teller to keep running into. 'Twas deception which was sniffed when it was realized that those are actually on the floor, and one's head has made yet a third journey in that direction. Gilligan, huh...lil' buddy my ass, lil' bastard more like it.
But, seeing plans within plans as always, your now nearly hallucinogenic fellow of the pen decided he had had enough of Stan and all of his antics as of late. Assuming yet another new identity, Th0rn Bin Chillin', your now crustily bump filled headed scribe decided to head east and give Stan a plain ole American ass kickin'. Having quickly done away with this mere
mortal and seizing all of his properties, women, and goats, the name and very allegiance of these tribes now fell upon your new friend in the East, Th0rn. Neither Afganisthorn, Pakisthorn, Turkmenisthorn nor even Uzbekisthorn had the pleasant ring as it was once thought they might. Renaming the whole region into the Greater Gothic Alliance, or G.G.A. to the laymen, 'twill be quite an interesting adventure running the lives of these 200 or so million. But that, my cult members, will have to be a tale for another time.
Coming up in our next installment: Marilyn Manson and Slayer and the train ride of death, An invitation to go see Midget Stripper's, a forest in which the balls are made of paint, a lil red-head named trouble, a party at which the grass is ablaze, and Sensei-hits-a-lot.
Th0rn Bin Chillin'