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Edited on Wed Feb-04-09 01:49 PM by ZombieNixon
The talentless emo drummer fuck lost his beret; now he can't see straight through the tears running down his pale, makeup sodden cheeks. I don't mean that corpse paint kind of makeup you occasionally see gracing the countenances of furious, Satan-worshipping Norwegians. You know, the kind that is so over-the-top in its threatrics that you look past it, since you know the guy's going to go dunk his face in turpentine and douse himself in bottles of Jack Daniel's after the show. No, not that kind. This kind of makeup makes him look like the bastard child of Gene Simmons and a lounge-singing dead frog. Come to think of it, I don't think "bastard" child is appropriate, because Gene Simmons is frankly enough of a tool to have actually married and procreated with a lounge-singing dead frog at some point in his cocaine-and-vodka-addled career. But, I digress. Unable to see beyond his extravagantly applied false eyelashes, he drops one drumstick. Then the other. The lead singer, rhythmically challenged poseur he already is, for lack of a better word, fucks up, and begins to wail. "No one understands me!" he cries out. "Come on, Chet, let's go cut ourselves and bleed into my father's leather seated Mazda," replies the talentless emo drummer fuck. The duo begins to leave the stage, and the crowd, too absorbed in their own sorrow to notice, continue to stare at their shoes. Except for one man. He feels the spirit of music swell within him, and frankly has no idea what he's doing in this whiny teenage-angst ridden shithole. Looking to the catwalk, he begins to climb. Viewed from the side, this scene appears to be a screen capture from some demonic Mario game, as our hero battles his way past hair-dyed emo minions roadies, a stray microphone stand his only weapon. Approaching the lighting bar directly above the stage, he springs into action before talentless emo fucks leave the venue. He pulls a number of ropes on some enormous lights, causing gravity - sweet, sweet gravity - to pull the behemoths down upon the ridiculously appointed pair, crushing them into a pile of bloody pulp, intestines spurting everywhere. Dropping to the stage, our protagonist brutally rips off their heads, and mounts them on microphone stands on the front of the stage, the morbid tableau at last putting an end to the shitty music.
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