Ending The Suffering In Style: Mets Promotions That Might Actually Get People To Citi Field in September
Posted by Keith Spillett in Blithering Sports Fan Prattle on September 19, 2011
Sandy Alderson and I have been in a regular Friday night card game for the past three years. It’s a pretty low stakes game, but things got a bit out of hand last week. Sandy, or Santino as he likes to be called, went all in on a straight flush that never materialized. Long story short, Santino owes me 20 large. I know for a fact that he owes some very dangerous guys some serious coin, including an ungodly amount to a guy out in Staten Island that they call Joey The Lamppost. Anyway, I told Santino that if he lets me run the promotion side for the Mets for the last 6 games of the year, a god awfully unbearable home stand against two deeply disinterested teams, that I’d forgive what he owes me and talk to a few friends about allowing him to arrange a payment schedule that doesn’t involve forfeiting his kidneys. Basically, I get to create whatever promotions I want. I personally think this will be a good thing, because only a diehard baseball fans and flashers will be out for most of the games. These promotions might just get a few folks out to say farewell to another season of mind-numbingly awful baseball.
Friday Night vs. The Phillies
(Night of The Old Timers)
Most baseball teams have an old timers day, so this is not a new idea. However, few teams have actually ever had their old timers team play the actual game. The Phillies will have already clinched the division and will be resting everyone who is even marginally relevant to the team’s success. Why not have some fun? What could be more enjoyable than watching 66-year-old Eddie Kranepool trying to leg out an infield grounder or 67-year-old Ron Swoboda trying to hit a Brad Lidge slider? Imagine Cleon Jones trying to make a sliding catch and having to be revived by paramedics. Could 74 year old Choo-Choo Coleman throw out fleet-footed Catcher Brian Schneider as he was stealing 3rd base? Who knows? Who cares? They are 26 games out of first place for God sakes.
Saturday Afternoon vs. The Phillies
(Come, Come To The Sabbath Saturday)
Anyone who has spent more than 5 seconds on this site has to have figured out that I am completely obsessed with metal artist King Diamond. Imagine all the players dressed in King Diamond face paint reflecting the many eras of the King’s career. David Wright wearing the King’s Conspiracy look. Jose Reyes rocking The Puppet Master era top hat and backwards cross paint. Free orange sherbet to the first 500 fans (so, basically everybody who will be there). About two thirds of you just collectively said, “What on earth is this fool talking about?” They will probably stop reading at this point, thus depriving themselves of a golden opportunity to hear about Ruben Tejada fighting a bear.
Sunday Afternoon vs. The Phillies
(Ruben Tejada Fights A Bear Day)
I have yet to find a use for Ruben Tejada. People often tell me that he has a great deal of potential. He looks to me like a back-up middle infielder who, if everything goes perfectly and he manages to join a Santeria sect capable of utilizing functional spells, could one day hit .290. Why not have him fight a bear? Who wouldn’t love to watch little Ruben battle one of nature’s most terrifying beasts? Have the fight in the 5th inning and whoever wins gets to play second for the rest of the game. Imagine watching a bear, barely finished digesting Ruben Tejada trying to turn a double play. Some groups would call this cruelty to animals, but truthfully, unless there is a group that tries to prevent cruelty to moderately talented, light hitting second basemen, no one will complain too loudly.
Monday Night vs. The Reds
(Franz Kafka Night)
Imagine it…an entire baseball game dedicated to the demented mind of Franz Kafka. The game starts in the 4th inning. In the first inning, which follows the 8th, second base is removed mid-inning leaving the players to contemplate how to get to third. Pitchers refuse to pitch for hours cynically watching the batters prepare for a pitch that may never come. On a 3-2 fastball down the middle, the umpire randomly yells out “SQUID!” No one knows how to proceed. Jason Bay randomly turns into a giant turtle while running to first base after hitting a single. The game ends with both teams being swallowed by a choking fog that descends onto the field and the players disappearing into a vast and cruel nothingness.
Tuesday Night vs. The Reds
(Retiring Juan Samuel’s Jersey)
Do you remember the year that Juan Samuel led the Mets to the playoffs by hitting .400 down the stretch including a game winning homerun against the Cardinals to clinch the division? Or the time he picked up his third consecutive MVP award and led the Mets to back-to-back World Series victories? Of course you don’t. The Juan Samuel trade was a Hindenburg like catastrophe that managed to rip the heart and soul out of a once great team and all but ruin my childhood. Most teams retire player’s jersey because he performs at a high level. Listen, we are Mets fans. If there’s anything that epitomizes the franchise it is devastating trades that hamstring the organization for decades. Why not celebrate what we do best?!?!
I have no idea what his jersey number was. I don’t even think he remembers. We certainly could retire his batting average with the Mets in 1989. From this day forward, no one will be allowed to hit .228 again!
Wednesday Night vs. The Reds
(The Stoning of Mr. Met Night)
You know that Pepsi commercial they have now where all the great baseball players from different eras in a Field of Dreams type set up? While most clubs are represented by some great player like Randy Johnson or Dennis Eckersley, the Mets are represented by a dude with a baseball on his head. As if to say, the best thing that your storied franchise can produce is a silly mascot. Personally, I find the whole bit insulting. I have a deep hatred for mascots in general, but Mr. Met causes my heart to pump pure bile. The only way to truly end this fiasco of a season properly is by having Mr. Met pelted to death with stones. Thousands of them! It’s the only rational solution.
Wound him to the point that no thinking person will ever put a giant baseball on his head in the Tri-State area again. Make an example out of him! Send a message to baseball that goofy mascots will not be tolerated. Let’s remind America that we can again become the unruly demented mob that trashed Shea Stadium after clinching the division in 1986. Turn Mr. Met into a human piñata, then we’ll start winning some championships.
Parenting Stories For Other Parents Who Are Parenting
Posted by Keith Spillett in Parenting Tips For Those With Children on September 17, 2011
A Recent Picture of Me Along With My Wife And Two Children
Being a parent of young children can be a frightening experience. You love them with all of your heart, but you eventually have to send them out into a challenging, scary world in which you are not always around. As a service to my readers, I’ve been collecting stories mailed in by parents who have had to deal with difficult parenting situations as their children first start school. Here are some powerful tales of parents who have looked difficult situations in the eye and said “Go away, Difficult Situation. I don’t like you. You are a jerk. I hate you, Difficult Situation, and I hope a plague descends on you and your family.” Hope these stories touch you as deeply as they have me….
My son’s first run in with a bully
The other day Bernie came home with a sad, scared look on his face. When I asked him why, he told me that another boy at the school named Jimmy was making fun of him. I felt so angry at Jimmy! How dare he do that to my boy! However, I am a parent now and sometimes it is important to be a rational adult. After all, I am a role model to Bernie and I want him to understand that simply responding emotionally to every challenge isn’t the right approach.
The next day as I was dropping him off, I had Bernie point the bully out to me. I made a note of what he looked like then drove home quickly. I got dressed up in a vampire costume that I had picked up at the local thrift store. Very frightening outfit! I covered my face in white paint and smeared fake blood on to my fake fangs. Then, I went to the school and hid behind a tree. When the Pre-K class came out for recess I leaped out from behind the tree and started running right after Jimmy. He began running away with tears streaming down his face. I chased him around for a while until I finally cornered him. As I looked into his terrified face, I said “Nobody messes with Bernie! No one!!!!” I think he got the message. My son has had several kids give him their cookies during snack time and has gotten to get on the swings first everyday since.
-Anna in Cell Block A
My daughter came home from school wanting a bizarre tattoo
Sure, young children pick up a lot of strange ideas from their friends. Peer pressure is a major issue that affects all kids, even the youngest among them. That being said, I was stunned when our 5 year-old daughter Bunny came home last Friday begging to get an inverted cross tattooed into her forehead. Personally, I’m very open-minded, but this simply was too much for me to handle. I immediately regretted letting my wife talk me into letting her join the afterschool satanic cult that was being offered at the school from 3 to 4 on Wednesdays. Clearly, young children should not be exposed to this sort of thing, whether it be at school or in some bizarre 16th Century French dungeon.
I knew that this was a trouble sign and I responded immediately. I went up stairs to her room and cast her copy of The Necronomicon into the fire. I took all of her Anton Lavey posters off the wall and made her put the heads back on her dolls. Then, I told her she was going to have to listen to records forwards from now on. Sometimes, being a good parent means having to put your foot down.
-Not Satanic in New Hampshire
Living With Flippers One Day at a Time
At age 2, my son Barbara began to grow flippers in place of his hands. Flipperitis is a rare but common disease among young children who have eaten large amounts of tin foil from an early age. When Barbara was ready to start school, we were concerned the other students would make fun of him. In order to make sure that he was not teased, we spent several thousands of dollars to train him in several of the martial arts and get him certified in the use of firearms and small explosives. These weren’t easily skills to learn for a young man with flippers, but through dedication and the use of massive amounts of body altering steroids, Barbara became a threat to the lives of nearly anyone who came within 100 feet of him.
From Day One, Barbara was the most popular boy in his class. He is currently captain of the high school swim team and he is only six years old. Even when he sprouted horns over the Christmas break this year, we barely broke a sweat. Kids would have to be crazy to mess with him.
-Won’t Be Messed With In Winnepeg
I Am A King Diamond’s Disease Survivor
Posted by Keith Spillett in General Weirdness, King Diamond For President in 2012 on September 13, 2011
A Picture of Me Getting Ready To Go To My Daughter's Piano Recital
Have you ever found yourself singing the chorus from a King Diamond song at an inappropriate time like in church or at a funeral? Do you ever wake up with your face covered with strange painted designs without knowing how they got there? Do you ever find yourself having bizarre urges, like making furniture out of the leg bone of your neighbor? If you answered yes to any of these questions, you may be one of the nearly 2 million Americans who suffer from King Diamond’s disease. You are not alone.
King Diamond’s Disease, known to doctors as Bendixitis, claims nearly a thousand new victims a week. You may see many of these poor souls on the streets, covered in backwards crosses, wandering aimlessly while singing the falsetto chorus to Abigail. They often struggle to maintain normal lives. They are your doctors, your teachers, your lawyers and your children’s crossing guards. I know their pain, because, you see, I am one of them.
My story isn’t different from most KDD survivors. It started innocently enough. I’d be in the car on my way to pick up the children from their Tae-Bo class and catch myself howling “Sleeeeeeeplesssss Niiiiiiiightssss” for no reason in particular. I’d find myself thinking about the King more and more each day. When I was eating dinner, I wondered what The King might be eating. When picking out clothing at a shopping mall, my mind would drift to what The King might think about the sweater I was trying on.
Then, one day, I woke up for a critical job interview for the position of Chief Tagalog Translator at The United Nations. As I was putting the finishing touches on my outfit, I looked in the mirror and staring back at me was a 6 foot 2 stranger in a suit and tie with his face painted just like King Diamond on the Conspiracy album. I know that I hadn’t painted it myself! The paint would not wash off no matter what I tried. Imagine my pain and sadness, sitting in the most important job interview in my entire life, knowing that no employer in their right mind would hire a guy who showed up for a job interview dressed like a demented ghoul. They laughed at me. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” they sneered. They simply didn’t understand.
The face paint has never come off. It’s been three years now. I’m still unemployed, although I had a brief part time job as a greeter at Wal-Mart until I was fired for supposedly causing the store to be attacked by evil spirits. My children try their best to understand, but when the other kids make fun of them because their daddy is dressed up for Halloween everyday it hurts their feelings. The community has shunned me. I stopped going to church because they kept dousing me with holy water. Everywhere I go I am an outcast.
There is no known cure for King Diamond’s Disease. A diet low in orange sherbet can lessen many of the symptoms, but Bendixitis is a lifetime ailment that will never leave you once you have it. I have found strength in my support group Survivors of An Unmercyful Fate. We meet once a week and discuss how to live life one day at a time. I have met a lot of great people in the Atlanta area who suffer like me including my sponsor Joann, a kindergarten teacher who has lived with King Diamond’s disease since she saw the King on The Spider’s Lullabye Tour back in 1995. Her strength in going through her day trying to teach the alphabet to screaming, crying, terrified children is an inspiration to us all.
With research and time, a cure might be found. Until that day comes, I will wear my face paint proudly knowing that my “disorder” allows me to have something in common with the greatest vocalist ever to walk the earth. But still, I long for a day when I can walk down the street without old women cringing and middle aged men asking me to sing them a song about my grandmother.
A Time To Forget
Posted by Keith Spillett in Existential Rambings on September 11, 2011
When something terrible, something truly unforgivable occurs, we often look to the language for comfort. One readymade expression that is used to comfort us in times of genuine despair and confusion is “Never Forget”. This expression has become a part of our post-9/11 mourning process. The idea behind it is that if we don’t forget the horrors of that terrible day it will have some meaning for us. Then, maybe we can use those feelings of pain and grief in order to achieve some balance in the world. We can right the wrongs of that day, on some level, through an act of national collective memory.
As comforting as that idea may be, I wonder if it really has achieved what we’ve wanted from it. It has been 10 years since that day and few have forgotten. The test of an idea is its manifestation in the world we live in. Has clinging to the memory of 9/11 made the world a better place? Have we used our memories to heal the wounds of that day? Some would believe that we have. I do not. I look out into a world where we are mired in two of the longest wars in U.S. history, into a world consumed by turmoil, into a world where chaos and strife are commonplace, into a world where we have seemingly lost all faith in the systems that have been created to help us, into a world where the center surely has not held. We have remembered, but our memory has served us poorly.
Al-Queda has been weakened significantly. If that was the goal of not forgetting, then we can argue it has been effective. But, was that all we wanted? Was disrupting the actions of a small, but vicious terrorist group all we were hoping for after that terrible day? I believe that America saw the terror of that day and wanted desperately to be part of a world where that sort of thing could not happen again, not just here, but anywhere. For a brief and fleeting moment, we stood together. Ten years later, we are a deeply polarized nation, extended far beyond our means, spiraling from one catastrophe to the next without much hope for a better world. Ten years later, we may be safer from Al-Qaeda, but as a whole, our world is an unmitigated disaster.
There is no clear consensus on what 9/11 actually meant. Some people believe that its meaning is that we need to use all means at our disposal to crush anything that resembles a threat, some people have taken the message that we should curb our military adventurism, some people have taken the message that all Muslims are evil, some have taken the message that the world should come together in spite of religious and racial differences. It is even become relatively acceptable to question whether the U.S. government itself was complicit in the horrors of that day. We all remember, but our memories have led us to a very different place.
I’m going to suggest a radically different approach to how to cope with the anniversary of 9/11. It will probably be viewed in some circles as highly disrespectful, but I assure you that no disrespect is intended. I believe that the central lesson of 9/11 is that terrible things happen to innocent people for no reason whatsoever. It is an unjust world where some things can never be explained or properly understood. Life is filled with random and capricious acts of horror that take place everyday. Our responsibility is to lessen the suffering of the living, not to compensate for the horrors inflicted upon the dead. We have remembered, but we have not healed, we have not grown and we have not made a better world for our children. For those who lost loved ones, it will be impossible to forget that day, but for the rest of us it is time to move on. We cannot create a better world from our past, but we have a greater obligation to create a better future from the world around us today.
We have lived in the looming shadows of those buildings for ten years. Maybe it is time to forget. Not from a place of ignorance or disinterest, but from a need to build a healthier, safer world. Instead of remembering the violence of the past, we can renounce the use of violence in the present. Instead of thinking of the paradise that was lost to us, we can build a new, more beautiful world out of the tools of compassion and empathy. The past is over and that day can never be changed. The present and the future extend before us filled with promise and possibility. We have cried, we have mourned, we have prayed, and we have paid our debts to the dead. It is time to move on.
Achilles Out Against Trojans With Torn Achilles
Posted by Keith Spillett in Blithering Sports Fan Prattle on September 9, 2011
Career In Jeopardy?
The Greeks today announced that star warrior Achilles would be out indefinitely with a torn Achilles tendon. The news came as a shock to many Greek fans who believed Achilles to be invincible. The injury, sustained when a stray arrow fired by that skinny little punk Paris hit him in the foot, could potentially be career threatening. Achilles struggled to his feet and limped away into the distance cursing Paris as well as the god Apollo, who he blamed directly for his injury. In a 2 PM press conference an enraged, tearful Achilles swore an oath “upon the throne of Zeus” to be back in time for the playoffs.
The news of Achilles injury is another in a long line of stories about the troubled, mercurial but amazingly talented superstar. Achilles has just recently returned from a two month hold out because of The Greeks’ failure to guarantee his war prize and love Briseis in his contract. He also was recently suspended by commissioner Roger Goodell for the flagrant destruction of Hector’s Body and his refusal to return it to The Trojans. Achilles is a wildly popular figure among the fans of the Greeks, but many warriors from around the league have grown tired of him acting like a heel.
The major injury to Achilles is part of a rash of recent injuries that have hampered the Greeks. In the past week, several pivotal performers have sustained serious injuries including tight end JerMicheal Finley (hamstring), King Agamemnon (axe through head) and Patroclus (death). The Greeks will be relying on their heavily depleted bench in order to defeat the great Trojan War Machine this Sunday on the frozen tundra of Ilium. Las Vegas odds-makers have moved the line from Greeks by 5 to Trojans by 2 since news of Achilles injury hit the wire.
Gods and Ends
Posted by Keith Spillett in General Weirdness, Pointyheaded Highbrow Stuff on September 4, 2011
Greek Mythology has always been a source of great fascination to me. The Ancient Greeks had an uncanny way of explaining the random, capricious nature of life through their deities. The gods were wild and erratic. They could hand you a check for a million dollars one minute and throw you in a pit with a thousand rattlesnakes the next. Imagine the entire Old Testament was The Book of Job and you have a decent sense of how things worked for The Greeks.
The gods seemed to be a great way to explain anything and everything. At times, it can seem as if there were more gods then Greeks. Often, scholars spend their time focusing on the better-known gods like Zeus, Poseidon or Athena. However, there are many fascinating stories of gods that were widely worshiped in their day, but have disappeared into the great dustbin of history. Here are some great examples:
Arteriosclorities-The God of Deep Fried Foods
Beyond contributing democracy and many other key philosophical insights to our world, The Greeks are also the first society to deep-fry their foods. From yak to Snickers bars (a delicacy first created by Aristotle), the Greeks would throw nearly anything into a bubbling cauldron of oil. It is no wonder that the Greeks are believed to be the progenitors of Western medicine. Most Greeks weighed upwards of 300 pounds and were barely able to run. This fact tends to throw their achievements during the Olympic games into a whole different light.
Supposedly, Arteriosclorities was one of Zeus’ many sons from an affair with Eris, the goddess of strife and discord. In order to hide this affair from his wife Hera after the child was born, Zeus placed Arteriosclorities into the stomach of Dionysus while he was sleeping off a wild night of overeating and general debauchery. Dionysus awoke with a terrible feeling of discomfort and collapsed. Zeus, not meaning to have harmed Dionysus, sent Indigestius, the Greek god of stomach acid and ulcers, into his stomach to destroy Arteriosclorities. The two had a great battle, which was won by Indigestius. Dionysus finally awoke with terrible stomach pains that could only be allayed by eating massive amounts of antacids.
McKuenius-The God of Bad Poetry and Greeting Cards
The Greeks are known for creating some of the most poignant and moving poetry in human history. But, for every Homer, there were 1,000 less talented hacks trying to write their own Iliad. Many of these no talent writers ended up working for the Hallmark Corporation, which was founded in 654 B.C., with the mission of sending sappy, dull poetry to people on important days of their lives. Their patron saint is the god McKuenius.
McKuenius was known for writing terribly boring, pointless poetry and asking Hermes to deliver it. Hermes, the busy messenger god, was forced to deliver idiotic compositions like “Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, You are a Goddess and Athena is too” to Aphrodite or “Poseidon likes water, Demeter is his sister, She gave birth to his daughter,” to the god of the sea. After growing tired of having to read this drivel, Hermes begged Zeus to punish McKuenius in order to make him stop writing. First, Zeus sentenced him to one hundred years of writing dirty limericks on bathroom stalls. However, Zeus quickly discovered that he was enjoying his job. Zeus realized he was a lost cause and sent him to pits of Tartarus and made him write a detailed description of Sisyphus rolling a rock up the hill for eternity. He is still there today, happily describing suffering and misery in a pithy, gleeful, and highly moronic way.
Aggasius-The God Of Male Pattern Baldness
The gods seemed to all have some sort of fatal flaw. Be it rage, greed, avarice or just plain old insanity, they all seemed to have something locked into their character that made them both all-powerful and amazingly vulnerable. One of the earliest examples of this is Aggasius, the god of male pattern baldness. Aggusius was one of the original Titan gods who were overthrown by Zeus and The Olympian gods at 4:22 PM on February 12th 3212 B.C. Aggasius was capable of creating tornadoes, causing earthquakes and smiting entire nations with a wave of his staff. However, he was unable to grow hair on the top of his head. The tragic irony of Agassius was that he could grow massive amounts on his back, his ears and even on his shoulders like Sonny Corleone in the first Godfather film. He tried several potions created by Greek pharmaceutical manufacturers, a terribly made hairpiece created from the beard of Hyperion, and even tried to rubbing pomegranate seeds on his head three times a day, nothing seemed to work. In spite of his great power, the other gods laughed at “The Bald One” whenever his back was turned. Eventually, he grew tired of the mockery, quit being a god and moved to a suburb of Stillwater, Oklahoma, where he still lives today working as a successful middle manager at a meat packing company.
GOP Frontrunner Perry: “King Diamond is Too Moderate For America”
Posted by Keith Spillett in King Diamond For President in 2012 on August 30, 2011
Too Moderate For America???
In the hopes of stemming the growing tide of voters supporting King Diamond for President, Republican frontrunner Rick Perry lashed out at The King’s campaign which he claimed is “well outside of the mainstream in American politics.” In a speech given by Perry at the home of noted abortion clinic bomber Jack Marcus, Perry went on a full scale five minute offensive against Diamond in an attempt to show that he does not represent the values of today’s Republican Party. “Where are the irresponsible proposals for tax cuts for the wealthy? Where are the preposterous accusations of President Obama’s link to The Communist Party? Where are the crazed threats of violence against Third World Countries? Do you realize King Diamond has been on the campaign trail for less than three weeks and he has yet to accuse an Islamic charity group with having ties to Al-Qaeda? I had been in the race less than a week when I threatened to beat up the Head of The Federal Reserve Board! King Diamond is clearly too moderate for the Republican Party and definitely too moderate for America,” shouted a wild-eyed Perry in front of 200 cheering, drooling Perry for President staffers.
Perry Campaigning In Cedar Rapids
Perry is not the only candidate who has attacked King Diamond in recent days. Former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney hammered The King for “sounding like a girl when he sings”. Romney went on to accuse King Diamond of plagiarizing the entire Abigail album, which Romney claims he himself wrote in his Geometry notebook while a high school student in the 1960s. Romney even went so far as to question The King’s metal credentials. “I’m much more of a metalhead than King Diamond,” exclaimed Romney in front of the only guy who came to see his speech last night in Des Moines, “I have every Venom album on vinyl, while King Diamond only has them all on CD. I ask you…Who is more metal? Me or The So-Called King.”
Michelle Bachmann chimed in yesterday claiming “King Diamond is God’s punishment on America for the sin of collecting taxes.” Ron Paul accused The King of “actually being a secret agent of The Lizard People and The Cult of The Illuminati.” Some guy named Jon Huntsman who claimed to be a Republican Presidential candidate also said some nasty stuff about King Diamond, but no one in the press bothered to write it down or record it.
Much of this negative campaigning reflects a belief that the Republicans have a chance to win the election in November if they can just turn the American public into a frightened mass of well-armed lunatics. This strategy has worked well so far against President Barack Obama. In a recent CNN/Gallup Poll, 65 percent of Americans claimed they would “vote for a seal who knew how to balance a ball on its nose before they’d reelect Obama”. In a Rasmussen Poll taken last week, it was revealed that 82 percent of Republicans feared that if they voted for Obama a plague would immediately descend upon the land and rabid dogs would eat their children. However, in both polls however, Obama still leads Perry by around 4 percent.
King Diamond has remained silent so far about the attacks although he has mentioned to several sources inside his campaign that “he looks forward to playing beach volleyball with Michelle Bachmann’s head”. He also joked with a reporter about Rick Perry’s intense persona saying “everybody’s a tough guy when they have Secret Service protection. He wouldn’t last 5 seconds in The Pit. He couldn’t beat up my grandmother.” The King has a tough week of campaigning ahead, including a major, make-or-break policy speech in front of the influential “Satanists For Christ” National Convention in Davenport this Friday. His ability to attract evangelical voters is seen as the key to him winning the all-important Iowa caucus in January.
The Purest Man In All Of Heavy Metal
Posted by Keith Spillett in BlaK Dan's Theatre of Cruelty on August 28, 2011
Blak Dan after winning his award. He refused to show his face to the camera out of the fear of losing some of his purity.
The Tyranny of Tradition is proud to announce that this year’s prestigious award for The Purest Man in All of Metal was presented this morning to BlaK Dan Krutzmeyer of Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania. BlaK Dan won the award in 2010-11 for his undying commitment to the cause of real, black, pure, true heavy metal. We had a chance to catch up with him after this morning’s ceremony at The Radisson Hotel in Kenosha, Wisconsin.
Tyranny: BlaK Dan, we are really excited to catch up with you on such an important day. How are you feeling?
BlaK Dan: Bleak, man. Bleak. Before we go any further, I need to straighten something out with you. My name is no longer BlaK Dan. Two months ago I had it legally changed to XxxxZyr. XxxxZyr was Odin’s nephew’s horse. The original name of the horse had some vowels in it, but I removed them because vowels are feminine and, thus, impure.
Tyranny: Vowels are feminine and impure?
XxxxZyr: Yes, vowels imply weakness and girlishness. Allowing any form of femininity to enter into my soul would make me less pure. I refuse to use vowels. It takes away from my inner purity.
Tyranny: So, do you have a girlfriend?
XxxxZyr: No, I refuse to weaken myself by communicating in any way with women. I rarely will talk to men either. When I do, I try to communicate in a long dead language like Aramaic. That way, our conversation will be more pure. I have agreed to use an impure language like English for this interview as part of the terms of receiving my award, but I plan on never using this contaminated language again.
Tyranny: Okay, moving right along. XxxxZyr, I’ve heard you are in a metal band. What sort of music do you play?
XxxxZyr: My band is a one-man project. We are called grrrvkw, in honor of the sound humans make when yawning, one of the few truly pure things a person can do. To play my music, I go out into the deepest part of the forest with my guitar. I find a cool, quiet spot as far from civilization as possible, where I can capture my inner essence and then I roll around in leaves for an hour. When I emerge from the leaves, I play one dark note and hold it for three hours. I do this four times a day. I will not defile my music by playing it in front of an audience or recording it. I’ve got to keep it pure, man.
Tyranny: What sort of music do you enjoy listening to?
XxxxZyr: Okay, first of all, I do not enjoy anything. Enjoyment is a weakened state. It allows one to become out of touch with their inner-purity. I enjoy nothing.
Second of all, I will only listen to the purest forms of metal. Nothing impure will enter my ears. I used to listen to bands like Iron Maiden, but I realized that by recording their music, they sold out. The only pure thing they did was a recording Steve Harris’ mother accidently made of him crying when he was two days old. I own a copy of it on vinyl and listen to it from time to time. That was before they started selling out and playing music for “people”. Everyone who has ever recorded anything or played anything in front of other humans or even thought for one second about the effects of their music on others is a sell-out and I have no time for them.
Tyranny: What are your goals and plans now that you have been declared the most pure man in all of metal?
XxxxZyr: Well, first of all, I want to make it clear that this award doesn’t matter to me. I don’t need to be told I’m pure by anyone else. You are speaking to a man who spent a lifetime looking into the darkest and purest of internal voids. I need nothing from you. As a matter of fact, your very presence diminishes me.
In terms of goals, I am looking for a job where my understanding of purity will be an asset. I long to one day become a metal message board administrator. I could spend the next 60 years of my life making sure that threads are not polluted by comments that go off of the exact theme that the person who began the thread meant. All sarcasm, humor and other weakening agents will be eliminated under my reign. This sort of defilement of message boards should be punishable by death.
Tyranny: Congrats on the award, XxxxZyr, and good luck.
XxxxZyr: Okay, again, you are missing the point. I feel nothing but hatred in its purest form in this moment. As the gods intended it. I do not accept your praise, because by doing so I am lessening myself. I plan on tossing this award into a blazing fire when I return to my cave. I have polluted myself by being near others. This ritual is shameful and I hope to never experience anything like it again.
The Man Who Would Be King Diamond
Posted by Keith Spillett in King Diamond For President in 2012 on August 23, 2011
(Here’s a great piece that was on CNN’s website last Friday)
(CNN)-After watching him burst from the obscure world of heavy metal music onto the national stage as a Republican candidate for the Presidency, most Americans are asking the same question, “Who is King Diamond?” As of 2010, most political commentators hadn’t even heard the album Fatal Portrait let alone considered him to be a possible challenger to Barack Obama’s Presidency. However, the past few months have seen a whirlwind of political action by The King, including solving the debt crisis, helping to overthrow Mubarak’s government in Egypt and giving a speech in front of 2 million screaming, poorly-dressed metalheads at this month’s Million Metalhead March.
Not only is The King gathering a flood of support from disaffected Republicans (as well as some Democrats), his shadowy political action committee, known as THEM, has raised over 13 million dollars in less than 2 weeks. In order to understand King Diamond’s appeal to voters, it is first important to learn about his fascinating background. In many ways, The King’s story is America’s story.
Kim Bendix Peterson was born in Copenhagen, Denmark in 1739. He was the son of Per Peterson, a blacksmith, and Abigail Peterson, a blood-drinking witch who was a direct descendant of the God Poseidon. He was an intelligent young man who was deeply interested in alchemy, local politics and dead animals. When he turned 16, he had his first meeting with the Dark Lord Satan, who was working as a science teacher at The King’s high school. Satan, who was impressed by young Kim’s quick wit and nimble mind, became something of a mentor to him. “I remember when I first met him,” said Satan in an exclusive interview with CNN last week, “you could just tell he was going to do great things.”
When Kim turned 21, he officially took on the name King Diamond during a ritual sacrifice of Copenhagen’s largest water buffalo. The King was immediately given the powers of invisibility, the ability to cast spells on those he felt were deserving of torment and the occasional ability to raise the dead. Satan worried that The King might be taking on too much at a young age, but Diamond was able to keep things in perspective, rising to the role of Dark Prince in a span of less than five years.
Things haven’t always been easy for The King. Diamond has had to overcome several major obstacles in his life including a yearlong bout with bubonic plague and his grandmother’s devastating battle with mental illness. However, nothing compares to the horrible four year stretch where he was dead back in the 1840s. After being burned at the stake by wild-eyed French farmers who believed he caused blight on their crops, he was trapped in a darkened purgatory for what seemed like eternity. Eventually Charon, the ferryman on the river Styx, found the King screaming falsetto Latin choruses at passing demons and led him out of the realm of eternal darkness. “I felt like The King still had so much evil to bring to the world,” said Charon in his biography “Rollin’ On The River of The Dead: A Memoir”, “so I took pity on his soul and returned him to the world of the living. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
After his return to earth, The King became involved in politics, eventually landing a high-ranking position as Ambassador to Russia under President Teddy Roosevelt. While in the Roosevelt administration, Diamond accidently helped to negotiate the end of the Russo-Japanese War. For his work, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize along with the President, an Award that he tossed into a blazing fire moments after he received it. Things turned sour between him and Roosevelt soon after when the President refused to allow Satan to take control of Arizona, which he believed Satan rightfully won from the President in a game of poker. The King became disillusioned with politics and travelled to the Far East in order to learn meditation techniques from several enlightened masters.
The King returned to Europe in the 1970s and began his career as a musician, believing that music was the best way to spread his message of unbridled horror to the world. After stints in bands like Brainstorm and Black Rose, the King truly found his calling in the 1980s fronting metal legends Mercyful Fate. Along with the seven studio albums he recorded with Fate, he also put together twelve magnificent studio records as a solo artist. After seeing what he referred to as the “embarrassing state of American politics”, he decided it was time to return and save America from the “tyranny of the painfully stupid”. The King plans to bring a no-nonsense approach to governing that includes a more equitable tax code and the return of the guillotine. He has a bold, striking vision for America that many consider radical. However, in these troubled times, a radical message like his may be just what Americans are looking for.
Pure Unadulterated Filth
Posted by Keith Spillett in General Weirdness on August 20, 2011
“A newspaper is the lowest thing that there is” -Richard J Daley
I’ve read a good number of articles over the past few years decrying the end of the newspaper. For all intents and purposes, the medium is a dying breed. People are getting their news from the Internet, television and other sources much more frequently. The importance of the medium has been unquestionable. Some of the most significant writers of the last hundred years owe their livelihoods to it. However, the day the last copy of The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal (or whatever behemoth newspaper outlet manages to be the last one standing) disappear into the gutter of history I will dance a jig in the streets. The fact of the matter is that newspaper is the single most disgusting thing that has ever been created.
Forget the content for a minute. This is a case where McLuhan’s “Medium is the Message” idea really makes sense. In this case, the medium is enough to turn one’s stomach. The most vile odor ever created is the smell of newspaper. When I am in a restaurant and the person at the table next to me is reading a newspaper, I try to move to another seat. I’d rather the person sit there with a cup of coffee while vivisecting the stomach of a moose. The worst are the cheap local papers or supermarket tabloids. They stink like The Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July. The odor is simply unbearable.
If it just smelled badly it might well be tolerable, but the texture of it is enough to send me into sepsis. Accidently brushing into one or, worse, touching it with my hands is unquestionably the worst sensation possible. If I were ever captured and interrogated by the police all they would need to do is threaten to place a copy of the Op-Ed Page of the Washington Post over my face for 10 minutes and I’d cop to anything from the assassination of William McKinley to the kidnapping of the Lindbergh Baby.
I live in constant, unending terror over the thought of wet newspaper. Oh dear God! Even writing about it makes me want to vomit. The way it wilts and bleeds into the other pages. The horror! I am filled with anger anytime I see someone lick his or her fingers and turn the page. What type of disgusting animal would do such a thing? Of all the loathsome, repugnant habits! I could sit for hours in a smoke filled room with people eating raw steak and washing it down with phlegm flavored soda and not beat an eyelash, but if one of those folks licked their fingers and touched a newspaper I’d tear my eyes out faster than old King Oedipus.
My working definition of hell is a place where I am covered in a giant pile of wet newspaper for all of eternity. If there were actually a passage in the Bible that referred to this, I’d sit front row for every Billy Graham sermon from now until my dying day wearing sackcloth and screaming “AMEN!” even when he didn’t ask me to.
The ultimate obscenity is food on newspaper. To me, there is no greater assault on dignity and virtue then a newspaper stained with the residue of a pork chop. Ever since the day I first heard that the British will occasionally eat fish and chips off of newspaper, I have refused to see them as a civilized people. They could come up with fifty Magna Cartas and it would not overcome the sheer tastelessness of one guy at a Yorkshire tavern going ham on a pile of fried cod over a week old copy of The London Times. Disgusting! What goes through their minds? And the idea of wrapping fish in newspaper?!?!? What sort of sadist would think of such a thing? Take the most awful scent known to mankind and rap the corpse of a rotting animal in it. Really? Think of the aroma! What is wrong with people?
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with this awful gagging sensation caused by a recurring nightmare where I have to clean up a tipped over garbage can with the remains of expired potato salad meshed with newspaper. I prefer the dreams where I am attacked by hordes of raging vampires. Sure I die violently, but by comparison it’s a walk in the park.
I’m not the type of fellow with a horribly weak stomach. I’ve had to man up and change a lot of terrible, noxious diapers over the past four years. I handle it like a pro. However, there is a limit for how much wretchedness a person can take. At least I live in Atlanta, a city that is not newspaper crazy. I just spent two months in Minnesota and those people love it. They would take off their clothes and roll around in copy of the Pioneer Press if they could. All anyone ever talks about is what is in the paper. They have no idea how nauseating their habit is.
The newspaper is an affront to hygiene and good taste. The thing is a pure abomination. I don’t ask much of the future, just a world where my children and my children’s children don’t have to live with the constant fear of this putrid entity. That is all I ask.
The Tyranny of Tradition 