Posts Tagged surrealist nonsense

Thrash Or Die Is A Band: Mayonnaise Disciples of Review

thrash or die

Deep from the hills of Caligula rode a horse with no name.  And that name was Thrash.  From the bowels of the Everywhere and the end of the Nowhere. Gnarfeling Garthocks from the hills of Montezuma to the fields of Tripoli.  Galloping gyrating priapysmic Persepolis of perception.  Panopticon of pleasure. Purple people.  Eaters.  And that name was Thrash.

Open to Track 2012.  Truck Turner was a man with a plan and that plan was Panama.  And the name of that plan was Thrash.  Mountains upon mountains of mayonnaise; wandering Muppets of malfeasance.  Pituitary puppets of penultimate progress.  Then why do you call his name?  Whomever begat the beginning and began the begetting.  Retroactively saved.  Radioactively shaved.  Seen through the crawling eye.  The one-eyed wonderer wobbled into town.  With the sunset at his back and the western sky on his trunk.  He wore a hat and his name was stenciled in blood and guts into his cavernous chest.  And that name was Thrash.

Barfing sarcophagus.  Thrash or Die is a diet.  Thrash or Diet will not die.  Vomit induced vomit on a Friday night.  Metal Thrashing Muppets.  Muppet Thrashing Mad.  Vomit till we party.  Party like it’s 1929.  Falling into the ever-loving void.  Named after the one who cannot be named.  And that name was Thrash.

Mountains of morbid mosh potatoes mangle a Moshpit Messiah.  WAKE UP!  The Return of the Thrashlord destroys your spinal cord.  WAKE UP!  A fetal flurry of Fatal Fury and the precise precision of Terrorvision.  WAKE UP!  To the sound of  galloping rage that will nuke your ribcage.  WAKE UP!   To the name that will maim and defame the lame all the way to the heavy metal Hall of Fame.  And that name was Thrash.

That canal was rooted in his tooth.  That tooth was rooted in his face.  That face was rooted in his mind.  That mind was rooted in reality.  That reality was rooted in belief.  That belief was rooted in error.  That error was rooted in faith.  That faith was rooted in progress.  That progress was rooted in death.  That death was rooted in name.  And that name was Thrash.  And that name was Thrash or Die.

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Five Zombies In Search of A McRib

The Nexus of the Crisis and The Origin of Swarms

They were banging wildly at the windows.  Bloody, barbeque sauce stained hands clutching at whatever they could grab.  We had kept them at bay by throwing of the store’s stock of McRibs through the drive-thru window into the parking lot.  The horde of undead monsters gobbled them up, consuming them in a grotesque span of seconds. In their fiendish delirium, they could no longer tell the difference between human life and a dollar ninety-nine cent sandwich (2.99 in some markets).  The five of us were about to become a very unhappy meal.

There was Janet, the waitress, Addams, the cop, McBain, the lawyer with great hair, and The Doctor.  They had gone through their lives secretly wondering when their hour would finally come round.  They never would have believed they would perish terribly, mistaken for a limited time sandwich.  I had dressed well, anticipating teaching an excellent day of thought provoking history classes.  Instead, I was going to be eaten by zombies at my local neighborhood McDonald’s.

Janet:  We should feed them something else.

Addams:  We should not feed them, it will just encourage them.

McBain:  We should reason with them.

Me:  We should run.

Doctor:  I’m a doctor.

Janet:  We should scare them.

Addams:  We should shoot them.

McBain:  We should trick them.

Me:  We should hide.

Doctor:  I’m a doctor.

Janet:  We should climb out through the air conditioning ducts.

Addams:  We should set off an explosion in the parking lot.

McBain:  We should wait for the army to save us.

Me:  We should help them.

Doctor:  I’m a doctor!

(Banging on the windows is growing louder)

Janet:  We should feed them the cop.

Addams:  We should feed them the lawyer.

McBain:  We should feed them the poor.

Me:  We should try to understand them.

Doctor:  I’m a Doctor!

Janet:  We should fight them with our mop handles.

Addams:  We should make an example of one of them and scare the others.

McBain:  We should poison the McRibs, then feed them to the zombies.

Me:  We should educate them.

Doctor:  I am a….Doctor!!!!!

(More zombies pounding on the windows.  The zombie moaning is becoming intolerable)

Janet:  We should protest their actions.

Addams:  We should show no fear.

McBain:  We should see if we can pay them to go away.

Me:  We should build them houses.

Doctor:  I……AM…..A…..DOCTOR!!!!!!

Janet:  We should raise their taxes!

Addams:  We should use our weapons!

McBain:  We should offer them a simplified tax code that does not punish job creators!

Me:  We should offer them adequate dental care!!!!

Doctor:  I am a doctor…I am a doctor….I am a doctor!  I’m a Doctor!!!

(The glass in the main window begins to crack.  Zombies swarm towards opening with horrific glee.)

Janet:  We should pray with them.

Addams:  We should pray for them.

McBain:  We should pray for ourselves.

Me:  We should love them.

Doctor:  I am a doctor????

(The window shatters and the zombies pour through)

Janet:  This can’t happen; I’m too young.

Addams:  This can’t happen; I have a family.

McBain:  This can’t happen; this is America

Me:  This can’t happen; we’ve acted honorably.

Doctor:  This can’t happen; I’m a doctor.

The zombies attack and overwhelm us.  Lots of gore and guts and gizzards and grossness.  You’ve seen this movie before or at least one like it.  Just make up your own ending.  Mine is…They all die.  Alone.

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