Trollheart

Yeah, and rearrange the letters in his name, throw in a e and you have one of the baddest mofos of the seventies. Would YOU mess with this guy?

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

The Batlord

An Edumacation for You Dumb Cunts: Part Ein

It is obvious that the ignorant poseur scum of this site are too incompetent to be able to find quality metal without my help, so this is the first installment of a series that will educate you taint lickers on some of the lesser known but totally kickass True Metal bands out there. So without further ado...

Necro Schizma

It is a cold, moonless night. You are lost in a forest. It would be pitch black except that the forest is bathed in a sickly, eerie light that seems to have no source. The trees have all color bleached from them from this light, but all else is cloaked in the blackness of night. Suddenly you hear a hideous cry that seems to come from everywhere at once. You panic and flee, not knowing whether the cries that seem to be following you belong to some maniac or something even more sinister. You feel lost in a seemingly endless forest yet claustrophobic due to the darkness and cries that surround you. But what's this? BAM!!! That's Necro Schizma with an ice pick to your fucking cornea!

That's the feeling given off by this absolutely putrid band of nutbags. If you dig extreme doom then this is your band. If you prefer your black metal of the eighties variety then this is totally your fucking band! If you take the primitive racket of Hellhammer, slow it down to a snail's pace, and let it sit till the late eighties and absorb all the advances in extreme metal, then you get Necro Schizma. But these guys are more than just some ugly, lo fi version of Electric Wizard or Disembowelment. These righteous dudes were one of, if not the first, death/doom bands. Too bad they only released one demo, Erupted Evil, along with a rehearsal demo before breaking up. Don't let that stop you though. Erupted Evil is a forgotten classic with an ultra shitty production that, along with the primitive and sparse instrumentation that gives the music spaces of silence that build tension, captures the evil, claustrophobic atmosphere of Mayhem better than most black metal bands can ever dream of. Approach with caution.

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The Batlord

Top Ten Reasons Why a Metal Show Is Better than Sex

1. To have sex, you need to wear a condom. To go to a metal show, all you need is a denim vest.

2. If you tell everyone that you saw Slayer last night, people will think you're awesome. If you tell everyone that you banged some chick last time, the bitch'll set your car on fire.

3. If you see a crazy show, you have a good time. If you bang a crazy chick, you have a good time. At first.

4. Have you ever tried to crowd surf at an orgy?

5. If you give someone a black eye at a show, it's all good. If you give a girl a black eye, the cops'll arrest you and beat you down back at the precinct.

6. I've never had to throw an angry boyfriend down the stairs at a metal show.

7. Two words: child support.

8. If there's a long line at a show, it'll still be just as much fun for the last guy in line as the guy in front.

9. If Bruce Dickinson's tits are saggy, at least I don't have to feel them anyway.

10. Thirty bucks can either get you into a show, or it can get you crabs.

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Plankton

Gold.

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See location...

The Batlord

A Review of Fueled By Fire's Album Cover

A few years ago, Fueled By Fire released the album, Spread the Fire. Unfortunately. This album was everything that is wrong with the thrash revival. Third rate Exodus worship at it's worst. But all was not lost, since it has a cover that truly captures the spirit of the War On Poseurs. They may be untalented pretenders, but they are truly my brothers in arms. I suggest you all take a page from their book and wage war on the poseur menace as these True Metalheads are surely doing.

There are, of course, many ways to do this. The obvious way is to find a poseur and punch him in the face/solar plexus/ballbag, but that isn't the only way. One of my favorites is to steal a poseur's phone without them knowing, make threatening calls to the President, and then return it to them without them being any the wiser. This will be especially effective if you live in Russia. Another option is to tell him that his makeup/hipster glasses/purse/etc is six months out of fashion. This will likely send him crying into a bathroom. If you have used an especially biting remark he might even start cutting himself. Good job. Of course, you may not always be fighting an offensive war. A poseur may have made war upon you himself. You must then puff out your chest, wave your arms in the air, and jump up and down to make yourself appear bigger. This will probably intimidate him and show that you are a True Metalhead not to be trifled with. If however, this is not effective, then you must now bare your teeth and charge him. Now he will be terrified and fall to the ground feigning death. Do not be fooled. Sniff him and roll him on his back to show your dominance, and as a finishing touch, rub your scrotum up and down his forehead. Remember. The only good poseur is a teabagged poseur.

Stay metal my friends.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part I

It was a dark and stormy night. That's a lie. It was like 3 pm on a Tuesday, but that doesn't sound nearly as bad ass. So why the fuck did I even say anything? Fuck it. So, it was a bright and sunny afternoon, and I was bumpin' Somewhere In Time by Iron Maiden, when the most awesome fucking idea came to me. I should go time travelling. Hell yeah! First, I had to go tell my boss that I wasn't coming in to work today. I woulda called, but I had to throw my phone at some kid wearing a Slipknot hoodie. I went up to my job, and long story short, I hit him in the face with a brick. Now I just had to find a time machine. There was only one dude I could think of who might have one. Devin Townsend. What's that you say? Why would Devin Townsend have a time machine? Cause Devin Townsend is the mad scientist of metal, the mastermind behind Strapping Young Lad, and an uber genius who routinely kicks Stephen Hawking's ass at Scrabble. But a True Metalhead would know that. Which means that you're a fucking poseur. Don't let me catch you around here, bitch. I will fuck your mother in the ass and make her lick the shit off my dick while you watch. I guess I got kinda carried away there, but poseurs just get my goat. Anyways, now I just had to go to Antarctica and find Devin's secret laboratory.

Unfortunately, I couldn't take a plane, since I was on the no-fly list. Apparently you're not allowed to go on a plane with C4 in your underwear. Long story short, if you wanna get all the way down to the tip of South America without any money and you're not willing to suck trucker cock, your only real option is hijacking a mother of two and handcuffing her to radiators in sleazy motels at night to keep her from going to the cops until you get to Chile. But that's another story. After that, it was a simple matter to stow away in a ship going to Antarctica to resupply some science base. Most of the scientists were poseurs, but I'd found a contact on the UMU (Underground Metal Underground) who worked there who could take me to Devin's laboratory. Time machine, here I come!

Once I arrived at the laboratory, I rang the doorbell and waited for several minutes until Devin's face appeared on a monitor next to the entrance. "Who the fuck are you?! If you're the pizza guy, I called you guys like six months ago, so you can kiss my ass if you expect a tip!" "No", I said, "I just wanna use your time machine." "No one but a True Metalhead may step foot in the Devlab. If you would enter my sanctuary, then you must prove that you're not a poseur. After all, anyone can buy a Morbid Angel t-shirt." "I am a Defender of the Faith until the day I die. I can pass any test." "Then answer this question: who would win in a fight between Lemmy and God?" "Dude, Lemmy is God." Then, the screen went black and the door opened. I entered the Devlab and made my way into Devin's inner sanctuary, where I found him making the Millennium Falcon out of LEGOs. Sweet. When he saw me, he asked, "So, how did you know that I had a time machine?" I responded, "Dude, you wrote City. Of course you have a time machine. So can I use it or not?" "Any True Metalhead is more than welcome to use my time machine. Follow me." With that, we left his sanctuary and went into another room with a bunch of time machiney looking shit. Use your imagination. I'm fucking lazy. Long story short, there was a pod, and buttons, and a switch, and a midget named Miguel, and before I knew it, I was a time travelling motherfucker. Kick ass.

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Trollheart

The Batlord scores again! Now, where are my jelly babies? Just settle down and enjoy this wild ride while listening to Devil's Train --- what do you mean, I have to leave? Goofy name? Hey, look, if you shift one letter it becomes "Devil strain", which is more like Satan taking a dump. Any better? No? Then (pulls out BFG --- what? Doesn't anyone play DOOM anymore?) just suck on this, mofo! I'm a-stayin'!



Please?

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

The Batlord

Take your meds and go sit down. BTW I keep seeing this copy of DOOM for Gameboy Advance at the local used game shop and I keep wanting to hit the clerk over the head with a rock and jack it. Fuck paying twenty bucks for a twenty year old game!

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part II

Devin had asked me where I wanted to go when I was about to go time travelling, and I just told him "Send me someplace bitchin'!" Naturally, he sent me to Norway in the time of the Vikings. I guess that's why he's a fucking genius. Anyways, that's exactly where I now was. Fucking awesome! I'd been making mead in my bathtub since I was five years old, but now I was gonna get to have the real shit. Did I already say "Fucking awesome!"? Well I'm saying it again since it bears repeating. I was in a snow covered clearing in the middle of a particularly grim and frostbitten forest. It was cold as balls, but I'd listened to far too much Immortal to let a little thing like sub-zero temperatures bother me. While looking around, I noticed a column of smoke coming from somewhere to the south, so I started making my way there.

After about twenty minutes of walking, I came upon a clearing with a small house in the middle. There was what appeared to be a forge off to the side. It looked...forgey. You know the drill. If you want more detail, then you're gonna have to spoon me first. That actually sounded pretty gay now that I think about it. If you tell anybody about this I'll drive across the country, smoking meth and shitting in an adult diaper, just to find you and punch you in the throat. Anyways, there was some dude at the forge hammering at a piece of metal on an anvil. I approached the dude, intent on asking him directions to someplace bitchin', like a wizard's tower or a pagan orgy, when I noticed that the blacksmith was actually Varg Vikernes of Burzum. I was sorta weirded out, since, as any non-poseur will know, Varg Vikernes is a convicted murderer, neo-nazi, and just an all around nutbag. Of course, he was the only person I'd seen here, and he'd recorded Filosofem, so I guess I had no choice but to be cool. He finally noticed me when I got closer, and I thought I saw him sneer at my Morbid Angel shirt, but he quickly covered it up and greeted me. "Hail fellow Defender of the Faith! What brings you to my humble abode?" "Uh...what's up, uh...dude. Devin Townsend sent me through time, and now I'm here to engage in bitchin' adventures." Then he got a funny look on his face for a second and said, "If you were anyone but a True Metalhead I would say anything, but...no, this is too much for even one such as you." Obviously I wasn't gonna take this kinda shit from a chode like him, so I demanded that he tell me what he was talking about. "Well, if you really must know; far from here lies the land of Gnitaheith. It is a barren wasteland where nothing now grows. It has been poisoned by the fiercest of all dragons, Fafnir. He is a fearful and terrible beast with scales as hard as iron, and a gaze that would bring even the bravest of men to madness. In his dark cave lair, he guards a great treasure. I say that we slay Fafnir and split the treasure between us." I didn't trust the prick, but slaying a dragon? "Fuck yeah, motherfucker! What the fuckin' fuck are we fuckin' waiting for?! Let's go turn that bitch into a purse! Not for me of course, I'm just saying." Then he told me, "Not yet, my hot blooded friend. First, you need a sword that can pierce Fafnir's armored scales." He then handed me a bitchin' sword. I swung it around a few times, and then struck it against the anvil. It instantly shattered into tiny pieces. I shouted at him, "What the fuck? This sword fucking blows!", after which he handed me an even more bitchin' sword. I swung it at the anvil and again it shattered. Varg looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "I see that you are a True Metalhead of the highest caliber, and that you need a sword to match. I shall give you Gram." I was quite stoked about this, "You got a gram?! Oh hell yes! Roll us a fattie and call some of your neo-nazi bitches so we can get this party started!" But he responded, "No, you fool! The hero Sigmund was given the sword Gram by Odin himself. This sword was shattered when Sigmund met his doom, but I have forged it anew and now give it to you to slay the dragon." With that he produced the most bitchin' sword yet and hand it to me. For the third time I struck the anvil, but this time the anvil was split in two. Bitchin'. After that, Varg Vikernes and I began our journey to Gnitaheith to slay the dragon Fafnir. Hold on to your butts, folks. Asses shall be smote, and names shall be taken.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part III a.

While travelling to Gnitaheith to slay Fafnir, I became so weary that I could barely stand. My throat was raw and cracked from the ragged breaths that I had to force into my fatigued lungs. Each step was a force of will, every mile an eternity. I did not know how much longer I could go on. PSYCHE!!! That's fucking bitch shit! A badass motherfucker such as myself could run ten miles and still fuck your sister. I even punched a bear on the way. That bitch. So anyways, after a journey of several days, Varg and I finally entered the land of Gnitaheith. The ground was scorched and cracked. The few trees that remained were blackened and dead. A fetid mist hung over the land that stung the eyes and burned our lungs. It was a truly bleak landscape. Needless to say, I had a raging boner. What can I say, barren wastelands make me horny. Varg was considerably less enthused by all this than I was, but fuck him. Dude smelled like hot dog water. After about half a day of trudging through this bitchin' desolation, the fetid mist finally parted and we saw a hill.

Upon seeing this, Varg spoke, "Hidden in that hill is Fafnir's lair." "Bout fucking time! I gotta take a shit that could choke an ogre. After I take a dump, we can go and ruin that asshole's shit", but Varg stopped me and said, "That is not wise. There is a river near here that Fafnir drinks from every night whose banks are sheer. My counsel is that we hide behind the bank and wait for the dragon to come, and then pierce his belly with our swords when he bends his neck to drink." I thought that was a pretty gay thing to do, but perhaps discretion was the better part of valor in this case. With that, we made our way to the river, which we discovered after several minutes. It was as Varg had said, a swiftly moving river with almost vertical banks half again as high as a man. The fuck am I talking like this for? Have I contracted gay or something? I sound all epic and shit. Fuck it. I'm too lazy to go all the way back and rewrite this shit, and changing shit up now would make the tone of the narrative inconsistent. I'll just have to deal with it and hope I don't grow a clit and start using body wash. So yeah, after I popped a squat on a dead turtle, we went to the river and started to wait.

It was still several hours till dark, and the awkward silence was getting pretty lame, so I figured I might as well try to start some sort of conversation to pass the time. "So...dragons, huh? They always seem to be guarding some kind of treasure. What's up with that? It's not like they can just walk into Best Buy and get a TV." Varg nodded at this, "They are like the Jew. Always coveting gold that is not their's but unwilling to earn it with the sweat of their brow. They take as much as they can from honest, hard working people and hoard it for themselves as misers. I will take back what they have stolen for the rightful rulers of this land." I'd had enough of this dick sauce, so I tried to subtly change the subject, "Uh...yeah. So, your last album kinda blew ass chunks. Do creative juices not mix well with prison rape juices or something?" We waited in silence after that.

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