The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part III b.

After what seemed like fucking forever, the sun finally set and nightfall came, which was good, cause I was getting pretty sick of waiting here with Mr. Nazi Hot Dog Water. I woulda tied his shoelaces around his balls and used him to go fishing in the river, but I figured it would be good to have him around to help fight the dragon. Just then, I felt the ground shake beneath me, and Varg said, "The dragon is awake!", and I responded, "No shit, Sherlock! Now shut the fuck up and get your bitch ass ready!" Soon, the shaking of the earth became ever more intense, and we became overwhelmed by a foul stench. The ground was now continuously heaving and it became hard to stand. I drew Gram and looked to my right to make sure that Varg was ready, only to find that Varg had disappeared. The fucking shit cunt! I didn't have time to look for him though, for the massive head of Fafnir appeared over my head and wicked talons big enough to hold me in their scaly palms clawed at the banks of the river. The stench was now almost completely overpowering. Fafnir was truly massive and terrible, with scales so black that it was as if the stars themselves had disappeared, but his belly was pale and wrinkled and covered in a foul slime. He dipped his great neck down toward the river and began to drink. A true Defender of the Faith such as myself fears nothing, be it man or beast, but even I could feel a tremor of fear at the site of such an abomination. Gathering my courage, I invoked the name of Dio, patron saint of dragon slaying, and thrust up with Gram into Fafnir's belly all the way up to the hilt. The beast let out a scream that deafened my ears, and reared up on his hind legs before falling to the ground. He writhed and screamed and breathed flame in agony, forcing me to hide behind the bank. After several minutes, the dragon eventually ceased its struggles and lay still, appearing to be dead. I climbed out of the river bed and approached the inert body of the hideous creature, careful that its stillness might be an act.

When I approached Fafnir's great head, his eye opened and looked at me with such hate and malice that I understood what a poseur must see when he sees my gaze. Then, the dragon spoke, "Hail, son of Sabbath. I have long known that you would one day come, for I have seen you in my dreams. You are truly the greatest of your kind. You have long held aloft the banner of True Metal, and have bravely fought it's enemies, but your battle is doomed. Even now, the forces of false metal eat at the roots of all that you love, and, day by day, bring True Metal ever closer to its inevitable destruction. One day, you shall stand alone as the last of your kind, and shall know the taste of despair. Enjoy your triumph this day, but know that it shall be short lived", and then he let out a wicked laugh. With a look of contempt I said, "That's what all poseur dragons who're about to get teabagged say", and with what that, I unzipped my pants and dropped my nuts right on his eye. "Yeah, right in the center of the pupil. Now, clockwise around the iris. Now, counter clockwise. Oh, and what's that? That's a nutsack figure eight is what that is. You've just been teabagged times infinity. True Metal for life, bitch!" Apparently he died at some point during this, but I'm sure he got the gist. So, I just done slayeth a motherfucking dragon. What have you ever done?

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The Batlord

Alright, there were some issues with posting the last chapter (poseur sabotage no doubt) but they have been fixed and Chapter III is now as it should be.

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Unknown Soldier

One of your best entries yet.

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Metal Wars

Power Metal

Pounding Decibels- A Hard and Heavy History

The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IV a.

The last time we joined our intrepid motherfucking hero, he was rubbing his awe inspiring scrotum on the cornea of his defeated enemy, the dragon Fafnir. We now rejoin him as he is zipping his pants and retrieving his sword. As I was struggling to put my massive meat missile back in my pants, I turn my eyes to the hill with the dragon's cave and went off to see my new treasure. Upon arriving at the cave, I saw that it was indeed pretty damn cavey. It was all rocky and stalagmitey and stalactitey and shit. It was also a big ass cave with many chambers, all filled with gold and jewels. It was all very nice and shiny, but all I'd really wanted was to kill the dragon. I mean, fuck money. With money comes responsibility. The very thought makes me wanna punch some upright, contributing member of society in the solar plexus and expose myself to his wife. There was one thing that caught my eye though: a vinyl copy of Bathory's self titled debut, and not just any copy, but the rare version with the golden goat head. Kick fucking ass! Grabbing this most holy of holy relics, I left the cave, intent on finding some large breasted viking wenches to "pillage".

Just then, who should appear but Varg fucking Vikernes, walking up to me as if he hadn't pussed out on me like he'd just gotten his period and needed to go find a tampon. I was so fucking pissed, I could've drop kicked a kitten. "You fucking cunt ass pussy bitch! What the fuck happened to you, you fucking poseur?!" At this, a shadow of hatred rage over his face, but he quickly covered it with a look of repentance, "Alas, when I heard the dragon approach, I was overcome with fear and fled. I see though, that you have completed your task and slayed Fafnir. You are indeed a True Metalhead of the first rank. I apologize for not being as brave as you." At this, I flipped him off, and said, "Yeah, what the fuck ever, asstwat. By the way, you can have whatever gold you want from the cave, I've already got what I want." A strange greedy light came into his eyes when he saw the album, but he again covered it up and said, "You are most generous, my friend, but before we part, I have one last piece of counsel. It is said that one may gain wisdom if one eats the heart of a dragon. We should cook the heart of Fafnir and partake of it." I already knew just about everything there was to know about True Metal, so I didn't know how much more wisdom I could gain, but what the hell? Eating a dragon's heart sounded about as badass a thing as one could do, so I agreed.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part IV b.

After we had cut out Fafnir's heart, put it on a fire, and let it cook for over an hour, I decided to taste it to see if it was cooked yet. I took Gram and cut into the heart, but blood spurted onto my hand and burned it, and I instinctively put my hand in my mouth. When I tasted the blood, a weird feeling came over me. Suddenly, I realized that I could understand the birds around me. Bad ass? Specifically, I could hear two birds talking to each other in a nearby tree, "Man, fuck that bitch! I was all like, 'Hey baby! Looks like we're birds of a feather, so why don't we flock together?' and she was all like, 'Talk to the wing, cause whatever the fuck birds have for ears ain't listening,'" and the second bird told him, "She was probably molting. You know how chicks get when it's that time of the year." Then the first bird noticed me looking at them, "Hey! Who the fuck are you?! This is an "A" and "B" conversation, so why don't you fuck off?!" I wasn't gonna take that shit from some fucking bird, so I yelled back at his bitch ass, "Fuck you, you sparrow ass son of a bitch! Why don't you peck my sweaty ballsack?!" Man, fuck birds. Then the second bird tapped his friend and was like, "Dude, chill out. That guy's got a Morbid Angel shirt. He's cool, man," and the first bird turned back to me, "My bad, dude. I saw you with that asshole, Varg Vikerness, and figured you were a poseur." Now I was all fucking confused, "Dude, I didn't even know birds listened to metal", and the second bird piped up, "Fuck yeah, dude! Stormcrowfleet all up in this bitch! By the way, you know that punk motherfucker you're hangin' out with is planning to kill you and take your Bathory record, don't you?" I wasn't surprised, but still, "How do you know?" and the first bird responded, "Mind your own fucking business. Birds just know these kinda things. We're all mysterious and shit." Thanking the birds for their help, I now turned to Varg, who had just returned from gathering more fire wood.

Smiling, I called out to him, "Hail, Varg!" and he seemed slightly confused by my friendliness to him, but he returned my greeting. I then walked up to him and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. He tried to get up, but I stepped on his chest and leaned down on him. "So, motherfucker. I hear you're planning on killing me and taking my Bathory album." He tried to protest, "Of course not! Who told you that?!", and I smiled even wider, "A little bird told me. Two of them, in fact." He tried again to deny my accusation, "My friend, I may have fled when the dragon approached, but in every other instance I have done nothing but help you!" "Shut up! I don't really fucking care to be perfectly honest. You see, I just don't fucking like you, asshole. So, just to be safe, I'm gonna do the world a fucking favor and kill you." Still he tried to reason with me, but I stepped even harder on his chest, so that he could no longer speak. I then drew Gram, and looked down on the sniveling coward, now crying tears of fear, and I cried "This is for Euronymous!" I then cut Varg Vikernes' head from his shoulders.

Having now slain a dragon and killed Varg Vikernes, I needed something to do. So, I turned back to the birds, "Hey, you! Uh...birds! You know where I can find some bangin' viking chicks?" The first bird looked thoughtful for a second, and then chirped, "Yeah, dude. If you just want some straight pussy, there's some village a couple days from here, but down that way, like a week's journey, there's a fucking volcano called Hindarfjell. Apparently Odin got pissed at one of his Valkyries for spilling his mead, and you know Odin doesn't fuck around with his mead, so he bitch smacked her and put her in the middle of the volcano. Then he put this bitchin' spell on her so she would sleep until a True fucking Metalhead found her and woke her up." I thought this sounded promising, since any chick who rides a wolf has gotta give good head. So, I thanked the birds and went on my way. God Norway rules!

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part V a.

Where are we? Chapter V? God damn it. All this fucking writing blows ass. If I wanted to put this much effort into something I wasn't getting anything out of I'd enter into a mature, adult relationship with a woman who I loved and respected. Fuck that. If you bitch ass motherfuckers weren't desperately in need of a proper role model then I'd just say "Fuck it!" and go throw rocks at children. You should be grateful, you poseur cunts! Whatever. Anyways, dead dragon, Euronymous avenged, yadda yadda yadda. So, I was on my way to the volcano, Hindarfell, to wake up some Valkyrie and I'd been on the road for about a week. I could see the volcano slowly getting closer, and I was nearing my destination. I was walking down a busted ass old road near the base of the mountain when I saw some old dude standing in the middle of the road wearing grey robes, a pointy hat, a long grey beard, and an eye patch. As I got closer, he seemed to notice me and hollered, "Hey you! Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?!" I wasn't about to take that kinda shit from some crusty old douche, so I yelled back, "None of you business, you old bitch! Who the fuck are you anyway?!" He responded, "I'm fuckin' Odin, bitch! This is my road, and that's my fucking mountain, and if you don't like it then you can suck my Asgardian balls!" Confuzzled, I asked him, "Wait, you're Odin? Then why the fuck do you look like Gandalf?" and he said, "Cause fuck you that's why! Now why are you here?" Well, I though that this was a pretty kick ass development, so I was willing to forgive Odin's douchiness, so I told him, "I've just come from slaying the dragon Fafnir, and now I'm here to wake the Valkyrie up on the mountain so I can get me a tit wank." He nodded at this and smiled, saying, "Well that's pretty kick ass, and your Morbid Angel shirt marks you as a True Metalhead, but if you're going to wake up my daughter for a tit wank, then you must prove that you are truly worthy." This sounded fair. I mean, if I was gonna let some dude bang my daughter, he'd have to show that he kicked the proper amount of ass, so I agreed.

Then Odin spoke thusly, "If you would prove yourself worthy of my daughter, then you must show me your might. Therefore, you must run a mile in eight minutes." "Wait, what the fuck?! I gotta do some fucking high school fitness test?! That's fucking retarded!", and, angry, Odin pointed a gnarled finger at me and spoke, "Silence, mortal! You will do what I say or have thy ass presented to you!" So, I did as Odin asked, and when I returned, Odin bitched at me, "You asshole! You took almost an hour! You didn't even run! You just walked around like a lazy tool and smoked cigarettes the whole time!" "Fuck you!", I responded, "I didn't run for some fascist PE teacher, and I'm not gonna run for some douchebag god." He seemed amused by this and said, "I like the cut of your jib, son, so I'm gonna say that you passed my test. You may proceed," and Odin stepped aside and let me pass. Now I went on my way and finally reached the volcano Hindarfell.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part V b.

It was a pretty bitchin' volcano. There were crags and vents billowing steam and the smell of sulfur permeated the air. I made my way up the mountain and, after several hours of hiking, came to came to the top and looked out over the edge. It gradually sloped down until the rock ran into a bubbling cauldron of lava. Even from up here the heat was sweltering, but as you know, I kick ass, so I wasn't worried. I was, however, worried that my pits would start stinkin' and the chick would be all, "Ew! You smell musty!", but I figured a kick ass Valkyrie would think BO smelled sexy. I looked out over the vast pool and saw a narrow pathway of rock leading out into the center of the lava, but the shimmering waves of heat obscured where it led to. Saying a quick prayer to Quorthon, I made my way down the slope and started down the pathway. It was now hotter than balls, and my nuts were swimming in my underwear, but I persevered for the sake of poon. After about twenty minutes of walking, I finally saw what looked like an island of rock at the end of the path. Making my way onto it I saw in the middle a woman laying on her back asleep on a raised stone slab. She was wearing a shining breastplate and a winged helm. Her hair was a fiery shade of red, her face was pale and striking in its beauty, and her hooties were bigger than her head. Fuck yeah. Aside from True Metal, titties are the greatest thing on Earth. If I were a pansy I would compose sonnets to the gloriousness of sweater kittens. But I'm not, so I don't.

I knew that to wake her up I would have to prove myself to be a True Metalhead, so I did the only thing I could think of. I recited the evil prayer from Morbid Angels' song, "Lord of All Fevers and Plagues", "Ninnghizhidda. Open my eyes. Ninnghizhidda. Hear my cries. Plumed serpent of the deep. Plumed serpent of the gate. I command, come before me. I command, bring the key. Rise from the depths. See the fire in my wand. Ia iak sakkakh iak sakkakth. Ia shaxul." As soon as I finished, her eyes opened and she sat up on the stone slab. Then, looking at me she said, "If thou hast awakened me, then thou must be only the truest of metalheads. I congratulate thee, Defender of the Faith. I am Brynhild, and I am the most valiant of Odin's Valkyries. There can be no more worthy bride to one such as thou, and there can be no more worthy husband than a True Metalhead of thy caliber. Now come to me so that we may consummate our union." Ah shit. Why'd I have to get the clingy bitch? Normally if some crazy chick started talking about marriage I'd be out the door quicker than you could say "Fuck off, you crazy whackadoo bitch!", but I'd come all this way and I had a week's worth of blue balls to work off, so I figured I'd play along for now. So, I said, "Hey, sugar tits, uh...let's consummate this shit." And so it was. Many deeds of renown were done that day, both wondrous and terrible. The gods themselves trembled with fear and awe at the gloriousness of our banging. In the ages to come, the tales of that day would pass into legend, and become myth, and would inspire A Midsummer Night's Dream. I was Nick Bottom. Fuck Shakespeare. And after it was over and we were spent, I did what any True Metalhead would do. I waited until Brynhild was asleep and then I booked it. Cause bitches be trippin'.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VI a.

Long did I ride from the mountain of Hindarfell, fleeing the horror of a committed relationship. I flew fleet as the wind on my glorious steed, Grani, said to have been descended from Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse of Odin. How did I come by such a bitchin' horse? None of your fucking business! It's certainly not a plot hole that I'm too lazy to go back and fix. I came to the sea after riding over many leagues and did what any man would do when faced with the threat of romantic enslavement. I fled the country. Crossing the sea I came to Denmark and then made my way to Germany, where I found along the Rhine the land of the Gjukings. I had heard that this land was a haven for True Metal with a king who was a True Metalhead of the highest caliber and who welcomed fellow Defenders of the Faith into his great hall. I figured that this was as good a place as any to hide out from Brynhild, so I decided to see what I could see.

When I finally came to the Gjuking capital I was truly impressed with its Conanness. It was sprawled over a steep hill that would have been easy to defend against marauding poseurs. At the very top of the hill was a great wooden hall that I was sure smelled of mead, vomit, and semi-consensual sex. I rode through the gates of the city and looked about at the sites. The rumors of this land's metalness appeared to be accurate. The people were clothed in an assortment of denim, leather, spiked and studded belts and wristbands, and other accouterments of the True Metalhead. Their hair was either long or shaved bald with a bitchin' tattoo. The shops were selling band shirts, Flying V guitars, and vinyl albums (this was ancient times after all.) Yet the mood of the city was dark and oppressive, but there was still a fire in every eye that was the mark of a True Metalhead.

Soon I came to the hall and was stopped by the guards, "Halt in the name of True Metal! None may pass who are not Defenders of the Faith." Then he noticed my Morbid Angel shirt, apologized, and let me pass. When I entered the hall I saw at the far side a man seated on a great throne. As I approached him I noticed that he had the most kickass viking beard that I had ever seen. It was assuredly covered in dried mead and the blood of his enemies. Sweet. It was in fact such a kickass beard that I knew it to be the beard of none other than Amon Amarth's vocalist, Johan Hegg. Kick the fuck ass! Seeing my Morbid Angel shirt he knew that I was a fellow True Metalhead and, throwing the horns, addressed me, "Hail, motherfucker! It kicks ass to see another Defender of the Faith in my kingdom. Morbid Angel fucking rule!" I threw the horns back at him and said, " Fuck yeah, dude! You got a kickass fucking kingdom here, man. Nothing but headbangers as far as the eye can see. If I was a pussy this shit'd make me fucking cry." He beamed proudly saying, "This place seriously needed metal, so I came here to bring True Metal to this forsaken land." This was a truly worthy and selfless endeaver and what better kick and badass a motherfucker than Johan Hegg was there to spread the True Faith to the darkest corners of the time-space continuum? Throwing up the horns again I told him, "Long live the King and shit! That fucking rules! So, uh...I'm sorta trying to hide out from this crazy chick who's trying to put the ol' ball and chain on me, so...do you think you could help a fellow headbanger out?" Standing up he declared, "Say no more, dude. Metalheads before chickenheads. Mi hall es su hall. You're just in time for dinner too. We got like ten tons of meat cooking. None of that pussy ass vegetarian bullshit in my fucking hall!" I was all like "Fuck yeah!" and soon a long wooden table was brought out and much food was laid upon it.

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VI b.

Johan was seated at the head of the table as befitted a badass viking metal motherfucker such as him. I was seated at his right, and at his left was a girl who he introduced as his sister, Gudrun. She seemed to be a shy girl who would glance at me when she thought that no one was looking. I was pretty sure she wanted to get with this, but she was a fat chick and I don't play that shit. I mean she wasn't a whale or anything, but she was definitely about twenty pounds outside my legal limit. Too bad, cause she had a nice face and some quality fat girl titties, but I'd need a few more tankards of ale to be able to hit that. Anyways, the food was fuckin' bangin'. Pork and beef and chicken and venison as far as the eye could see and not one piece of fucking tofu in site. Anybody who thinks that tofu dogs or veggie burgers or whatever are just as good as real meat should be sterilized. If a veggie burger was just as good as a real burger then people other than deluded vegetarians would actually eat them. And if tofu was as good as a burger then you wouldn't have to dress it up like one just so you could remind yourself what it was like to eat meat. Fucking hippy sons of bitches! So anyway, I was eatin' mucho meato, dodging fat fat fatty fatty fat fat over there, and generally enjoying myself.

Eventually the feast wound down, bongs were brought out, and an air of contentment and zootedness descended upon the hall. Then a bard came out with an electric lute and began a bitchin' tune while the assorted guests took turns singing songs of glorious deeds and kickass tales. After a while Johan rose from his seat and turned to me, "Dude, I can tell that you're a bitchin' motherfucker who's probably kicked some epic ass, so why don't you sing of your adventures?" 'Aw shit!' I thought. I fucking hate singing, but since I was a guest and I was properly tanked off of some quality mead I stood up and started to sing...

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The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part VI c.

After I had sung my surprisingly brilliant song Johan stood and spoke, "Fucking hell, dude! You are truly the most righteous motherfucker in all the land! I wouldn't ask this of just any dude, but you are obviously a True Metalhead of the highest caliber and would defend the True Faith with every bone in your body. There's a fucking shadow lying over the land, man. For the last year the poseur armies of Metallica have been ravaging this land. They intend to overthrow this kingdom of True Metal and plunge it into the darkness of poseurdom. It's fuckin' bullshit! We've managed to throw them back 'til now, but our armies have been decimated, and now Metallica is coming with a bigass fucking host. But we've built this kingdom with our blood, sweat, and tears, and we're not about to let the cause of True Metal die without a fight! Tomorrow I will ride with five thousand men, the last of our strength, to the fortress of Wacken to mount one final stand against the poseurs and to lay down my life as a Defender of the Faith. Even though we're fucked and I can promise you nothing but almost certain death and that Rhapsody with probably make a concept album about us, will you stand with us to defend True Metal?" I felt something welling up in my breast at that moment. I think that it was what some might call "Giving a shit." In any case I am a True Metalhead; a Defender of the Faith 'til the day I die, and I wasn't about to let Metallica do any more damage to True Metal than they already had. So I stood up and declared, "Man, fuck Metallica! I've been tryin' to kill those shit stabbers for years and an army of poseurs is just a bonus. I'd lay down my life for True Metal any day of the fuckin' week, so I'll ride with you to the ends of the Earth." Understandably tearing up at my magnanimity, Johan proclaimed, "Kick ass! The army rides to battle at dawn, and you shall ride with me at its head. I pledge blood brotherhood with you, my friend, and will stand for you as you stand for me." Now also weeping openly I said, "Hell yeah, dude!" We then cut our palms on our swords and let the blood flow into a goblet which we both drank from, sealing our pact. Unfortunately, I didn't have the heart to tell him that he now had Herpes. After this there was much rejoicing. Mead was drunk, weed was smoked, and wenches were slain. Figuratively speaking of course. The next morning epic shiznit was about to go down.

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