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When All Is Said And Done
If someone boiled your brother and cut off his head for a side dish, you’d have a permanent attitude problem too. In "Always Chosen," OCTANE sums up how a hated, shit-on piece of roughage feels most of the time: "I can’t take it, I’ve been broken, never choosing, always chosen." Yeah, well, me and some pissed off organically grown Afghan carrots are working on a plot to end this cycle of vege-cide and get back at the fat-headed, health-conscious idiots who think they own the planet.
OCTANE can hold up the flag on our take-no-prisoners charge toward ripping control back from those who constantly degrade us. Because that’s what their solid, darkly personal rock album "When All Is Said And Done" is about. The message is simple enough that even an IQ-impaired bunch of broccoli like myself can understand it: Stand tall when you’ve been pushed to the brink, raped by loss and life’s back-stabbing, fuck-you-green tendencies.
Yeah, I may only be 6 inches high, but I got a retractable stalk-dick that’ll open a can of Cambpell’s Chunky Soup. And I’m inspired more by tracks like "Sicklike" and "Watch You Beg" which pour hydrochloric acid over your mood and make you want to grab those pimple-faced baggers and slam the register drawer repeatedly on their pale white hands. I prefer "I Was Wrong" endings where I leave you "filled with the bitter taste of blood" after the relentless guitar-mangled experience of "your twisted mind eating at my swollen heart."
They get a little too sentimental on "Gasoline" and "I Cry", a little too soft for my taste, reminding me of my brother’s body floating up from the bottom of the pot, all limp and the color of thrown-up pea soup. But thankfully I have the other songs to fall back on with their menacing undercurrents – how can you not smile at the screamed line "I wanna watch you beg."
It’s part of my favorite fantasy these days: we get a pot the size of a wading pool, fill it with boiling water, and lower that brother-murdering, lard-swallowing chef headfirst with a crane as he begs for mercy, watching me bust open his whining wife with my bushy head.
Revenge is a dish best served with broccoli banging your whore-wife while your skin peels off layer by layer until – ding – you’re DONE.
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