When you’re a fat-lipped cold-blooded guppy wrecking machine like me,
with a tool that needs its own trailer, you leave more than your share
of pulpy DNA messes on deck. I like to leave my slop for the underpaid
boom mic operators to clean up, those krill-brained, pimple-faced
crustaceans. They probably get the same feeling the studio producers did
when DIMMU BORGIR recorded this confused split-open stomach of an album
"Death Cult Armageddon" that leaves one half of you thinking about an
opera and the other half thinking about blowing your brains out (which
in my case would mean listening to dolphins fuck underwater for
seventeen hours straight).
Shagrath’s horseshoe crab scrape-and-rasp vocals make me wanna torture
myself at Sea World, spending a day in the tank with those squeal-happy
blowhards who think they can satisfy everyone with their smooth noses
and cute personalities. Sometimes for fun, when they swim by, I’ll jam
my rod into their bullet-entry-wound holes until their human-like eyes
roll up into their cute little heads. Unlike this album, my Sea World
act’s a real crowd-pleaser . . . at least until I arc a load into the
eyes of some starry-eyed 6-year-olds in the front row. Salmon spunk and
kids mix about as well as the 1812 OVERTURE and MARILYN MANSON, which is
the effect these hook-gobbling Norwegian creeps try to create by forcing
the Prague Philharmonic to play at gunpoint, while Shagrath wretches
into the microphone.
You’ll remember the sound of DIMMU BORGIA, because it IS different, just
like virgin bass remember the feel of my scaly diamond-studded schlong
as I slip it to them. Problem is, the novelty wears off pretty quickly.
Those puffy innocent stream-happy chicks are screamin’ bloody murder by
the end of my "classical" de-scaling session, just like you’ll be by the
end of the fifth song on this CD. Lines like "Bloodbath is on your
doorstep" and "into the arms of Armageddon / let it pour" are fine if
you’re cuttin’ a shark’s stomach open, but we’ve heard these black metal
lyrics a thousand times before. And the fact that two of the songs are
written in Norwegian makes you wish all of Norway had been on the USS
Indianapolis when it went down. Nothing would have made me happier if
Shagrath, Silenoz, Galder, Vortex, and Mustis’ parents had been bull
shark appetizers that day.
That’s the only problem with being a salmon. You ain’t got any teeth. So
it pays to have a torpedo like mine. With my aim, I’d advise any of you
girls out there watching Shamoo perform to wear one of those Gallagher
tarps. Or not. After all, you might have what it takes to make your
daddies proud one day on a Big Dick set.
