Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Victims--...in Blood

So I haven't been posting for the last week or so.  Doing this "job" is difficult enough when you consider the pay scale being $0 a year and how difficult it can be to think of things to say about penises and buttholes when you'd really rather be showering so that your wife will stop complaining.  Just because I spend all my time in front of my computer writing pointless screeds to people I'll never meet doesn't mean I don't understand the importance of personal hygiene.  I know why it's good to shower and shave from time to time; it's just that those times are, for me, few and far between.  And once you get used to the tangy zip of my body odor, it's like it's not even there.  Constantly swatting the fruit flies that follow me around, of course, is a completely different story.

Stuffing your pockets with old, moldy apricots is an ancient Babylonian way of staving off showering.

So I spent my "well-deserved" week or so off enjoying the finer things in life, like standing on a hill above the freeway hitting baseballs into traffic and headbutting raw meat after slamming two pints of whiskey in the back of a burning bus.  You know, fun stuff.  Actually, I spent most of the week playing the new Mortal Kombat on XBox 360.  It's very satisfying and time-consuming to keep pulling dudes' heads off after pummeling them with fireballs and flying kicks, and when I throw in the first complete disc of Dead Space 2 into the mix, it becomes clear that I was sitting in a darkened room dismembering fake things for an entire week.  "Take that, Mom; take THAT, Dad!  SEND ME TO A PSYCHIATRIST, WILL YOU?!?"

Like a boss.  A giant, sweaty nerd boss.

Actually, this morning I was pulled away from my nutritious and balanced breakfast by my wife, who alerted me that the tire on our only horseless carriage had gone flat.  I immediately slid my delicious Honey Bunches of Oats aside (I need the fiber) and manhandled the changing of a tire on my own automobile.  As it turns out, I have a Man Card, but the pinnacle of my manhood hinges on changing a tire on a car twice (the first time was a long time ago) and once catching a giant beetle that my wife was convinced was stuck in her hair (it was on the floor in a different room).

Again, like a boss.

So that's why I didn't post this review this morning, because I was getting my third hole punched on my Man Card by doing something that everybody is supposed to know how to do anyway.  But because I feel so buff and manly, I decided that I wanted to talk about something totally manly, namely my new favorite crust band Victims.

Victims fall in the Dis-suffix style of D-boner wankery, with a more firm lean toward punk rock than metal.  In fact, my iTunes is labeling my Victims albums as "punk," "hardcore," and "129," all of which I can get behind after having listened to them.  Except that "129" thing.  I don't know what that's trying to tell me, and instead of Googling it to see if it's actually a thing, I'm going to speculate that it is and assume that it's some sort of specific genre that I'm not cool enough to know about because I own a car and don't have filthy white dude dreadlocks.  But whatever "129" is trying to tell me, it's probably linked to the fact that Victims totally rules and makes me super happy.  ...in Blood is a whirling D-boner tornado with magnificently crunchy vokillz and those Brian Izzi-style string bends that substitute for guitar solos.  And they keep the punk rock cred rolling with a 7 Seconds-style of run time, with the longest song (by kind of a long shot, too) clocking in at a robust 3:02.

Man that takes me back to high school....

Anyway, I don't have the slightest idea how something like this was able to skirt my music sensors for as long as it did, especially considering my predilection for all things "whirling D-boner tornado," and how open I am about it.  It seems odd to me, as if I inadvertently found some kind of diamond in the rough; however, since this is the Interhole, I imagine there's a legion of fellows cracking their knuckles behind their keyboards in preparation for calling me a n00b faggot and accusing me of being a poser.  Maybe I am, sir, but I'm no n00b.  I've been posing in the hardcore scene back when America Online came on a disc and you paid by the hour for Interhole access, which came at the expense of being able to receive telephone calls on your LANDLINE TELEPHONE.

Also, there were dinosaurs.  And if you're reading this, it's increasingly likely you have no idea what I'm talking about.  But dinosaurs were giant land lizards that ate people and starred in feature films with Jeff Goldblum.  They were like dogs that would eat flesh or step on you because you were tiny--like a bug--to them.  And AOL sucked.

In summation, if you're looking for something as satisfying and fiery as a spicy curry dump and crusty as your underwear afterwards, you should be listening to Victims.  I imagine you are already, because you're so smart and you like things that burn up your speakers like the aforementioned spicy curry dump burns your tender, tender starfish.  Check out Victims on Last.fm, or steal it for all I care.  I'm not going to tell you how to do your thing, and we all know that stealing rules.  Also, you should be hearing Killer, but they've got lots of cool stuff to listen to over there.

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