Doc Martian's Lounge: Shock-a-Lock-a-Boom!

Friday, May 20, 2005


Ok, now it is time to reveal my role.... I am the official priest of Crom for the Gonzo Herald. When men drink to Crom they become mighty in ways unfathomable to you mere mortal yutzes, and women? when they drink to Crom, they become nubile and unquenchable. So. Yuh gunna drink to Crom? Dean Burgess did. This is his story.

Dean was a big ole slobbering dio fan, loving the music... but stuck making sounds that didn't destroy earthly denizens... he grew weary.... he flirted with suicide... he whined a lot about how australian television sucks.... you know.... the usual shit.... then.... he pounded a 12 pack to Crom... and it all began.

What began? LUTHOR... his band.... a band of him destroying the 80s rock gods that he used to idolize and now has surpassed. Crunchy metal riffs.... mind destroying slubhuman vocals... atmospheric synthesizer crap that turns your will to dogshit... and the girls? girls crawling out of the woodwork to lick his left buttcheek.

Now. I know you're thinking... what kind of shit is this.... all we gotta do is drink to Crom and our soul will become shriven and mightier then yer standard yahoo? The answer is Yes. Yes to booze. Yes to Crom. Yes to Mind DESTROYING Metal.

Ok, maybe i've been preaching to the disciples of Crom for too long..... maybe you don't understand... maybe you're bound up in some primitive lightning god cult that got softened and turned to pap by the romans. YOU CAN DIE. I mean that... you can take the top of your head off and smear your brains on crackers for all I care. The dogs will eat your corpse and I'll still be hoisting the flagon of greed to Crom. For Crom knows what I want for his service.... not just your usual future afterlife battle skills and giant sword to slaughter democrats with.... but a full on earthly crom stash of gold, jewels, and maidens dripping with chains.

More about Dean though..... his music is to 80s metal what the starwars special edition releases of the 90s were to the 70s-80s releases of starwars.... he refines and strengthens their elements and adds some modern operatic vocals that sound like they are being sung down an atlantean hallway at your slowly broiling noggin. His theme choice is magnificent.... oceanic struts.... power ballads chanting 'i am evil' mad destruction of your brain as your driving down the road waiting for the drugs to wear off so you can get to some mundane gig constructing your heart from the ashes that bitch left it in. You will never hear this again.... i believe that the power that mr. burgess gained from Crom is more then that conan did. You see.... conan was only a slacker in the crom faith.... dean is the true believer... his heart and soul are completely enveloped by the drinking god that is crom. what? you thought he was a battle god? he is.... but it is the power of drunken sword-swinging and conquest.... not the power of righteous murderous genocide and conquest that many battle gods claim as their power.

Hunter S. Thompson.... for now it is time to be told.... he thought it was cute to drink to odin... in spite of his awareness of the power of Crom. He was like.... oooh... I can stand to be slaughtered by my own hand and come back from the dead as an omnibus work of odds and ends from my journal.... but he didn't realize the POWER OF CROM. For now... his journals have been used as asswipes by his loving offspring who though he should at least have laid out some hefty bags so that the den wasn't all splattered in gore.

You want me to tell you that there is no truth in human justice? there is. but the power of crom suffuses your soul and mine and all you have to offer back is the puke that comes from the unhallowed booze you quaff. Our toast to CROM results in the battletransmutation of booze to liquid amberglossin that flows through our veins and makes us unstoppable in battle. Of course.... as battle is hard to come by these days.... the amberglossin builds up in our system to make our translation to THE METAL GATES OF ANGBAND less painful.... we appear to have strokes in our 90s after long fruitful lives.... but instead? we are instantly translated to THE METAL GATES OF ANGBAND where we battle beneath the sun for Crom's amusement. At night? we drink and wench endlessly. And what do you do? you go to heaven... where you sit around on fucking clouds all day playing stinky harp.



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