Shirt Stains: 50 Shades Of Metalcore
Chapter 1: Sniffing Jocks And Spinkicking Cocks
Did you guys hear? We’re a metalcore SJW totes gay blog! Yes, the He-Man Woman-Haters Club and #1 listeners of the Toilet Ov Hell Podcast have dubbed us a “metalcore commode” which…eh. That’s really not much of an insult coming from the great “Outlaw Metal Alphas TM” that angrily shake their permanently-clenched fists at everything that isn’t a boring, straight, white male. I’m not going to link to the article because a) we’re not going to give them free press like they foolishly do to us and b) it’s just a rehash of some of our great jokes. You might as well listen to the podcast again.
The Bounty soft insult got me thinking. Maybe they just don’t understand that which they chose to mock. Maybe they’re just afraid. We, as a community, should come together to show these metal Ubermensch what they’re missing. It is with great pleasure that I present to you Chapter 1 of our newest fan fiction series 50 Shades Of Metalcore.
DMU’s heart was racing. The pounding in his chest matched the sound of his feet as he lumbered towards the building. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so mad. It must have been at least 2 or 3 hours since he rage-posted online.
“Those metalcore queermos have gone too far!” huffed DMU. “I’m going to show them what the peak of masculinity is all about!”
DMU pounded on the door of Toilet Ov Hell’s luxurious penthouse.
“It’s open,” called Toilet Ov Hell from inside.
Nervous, but determined, DMU opened the door and stormed inside, ready to fight. DMU had never been in a fight before, but he had watched several MMA videos before coming to the penthouse. He breathed heavily, mostly due to having to walk for more than five minutes. Inexperienced in physical activity, DMU’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“I’m totally going to kick your SJW ass, bro!”
“Lolbuttz,” said an unimpressed Toilet Ov Hell.
“Just you wait and see,” said DMU. “I’m totally going to do it and then talk about it online and everyone will know that you suck and stuff.”
Toilet Ov Hell rose from his very expensive couch and smiled. “You’re not going to do anything until I tell you to do it.” A sly smile spread across Toilet Ov Hell’s face as he circled around DMU, his fingers running through DMU’s greasy hair.
The smell of fish oil and body odor emanated from DMU’s pores. He was confused and afraid. A drop of honey mustard, left over from his chicken tendies dinner, dripped off his swollen lips.
“Wh-what are you doing,” asked DMU nervously. “We’re totally supposed to fight! I’m gunna fuck your fucking cock up!”
“I bet you’ve been thinking about doing that all day,” Toilet Ov Hell smirked and raised his fists in a fighting stance. DMU instinctively fell to his back and exposed his stomach in a submissive pose.
“That’s what I thought,” laughed Toilet Ov Hell as he walked over to a dresser and removed a studded white belt from a drawer.
“Wh-wh-what’s that for?” stammered DMU.
“Every time you say something wrong or something that displeases me, you get the belt,” said Toilet Ov Hell.
“No!” protested DMU. “You’re just as dumb as a woman!”
The belt snaps and leaves a bright red welt on DMU’s pale love handle.
“This is gay and that’s bad!” screamed DMU.
Another welt on DMU’s pallid flesh. Unexpectedly, he felt it move. DMU gasped with a mixture of pain and pleasure.
Toilet Ov Hell walked over to a stereo and put on Killswitch Engage’s “The End Of Heartache”.
“You’re going to respect women,” commanded Toilet Ov Hell with another whip of the belt. “You’re going to respect people of color. You’re going to respect the LGBTQ community. You’re going to respect different religions. You’re going to respect people who like different styles of music. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” said DMU, his body quivering with excitement. “Treat me like Victory Records treat their artists.”
Toilet ov Hell continued, “Now that we have an understanding, I want you to put on something special. You can choose one of the following shirts.”
“We can start you off with a beginner’s metalcore shirt. The Christian metalcore band is no stranger to intolerance, so you should be quite at home in their shirt. Maybe you’ll even think the disembodied Lion-O heads are totally brutal. You could probably take comfort in knowing that there is some vague Christian message going on with this shirt. Just try not to get too distracted by the swole angel with the sexy pompadour. You’ll be throwing down for Christ in no time, my sweet.”
This shirt would be the perfect compliment should you want to try on some bleeding mascara and lip gloss. Having Atreyu‘s name on the shirt five times reminds you exactly what band you’re supporting just in case you’ve had one too many Mountain Dew: Code Reds and Reese’s Big Cups. That sugar will go straight to your thighs if you’re not careful. I have no idea what is going on with the rest of the shirt, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll be crumpled up next to the bed soon enough, sweet cheeks.
“The slim fit sticker lets you know that you’re in for an extra tight and uncomfortable time. You can combine it with a nice pair of skinny pants if you want. I’ll even slip a bandanna into your back pocket, if you know what I mean, Is that supposed to be Medusa from The Inhumans TV show? Little Red Riding Hood Meets The Mummy? Some random lady trapped in a giant bundle of hay? The Devil may wear prada, but that doesn’t mean the devil knows comprehensive art design. You won’t have to worry about that, though, because I’m going to show you what the Taste Of Chaos is all about.”
“You’ll never win our little game of Hide-And-Seek with this little number from Parkway Drive. Sure, the camo doesn’t match the drapes, but it’s the bright white lettering that makes you really stand out. With the band’s name awkwardly wrapped around a crushed beer can that also contains the band’s initials, you can rest assured knowing that you will be found and silently judged. Why do they have a crushed beer can on their shirt? Why does the beer can have their initials on it? What do those letters under their name actually mean? These are the things you will contemplate as I inch closer and closer to you. You will know you’re “it” when I grab you from behind and gently whisper “Crushed” into your ear.”
“If you play the Good Cop, I’ll play the Bad Cop in this bright little number from Miss May I. No need to ask for permission when you’ve got a big red velociraptor bursting out of your yellow-shirt covered chest. Does that just mean the dinosaur is really tiny? How did it get inside you? Did you swallow a dinosaur egg and it incubated, hatched, and grew inside your stomach? Were you a dinosaur this whole time? You were? Well, that explains your regressive outlook and old opinions. Shit, why didn’t you just say that in the first place, DMU? It all makes sense. Now get the fuck out of the Toilet Ov Hell penthouse. Take your sweaty, stained undies and Grand Belial’s Key cds with you.”