SHIRT STAINS: Black Metal Ist Krieg. Or Ist It? Let’s Find Out
SHIRT STAINS PRESENTS:
TRUE BLACK METAL ARSONISTS AND NAZI SYMPATHIZERS
WHAT DO THEY KNOW?
DO THEY KNOW THINGS?
Due to 365 days of Horror being out for 8 or maybe 9 Days of Horror, your old Uncle Brenocide is taking over Shirt Stains for the week. I like to think of myself as a fun uncle though, the kind that will point his finger onto your tacky metal t-shirt, tell you “hey you got something on your shirt!” and then when you look down, I’ll be walked out by your not so fun dad and grandpa while drunkenly cursing out whichever ethnic group I feel should be trusted the least any given Thanksgiving Day.
But it’s August! We are still enjoying the punishing heat of summer and the knowledge that the prying eyes of judgmental family members during end of year holiday gatherings are still two whole seasons away! Yes indeed friends, it is the high noon of t-shirt weather here in New England. Wildly appropriate being that noon is usually about the time I convince myself to stop hiding from life in my bed.
Speaking of sleeping in until noon, here’s a sweat-soaked douche rag worthy of a consistently hung-over, stationary, pale white body near you:
Ah, Jack Daniels, the choice of drinkers everywhere who happen to be facing no choice in bourbon. It’s iconic label serves as inspiration for a t-shirt by deathcore hate mosh buzzcut bros I Declare War. What they’re declaring war on exactly, I’m not sure. However, if this shirt serves as any indication, it’s probably a set of matching unwashed black basketball shorts. Polyester mesh getting brutally carpet bombed with whiskey farts the likes of which were never dealt nor smellt in the history of chemical warfare.
Glazing over the mathematical improbability of a bottle containing 666% of anything within itself, my focus is drawn more towards the back of the shirt commanding all who read it to first and foremost “EAT PUSSY” like a real bro should. There are many forms of cognitive dissonance inherent in alpha-male yeah-bro culture, but none seem more obvious to me than the bragging over how much pussy one eats. It’s like you womanizers go from high-fiving over your fuck-em-and-leave-em borderline date rape tales, all the way over to “Oh honey, I love you so much. I want make this moment all about you. Allow me to bow down in subservience and rigorously pleasure your genitals with my tongue.”
I’m not saying that I gotta problem dunking down for my duty to the ladies, but I’m not a Yeah-Bro, I am a Yes-Brother, exactly as Hulk Hogan intended.
I feel like if you’re gonna hit up a melty-face zombie orgy, you better make damn sure your wife doesn’t find out about it. If she does happen to find out about it, your best bet would be to pay someone to murder her for you. Money is no object here, because lemme tell ya bucko, you can’t put a price on avoiding that conversation, hoo boy.
Also cover your butts and make sure she doesn’t get privy to your pick-off plot or she will be pissed as pear juice. If anyone gets wise to your intentions-to-ice, just cop out and blame it all on your new found godlessness. Without Christ, you have no path to follow, and you can easily find yourself writhing in the pleasures of rotten, reanimated flesh without a purpose; let alone paying a premium for wife-whacking services.
You might think it ain’t all worth the risk, but that’s cause you simply haven’t enjoyed yourself a faceless/eyeless corpse smorgasborgasm like your ol’ Uncle Bren has. What do you think it is Atheists do with their free time anyway? Pro-tip: the zombie skull faces being eyeless is key here. Have you ever banged a skull face that still had those lidless eyes intact gazing back at you? It’s the stuff of nightmares, man. Jesus…
Speaking of godlessness, here is a shirt from… someone?
Ha! Gotcha. If you think a trv grim kvltist such as yours truly couldn’t cleary make out the band name “Haremrotem” from that band logo, you’d be paddling up the wrong creek without a… without one. I pride myself on my ability to read Black Metal, almost as much as I pride myself on my ability to almost stand listening to it. Haha, get it? Black metal is bad, haha, look at me, I’m a thrash loving hesher and I’m just fucking hilarious.
You soft rock worshipping wussies are so out of touch and incapable of being challenged, that you refuse to listen to new music unless it sounds exactly like something from 1994. We Black Metallers aren’t anything like that. I hear groundbreaking ways to trem pick and blast beat almost every single day.
Want to see fresh and exciting innovation in practice? Check out the above album design from Nargaroth’s 2001 album Black Metal ist Krieg. Yeah, I guess the logo says “Nargaroth”, thanks for that, seasoned experts of Google University. I will always say that art means different things to different people, and who can argue that band logos aren’t art? So we can agree to disagree. Anyway, check out the hilt on Kanwulf’s sword. That’s a fucking varmint skull or some shit. That sort of blade tech is way before it’s time!
Hell, that’s what I like to call a “Cutting Edge Lord”.
The future is now, friends, just like it was when Kanwulf unleashed this sonic perfection on the world back when we were still fresh into the new millennium. (Or should I say SHRILLennium.) Besides being a state-of-the-art BLACKsmith, Kanwulf is for sure, the word smith of Black Metal’s new generation. Don’t take my word for it, the poetic genius of a melodic narrative such as Black Metal Ist Krieg speaks for itself:
As someone who released a song titled “The Day Burzum Killed Mayhem” alongside covers of songs by other older black metal bands, you can be sure this wasn’t a guy who dwelled in the past. Nor am I, as someone gushing about an album from 2001.
Special thanks to 365 Days of Horror for giving me a shot at this week’s Shirt Stains, and sending a bunch of random bad merch examples my way to work with! Not to mention some new ideas for the next time I want to treat myself and actually wear a shirt outdoors. I’m not exactly in Matt Pike shape like I used to be, so the neighborhood kids keep throwing rocks at me. Cheers Toileteers!
— Brenocide \,,/
