I sold my soul to Rock and Roll…

A scathing, rambling editorial by the Grand Magus of our death cult...the drug addled degenerate formerly known as Pig Latin.

With the staggering success of TALES OF PERVERSION ZINE which can proudly claim 15 hand numbered copies printed for each of its 3 volumes, and a circulation  of approximately 11, it seemed imminent at the time that the publication would go on to attain some cult underground super stardom. Ideas for numerous follow ups were conceived and squeezed repeatedly through my creative hairy mental vagina until I had a nursery full of deformed and laughably stupid babies which would eventually grow up to become the big and strong material for the future issues of this filth-fest I have chosen to call a publication. As with all the other plans and projects of someone who’s motivation and ambition have been all but annihilated by consuming the metric tonnage of Marijuana that I require for any attempt at remaining sedate, every potential issue of Tales became the underground fanzine version of that stupid Guns-n-Roses album that people kept saying was coming out but never did and never will. But let me not blame all of my lethargy on the wicked weed. Shortly after the appearance of the first issue your faithful friend and narrator went into punk rock exile. Why? Disillusion, I suppose. It happens. It was probably spawned by the cookie cutter nature of almost any and all current expressions of what I and my peers once called Metal, Punk and Hardcore (or any type of extreme counterculture for that matter). In essence, I morphed into those bitter grownups who would assault you with the famous “you kids’ today and your music, I remember back in my day” speech. It’s taken damn near 20 years, but now I can truly appreciate what they were saying. Well, not completely. Truth be told, I was jamming to some dope fucking shit back when I was hearing that doozy of a speech; but I can definitely identify with the frustration of seeing the newer generations being so goddamn pussy-assed. Kids nowadays are so fucking lame! Even the “non-conformist” types are way watered down and repackaged in comparison to my heyday. Rebellion and non-conformity can now be purchased at your local HOT TOPICS store for $29.99, and any garden variety asshole kid has a piercing or a tattoo nowadays. The new social norm is 16 year olds walking around with tats on their necks and preppy jerk-offs from the ‘nice side of town’ have full sleeve tattoos peeking out from under their Abercrombie and Fitch shirt (thanks to the reality show based on the ever so idiotic Miami Ink shop and the ponderous Kat Von Douche spinoff). The mainstream has taken every element of the underground and made it accessible to everybody. None of it means anything anymore. All the once clearly defined lines between the mainstream and our world have been blurred beyond existence.  Is there still such a thing as teen angst? Are these kids today as fed up with the mainstream as myself and my chums from my youth? It doesn’t seem that way. I suppose in the grand social scheme of things this would be a good thing. After all, why would we want to continue mainlining more anti-socials and malcontents into the social vein with a filthy AIDS tainted needle?

 If youth culture is largely molded by the music of its generation who can we thank for perpetuating mainstream douche-baggery? For one, you can start with those cock-sucking yuppie fucks in their ivory record label office towers, blueprinting the musical landscape from fashion season to fashion season. Anybody gets a record deal nowadays. Want proof? How about that malignant teen cunt Rebecca Black for starters?Remember that twat? Did anybody hear this little bitch’s single and not immediately opt for a bloody screaming death? 


MTV plays a big part in this too. Even though it’s been years since MTV has played a single fucking video (and about a decade and change since they played a decent one) their contribution to the “Make the World Whack” crusade is so-called reality TV, and this also has had an influential role in today’s “douche-baggery”. I believe that perhaps this was my inspiration to come out of fanzine retirement, way back when I threw together Tales'#1, even if it was for the very last time. I really needed to lash out, at something, anything, somehow, someway. This washed up, bitter, “scenester has-been” is going to show you fucking young whipper-snappers how you really do misanthropy and disenfranchisement. You little bitches have it easy. I had to earn my rebellious youth stripes.  

You can only push someone so far till they push back. Consider this is my literary counterattack on all things whack. And what falls under that category? Everything under the sun! The entire world has become a serving of Mashed Potatoes with no fucking salt.

So finally after all the hype and anticipation, here is the official online version of Tales of Perversion, live and direct from the depths of my cavern of unholy perversions. I am here to sacrilegiously sodomize all things mainstream and lame as a backlash to the constant bombardment my psyche receives from pop-culture at large. Hopefully you posers will follow my lead. And why would I take it upon myself to steer you towards the dark light of coolness? Why waste my time sitting here typing up a fanzine/blog that won’t generate more than fifty bucks (after the cost of my ink cartridge) if I were to shell out print copies at three bucks a pop when I can be doing much more productive stuff with my time, like hanging out in my black magic decompression chamber casting spells so that my wife’s eyes will magically not find porn in my laptops search history.  The reason: I do it because I am a frustrated, failed pseudo musician with no real outlet for all the intellectual abilities that my hairy mental vagina can squeeze out. In fact, my hairy mental vagina has been retaining all of my retarded little brainchildren for quite some time now. The lack of playing music with a band or writing a fanzine for me is the equivalent of having said hairy mental vagina stitched shut, thus not enabling my creative offspring to be born. Well, I hear a rumbling sound now, and it is probably the sound of my hairy, fat, mental vagina exploding and shooting my ugly, afterbirth covered bastards of thought everywhere.

 “Oh nurse, please don’t throw away the placenta I would like to eat it!”

I sold my soul to Rock and Roll. It must have been when I was about 12 or 13. I couldn’t explain why I was drawn to loud, abrasive and totally pissed tunes. It was an obsession. My mother tried to stop Satan’s appropriation of her only male child by putting me in religious school. Bad move. I told you about Christian school… there’s a whole lot of fucking around going on within those pearly gates. And besides, it was already too late. I had already sold my soul to that sly old bastard. One day during the weekly indoctrination hour at Christian school, they showed a propaganda film which “exposed” the Occult in rock music (like if you really have to dig so deep to find that). By the time it was over, instead of being turned off to the unholy rock and roll I was now infatuated with it. Instead of making Rock seem like something to stay away from, that documentary was probably the greatest commercial for other cool bands that I would never have been interested in until finding out they were down with the occult, thus making them interesting to me. Much like Nancy Reagan’s D.A.R.E. campaign propaganda of the 80’s only made me more curious to go out and get totally fucked up. My commitment to music began then and there in that Christian school chapel. I knew that I would sell my soul to Rock and Roll and it's horned messiah forever, and I did. Fast forward about twenty years or so (a couple of bands and three different fanzines later) and here I am, a grown ass man with more than sufficient hair on his balls doing a “Blog-zine” as if I was still in high school. I told you I’d be in Rock and Roll forever.

Hope you enjoy the blog dirt-bags. I really exorcised a lot of demons through this project so don’t get possessed by my residual wickedness bitches. And if you do, well then, from a Metal point of view…


 I fucking rule dude!