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Dani's Inferno

Pact Twenty - Alcoholocaust

Following 'Er next doors's sporadic but commendable thesis on female hatred last issue, I was aroused enough by the full use of her eloquent tongue to get something similar nature off my tiny-titted, yet highly sensitive chest this month.
Whereas Val despises women, I, on the other have a deep throated (sorry, rooted) hatred of men. Not any breed in particular, just the whole fucking deal. Men are libidinous, obnoxious, chauvinistic... and if that's not enough they're hairy, rough, muscular and endowed. No, I hate them. Give me a good-looking woman any day... actually strike that comment, cap'n - just any kind of woman any day (mantlepieces et al). So you're not alone, young lady. Calm down, perhaps take a valium or two and learn to vent your anger elsewhere (Crack! Brzzzzzz! Sudden sounds of a bullwhip and a 13-inch anal desecrator revving up, minus the fizz of amyl nitrate for comfort).
Limping on, though eager not to suffer a similar fate, I must also commend the words of the headmistress for the kind words in her editorial last month. Firstly, I never cackle demonically (well, not unless I'm hunched over a lightbox on behalf of Metal Hammer, scouring for photos of rock stars looking chubby...), and secondly, my column was late because I genuinely had a kidney infection. No shit! Plenty of pee though, and I was half tempted to send in a vial of it as proof. 85% fuckin' proof!
Anyway, more on the subject of alcohol abuse later, but for now just abuse, for also in her editorial, the grand inquisitor branded me as an arsehole, which given the circumstances I've just described is, I think, a little unfair... I'm actually a total wanker. Evidence of this can be found not only be catching having a quick five-to-one with 'Palmofthe Handerson' in the church every Sunday (come on, isn't that the sole reason priests have you close your eyes and bow your heads for prayer - so they can ease the old fellow out of the cassock and toss at the choirboys?), but also on a new T-shirt by Blue Grape in America with my face on it and the word 'wanker'. Charmed I'm sure. Wanker, maybe; arsehole, not. That term is exclusively reserved for PROPER journalists. Take one particular specimen who I shall refer to as 'P.E.' (for his initials are thus).
First off, on a recent homeward-bound plane journey, much throwing of the horns and headbanging was undertaking when we realised we were traveling at 666mph. Our friend Lez then coined the phrase "faster than the speed of evil" when our velocity increased. As bands are prone to do, the phrase was bandied around with much mirth. And that's how, at a certain awards ceremony, Shane Embury (of Napalm Death) was able to joke with said journalist, 'P.E.', that he was currently listening to what would surely become a monster hit album, 'Faster Than The Speed Of Evil' by (the fictitious) Absolute Power.
And lo and behold, what appeared on 'P.E.''s personal playlist the following week but 'Faster Than The Speed Of Evil' by (you guessed it) Absolute Power. Advance demo version. How hip. Sounds like Dan Silver.
Secondly, the same journalist reviews our 'PanDaemonAeon' video release a week later, this time for Q magazine, which obviously being a non-metal publication requires a more cooler-tan-thou mentality. Hence, it's a touch sarcastic, culminating in the statement that: "low budget it may be, but The Blair Witch Project it is not," implying that, well, it's just not scary. Fair enuff, he's entitled to his own opinion, but has he actually seen Blair Witch, or is he just going on hearsay from Stateside, where the movie is currently showing (it doesn't come out here until October 29...)? Because I've seen it and - oh God! - how I wanted this film to live up to it's boast of being the most frightening movie since The Exorcist, leaving American audiences speechless and aghast. Well, speechless only because American audiences must be dumb! I'm sorry, but how anyone can rate this film is beyond me. I was praying that the student union cast would be killed off every step of the way - it was either that, or put out my own eyes to relieve boredom.
OK, perhaps there were a few moments of suspense, but my main point here is: don't belive everything you read, especially when it's from the inkwell of someone who writes out of there arse. What next, COF involved in gay porno? Oops!
Finally onto the promise of alcohol. No, it's not my round; I'm to relate to you the perils of Red Bull and vodka on special offer, hence the aforementioned big, bad kidney incident.
It was a foggy moonless Eve... sorry. Luna was at her Grandma's and seeing as it was our night off, Toni and I decided to get horribly drunk. However, I'd forgotten about the Red Bull and voddy binge in Salzburg a few years back that the band barely lived through, which had culminated in a full bus brawl and our tour manager having a nervous breakdown. I'd sworn an oath never to touch the lethal brew again... This palatable warning drifting back to me the following morning when I awoke to what looked like a Bosnian bombsite and a pounding ache in my lower back.
Apparently, on returning home late I had dozed off in the shower, deciding at about four or five in the morning to crawl out and listen to Slayer. Two tracks into 'Show No Mercy' there was an almighty crash likened to several hundred CDs falling to the ground and a dull, resigned thud. When Toni thundered downstairs to witness what fresh idiocies I'd inflicted (and no doubt to turn the taps off and punch my lights in), there was I, buried under a mountain of shelves and discs, most of which I'd collapsed upon, after pulling them down by walking into the wall.
There's definitely another lesson to be learned here, but seeing as it was the first time in my boozing career that I'd blacked out, I couldn't possibly remember what it could possibly be. Ah that's it... don't try this at home, kids - go round someone else's

Yours desperate for a less destructive vice, perhaps heroin or murder,
Dani