Tag: The Blind Eye

#8 Hiltengarde

| November 8, 2010 | 1 Comment

Imagine, mes amis, a mere man for whom the rapier’s edge is no risk!  An immortal so dismissive of the sword, he invites it into his gullet as an hors d’oeuvre!  Observe as the iron-throated Hiltengarde ingests an arsenal extraordinaire and emits not an ounce of crimson extract!  HOW does he live?  WHY does he not bleed?  WHERE do the points delve safely within?  Questions inconsequential!  Pertinent only is your perusal of his performance!  The swordsman supreme will display the danger of his devices!  A dagger for a dying damsel!  A machete through man-meat!  A stiletto for a still-beating heart!  And each blood-blessed implement passed perfectly from person to palette!  Nary a wasted, precious drop!  And, now, partakers of the purulent, prepare to participate!  Hiltengarde is here!  Time for volunteers!

#7 BeBe Lyles

| November 7, 2010 | 0 Comments

Entertainment reporter Betsy Tremaine was freed from her network contract yesterday, following a disastrous bid to get an interview from Mourningstar guitarist Bebe Lyles.  Well-known for their pact of non-contact with the media, Martin d’Etoile’s bandmates carry security details that are simply legendary and follow intricate pre- and post-concert travel protocols to evade the paparazzi.  Obviously, any successful exchange with just ONE of them would make a music journalist’s career!  And this was apparently the rationale behind Ms. Tremaine’s failed undercover effort!  She hounded the band as a groupie for weeks, targeting the rumored tastes of the solemn axeman, Lyles, until – just three days ago, after Mourningstar sonically detonated Madison Square Garden – she finally got the backstage invite she’d …sacrificed…so much for.

Tremaine emerged from the tour bus of the self-dubbed “Satan’s Choir” completely bald, psychologically vacant and covered in ritualistic brands burned into her flesh!  She couldn’t speak to accomplishing an interview, but she DID recite a laundry list of journalistic ethics violations perpetrated in her quest FOR said interview.  Of course, we can’t repeat ANY of the acts constituting those violations, EVEN on cable – but they were all apparently at the hypnotic behest of Bebe, seen staring and – a FIRST – SMILING from the door of the bus as Tremaine stoically recounted the degenerate situations to which she subjected herself…all for NOTHING…

#5 Mama Houdoo

| November 5, 2010 | 3 Comments


Some folks happy with a shack on a dry patch, but others want mo’ than what God see fit to give’em.  Take Mama Houdoo, f’instance.  She hitched up to be ole lady fo’ the head man of the Gatorbait Motorcycle Club – Crawdaddy they called him.  Now Crawdaddy, he was content with just his woman, their boys and his road dogs, but for Mama, that just didn’t get it.  She use the magicks of her ole’ pointy-nose granny and gave her left hand to spell Crawdaddy – hollowed out his soul and filled it up again full’a demon essence.  And that just ain’t right!  These days, she run Gatorbait through that devil shell – send’em on her b’ness, stealing and killing for whatever tickle her fancy.  That woman think she own the whole wide world, and she might…if she could ever get rid’a that rascal duJour.

#4 Jugular

| November 4, 2010 | 4 Comments

Bonsoir, Messieurs et Mesdames.  What you are about to see, what you paid in sanguine coin to experience, is at hand.  Behold the pallid purveyor of pantomime!  Quiet drinker of the crimson ichor!  Europe’s most renowned undead!  The Mime Jugular!  Once the most celebrated voice of humanity!  A singer unparalleled,  the young master forfeited his gift for the immortality of a jealous admirer.  The very folds of his vox pulled from their box on the fangs of a leeching count in wont of the melodic organs for himself!  So, hear now, admirers of the exquisite, the song of silence!  Observe the music of movement!  Feel the eloquence of impression!  Give freely of your lifeblood so that the eternal performance never ends!

#3 d’Etoile

| November 3, 2010 | 1 Comment

And in entertainment news, shock rocker Martin d’Etoile of goth metal outfit Mourningstar made it official today – he’s a member of the International Church of Satan!  Long rumored to be little more than a hate-spouting poseur with a penchant for pop demonology and barely legal groupies, d’Etoile took a step toward credibility with this bold pronouncement!  Riding a crest of critically and commercially successful musical endeavors, he outlined plans to put his celebrity weight behind the Satanic Church ’s recruitment campaigns and humanistic philanthropy.  And he’s apparently walking the walk!

We caught up with the controversial frontman after the impromptu street concert that followed his press conference, where he temporarily joined his bandmates in their media code of silence as they personally passed out food, clothes and, yes, even CASH to attendees, all of whom also walked away with armloads of Church literature!  D’Etoile offered only this as he passed the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi en route to the idling seat of his Bugatti:  “I make dreams come true! And nightmares for the rest of you!”  Is he finally making good on his claims of being an agent of the Antichrist?  Or is this just another publicity stunt designed to break more sales records?  Find out next week in our face-to-face interview with Martin d’Etoile, brought to you by the U.S. Army – BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE!

#1 Du Jour

| November 1, 2010 | 6 Comments

Deep in the Mississippi River Delta, there be strife – rival clans warring for the favor of all the spirits of animal, vegetable and mineral.  Ole’ duJour, he the last of his clan – that Roadkill Motorcycle club, every one cut low by Mama Houdoo’s boys and the evils in her thrall.  Now duJour ride alone, just him and his curse.  Po’ bastard can’t eat nothing but carrion, and then the spirit of the dead thing fill him up and take over.  He put a buzzard in his belly, he grow wings.  He pick over a possum, he see in the dark and hang from a tree.  Seen it my own self.  But duJour don’t care none ‘bout curses.  He use’em to satisfy the vengeance that occupy his mind.  Vengeance for the boys of the Roadkill MC.  For the shade of his ole lady.  And for his very own lost soul.