The Sudden Fart of Laughter

You guys all know abdul alhazred already. He does THIS and he came by and did THIS for us last year. He likes shit like THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS and THIS.
But you knew that already.
Here is his entry for Guilty Pleasures Week.

- Cobras

Not that I feel guilty about it, but it's not very cool to sit around and listen to poetry, is it? All poets are foppish failures so self-involved, so blindly arrogant that they think the universe whirls around their filthy word-holes, entranced and panty-wet, correct?

Indeed, but as with all truths there are exceptions. Let me give you a bit of perspective on Billy Childish: He's released well over a hundred record with his various bands, painted thousands of paintings, spewed out 40 books of poetry and two novels (all in his own dyslexic, brutally graphic mutant version of the Queen's English), become entangled with and unsuccessfully distanced himself from artist Tracy Emin (who visibly swiped quite a few of his mannersisms), become arch-enemies with vile douchebag Damien Hirst, created an entire genre of art (Stuckism) and disowned it, cultivated a prize-winning mustache, and still found time to garden and polish his Beatle boots.

What we have here is a disc of spoken word recordings, seemingly done in his kitchen, which came as a bonus disc with the documentary Billy Childish is Dead (which I highly recommend). I shan't comment too much on the poems, as they speak and spit for themselves, but if you're going to bother downloading I recommend you not browse around the internet looking at kitties, or play it while chopping cilantro with your wonderful soul mate, or listen to it on your ipod while using the thighmaster; none of that. Wait until it's late at night, and you're alone and ugly and your head hurts. Wait until the spectre of doom weighs down on you shoulders, crumpling your thin skull into a little fossilized turd. You guilt will save you, you bastard.

The Sudden Fart of Laughter

BROMANTIC INTERLUDE #5: Abdul Alhazred Guides A Raucous, Squamous, Amorphous Tour of Apocalyptic Lovecraftian Dread

Perhaps you have not yet made the acquaintance of my dear friend abdul alhazred (right). What a shame.
I speak not of the well-known Abdul Alhazred who met his untimely demise at the hands of invisible demons in the middle of a crowded street-market some centuries ago, but a different and very much living (or is he?) Mr. alhazred who holds dominion over the morbid and hideous young beast known as From This Swamp. Visit the dark caverns and eery crevasses of abdul's foul new creation to experience the unspeakable horror of That Which Should Not Be. Shudder as you behold dark, massive, inescapable forms shambling towards oblivion. Scream as the rotten, foul-smelling appendages of musty, antediluvian mummies grasp at your very soul. And perish in the fires of a final, cleansing extinction. IA! IA!

-Cobras

Thusly Spoken: Apocalypse Music

Illogical Contraption cult leader Shelby Cobras has charged me with the task of compiling a collection of music pertaining to the word APOCALYPSE. After careful consideration, I have pruned roughly four hours worth of potential songs into 80 burnable minutes, primarily (but not entirely) of the heavy metal and punk rock varieties. Many of the discarded songs were from other genres: hip-hop, soul, noise, country, classical, soundtrack music, etc. Perhaps these shall surface someday from the fetid depths of the swamp I now call home. Quite a few other potential inclusions were also forgone due to their scheduled appearance there in the foreseeable future. What remains is hopefully a coherent document for future generations, a capsule buried deep enough to survive the approaching darkness. History will vindicate or vilify me, accordingly.

Boris Karloff - Civil Defense Spot: Protect your Home
Taken from Atomic Platters: Cold War Music from the Golden Age of Homeland Security (forthcoming)
Plasmatics - The Damned
The premier Reagan-era harbingers of the inevitable nuclear holocaust.
Spawn Sacs - Real Situation
Chattanooga/Miami's darkest and most self-destructive punk rock band, renowned for staring doom in the face and surviving. This is a cover of Bob Marley's eerily prophetic anthem.
The Dicks - I Hope You Get Drafted
A vitriolic screed against apathetic, apolitical ignorance. A condom full of spite hurled into a redneck's gaping jaw.
The Humpers - Apocalypse Girl
Black-humoured love song sung by the doomed, for the doomed.
Nausea - Inherit The Wasteland
Arguably the first vital American crust band, the template for a million albums of annihilation fetishism. The meek shall inherit the cinders.
In/Humanity - Nuclear Winter Wonderland
Diminutive but snappily-dressed front-man Chris Bickel sticks out his tongue and tastes the black snowflakes.
Cathedral - The Omega Man
Charlton Heston indulges in inter-racial romance and the wholesale slaughter of bomb-worshiping albinos.
Saint Vitus - The End Of The End
The go-to source for post-civilization rock and roll. Wino, like the humble cockroach, will scuttle though the ruins and thrive.
Trouble - Endtime
Christian doom bands perhaps have the best perspective on this sort of thing; a belief system revolving around end of it all set to the proper down-tuned hum of incoming ballistics.
Flower Travellin' Band - Hiroshima
Similarly, Japan's close brush with extinction lends this track weight and poignancy.
Slough Feg - White Cousin
This is taken from Ape Uprising, a concept album loosely based around Planet of the Apes, Here, subterranean mutants in tattered robes worship a missile god as yet undetonated.
Scientists - Atom Bomb Baby
Muddy, twisted rockabilly in the service of recreating the human race, this time perhaps as a tribe of two-headed greasers with burn scars to match the flames pinstriped on their bombed-out car husks.
Blues Creation - Atomic Bombs Away
Another Japanese rocker embracing the national spectre: ashen silhouettes of fleeing peasants remain where now-vaporized bodies once stood.
Funeral - Waiting For The Bomb Blast
Not the crusty Portland band – this is from Bloodstains across California. More Cold War paranoia you can dance to.
Fearless Iranians From Hell - Holy War
America's worst fear in the 80's (aside from a Black Planet): fat ugly queer Texas punks in balaclavas glorifying jihad, drugs, and hardcore music.
The Drags – Cannible (sic)
Ham-fisted Albuquerque garage punk whose priorities include arson, poison, electrocution, and red meat. Anything but spelling and production values, it seems.
Men's Recovery Project - The Fat Lady Is Singing
!!!!!!!!!
Corrosion of Conformity - Poison Planet
North Carolina's most famous toxic progeny, corpse-fattened hogs wallowing in luminescent mud.
Carnivore - Legion of Doom
The original preposterous Road Warrior metal, unsurpassed in thick-headed homoerotic manliness. Akin to stabbing yourself in the eye with a sharpened human femur.
Angel Witch - Extermination Day
NWOBHM second-stringers lobby for the merciful oblivion of universal genocide.
Dust - Thusly Spoken
Deceptively pretty ballad, perfect for relaxing with a Long Island Iced Tea and watching the skyline go up in flames. Drummer Marc Bell went on to fame after changing his surname to Ramone.
Hank Williams - Angel Of Death
A gleeful warning of things to come.
Nick Cave & Warren Ellis - The Cannibals
From the soundtrack to The Road.
Tem Eyos Ki - Kaput Mortem
Little Rock, Arkansas' most famous abstract Nintendo-metal warriors break from their usual dual-guitar template to serenade you into that final slumber.
Blind Willie Johnson - Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground
The Earth heaves its death rattle out into space, and God looks down and says, “It is good.”

Repent!