As I was ironing my stylish designer shirt this morning, something in me snapped. Because I'm a gigantic fucking rebel. If I have to work today, I'm going to wear my Slayer shirt, goddammit. That's just how we represent west coast style. And of course, my Prada shoes. Because the motherfucking devil wears them.* Yes, I stole that idea from my extremely hott and fashionable wife.
Not only that, the shirt reeks of smoke. From all the corpses I've sacrificed to Satan. OK, it's because I've been barbecueing. But still: I didn't wash it first. How fucking rebellious is that?
[Slayer posted a (fairly mediocre) new song on their website, along with some offensive Hot Topic co-branding opportunity, which kind of killed my Slaytanic boner. The Kerry King site has not relaunched as promised. davelombardo.com is still under construction. Even the NDoS site has nothing special going on today. Only the Cod has come through. And Krucoff, of course. But the fact that blogger is down not only makes today's telecommunication even more hypothetical than usual, it proves that the end is near. Or something.]
*The Devil is undoubtedly also conversing -- about your IMMINENT DEMISE -- on the new D&G RAZR. Which, I happen to know, matches the bedroom in Stefano and Domenico's Capri villa.