i never, ever, never ever got my head around this... you know that they needed healthy slaves to export to america, yes? yes, yes, we know that white men can't jump, as taught by wesley snipes, that said: black men can't swim; but how the **** did these white boys catch a usain bolt, without injuring him?! you smell that? i swear i'm getting a whiff of salmon, or cod, definitely not haddock, maybe, but certainly not herring... how the **** do you catch an agile african when you can't (a) injure him or (b) out-run him?! probably as mysterious as the: ******* architectural endevour at giza!

this has to be, the shittest song,
  with, probably the best intro ever conjured...
and that qualifies it as a carlsberg moment of
inquisition - none other than?
   iron maiden's
    *the loneliness of the long
distance runner...
from the album lost in time...
competing?
well, obviously
with a solo section
from afraid of the dark song
afraid to shoot strangers...
a solo that's an
   anti-solo ****-project...
a solo section that
doubles up as a rhythm section...
with paul di'anno
they're hardly metal -
more akin to punk...
sure some accents of high-tier
guitars,
   but they were still heavy
on the rhythm;
and if they kept him?
they'd be regarded as punk:
are we agreed that
the fun part outside of
philosophy in applying
dialectics is also beyond
that reach of diacritical markers,
that simply
invokes the pleasurable debate
of music?
   seems the only thing
worthy of applied dialectics
is music bound, and music alone...
afraid to shoot strangers
has a rhythm solo that nothing
can beat...
    and the loneliness of
the long distance runner the best
intro, but subsequently the shittest
follow up...
   you begin listening and drinking
a carlsberg, which ends up
as dog's ****:
i really hope they rewrite
that song...
  i'd love to hear it, one more
time: as it should be heard,
invoking the melody
from genesis,
           to the zenith of an exodus
    into silence;
with paul di'anno they're still
punk to me...
    defining a newly emerging genre:
trash metal, post-scriptum to punk...
oh forget thrash metal...
      jeff hanneman died...
   as did the "****-fluence" -
                ****** was in the driving
seat... much of what the album
reign in blood was, was his
wehrmacht heritage...
                  now that's missing...
   so there's really nothing else to really
talk about...
              oh yeah... my grandmother
was given opiates to stop her from screaming
when my great-grandmother / father hid
from the army of the wehrmacht...
                          when they raided the villages
and killed my great-grandmother's brothers...
yeah, she lived to be 91...
   i still remember summers playing
with my aunt and uncle (conceived late,
nearly my own age at the time)
over the past span of memory reaching
toward the 3rd decade...
which makes someone who's english
or american suggest i'm ****...
          that bit is ******* hilarious!
it's almost the same moment
(with regards to feeling) of feeding these
idiot to wild boars in that
   famous hannibal scene...
i just want to hear their moaning-in-agony
joke regarding pigs:
    oink...        oink?! you sure?
pretentious half-caste ******* sons
of wenches...
        i said it already!
a stick had to ends! you think the seesaw
doesn't allow someone to grip the staff
once being hit with it, on the opposite end
of the spectrum?
well, **** me! sign me up!
     maybe you knew memebers of
your family, directly affected
by the second world war...
                let hear that recital
about the horrors of the london blitz...
i'm just... dying to know
   about horrors you endured...
and how you bred these ignorant,
half-baked cookies of a worth of a people...
who can spend hour concentrating
on an advert,
   but treat actual books as
                                         doorstops.