PHRO LISTENS TO “ENTITY” BY ORIGIN

(Our buddy Phro, who many of you will recognize from his “distinctive” contributions in our Comments sections, was so fucking excited about the new Origin album that he dived right in . . . though he didn’t realize that his music player was on shuffle as he listened to the songs. We’re happy to publish his “real time” listening experience right here, right now. Brace yourselves . . .)

This is a true account of my experience listening to Origin’s new Entity album. Listening experiences may (probably won’t, though) vary. This is based on a totally true story.

I was sitting, listlessly, in the staff room on my entirely too short break. Staring blankly at the wall, I played with my tepid, tasteless lunch. I had bought it at the 7-11, but if I hadn’t actually read the label, it would have been a completely indefinable…mush. Sighing dejectedly, I hazarded a glance at the calendar. Then, something caught my eye. June 7th. June…7th? OH, SNAP! JUNE 7th!!!

How I could have forgotten this illustrious day? I have no idea, but forgotten it I had. With nary a moment to lose, I whipped out my phone and pulled up the Amazon MP3 app. Typing madly—nay, furiously—I soon found what I was looking for. Artist: Origin. Album: Entity. Now available for down-fucking-load! I fist pumped! Then I turned red and looked around sheepishly. Thank Dio! The room was empty. I pressed download and….and…AND!!!! Waited. Goddamn slow fucking 3G cockshitting wireless. Fine, I’ll wait, I thought.

After an admittedly not-all-that-long wait time, I saw that download status bar tick from 99% to 100%. Like a little Satanist on June 6th, 1666, my eyes lit up and I shoved my earphones into my ears like a porn star stuffing two cocks in her mouth. I ignored the delightful imagery, pulled up the music player and pressed play.

The first heavy, thudding notes of the music reverberated in my ears. I wondered for a moment if Origin had forgone their characteristic, lightning-fast delivery, but was soon pleased to find the music blazing along at typical Origin speeds. The groove of the first verse set in quite well, like a needle in a record. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

Just as the next song, “Swarm” erupted in my ears, a thought broke me from the spell. What fucking time was it? Opening my eyes, I glanced at the clock and realized I was late for a rather important meeting. “Shit!”

I reached up to pull the earphones out, but something…unpleasant happened. As I yanked on them, I felt a sharp pain on the inside of my eardrums. Howling, I let go and felt the earphones snap back into place. “What the fuck??” I reached up and touched the earphones and my temples and found a strange goo. Looking at my fingers, I was horrified to see what looked like a frothy mixture of blood and tar. Almost tripping on my own two feet, I yanked the door open and sprinted through the reception lounge to the bathroom. In pain, I barely noticed that neither the receptionist nor my (fucking annoying) co-worker were around.

Stumbling down the hall, I distinctly heard the bass guitar accenting the angry African bee drone of the guitars. I wanted to pause for a moment to admire the thick guttural vocals bouncing between deep growls and hellish howls, but thought that maybe the tar-blood-goo might be more important. Falling into the bathroom, I flicked on the lights and tried pulling the earphones out once more—this time gingerly. To my horror, I could see thick, slimy tendrils stretched between the earphones and my ears. Little droplets of blood fell from the tendrils and splattered on the ground. As I gasped in horror, the song wound down and a brief moment of silence flitted through my ears, until “Consequence of Solution” started pounding like a tap dancing elephant in my brain.

Suddenly, I felt a wet slap across my cheek and turned to my left to see a shit demon. A real-life shit demon. He stood 7 foot tall and growled like a monster truck getting fucked in the tail pipe by an angry badger. Or maybe that was just the music. I couldn’t really be sure what was the music and what was the sound of terror manifested.

Either way, I stared in rapt horror and amazement for a second, before the shit demon raised a fist and slung it towards my head. I ducked just as a bass drop in the song rocked my inner ear and my balance failed me. Fortunately, the shit demon’s own momentum threw him through the door and he splattered unceremoniously against the wall, like a Rorschach test for fecalphiliacs. Panting, I walked into the hall and stared at the fetid mess.

The music broke into a deep but jumpy groove and then segued into a dicktingling breakdown (or something that felt like getting punched in the dick with an iron fist), and just then I noticed something moving in the periphery of my vision. I turned to see…BATS?!? And not cute Batman bats. Shitdemon-pet-bats. With sharp fangs.

Cursing like a sailor repaying a sexual favor, I scurried back to the staff room, hoping to find a place to hide. I had no idea what the bass drop was happening, but I could only assume it was quite directly related to the music. I tried to turn the music off, but my phone refused to unlock. Even after I pulled the battery out and smashed my very expensive phone with my stainless steel Thermos, the dulcet tones continued their atomic barrage.

Nearly sobbing, I collapsed against the door and closed my eyes. “Consequences of Solution” was winding down with a metallic sounding outro and the sustained screams of a madman fucking a pine tree. Just as the next song, “Expulsion of Fury” took off with a high-pitched fretboard dance, I felt millions of tiny sharp somethings rip into my face.

Screaming along with the vocalist, I touched my face and realized I had just been pelted with glass. Looking up, I saw a demonic monkey howling at me with a scimitar. He had clearly crashed through the now broken window directly behind him. He hefted the sword and swung it at me, his face contorted with a grin of wild abandon. Each strike swooshed through the air in time with the screeching guitars punctuating the track. As I rolled away, I saw my Thermos on the floor. I grabbed it and silently hoped that the stainless steel description above was accurate. Just as the monkey slammed the sword down towards my head, I lifted the Thermos and blocked the blow.

A pause in the music was followed by a muted, semi-staticy riff that was soon joined by the rest of the band. It came again and again, like a sergeant screaming over machine gun fire at his soldiers. In time with the rhythm of the music, I blocked attacks from the monkey, and, just as the song ended, I got a swing in of my own and bashed the Thermos into the monkey’s temple.

As the demonic monkey sprawled backwards onto the floor, “Evolution of Extinction” burst into my ears, and I leaped at my chance. Falling upon the little shit, I, detachedly, felt my arm rise and fall with the pummeling rhythm of the song as I used the Thermos to hammer its face into the floor. The song broke into a repetitive riff that fueled my anger, and the door burst open.

Just as the vocals kicked in and the riff built to explosion, I felt a blast of hot air singe my hair. I stood in awe as I looked out over plains of bubbling lava and acidic ash. Where the office had gone, I had no idea, but I clearly wasn’t at work anymore. The vocals howled angrily, with hints of a deeper menace at the bottom of the track. The music stopped for a moment and unintelligible words vomited forth, followed by a lengthy breakdown. Glancing back, I realized that the door was gone. I turned in a circle and took in what I could only assume were the plains of Hell.

“It must be Tuesday. I could never get the hang of Tuesdays,” I muttered to myself as the music slowly faded out. A brief respite.

With “Committed”, the guitars took on a more washed-out tone. Less crisp and more muddy. The vocals also took on a sound like a frog croaking in anguish as Miss Piggy fisted its tight anus. Just as the guitars changed tone again, like a circular saw being rammed into a the side of a grain truck, I realized I wasn’t alone. Turning to my right, I saw an evil I’d never dreamed possible. 12 feet tall, the monstrosity’s myriad arms were covered in millions of slimy, squirming leeches, and its horrendous face was a contortion of shame, misery, and orgasmic agony.

“Tipper Gore! You filthy cunt! I should have known!” Her mouth opened, but instead of words, only the sound of harpies with nasty anal itches poured out. Just then “Conceiving Death” rolled through my brain like a Panzer tank laying waste to everything in its path — the deep belches accentuating the furious howl of the vocals matching the tank’s cannons, and the PCP-fueled bass drums were its tracks. The thick heft of the guitars and bass guitars became it’s impenetrable armor.

Suddenly, I felt my skin growing thicker and harder. Looking down, I realized I was slowly transforming into a monster myself—like a steel blow-up doll Pokmeon. The song maintained it’s steady march forward until a winding solo manifested an absurdly over-sized battle ax in my hand. It was then that I got a rage boner and almost passed out as the blood rushed from my head.

Fortunately, “Saliga” slid like a cobra into my body, filling me with pure adrenaline and a desire for unbridled hate-fuckery. Tipper took a step back, and her hundreds of fingers turned into obsidian blades. She hissed at me like a house cat getting fucked by a horny tom cat and leaped at me. In time with the music, I blocked her strike with the handle of my ax, hoping her aim was a pathetic as her attempts to sanitize music. As the sweeps ran up and down scales, she got through my defenses and started slashing my face.

Finally, I broke free and found myself falling, falling, falling down to the furnace below. The guitars hummed angrily as I fell. I hit the floor just as the music picked up again. I had fallen for quite a while, but, surprisingly, I was able to stand. Looking up, I could see Tipper getting ready to follow me down. My face was bleeding, and I was pretty sure a large number of bones in various parts of my body were either broken or liquefied. Then she leaped for me just as the guitars started to hum again.

But half-way down, the music erupted and time stood still. Her fuck-ugly face was contorted in pure hateful glee, and yet she hung limply in the air. Looking around I realized I was surrounded. Four rather unhappy looking fellows were glaring at me. I collapsed under the weight of my battle ax and fell to my knees.

Just then, “You Fail!” ripped through my ears, and I realized the four figures were…ORIGIN! I would finally be free! I fell at their feet, sobbing like a little kid who had just dropped his ice cream. “Please, I beg you! Make it stop! I can’t take it anymore! I’m sorry! Whatever I did, please, just make it stop!!!!”

“Shut up, you maggot-fucking hemophiliac,” they spoke in unison. Their voices shook the ground, impregnated virgins, resurrected and then decapitated the dead, and toppled mountains. My once proud rage boner shrunk to the size of a baby’s dick in cold water. Suddenly, I heard “Purgatory” rip merciless through my brain. The first notes of high-pitched madness were like well-placed sniper shots followed by mortar rounds of devastation. They glowered at me.

“Didn’t you even realize you were listening to the album on shuffle, you horrendous Nazi-spunk-sucking scum bucket of shit?! How dare you defile our work!? If you hope to live to see another day, stand! FUCKING STAND!!!”

Suddenly, I felt a mighty force propel me to my feet. One by one, they slapped my face and then, silently, disappeared. Quietly, like the whisper of a ghost haunting your dreams, “The Decent” lolled it way through my ears, its sweet sounds traipsing lovingly through a field of burning flowers. I felt my bones mend and my strength return. The song started quietly but rose and fell like a tide of bloody bones.

Just as the song gave way to the maniacal drumming of “Fornever”, I looked up to see that Tipper had resumed her fall. She sped toward me faster than cum ejaculated from a porn star with a cock ring, the wind flapping about the leeches on her arms. She slammed into the ground, but quickly rose to face me. As the vocals of “Fornever” roared in my ears, I felt my rage boner return, though still a bit timid. Not waiting for her to attack me again, I rushed—ax held high. But she easily sidestepped my swing and lacerated my back with her obsidian nails. I held back a scream and wheeled around—ax first—just missing her abdomen.

“Purtagory” swelled in my ears and the hatefuck groove drove me on like a merciless whip. I swung wildly, lopping off an arm here and there. Finally, screaming in agony, she tripped and fell against the flaming ground. I cut off her kicking legs and jumped on her stomach. The pressure caused blood to squirt out of her stumps. She hissed helplessly at me—no arms and no legs left to attack me. Just as the song reached it last riff, I dropped the ax onto her throat and sent her head rolling.
And then….nothing….

After a few moments, “Banishing Illusion” lumbered into my ears. I knew my eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything. I reached out and groped desperately for something, anything. But there was nothing. The music started racing, like a bloodthirsty robot chasing down fleeing human prey, and still I could see nothing. Finally, as the vocals started screaming in my ears, I saw a faint light in the distance. Running to the light, I found the music growing more and more intense. Then, just as it grew so bright I couldn’t see, the music fell silent and I realized I was staring out the widow in the staff break room. I jumped. What the octoporn??? My phone rang, and when I answered I heard my boss demanding to know why I wasn’t at the meeting.

Mumbling half-hearted apologies, I quickly gathered my material and shoved the phone in my pocket. I wondered if this were going to happen every time I listened to the album . . . and hoped desperately that it would.