Apr 012011
 

Even for people as gullible as me, the trials of harsh experience can produce a thimbleful of wisdom.

As I’ve recounted in these pages, people from all over the world (okay, mainly from Africa) have written me with offers of pre-funded ATM cards, wire-transfers of vast sums of money, bags of gold dust, boxes of cash, and more. Those messages have come from British bureaucrats, orphans on the run from murderous uncles, ovarian cancer survivors, bank officers, you name it. Sometimes, they’ve discovered I’m the sole survivor of dead relatives I never knew I had.

I took them at their word. I promptly wrote back to every one of these people, trying to do my part to make possible the delivery of wealth into my hands, so that I might fulfill grand projects that would turn NCS from a half-assed metal blog into a global empire of awesomeness. And every one of the slimy motherfuckers has failed to deliver. And yes, I’ve learned something from these hope-crushing experiences: Don’t trust anyone offering you money if they don’t know what Fleshgod Apocalypse is.

But, I confess, hope springs eternal. And an e-mail I received just this week from a dude in Ghana has revived my hopes. It’s just so eloquently written that I know something good will come of it. Plus, I think this is the biggest offer of cash I’ve yet received. After the jump, the message I got and my heart-felt reply to it. Continue reading »

Feb 142011
 

Nice photo, huh? And so appropriate for this day, particularly as adornment for a metal site. It’s the flower-crowned skull of St. Valentine exhibited in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin (Rome, Italy). And with that intro, we’re going to provide a little history lesson which convinced us (and maybe it will convince you), that Valentine’s Day is metal, despite what we used to think. We will also have music, of course, as a Valentine from us to you.

Now, back to that skull. Who did it really belong to, back when it was covered with warm flesh? What we now call Valentine’s Day was originally established in honor of an early Christian martyr, Saint Valentine. But according to the Catholic Encyclopedia, there were at least three martyrs by the name of Valentine: they were from Rome, Terni, and Africa. Each was said to have died on February 14.

It’s probable that Pope Gelasius I, who established St. Valentine’s Day in 496 AD, had in mind the Valentine who was beaten with clubs and stones and then beheaded in Rome in 269, 270, or 273 AD, supposedly for performing marriages. Now, that’s a metal way to meet your end.

To elaborate, some historical accounts report that Emperor Claudius II (“Claudius the Cruel”) banned marriages when Roman men began refusing to go to war in order to stay home with their wives. Valentine allegedly chose death over renouncing his religion and his performance of weddings. Legend has it that on his last day he wrote a message for his guard’s daughter (whose blindness he allegedly cured) signed, “From Your Valentine” — though there appears to be no historical basis in fact for the story about the girl, the blindness cure, or the note.

Like many Christian celebrations, what we do on Valentine’s Day has its origins in ancient Rome. Lupercalia was a Roman festival held on February 13-15, at least partly in honor of Lupa, the she-wolf who suckled the infant orphans Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. That’s why it was called Lupercalia — the “Wolf Festival”. That’s a metal name, for sure, but wait ‘to you see what the Romans did during that festival.  (more after the jump . . .) Continue reading »

Jan 312011
 

Maybe other people don’t find lorises as amusing as we do. Or maybe other people are happy just to look at lorises without treating them as fodder for “icanhazcheezburger” captions. Or maybe other people would rather we just stick to metal and leave bug-eyed animals to The Discovery Channel.

Whatever the reason, we only got three entries in our latest NCS contest — which was to come up with a suitable caption for that loris image up above that our buddy Phro sent us all the way from his fortified outpost in Japan.

Phro graciously consented to judge the entries and pick a winner, which he has now done. After the jump, Phro names the winner and explains his choice, we reveal our prizes for the lucky dude, and we add the winning caption to the photo.  (We do have metal today, in the two posts just below this one, so don’t start throwing things at the computer screen . . .) Continue reading »

Jan 252011
 

Well, you can’t say we didn’t warn you, cuz we did. We said in the post below this one that we probably hadn’t completely gotten this lolbandz/lollorisez thing out of our systems yet. And besides, we haven’t run an NCS contest since naming Niek Baboon’s gut-busting burger last September (here).

So, here’s the set-up: After we put up the post earlier today with NCS reader and sometimes contributor Phro‘s lol-speak captions for metal bands and our lol-captions for lorises, Phro found another loris photo he proposed as the official NCS mascot. It’s that very odd image up above. I immediately made a caption for it and added it to the original post, but I didn’t think my caption was that great.

So rather than try to come up with something better, I thought to myself, “Self, what the fuck, let’s let NCS readers suggest the caption!” As a bribe, we’ve got an assortment of new releases laying around in the loris cage and we’re willing to contribute three of those CDs as a prize. We won’t tell you what they are, because you may think they suck. So it will be a surprise — and they’ll be covered in authentic loris shit!. One more thing: Phro will pick the winner(contest details after the jump . . .) Continue reading »

Jan 252011
 

It don’t take much to get us sidetracked here at NCS. As you know, we’ve got the attention spans of sand fleas on a crowded beach. Case in point:

We wuz crankin away, tryin to get an album review finished, and made the mistake of using lolcat-speak on a post about how you can upload your own image to use with comments on this site. That prompted our buddy Phro to make an lolcat-style caption for a band photo we ran recently in another post. And it prompted ElvisShotJFK to suggest that lollorises would be more NCS-friendly than lolcatz. (That may be a cryptic reference to some of you, so you can go here if you want to see where it came from.)

Anyway, those comments made the dim lightbulbs in our heads flare briefly, and we put aside the album review and got to work on those ideas. Actually, we only got to work on one of them, and for the other, we talked Phro into doing all the work. He created captions for a batch of band photos, most of which we’d run in recent NCS features (except a scary one of Suffocation’s Frank Mullen with a shotgun), and sent us the links for his creations. And we used lolcat-builder to create captions for some loris photos, like the one up above.

After the jump, we’ve got a montage of Phro’s work with band photos interspersed with our loris pics. Is this metal? Probably not. Is it funny? Probably not. Is it now out of our system, so we can go back to writing about music? Probably not. Is it too late to stop us from running this post? Absofuckinglutely.  (subtract IQ points by continuing after the jump . . .) Continue reading »

Dec 182010
 

[EDITOR’S NOTE: We needed some kind of weekend segue between Finnish tributes and the start of NCS year-end listmania, and we decided to publish this. We may need our heads examined. And, as you’ll see, we’re not the only ones.

A couple weeks ago, I vented my spleen about “the holiday season” in a post called FUCK CHRISTMAS! This apparently inspired our regular commenter and previous guest contributor Phro to put tentacle to paper and spin out a Christmas yarn, which he says was inspired by a true story. It’s even more insane and  stomach-turning than Phro’s usual output — which is saying something. At least he didn’t indulge in any fantasies about my mom.

We’re publishing this as an act of mercy – not for Phro, but for the people he might victimize if we didn’t let him get this off his chest. It will help you to know that Phro is a U.S. ex-pat teaching English in an undisclosed Japanese town. We hope he’s teaching livestock and not actual human beings. It also occurs to us that he should go easier on whatever passes for Japanese moonshine.]

“Jingle bells, jingle bells…”

The sound echoed in my ears.  Distant and echoey and seemingly far away.  It was like the sound of my first born being murdered by a land-born octopus with razors for suckers.

“Wha…”

I was lying on the floor in a pile of vomit, blood, shit, piss, and other squishy fluids I chose not to recognize.  There were frightened children, parents, and Japanese policemen around me.  The policemen looked as frightened as the children.  They were babbling something at me in a language I knew I should know, but I was having a hard time connecting my brain to reality. (more dementia after the jump . . .) Continue reading »

Nov 142010
 

Yes, I am not here. Yes, I am on vacation. Yes, I wrote this post before I left. Yes, I scheduled this to appear while I am gone. It is not time-sensitive, because all these people from Nigeria, and Ghana, and Mali, and Burkina Faso are big on talk and short on action. I’m now to the point that I don’t expect an answer to my messages. I don’t even know why I bother writing back to them at all.

The last chapter in my search for riches beyond the dreams of avarice has petered out. For those of you who haven’t been keeping score, that chapter was MALIAN RICHES AWAIT!. Ecobank and The Bank of Africa (Burkina Faso branch) never wrote back. Also, despite the fact that I offered them a very easy way to send me my money via PayPal, that didn’t happen.

I may have made a tactical error in threatening to sic Interpol on their ass for extortion when I wrote them. I think I need to do a better job controlling my temper. I just didn’t realize how sensitive bankers can be. I thought all bankers were a bunch of human-sized reptiles with scaly reptile skin and predatory dispositions and antifreeze for blood. Maybe the ones in Africa are warm-blooded. Maybe their feelings can be hurt after all. I think I need to be more empathetic, more laid back. I need to shine their shoes with my tongue.

Fortunately, just as I was about to shitcan the designs for the Cube Pool, the Lorisarium, and the Grolsch Vortex Fountain and tell the contractors I hired that they would have to chase me down like an animal if they wanted their money, I got a new message from a different bank in Burkina Faso. So I have a chance to put into practice my new tactic of being all sweetness and light.

I’ve always heard that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, so I might as well try to drown them in honey. Can’t hurt, right? Putting to one side why you’d want to catch flies in the first place; I’ve never really understood why anyone would want to do that. I’d rather just eat the honey and let the flies go somewhere else.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the latest message from Burkina Faso. That’s after the jump, along with my heart-felt reply . . . Continue reading »

Oct 262010
 

Last week we opened a new chapter in our correspondence with African emissaries who want to give us money.  The Nigerian/Ghana chapter seems to be over. No pre-funded ATM cards, big piles of cash, or bags of gold dust have ever arrived at the NCS island, and we’re hearing nothing but crickets from our original correspondents (all of whom have proven themselves to be no better than used toilet paper).

But as we reported last week, we heard from two women — one from Mali and one from Burkina Faso — who were attacked by the ravages of cancer, and whose experiences led them to offer me large sums of money, presumably because they are trve metalheads and appreciate all the awesome metalness this site has to offer.

As reported last week, I wrote back to both of them — one who survived cancer, and one (Ms. Sandra Luzy) who expected to end her race, perhaps even before my e-mail would reach her. So far, I’ve received no response from the Malian cancer survivor who is spending my money vacationing in Japan — but I did receive a message from the bank that the mortally stricken woman from Burkina Faso had appointed to funnel $4.5 million my way — assuming I was the first foreigner to apply for the money following her anticipated expiration.

But strangely, on the heels of that message, I received a different one from another bank in Burkina Faso offering what seems to be a completely different — though equally eye-popping — sum of money from another distant relative of mine who perished in a car crash.  As in the case of the late Dr. Phillip Waterman (he of the bag of gold dust), I’m having trouble placing the name of this relative, but the money involved is rapidly improving my memory. (more after the jump . . .) Continue reading »

Oct 222010
 

What a fucking disappointment. Correspondence with my pen-pals from Nigeria and Ghana — those dual douchebags Robert Scott Dewar and John Morgan from the British High Commission in Abuja, and Mr. Kwaku Boafoh Agyeman — have petered out. My dreams of Grolsch-filled swimming pools and Roman forays to hear Fleshgod Apocalypse in person have dried up like desert flowers in the summer heat.

In other words, none of those duplicitous motherfuckers has seen fit to answer my latest e-mails. Sadly, it appears there will be no Chapter 3 to the saga of NIGERIAN RICHES AWAIT. (If none of this makes any sense to you, read this.)

But all is not lost! I have received new messages — heart-rending messages — from two women (one from Mali and one from Burkina Faso) whose personal catastrophes may yet yield for me riches beyond the dreams of avarice. There is still hope for the eleemosynary institution I plan to establish for deserving metal bands. There is still hope for the beer pool and for having FA provide the live metallic accompaniment to my daily existence. There is still hope!

Read for yourselves, and weep, at the tragic stories I received, and the ways in which I may profit from tragedy, and I will also share with you my answers to these two women.  (more dementia after the jump . . .) Continue reading »

Oct 152010
 

The saga of correspondence with my pen pals at the British High Commission office in Nigeria continues.  Plus, as you’ll see, I have a new pen pal now from another distant land.  To remind you where we left off in Chapter 1 (recounted in our previous post here):

I got an e-mail from someone identifying herself as Mrs. Bintu Mahmud asking me to contact her lawyer because of ” a very important thing ALLAH wants you to do for Him.”  I assumed Mrs. Mahmud had a direct channel to Allah and that He wanted us to review some of His new music, though I was a tad suspicious about that “call my lawyer” stuff.  So I questioned that — but Mrs. Mahmud didn’t answer right away.

Instead, the next thing I knew, I got an e-mail from one Robert Scott Dewar at the British High Commission in Abuja, Nigeria, explaining that because of the nefarious activities of African scammers, the sum of $850,000 had been earmarked to compensate people like me who had been victimized. Mr. Dewar promised to send me a pre-funded ATM card with the amount of my recompense, and all I had to do was send him a bunch of personal information about myself.

I thought that was a fucking decent thing to do, given how upset I was over having my hopes raised about getting to review Allah’s music and then being ignored by Mrs. Mahmud. So, I sent in my personal info, but expressed my belief that nothing less than $150,000 would adequately compensate me for my pain and suffering.

Four days later, I got an e-mail from another douchebag — correction, agent of the British High Commission — named John Morgan giving me an international telephone number to call in order to “do the needful” in order to have my pre-funded ATM card sent by DHL to my home address.

I was a bit pissed at this, since they had already told me I was going to get a pre-funded ATM card, but four days had come and gone without any ATM card, and now this douchebag — correction, consular agent — was telling me I had to incur international long-distance charges to “do the needful,” whatever the fuck that meant. So, I gave the dude a piece of my mind. I also told him the amount of my “needful” recompense was going up with each passing day.  (more after the jump . . .) Continue reading »