(I manipulated Phro into reviewing the new album by Rumpelstiltskin Grinder, because I can. Ghostmaker will be released by Candlelight Records on June 19.)
Islander sent me Rumplestiltskin Grinder’s new album Ghostmaker for review. As with most things our Glorious Leader does, no one really knows why he wanted me of all people to review it. But I did. I thought I’d share the experience with you. It went something like this…
The night is dark like the eyes of a blind corpse. The cold air dangles its long fingers from the sky and runs them listlessly through your hair and over your skin. The sound of a dog whimpering and choking on something fatty in the distance is the only noise in your ears aside from your throbbing heart and timid footsteps.
In your right hand is a bucket of goat cocks, pig testicles, horse vaginas, and frog eyes. In your left hand is a small shovel. And in your hip pocket is a Swiss army knife, because your father told you to always be prepared. You forgot your flashlight, though, because, let’s face it, no one’s memory improves much after a few dozen shots of Jack Daniels. Fortunately, the moon is full, and its obese, pimply face, glistening like a glitter-covered Santa Clause climbing a few flights of stairs, sheds enough light for you to see.
You’ve been walking for a few minutes, having parked your car at the edge of the cemetery, but soon you see what you’ve come for. The headstone is simple and uninspiring, and the name is illegible in this light, but, let’s be honest, it matters little who lies beneath.
You set the bucket down, careful not to spill any of its contents, and begin digging a small hole. After a few minutes, a hole no bigger than your head lies gaping in the fresh soil. From your front pocket you pull out a portable music player, set it on the head stone, and press play.