Listen to the Arch Appeaser #2
Good evening. My name is Elisabeth Rehn. I bear no family ties to Olli. How I wish people stopped asking me that. How I wish that some day we were remembered for what we were, not for our namesakes in the European Underworld.
Breathe. Smile. Okay.
My job, dare I say my calling, is to bring peace into your lives, into the lives of people everywhere, regardless of their race, their sexuality, the sexuality of race. The smoothness of their skin, or the the lack of thereof.
However, there are other forces at work in the world. More and more so, I'm afraid, with every passing day. There are those who think that a display of force is a solution to every problem. They worship strength, violence, brutality. They worship the Devil, whether they admit it or not. Say... ton. Get behind me! Stay! I didn't call for you. I'm just trying to educate these good people.
Tonight is a special night, a live episode of my TV talk show, The High Hat, generously sponsored by Rotenberg & Son. And we're going to dedicate tonight's episode entirely to the Old Nick and his followers. They come in many guises, you'll be surprised. So. It's time we welcomed our first guest: a long-haired boy with an unhealthy-looking gunshot wound to his head. Good evening. Who are you?
I'm Dead.
I can see that. What's your name?
Dead.
That's not very nice. What's your real name, the Christian name you were given by your parents? He won't answer. Wipe that smirk off of your face and speak! This is a talk show, you know. Why did you agree to appear, if you aren't going to say anything?
I wanted to take a peek.
A peek. At what, exactly?
This... whole... thing.
Well, now you've seen it. Be gone then, back to your Master!
Music, please. "Satan is Real" by The Louvin Brothers, if you you have it nearby.
What a waste... that smoke, it gets to you... and mirrors, where are they? Tucked away, hidden, of course. Let's move on, shall we? Our next guest is a respectable, educated gentleman, another fellow with his head blown off. Who shot you, sir?
I did.
May I ask why?
I did it in a holy place, in Notre Dame de Paris, in front of hundreds of people... Why? To wake you up.
Me? I'm fully awake, thank you.
That's what you think.
I do. And what is your connection to the Black Metal scene?
What? There is none.
No scene, you mean.
I wish. I want nothing to do with those people. I’m a traditionalist.
That’s nice. What does it mean?
Varg Vikernes is a traditionalist.
He is?
A tad over the top, perhaps, but basically, I respect his views. Then again, if you're going to discuss these other Norwegians, those pussies, I'm out of here. Them fuckers wouldn't recognize the Devil if he kicked them in the balls. Which they don't possess, apparently.
No foul language at my show! Go to Hell! Now, after a message from our sponsor, we'll be back with a clip from the upcoming blockbuster movie, which was produced by the video chain store, I believe. The movie is called Lords of Chaos, after the book. The names of the characters have been changed in order protect the guilty. Enjoy.
INT. RECORD STORE TAMBURLAINE - DAY.ANEURYSM is on the phone, talking to ANVIL.ANVILSo. What’s up?ANEURYSMSame old shit. How’s your Mom?ANVILThe same. B and B. I was just leaving.ANEURYSMWhere?ANVILWhaddaya think?ANEURYSMNo.ANVILWhat?ANEURYSMYou can’t go there.ANVILI ask your permission now? Can I go home?ANEURYSMCops all over the place.ANVILHow…?ANEURYSMGhost has gone home.ANVILHe’s what? To Sweden?ANEURYSMNo. He blew his brains out.ANVILOh.ANEURYSMWith my shotgun.ANVILShit.ANEURYSMMan, you should have been there. There was blood everywhere, his brains all over the room.ANVILYou were there?ANEURYSMI went in, through his window. He couldn’t answer the door in that condition.ANVILYeah. Would have been hard, I imagine.ANEURYSMI took pictures.ANVILYou did? Cool. When can I see them?ANEURYSMListen, we shouldn’t talk about this now. Like this, I mean. You understand?ANVILYeah. Little birds and shit.ANEURYSMSee you at the store, when you get back.ANVILAll right.ANEURYSMV is coming to town. He was so excited, said he’d steal a car if he couldn’t borrow one, and drive down right away.ANVILAwesome.ANEURYSMI've never heard the bastard so delighted over anything before. Sick fuck!They laugh for a second.ANEURYSM [contin’d]This is big, you know. We can use this. But first, let’s celebrate.ANVILI hear you.ANEURYSMToast the ghost who’s a ghost for real now.ANVILOkay. See you in a bit.ANEURYSMSee you.
ANVIL Bye.
ANEURYSM and ANVIL hang up. ANVIL disappears in a puff of smoke. Enter GHOST, carrying a shotgun. He’s wearing jogging pants, a denim jacket over a white T-shirt with the text NY on it. ANEURYSM starts painting his face white.
GHOST Did you hear that? He couldn’t say, “Bye,” because that would have been a symptom of weakness from him. He had his image to worry about, even now, Aneurysm did. Dude’s the guitar player in Hemorrhoid, the band where I sing, used to sing. His day job is posing as the self-appointed second-hand Führer of our little tribe. Cum metal, he calls it. Don’t ask why. He’ll tell you more than you’d care to know anyway. He’ll put on his corpse paint and tell everything. That I died for clothes, for a fad, for instance.
Done with the white paint, ANEURYSM puts the finishing touches on his mask with strokes of black around the eyes. This is his “corpse paint.” Exit GHOST, disgusted. Music: Paul Westerberg, “World Class Fad.”Enter V.D. and GUTTER, dressed as Moses and Darth Vader, respectively.
ANEURYSM What the fuck? Who the hell?
GUTTER How now...
V.D. Brown cow, or Aneurysm, as I've heard you prefer to be addressed as. A real badass you are, or so everybody keeps telling me. And I let them, though I don't know why.
ANEURYSM V.D., you sick duck! You were fast. What's with the outfit?
V.D. Gutter here drove. May I present: Skywalker, Anakin—Aneurysm. He plays guitar. That goes for both of you. Handy.
ANEURYSM And who are you, my friend? Moses?
V.D. Fuck you.
GUTTER I told him it wouldn't fly. He's trying to be Sauron from The Lord, but there weren't any evil wizards available.
ANEURYSM Isn't Moses the most evil of them all?
V.D. He most certainly is. Man, it's nice to see you.
ANEURYSM Nice to see you. Oh, now I get it! You're in for the Conference.
V.D. We were on our way when you called. Should have seen your face, "You were fast!"
ANEURYSM Oh, cut it out. Role playing, dead or alive, is for punks and little girls. You should have picked up a princess costume.
V.D. hits ANEURYSM in the face.
ANEURYSM falls on his behind.
V.D. How’s that for a little girl? Got knocked out by a little girl!
ANEURYSM Knocked…
GUTTER Easy.
ANEURYSM … out?
V.D. Yes, knocked out! Goddamn queen, that's what you are. Look at you, painted like a whore. I should fuck you like a whore, that’s what I ought to do. Aneurysm? More like Brain Damage, if you ask me.
Enter ANVIL.
ANVIL What’s going on?
V.D. And just for your information, I don’t larp any more. I’m bringing it into real life, into the streets!
ANVIL What?
V.D. I’m so outa here. [To Gutter] You coming?
Exit V.D. and GUTTER.
ANVIL What was that?
ANEURYSM [Getting up.] Nothing. Artistic disagreements. Let me show you the photos.
ANVIL Okay.
ANEURYSM Mark my words. That Jew is so dead.
ANVIL Jew? Who?
ANEURYSM Moses.
↹
Well, I don't know about you, but that didn't look too diabolical to me. More like little boys playing with dolls. The boy with his forehead leaking. What do you want? Learned to speak yet? Brought me a piece of paper. Is this your way of communicating now? Is it a poem?
No movie studio except Sony could use Jeff's music; if another one did, it couldn't use more than two of his songs. More important - and equally standard both for Sony and the music business in general - Jeff had to pay for nearly everything: his producer, half of the independent radio promotion, and half of the cover art (another victory on Stein's part, since most acts had to pay for all promotion and art). All of these costs - as well as his $100,000 advance and any money Sony would spend on making videos and tour expenses, such as paying for a band, equipment and buses - would be added to a fund called recoupable. Only after his record sales matched the recoupable amount would Jeff begin making royalties of his own work.
It says that was from a book called Dream Brother: The Lives and Music of Jeff and Tim Buckley, written by a David Browne. Never heard of any of them. Did they play the Devil's Music? Jazz, I mean. I like jazz. When we were in New York for the General Assembly, we went to a club to see Woody Allen himself play the fiddle. I don't think that was from the Devil. That is just nonsense.
I'm getting rather desperate here. How hard is it to find someone who worships the Devil, let alone believes in him?
I do.
The refined gentlemen has reappeared! Have you washed your mouth with soap?
I'll behave.
Good. Your wound has healed nicely. A bush of professor-like silver hair has grown on top of it. I'm glad. Please have a seat.
I can't.
Why not?
The Devil Travels.
He does, doesn't he?
It's an agency.
Like NSA?
No. "Will travel, destroy the world." That kind of an agency.
You mean, you mean... a travel agency?
Yes, indeed.
Oh, goodness. I never thought about that.
You should have. Let's watch another clip.
If you need a soundtrack for your Satanist hobbies, I suggest you forget those Norwegian pussies. Try this instead: http://open.spotify.com/album/
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