Dear Death from Metal Curse #10

Posted on Saturday, August 21, 2010

[Editor’s note: Death was kidding when he told everyone that you could use Emetrol nausea medication as a local aphrodisiac in the recent Metal Curse online forum. Cursed Productions is not responsible for any disfigurement, scarring, or emotional trauma caused by anyone applying Emetrol to their genitalia. And now, here he is, reporting to us only a mile away from the Kurt Cobain indoor shooting gallery…]

Dear Death:
I was recently abducted by aliens. They brought me on board their ship, shoved some sort of probe in my urethra, took samples of my penis flesh, then dropped me in the desert, naked and bleeding from my peehole. However, my girlfriend won’t believe me, and thinks I was cheating on her with someone who enjoys scraping the insides of other people’s urinary tracts. What should I do?
-Repentant in Roswell

Dear Repentant:
Are you sure you haven’t just been watching The X-Files while naked and playing with a TV antenna in your lap? Tell your girlfriend it happens to a lot of people. If she still dumps you anyway, maybe you can move to Japan and make those Shock! videos for a living.
Death has no master...

Dear Death:
I’d like to decorate my living room and den with new wall coverings, paint, and trim. However, both rooms are used for ritual human sacrifice, and I don’t know if there are any color schemes that work best for this. Also, I’m not sure what types of wallpaper or paint to use. Any ideas?
-Redecorating in Redondo

Dear Redecorating: The first thing you’ll have trouble with is the color scheme. Hiding a dark red blood would take a very dark paint, something difficult to find in the stores. It will also make the room look smaller, and will be harder to cover with white paint in case the authorities ever investigate. But if you use a semi-gloss paint, and vinyl-coated wallpaper, you’ll be able to easily wipe fresh blood from the walls with a damp sponge and some warm water.
As for colors, I’ve decorated with a light antique white, using an earthtone-based border with enough rust-amber in it to match the crimson of blood and severed flesh. Plus our dark mahogany altar and black candles contrast enough for a good look. Just don’t bring Satanic gear and body parts to the paint store to match against their color charts. They get pissy about that.
Death has no master...

Dear Death:
I’m the bassist and vocalist for Inverted Bitch Fister, an extreme Noise / Death / Ska / Black Metal band. We’re currently recording our first CD and have a problem. Our guitarist wants to record an acoustic guitar track dedicated to his girlfriend. I’m afraid that everyone will hate the track and that it won’t sound like the rest of our album. What should I do?
-Arguing in Arlington

Dear Arguing:
You’re right. CDs last forever; cunts don’t. The moment you press a few thousand CDs, the bitch will vanish, and you’ll have a disaster on your hands. Beat your guitarist in the head, get him some Ripple, then get him some hookers. And I hope your first CD is as good as your last demo, Nun Labia Soup.
Death has no master...

Dear Death:
I recently started taking Prozac and have noticed I have problems sustaining an erection. I can’t stop taking the medicine, because of a recent court order having to do with a charge of criminal homicide involving a c-bore drill. Any suggestions?
-Limp in Louisiana

Dear Limp:
Prozac is great for turning you into a model citizen, but it sure can mess up the plumbing. You could try drinking liquid Drano; if it doesn’t clear things out, it’ll certainly be a more memorable experience than most sexual acts you could legally perform in New Orleans. There’s also a self-surgery technique for inserting two pieces of aquarium tubing down the length of the penis. You basically heat your member in the microwave for about 6 minutes, pour some Mad Dog all over it, slice down either side, being careful to miss the urethra, and then insert the tubes. Stitch the whole thing up with 60 pound fishing line, hit it with some Bactine, and connect the free ends of the tube to an aquarium pump when the need arises. We were going to include a nice color drawing of the procedure, but it didn’t look right grey scaled. Check the Cursed Productions homepage, maybe I can get a picture up there.
Death has no master...

Dear Death:
Thank you for publishing the pukophilia letter last issue [Metal Curse #9, page 3, “Purging in Pensacola”]. I was wondering if you or any of your readers knew of any good vomitology zines or newsletters out there? Although I enjoy going to vomit anonymous meetings when I’m in large cities, I live in a small town and don’t always have someone to talk to about the joys of fucking puke. Any leads?
-Chunk-fucking in Cleveland

Dear Chunk:
There are several zines out there about pukophilia, both informational and photo-oriented. Look for Purge and Ipecac, Second Lunch Love, American Regurgitator, and Better Heaves and Gaggings. If you’re on the internet, you might want to check out usenet groups or Beware that the Death Metal mag Ill Literature is not a vomit-oriented zine, and Marco might not be happy if you sent unsolicited submissions of photos and/or vomit samples.
Death has no master...

Dear Death:
I’ve been reading in the news that Mother Teresa has been suffering from heart trouble and other illness lately. Do you think this might change the future of the sport of nun-raping? Will this affect the addition of nun-raping to the 2004 Olympics?
-Drilling in Dayton

Dear Drilling:
I’m not a professional nun-rapist, but now and again I do love to ambush a covenant with my buddy Ray Miller and anally violate the wives of “God.” I’ve had ambivalent thoughts about Mother Teresa’s illness. On one hand, it’d be a shame to see her pass away. But she’s having some problems right now with severe vomiting, which interests more than a few of us; also if she dies, this might help to promote the sport of necrophiliac nun rape, which I fully support.
To answer your question, I think that the efforts of the International Organization for Legalized Rape of Church Officiaries has done a great job to promote nun rape in the 2004 Olympics. It looks like there will be solo and group relay events, with both men’s and women’s categories. I don’t know if the US has started training teams for the events, but I know that Italy and a few of the Scandinavian countries might have a big advantage over us. I’ve also heard McDonald’s might be running a special promotion called “Go For the Gold: Gang-Sodomize a nun and win up to $4 million dollars in cash and prizes!”
Incidentally, nun raping has been an event in the Special Olympics since 1992.
Death has no master...

Confidential to Pureeing in Philadelphia:
I don’t care how safe you think it is; sooner or later, you’re going to injure your penis on the impeller blades. I like the feeling of 24,000 mile per hour fluid motion against my privates too, but I don’t think many people would heartily endorse putting their dick in a blender. Try switching to some other form of mechanical masturbation, but don’t write back saying you’ve moved to rubbing it against a drill press casing; I’ve already got a reply for you on that one.
Death has no master...

Also, I have a retraction to mention for our editor, Ray Miller. In a review for Gwar’s album America Must Be Destroyed, Ray stated the hypothetical question “isn’t all buttsex anal?” I recently explained to him that insertion of the penis into a gaping abdominal wound, into the colon, and out of the anus would actually constitute anal, non-butt sex. I hope this minor correction helps you when listening to this classic opus.

That’s all the letters for now. I’d like to announce the winner of the Dear Death photo contest: Julie “Nosferatu” Morris of Reno, Nevada. Julie sent a picture of herself completely nude, painted white, on a sacrificial altar, removing her own pancreas with a heated butterknife. Julie wins a free trip to meet me, and some Windex to help close up her pustulating abdominal wound and kill the bugs.

For our next contest, we’re giving a free Adversary CD to the person who can write the sickest haiku using the words “White Castle.” Send those entries to Ray and we’ll print the winner in Metal Curse #11, due out in the middle of the next century. Until then, keep your razors sharp and remember to cut laterally, not longitudinally.


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