Dear Death from Metal Curse #4

Posted on Saturday, August 21, 2010

[Editor’s note: Since we’ve noticed we don’t have any kind of advice column, we’ve decided to add a new member to the writing staff. The column’s no ‘Dear Abby’, but then Dear Abby doesn’t exactly answer questions about sex with dead animals. So with this issue of Metal Curse, we’d like to introduce a new writer, “Psycho” Jon Konrath. Jon’s credentials include being stoned since the third grade, memorizing over half the words to “Green Hell,” and being able to break the 7-digit barrier in Tetris while holding a strong 1.0 grade point average. So, we proudly present: Dear Death! ]

Dear Death:
I’ve been having problems convincing my music teacher at my high school that Metal is god. He thinks that ass-wipes like Beethoven, Vivaldi, and Mozart rule… the dudes don’t even use guitars. Like, how can I convince the world as I know it the sick bastard is twisted, and they should listen to quality bands like Meat Shits and Anal Cunt?
-Unprecedented in Utah

Dear Unprecedented:
Some people are just beyond hope. You could try sitting him down gagged, bound, and stoned in front of a TV with a six-hour loop of Headbanger’s Ball episodes while a biker bitch gives him head. However, this probably won’t work, so I’d recommend looking into some of the fine semiautomatic weaponry your local drug kingpin can offer at an affordable price. Mention my name and you get an extra five bucks off!
Death has no master...

Two related letters:

Dear Death:
Purple demons from hell are ripping my flesh yakjgerglkjjgbkjbd.saf;lkjsadffsdfopsodauif
-Tripping in Tulsa

Dear Death:
I’ve fallen down and can’t get up!
-Dude in Downtown Dallas

OK readers:
DON’T TAKE THE BROWN ACID! THIS IS SOME BAD SHIT! Last time I did some I walked around telling everyone I was Lawrence Welk’s gay alien lover who was forced on a weight reduction plan. Trust me, DON’T TAKE THE BROWN ACID!
Death has no master...

Dear Death:
I am a skinhead, and even though I believe in anarchy, I find I’ll need a job to pay for the price of razors and tattoos. However, most fast food restaurants and mall merchants turn me away due to the fact that I’m a neo-nazi and have a scarification of Charles Manson in my forehead. Any ideas?
-Anarchy in Arkansas

Dear Anarchy: Since the census is over, try the post office. Sieg heil.
Death has no master...

Dear Death: I saw my mommy and my mommy’s dead. I saw my mommy in a pool of red. It was the neatest thing I’ve ever seen, my dead mommy lying in front of me!
-Morbid in Miami

Dear Morbid: Congratulations on your first death experience! The pictures were great, but unfortunately, they lost a lot going to b/w printing, so we cut them. But remember readers, keep your favorite funny death home videos rolling in, and you could be eligible for our grand prize of a vintage 1840’s guillotine!
Death has no master...

Well folks, that’s about it for my first column. Read next time as I tell a New Jersey reader to fuck off and die. Until then, remember to keep your stash underground and your head up your ass. Ciao!


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