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scenesplitterworld-blog · 7 years ago

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It’s Not About the Shape – It’s About the Lie (An investigation into why flat earth hip-hop may seem merely stupid, but might actually be dangerous too: Electric Bugaloo)

Author’s Disclaimer: I’m sure that, like most people, most flat earthers are fine. Most people who rap about the shape of the place we all live on are probably fine. I acknowledge that the two dudes I profile in this investigation are probably the ISIS of your conspiracy movement. If you come across this article, and you’re a regular John or Jane Q. Flat Earther, please understand that your willfully ignorant belief has some truly disgusting expressions and intellectual underpinnings. So, with quite a bit of conscious irony, if you are a “moderate” flat earth truther, I exhort you to denounce your radically anti-Semitic fringe, particularly Eric Dubay. It may be a shitty presumption on my part, but I just assume that even you, hypothetical, humdrum Dale or Erma P. Flat Earther, are the kind of person to constantly post to FacePage that “moderate Muslims” must unceasingly denounce Al-Qaeda. And if, havin’ read through this, you’re the kind of person who’ll accuse me of being a “SJW” because I think promoting Holocaust denial is hugely problematic, eat shit; die mad with stank breath. But, if you’re a hardcore ODD TV or Dubay boy, please come at me, I’ll gladly take whatever you consider lumps. All that said, let’s listen to some real fringe fuckin’ hip-hop, shall we?

I’ll bet most folks view people who believe the earth isn’t really round as nothing more than loons and larks. That’s how I started. Owing to a strange encounter I had with a feller at a show last winter, I had a picture of flat earth truthers as young, isolated, drunk, white dudes with dreadlocks wearing kneepads over their jeans saying gross things to pretty ginger gals. I was a little worried, but still mostly tickled, to discover that there’s a largish community of believers online. If you don’t get into the weeds of what belief in the flat earth entails, it’s easy to laugh it off as mere ignorant buffoonery, but, whoooooo boy, if you examine it closely, you’re in for one of the wildest, and surprisingly disturbing, rides of your life.

I stepped through the looking glass on accident, when I stumbled on this music video, “Cartoon Ball,” by ODD TV. At first, I clowned on it. Of course I did. Did you watch it? Christ. Dude’s shirt says “Never Sleep Again,” and he really looks like he ain’t slept because he’s in the early, still exciting days of a meth bender. I sent this video to friends and shared it on my timeline because I wanted to spread the chuckles. To be fair to ODD TV, I think he’s got legitimate talent. Not just on this track, but also throughout his catalogue, he’s got a catchy flow and his songs show a deft use of samples – for example, in the bluntly titled song, “Dear NASA, Why Are You Lying,” he takes the lyric “Space may be the final frontier, but it’s made in a Hollywood basement” from Red Hot Chili Pepper’s song “Californication,” and using that in a song about how the earth is actually not globe-shaped is, artistically, fairly dope. Not at all what the funky, cock-socked, SoCal, alt-rock, boys had in mind when they wrote the song, but that’s ODD TV’s genius. His video production, likewise, is slick. It’s much slicker than this other flat earther we’re gonna scrutinize in a sec, but one thing these guys share, which, I gotta say, is utterly derivative of almost every other conspiracy theorist with social media accounts, is referencing the Rowdy Roddy Piper flick, They Live. Guys. Give it a moratorium, right now, y’all have made it lazy.

Anyway, I got my giggles and moved on, right? Obviously not. After my mirth settled down, I found myself returning to “Cartoon Ball,” and for all my above praise, I wasn’t watching this weird shit again because I was real into the music. Nah, I think it was this lyric in particular: “God created the heavens and the earth / in a verse / but we’re livin’ in a Freemasonic Galaxy.” ODD TV doesn’t get into what he means by that, exactly, in this video – although, he gets into in in his oeuvre, bet your ass on that – because he’s focused mostly on rallying the viewer against NASA.

But, on repeat viewing, you know, I caught this brief WTF nugget – a what the fugget, if you will: “We follow rapists and murderers / liars, thieves, and sun worshipers / sayin’ we can’t see curvature / ‘cause we’re all too small.” It’s the sun worshippers part that’s the sore thumb, right? Well, get ready for that sore thumb’s equally sore counterpart when ODD TV raps that believers in a spherical planet are “Stuck in the material domain of Satan.”

Well, little ol’ me, Alice Donkey Boy Croix, was drawn further into the flat earth hip-hop scene by YouTube’s helpful recommendation. Oh, what a twisted Wonderland that turned out to be. But store those what the fuggets away for later use, Beloved Reader, they’ll crash back into pertinence again directly. Presently, we need to turn to how things got soooooo much more goddamned bonkers. The other cat I referenced briefly earlier, his name’s Eric Dubay, and he’s just about the whole rest of the haul of our investigation. So, settle in to peep this video, “Once You Go Flat.”

Holy. Steaming. Shit. Y’all. Good. God. Damn.

Right?

Sorry to spring that diarrhea spray of hippo shit at you without much warning, but I wanted you to be as utterly gob-smacked as I was when Holocaust denial enters into things…and continues to spiral out from there. And just in case THAT was somehow an aberration from his mean, I watched this one. If you watched the first one, you already know to brace yourself, but, I cannot really stress enough that he, whew, he doubles down.

So, let’s shelve the vegetarian polemic and uh…yeah…that was the most hardcore anti-Semitic thing I’ve ever experienced in musical form. Oh, you too? Neat. Look at us, Gentle Mentals, with all this shit in common!

So, that video left my jaw on the fuckin’ floor, and that’s when I went over to www.ericdubay.com. I can neither confirm nor deny that visiting this page puts you on any sort of NSA list, but if the NSA is keeping tabs (hello, special agent, how are ya), it maybe should focus some attention on the shit our boy Dubay’s proudly posted here. Red flag it if you ain’t already, you may thank me later. Imagine that! The federales thanking little ol’ me!

BTW: we’re “in country” now, so maybe get your tin-foil helmet on.

A few sick bars and a shocking affinity for the OG Nazis ain’t the only radical thing about our boy Dubay. He moves in circles so fringe that they consider Alex Jones to be part of the “controlled opposition.” Dubay’s even a truther against other flat earth truthers. He goes hard on The Flat Earth Society for being “controlled opposition,” by pointing out the idiocy of their theory for what is really going on with “gravity” on a flat earth, which is that the earth is like a pizza crust tossed continually upwards, so…things don’t really fall, they’re just kind of suspended until the ground catches up to them. Yeah. The idea of controlled opposition is that you get a shill to be a very vocal idiot in order to discredit the more “legitimate” conspiracy investigators who have come too close to the truth. But who controls the controlled opposition? Remember when I told you to remember ODD TV’s reference to the Freemasons? The Sun Worshipers? The Satanists? Dubay says it’s them. He says that both The Flat Earth Society and NASA are chock full of Masons, Masons who are behind these lies. He claims NASA agents – whatever those are – have murdered flat earth truthers to maintain their grip on this elaborate illusion. And, in a series of infographics, he ain’t shy in explicitly linking these nefarious Masons directly to, you saw it, the Jews. He’s one of these New World Order, Jew World Order types. I realized I tossed that off kinda casually – he’s just one of those types – but let me assure you, I don’t do it dismissively. Dubay compares the way this global Jewish cabal runs the world’s affairs to the orchestrated sturm und drang of televised professional wrestling.

So you gotta wonder why lying about the shape of the earth is so important to our crypto-kosher overlords. I sure as fuck needed to know the answer to that myself, and, like any conspiracy theorists before him, this is where Dubay stumbles somewhat. He’s got 200 proofs for the truth of the flat earth, but he’s less articulate as towards the damnable “why” of it all. As I’ve been able to understand of his position, Eric Dubay believes we’re indoctrinated with the spinning globe model of cosmology, because if the global elite of Freemasonic Zionists can brainwash everybody on such a fundamental level as the ground beneath our feet, they can deceive and control us in any other sinister way they fuck well feel like.

Y’all, I’m a great many things. I’m not an astrophysicist, so, to be honest, I’m not really interested in engaging with the specifics of these dudes’ arguments regarding round versus flat, because – you know the Family Guy throwaway joke where Peter’s at the Cineplex helpfully pointing out when somebody in the movie says the movie’s title – to quote Mr. Dubay himself, “It’s not about the shape; it’s about the lie.”

Before I get deeper into this shit – yeah, you thought you were down the rabbit-hole already – I want to point out that if you want to get all this from the horse’s mouth, the last twenty or so minutes of the two-hour FAQ video on his site is my source for all this. And since getting deeper into this gets pretty heavy, I think we need a bit of a levity break, so, I present a riff on a few screen grabs from that video.

First of all, it’s hard to tell – among the things I am is poor of vision – it looks like the letter G has been replaced by the number 6 in the phrase “Sacred Geometry. The Great Architect of the Universe. Gravity.” 666 is metal, but in this case you’re using it in a way that’s way too mental to be heaviest, fam. The Jews are Satanists too, remember? Luciferian nonsense is a thing Alex Jones dabbles in also. Second, Pythagoras was the leader of a cult that worshiped numbers. Pythagoras literally had a motherfucker 86ed because he felt that the concept of pi was blasphemous and threatening to him personally as a cult leader. The reason I’m scratching my head is that you might know pi as a pretty foundational concept in calculating the circumference of the globe. Globe. So, if he’s part of a cabal bent on convincing you the world is round, why would he be so violently opposed to that squiggly little Stonehenge-lookin’, 3.14 on to infinitum meanin’, mathematical concept that would support the whole damn thing? Anyway, here’s another.

I think this is supposed to be an Illuminati thing, but all it proves to me is that many people have fingers, and covering one eye is an easy way to look mysterious and sexy. It’s not like they’re all holding their hands the same way either. If a person were to try to argue that Eric Dubay himself is part of the controlled opposition, I think this could be evidence of “too dumb to be serious.”

But I wanna get serious again. Back to the investigation. I wanted to know what made this dude tick. Call yourselves Ishmael, because ol’ Dubay became my white whale, only in this version, I think we spear the shit out of Moby Dick. Truly, I believe that in the final portions of that long ass video I’ve been talking about, we see into his core – and unlike the molten core of the round earth we sheeple foolishly believe in – the heart of Eric Dubay is a frozen, Jotunheim-esque, barren fearscape.

Eric Dubay’s animating impulse is this: a deep, incomprehensible terror that humanity has no purpose in existence. He believes that subscription to the ideas of the Big Bang and subsequent evolution of life on earth via the mechanism of natural selection is subscription to a fundamentally nihilistic outlook; if humanity has no reason – as he sees reason – to be, the crisis in his soul would be too great to bear. And, sure, I get that. But he has not coped well with that adolescent existential angst. If the universe is a vast and vastly complicated place, it’s a scary place to be at the fringe of, so, to bridge the rift of this Lovecraftian horror inside himself, he’s put himself at the center of debunking a conspiracy to shroud our planet’s central location in the universe; our planet’s non-rotating position, which is to say a position of stability. Stability. Think about how comforting a concept that is. Purpose. Stability. Simplicity. These are not abnormal desires, but our boy Dubay’s gone about attaining ‘em in an abnormally toxic fashion. And he’s certainly doing his damnedest to create the fellowship he craves though all his media outreach. Can’t blame a feller for not wanting to feel alone…but when Holocaust denial is such a big part of your identity, it’s – to put it politely – extremely fuckin’ troublesome that you want others to believe as you do.

Dear reader, Gentle Mental, “Hypocrite Lecteur,”* if you’re wondering why the fuck any of this matters, this here’s that part of the article; buckle the fuck up. I believe that never before in human history has the battle against propaganda been more vital to the survival of the species. I’m typing this on Sunday, October 15, 2017, and the last headline I read was about Kim Jong threatening to bomb Guam if Trump don’t shut the fuck up about him on Twitter. We’ve got fucking lunatics at the trigger; we’ve got so much evidence that the Kremlin orchestrated the most effective “hearts and minds” campaign of the internet age; we’ve got tactics of division being employed by the most cynical and unhinged people of influence. So why should this flat earth shit matter? We’ve got all that more important shit I listed, right? Because flat earth’s your gateway conspiracy. Pretty soon, you’re hip-deep in the most virulent Protocols of the Elders of Zion bullshit.** Some conspiracy theorists have the…decency’s not the right word, so let’s start over. Some conspiracy theorists are crypto-anti-Semitic. OBVIOUSLY not our boy Dubay. Lemme quote from his song “Blood Rituals,” “You are blind, so fuck what you say / I’ll expose the flat earth and hail Hitler all day.” That’s so obviously dangerous, and the ideas of flat earth and anti-Semitism are so clearly linked, that we shouldn’t need to dwell, so I’ll move us along with this tossed out aside: fuck you, Richard Spencer, for ruining Tiki Torches, but thank you for being conveniently illustrative of the point that being a ringleader for Nazi sympathizers does in fact correlate to assholes in the street beating people and murdering them indiscriminately with cars.

*Editor’s Note: Goddamnit, DB! After I chewed your ass for quoting Yeats that last time, you have the nerve to bring this Baudelaire shit to the table? I want a picture of Spider Man on my desk TOMORROW!!

**Author’s Note: For an wonderfully illuminating examination of the history and influence of Protocols of the Elders of Zion, I highly recommend the July 27, 2017 episode of a podcast called Knowledge Fight. (http://knowledgefight.libsyn.com/size/25/?search=Protocols+of+the+elders+of+zion) Hosts Jordan and Dan do a thorough job of linking this fraudulent document DIRECTLY to Alex Jones’ framing of his favorite nemesis, the Globalist bogeymen, and even David Icke’s Reptilians. Do yourself a favor and dive into this podcast whole hog.

Provided that even one fewer gullible cocksucker buys into the dangerous worldviews of somebody like ODD TV, Alex Jones, or Eric Dubay, I will deem all efforts to expose their nonsense worthwhile, valid, and necessary. I don’t believe I’m virtue signaling when I speak out in order to shed light on hucksters’ efforts to spread dangerous racial, religious, or national divisions. It isn’t trivial to examine how those divisions may be spread insidiously as the necessary expression of these ideas; symptoms of the cancer, boils on the ass of the corpus scientia. Alex Jones is right about at least one thing: we are fighting an info war. He’s on the wrong side of it, to be sure, but it’s the same sort of info war Mike Pence fought in when he performed his indignant pageant at the ball game. And I don’t think that in speaking against any of this nonsense I’m beating a dead horse. And I believe that speech is action. If I reiterate a point, it is at least my humble intention to bring new nuance. I believe that the one person who was teetering on the fence but saw the truth of these bonkers narratives could be the one person who might have otherwise been the next to take a gun to something like a DC pizza joint to find out if interdimensional, shape shifting, child-molesting, psychic vampires run the government. Or do something so much more tragic in the name of bringing down whatever conspiracy it is they’ve been taken in by.

This’s the rock I reckon I’ll die on, should anybody respectfully disagree. Thank you for your time, Gentle Mentals, friends, fiends, and foes alike. It’s time to pray.

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analogscum · 6 years ago

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ROCK N’ ROLL NIGHTMARE (1987, d. John Fasano)

Rock n’ roll is dead. I’m sorry to have to break the news to you, my dear Scumbags, but it’s true. If I’m being honest, for awhile, I was feeling the same way about ROCKTOBER.

Just look at today’s musical landscape. The youth of now don’t want to listen to killer riffs and epic drum solos. They want to listen to shiny, overproduced country ballads about driving your truck down to the river at night. They want to listen to shiny, overproduced pop songs about how being a woman is awesome and there’s no night like tonight because tonight is the night that we’re all gonna be women. They want to listen to shitty, underproduced hip-hop made by rapists with facial tattoos about how they want to kill themselves because they either have no drugs, or they have too many drugs, I’m honestly not too sure. On a commercial scale, what does that leave us rockers? The Black Keys? Uggggh. Mumford and Sons? Blecccch. Imagine Dragons? Imagine my itchy taint.

Point is, I was feeling about ROCKTOBER the same way we’re all feeling about the state of rock n’ roll today. I wanted to do something fun and weird for my favorite month of the year, but the first two movies I selected, well, they were lacking. They simply didn’t rock enough. But then I realized, you can’t lose the faith. If you wanna find the good stuff, you’ve just gotta keep digging. And just like that, a stiff, demonic wind blew in from the great white north, and saved ROCKTOBER, just when we needed it the most. Thank you, Canada. And thank you, Rock n’ Roll Nightmare.

We open on a quaint little farmhouse. It’s morning. Mom is downstairs making breakfast, Dad is shaving off that stubble, and Junior is getting ready for school. How picturesque this familial scene is! Mom opens the fridge, and there’s a glowing red light and a growl! Oh no, is it Zuul?! Dad hears this growling and his wife screaming, so he saunters downstairs at a leisurely pace. But when he gets to the kitchen, Mom is gone! Hey, what is that in the oven? Dad opens it up, and it’s Mom’s goopy skeleton! Wow! It reaches out and tries to grab Dad! Junior sees this and screams! Then an Evil Dead first person camera demon zooms around the house as the credits roll, because THAT is how you start a goddamn movie!

Now we cut to a van driving down a rural highway. But this is not any ordinary van, this van is a total shaggin’ wagon. It’s white with shiny red stripes, the interior is all red velour, and to top it all off, there’s a pair of handcuffs dangling from the rearview mirror. You can practically smell the vapors of bong water and old genitalia coming off of this thing. The van screams down the highway for about the combined length of the driving scene in “Manos: The Hands of Fate” and the driving scene in “Solaris,” which is to say, for way too long. Would it surprise you to know that they shot this sequence when they realized the film’s runtime was too short?

Anyway, the van pulls up to the quaint little farmhouse from the beginning, and for the first time we meet The Tritonz, the most bitchin’ heavy metal quintet from the United States and definitely not Canada! There’s our banshee vocalist and fearless leader, Jon, played by Jon-Mikl Thor, whose Wikipedia page describes him as a “bodybuilding champion, actor, songwriter, screenwriter, historian, vocalist, and musician.” Now that I’ve seen this movie, I take issue with a few of those descriptors, but anyway. We’ve also got Stiggy, the Australian drummer, Max, the guitarist, Roger, the bassist, and Dee Dee, the keyboardist. Along for the ride are Jon’s girlfriend Randy, Roger’s new wife Mary, Stiggy’s girlfriend Gwen, and Phil, the band’s manager. As Jon explains, they’re going to be staying in this farmhouse for the next month while they work on material for their new album. The barn has even been converted into a 24-track recording studio for them. When someone asks why this farmhouse on the outskirts of Toronto, Jon replies thusly: “Toronto is where it’s happening, man! The music, the entertainment, the arts…” So, in other words, Rock n’ Roll Nightmare is the world’s weirdest tourism commercial. Neat! Gwen immediately starts complaining that they’re in the middle of nowhere, and that they don’t have roadies to carry their luggage for them, because Gwen is the character in the movie who gets angry and annoyed about everything. We then meet the groundskeeper, who looks just like Ken Burns. Phil tries to get the keys from him, but Ken Burns just keeps rattling on about Alice Cooper, and I think this scene was supposed to be funny, but whoops, and then Ken Burns gives Phil the keys and walks out of the movie. Bye, Ken Burns! We get an overhead shot of the house, and an ominous musical stinger…but then everyone just walks into the house and nothing happens. Get used to this, because I really think that they let shots go on about three to five seconds longer than necessary in a desperate attempt to pad the runtime out, and I won’t be convinced otherwise. I’m a Rock n’ Roll Nightmare truther!

So they divvy up the rooms, and Gwen complains that they’re gonna have to eat Phil’s cooking for dinner, and witheringly refers to Mary as a “housewife.” Cool. Jon announces that he’s going to go lock up the van, and then we watch him do just that, in real time. At one point, he sees a shadow behind the curtains in his bedroom, and looks concerned, but then it’s just Randy. She cups her breasts in his direction, as if to say, hey, look, I’ve got tits! And he just kinda smiles in a way you do when you wanna be nice to spare someone’s feelings. Cut to, dinner has just ended. Phil is wearing an old timey paper hat like he’s behind the counter of a soda fountain for no reason, and I’m HERE FOR IT. Jon makes a toast to making their best album yet. Then Gwen pressures Stiggy into giving a toast, thinking he’ll be like, here’s to my girlfriend Gwen who is super awesome and not an asshole at all, but because Stiggy is kind of a dummy, he’s like, ummmm, here’s to Phil for cooking us an awesome meal. Gwen of course gets mad, and then refuses to clean dishes, because, as she puts it, “I’m not a HOUSEWIFE.” I really don’t understand where Gwen is coming from here. Is she jealous of Mary? Does she think Mary is a goody two shoes? Or is she against the institution of marriage in general? Sadly, only lil’ Baby Jesus knows for sure, and he ain’t talkin’. Anyway, Phil and the other two ladies wash dishes while doing a funky little dance and giggling like they’re in a Nancy Meyers movie, before deciding to head over to the barn and watch their menfolk (plus Dee Dee, who is a lady) rock out.

And rock out they do! We’re treated to the first of many Jon-Mikl Thor originals here. This one is entitled “We Live to Rock,” because of course it is. While the Tritonz are melting faces with their wattage (kinda), that gosh darn Evil Dead first person camera demon starts zooming around again. To my surprise, we then get to see said demon, and well, there’s no polite way of saying this, so here goes…it looks like a penis. It just does. It looks like a penis with one googly eye and a big dumb mouth right underneath the tip. I could not even believe it. So then it drools (calm down, everyone) right into Phil’s beverage, and we see him take a sip, and ewwwwwww. As they finish the song, Stiggy breaks one of his drumsticks. His bandmates get on him as if he just ruined the entire song, which, like, drumsticks break all the time, guys, relax. Phil is like, hey, I’ve got a bunch of drumsticks in the basement, I’ll be right back. But when he gets down to the basement, Gwen is waiting for him. She’s like, hey Phil, you look like the host of an early 90s Nickelodeon game show that only lasted one season, let’s fuuuuuuuuuuck. Phil is deeply confused by this, because, let’s face it, he’s Phil, but he goes along with it, at least until Gwen’s face becomes a zombie demon face and bites a chunk of his shoulder off! Oh nooooooo! Everyone upstairs hears Phil yelling, so they run down to the basement, but Phil is nowhere to be seen. Jon decides that, hey, we definitely heard the yelling coming from down here, but maybe Phil is in the attic? Uhh, what? Anyway, then they discover that their shaggin’ wagon is gone, so they’re like, hey, Phil probably went into town to buy some drumsticks, typical old Phil, That’s So Phil, etc. etc. etc.

Night has fallen. Randy desperately wants Jon to slip her his Mikl Thor, but he’s too focused on his songwriting, his art, his craft, maaaaaan. Max and Dee Dee also wanna freak each other nasty, but they’re too shy to admit it. You know how 80s rock stars were notoriously sexually timid, right? Roger and Mary make sweet love and talk about how much they love being married and isn’t it great to be married and we’re so glad that we’re going to be married for a long time and definitely not turned into zombie demons off screen anytime soon, because yay marriage. We catch up with Stiggy just as he’s blasting a load into Gwen, and he seems very satisfied with himself. After he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Gwen refers to him as “the one minute wonder,” because Gwen gonna Gwen. Stiggy is flexing in the bathroom mirror and doing a terrible Schwarzenegger impression, when all of a sudden a bodacious buh-buh-buh baaaaaaabe that we have never seen before is standing in the doorway. Instead of being like, umm, who the hell are you and how did you get into our house, Stiggy is like, oh, awesome, tits! But then the buh-buh-buh baaaaaaabe turns into a zombie demon creature. It kinda looks like Goosebumps’ The Haunted Mask crossed with Night of the Creeps. It puts it’s hand on Stiggy’s mouth, so now Stiggy is possessed, I guess? He goes back into the bedroom and Gwen is like ugh, what do YOU want? And Stiggy is like, dat ass. And he gets on top of her, and then from outside the room we hear Gwen screaming with orgasmic delight, so I guess demonic possession DOES have its upsides?

Now there’s a dumb and unnecessary scene where a bunch of teenage girls who are in the “Mississauga Chapter of the Tritonz fan club” or some such nonsense show up at the house and are like, Ohmygawd, it’s 2am, let’s go wake them up and…I guess ask for autographs or something? But who should answer the door? It’s Phil! Ummmm what? And Phil is speaking like an upper crust weirdo because I guess that’s what the movie thinks a possessed person would sound like, and he’s like, ok girls, the band will be down “in twenty minutes” (???), how about you take them titties out! And these girls, one of whom we just heard drop the word “retarded” in a derogatory way, are shocked that a rock band would wanna see some nude breasts. Phil gets angry at the lack of exposed lady nips, the girls leave, the camera pan down…Phil has a zombie demon hand! Cue the Vincent Price laugh, I guess!

Morning comes, and Roger and Mary are like hey its our first time washing dishes as a married couple and we’re totally married and being married is awesome, oh whoops, some zombie demon hands pulled us offscreen and now we seem to have zombie demon hands too! Drat! Over at the barn, Jon is like, hey, where’s Roger, off being married or something? Oh well, guess I’ll strap on this totally tubular headless bass which will never go out of style, so that we can play our next song, “Energy!” Gwen is happily rocking out, because Stiggy’s demon dick turned her frown upside down. When the song is over, everyone is like, wow Stiggy, your drumming sounds great, we’re not even concerned that your Australian accent has inexplicably vanished! Then everyone gets a case of the hornies out of nowhere. Stiggy is like, hey Gwen, let’s go down to the lake so I can give you more of that possession nookie. Max and Dee Dee decide that now’s the time to finally seal the deal vis a vis knockin’ them damn boots. Randy is like, hey Jon, we should probably fuck the color out of each other’s hair, right? And Jon is like…nah, I’d rather work on some lyrics. Sorry, Randy!

Down at the lake, Gwen takes her top off and is like, hey, here are my boobs, let’s do this. Stiggy, in his new, non-Australian accent, is like, OK, and then his stomach rips open and a devil hand pops out! Neat! Gwen screams as the demon hand cops a feel, and Max and Dee Dee hear it, but assume that it’s a scream of ecstasy. Now the movie turns into a softcore porno for like ten or fifteen minutes. Max and Dee Dee have a slow, passionate bonk sesh. Randy stops beating around the bush and is like, hey look, Jon-Mikl Thor, I’m naked, let’s go have a super awkward sex scene in the shower. Jon-Mikl Thor is like, sounds good to me, and they go have a super awkward sex scene in the shower. It’s so unfortunate, you guys. There’s gross tongue kissing and weird acrobatic poses. Like, movies love make it seem like shower sex is totally easy, but no no, I beg to differ! Anyway, Max and Dee Dee finish up their romantic porking and get dressed, when they spy Junior! From the beginning of the movie! What’s that lil’ rugrat doing there?! They chase after him, ending up in the barn, where, to their horror, he turns into what looks like the love child of Bud Cort and a Shar-Pei, and zombie demon murderizes both of them. Which I hear is way worse than being murderized by a human. My uncle told me.

Anyway, Jon-Mikl Thor is super annoyed that everyone has mysteriously vanished, so he goes over to the barn to work on some lyrics, just in time for Randy to encounter Junior herself. Our hero is working on those darn lyrics of his and enjoying a nice crisp refreshing Coca-Cola, when all of a sudden, the penis devil returns! But not only that, there are now a bunch of penis devils! One looks kinda old, one is greenish blue, one is even smoking a cigarette, can you even imagine?! What’s strange is, Jon-Mikl Thor doesn’t seem to notice any of them, even the one that’s sitting literally right next to him. Then Randy enters the barn, and it’s like, ok, she’s obviously possessed. She gets up in Jon-Mikl Thor’s face and is like, face it, all your friends are dead, everyone’s dead! To which Jon-Mikl Thor is like, nope, don’t think so. At which point, Randy is engulfed in a flash of red light…and turns into a giant rubber Satan puppet! Holy shit! Eat your heart out, tiny-ass Satan puppet from Prime Evil! Weirdly enough, Jon-Mikl Thor seems completely nonplussed by ANY of this. Cool as a cucumber with a feathery viking haircut.

Now, my dear Scumbags, we come to perhaps the most batshit guano crazy town banana pants plot twist I have ever seen in a movie. I’m not exaggerating. SPOILER ALERT, FOR CHRISSAKES. SPOILER GODDAMN ALERT.

Satan puppet is like, haha, I turned all of your friends into my zombie demon minions or whatever. Jon-Mikl Thor, still completely unshaken, is like, nah bro, you didn’t. To which a perplexed Satan puppet is like, umm, no dude, I’m pretty sure I did that shit, homes. Then, Jon-Mikl Thor drops a goddamn bombshell:

“You killed no one, Bub. Or is it less familiar to call you Beelzebub? Or do you prefer Abaddon? Or, as the Hindus called you, Shaitan? Or, as you are known to answer to, Ahriman? Belial? Apollyon? Asmodeus? Because, you see… I do know you.”

IN OTHER WORDS, NONE OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS IN THE MOVIE WERE REAL!!!

Wh…wh…wh…

THEY WERE ASTRAL PROJECTIONS, CREATED BY ME, JON-MIKL THOR, TO DRAW YOU, SATAN PUPPET, OUT INTO THE OPEN SO THAT WE CAN DO BATTLE!!!

Wh…wh…wh…

AND I DID THIS BECAUSE I’M NOT REALLY JON-MIKL THOR, LEAD SINGER OF THE TRITONZ, I’M ACTUALLY TRITON, THE ARCHANGEL, THE INTERCESSOR!!!

AND JON-MIKL THOR RIPS OFF HIS CLOTHES TO REVEAL A SHINY CAPE AND A METAL CODPIECE!!!

And so the fight between Jon-Mikl Thor and Satan puppet begins, and oh my word, it is so goddamn charming. It’s like an Ed Wood fever dream. While the epic strains of our last Tritonz number, “We Accept the Challenge” blare triumphantly over the soundtrack, Satan puppet throws some rubber squid monsters at Jon-Mikl Thor, which he holds to his oiled chest while screaming in pain, as if they’re real, but then he rips them off and tears them to shreds! Yaaaay! Then he kinda gets Satan puppet in a chokehold for awhile, but then Satan puppet bitch slaps him and he falls to the ground! Oh noooooo! But then Jon-Mikl Thor gets Satan puppet by the ankles, and somehow gets him in a chokehold again? Ummmmm? Then the song ends, which means it’s time for the scene to end, so Satan puppet is like, you win this time, guess I’m going back to Hell until I find another Canadian family to harass with penis devils! To which Jon-Mikl Thor cooly replies, “I’ll see you again, old scratch.” Old what? Excuse me? What is any of this?

We then cut to a dark graveyard. Dark as in they seem to have forgotten to light this scene. Jon-Mikl Thor wanders up to some tombstones, we don’t know whose because he doesn’t say and again it’s dark, and he’s like, hey, good news, I choked out the Satan puppet, so you guys didn’t die in vain, anyway, byeeeee. Then we cut to a seemingly random shot of what looks like a suburban home, and then the movie ends. WOWZERS MCZOWZERS.

Simply put, Rock n’ Roll Nightmare is fucking awesome. I had an absolute blast watching this ridiculous cheese log of a movie. Having read the review, you may not be shocked to learn that, in addition to starring in the film and providing all of the music, Jon-Mikl Thor also wrote the screenplay and produced the movie himself. One may be tempted to call a film in which you cast yourself as a literal rock god who vanquishes the devil a vanity project, but I’m not sure that I would. I think a big part of a vanity project is a lack of self-awareness. Tommy Wiseau and Neil Green make vanity projects. To me, anyway, it seems like Jon-Mikl Thor is at least somewhat in on the joke here. The guy comes from the metal world, which is all about embracing over the top silliness, so of course he would make a movie that is chock full of over the top silliness. While I was watching it, I couldn’t stop thinking of Panos Cosmatos’s “Mandy,” another film that I recently saw and loved. Despite the fact that Cosmatos is somewhat of a visionary, and Thor and his director, John Fasano, well, aren’t, both films feel like the acid-soaked daydream of a teenage metalhead dude circa the mid 1980s. And I mean that in the best way possible. Sure, the dialogue is borderline alien, the acting is mostly awful, and the editing is beyond subpar, but when you’re dealing with a movie this fun, this weird, and this full of imagination, none of that stuff really matters. Hell, that ineptitude can sometimes even elevate what you’re watching, when there’s heart and soul. Which is all a long winded way of saying, hey hey, my my, rock n’ roll can never die. Thankfully, neither can Rock n’ Roll Nightmare.

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