Varg—you drive your piddling Jeep around the peaceful coast of Norway. I drive a Death sled alongside maniacs, all of them supplicants of Yam (whom we have resurrected for purposes of revenge) and armed with Stoner 63s. We ride for the palace of Ba’al.
Are you Kothar-wa-Khasis? I don’t think so. Maybe you are. You seem ok with your hands—but I know magic words, taught to me by Yam’s father (whose real name I know as well) and I’ll never speak them aloud to any but Ba’al.
I don’t know how to drive. But swim! I can swim! And so I have summoned all the whales etc to aid me and my ally Yam. Ba’al may have his staff or cudgel or whatever you want to call it but I have, again, the Stoner Rifle, which Ba’al has never had to face.
WHERE IS WOTAN. Show me Wotan and I shall believe you. If you cannot manifest your friend I will write you off as a Dark Hippie—unless that’s what you want? You are Nassim of the North, maybe. But that seems too complimentary
I invented two things: the “D-Beat” drum pattern and “Mysterious Guy Hardcore”. But I’ve also met with angels. I am you—but whiter. And that doesn’t matter to me because the angels I correspond with have assured me my true color is unseeable with human eyes and shines for God
I am sick of YIMBY’s and magicians. I am home from the dentist and I must work upon my podcast. If the pig oinks that means it’s Kosher and it’s ok to slaughter it
