|The more the fairyer. Line up to blow me.|
It's time to turn up the difficulty level on you grabasses and seriously weed out the wimps. You're no longer allowed to have friends, because you and I both know they are less metal than you or I, and will only encourage false metal behavior.
Several days ago, I was lurking on Facebook, so I could scope out regrettable drunken photographs of some skanky broads that would never talk to me. Then, I notice on the side-panel a notification that it was the birthday of some cross-eyed, weird faced dude I vaguely recall from my college years. He had 21 friends at the time. Yeah, on Facebook. Hahaha! What a douche. I immediately turned that number to 20 hard as I could. For your birthday, I got you more loneliness. Happy birthday.
|Don't worry, the animosity will help to make him metal. Or just suicidal...|
So seriously consider this for a moment. Think about your absolute, very best buds in the whole world. Why do you hang out with them? Is it because they're fun to be around, they're kind, generous, caring and because they will always have your back, through thick and thin, no matter what? Doubtful. They might tell you something to this effect, or their actions may lead you to believe such, but if you really had a tough time when you needed them most, I guarantee your "friends" would bail on you in a heartbeat. This is a dog eat dog world, and it's every man for himself. I got on the horn with my very absolute best pal, Tyranneous and put his true metal kinship to the test:
Brenocide: Hey Ty, I crashed my car because the Accept track I was listening to was too brutal not to. You understand right?
Tyranneous: Yeah, I guess.
Brenocide: Awesome! So I'm going to have to borrow your car for the rest of the summer, maybe year.
Tyranneous: Gee Bren, I don't think...
Brenocide: Fucking Judas. *hang up*
Keep in mind here that Tyranneous has to keep writing for my page. I just know better than to like him anymore.
Perhaps you have good chums that you share not much more than a common love for metal with. Lord knows you can build things far more powerful than friendship based solely on the true heavy metal genre; like HATE. As the purest of elitists in nature, I hate every other metal fan I come across. They just do it all wrong, and pass it off like it's okay. Upon meeting a fellow "metalhead" I proceed to size up his brutality with a quick interview about what he listens to, and who he's seen live recently and enjoyed. Something shitty always always slips in through the cracks, and I'm left to continue my journey searching for the man just as metal as I.
|It says on your resume you've attended six Children of Bodom tours yet only saw Slayer once. |
Twinkle-toed poseur queef: *Wipes the tears from his face after being intimidated by such a true metal playlist* Well um, I um, like listening to, uh Dragonforce...
Brenocide: What's your highest score in Guitar Hero?
TTPQ: Oh! I one time got over...
Brenocide: Just kidding, don't give a shit. Kill yourself.
Upon failing the interview, you are met with the legendary, elite heavy metal technique, passed down for generations, and originating from the Guardians of Asgard, known throughout the lands as the "Crossed Arms of Disapproval". Many a sub-standard opening act has been met with the fabled crossed arms, and if a metalhead does it to you during conversation, it means that you wreak of poseur. To be on the receiving end of a metalhead's crossed arms is the greatest shame this side of the universe. You never want to be there.
|Artistic rendition of the "Crossed Arms of Disapproval".|
Although you must never establish a personal connection with one of these wannabes, they do serve their own purpose as potential companions. Think of a group of hot women at a bar or in the mall. Is it just me, or do they always like to bring along their fat, disgusting troll of a "friend"? You and I both know those broads only brought that behemoth along to amplify just how sexy they look in comparison to the she-beast. Similarly, when you as a metalhead allow poseurs to accompany you, it shows everybody how much more truly metal you are than them in comparison. I find it puts a lot of emphasis on how metal you are when everybody around you is not so metal. I do it all the time. (Then again, I don't have much choice.)
|The more pals you have, the more you increase your chances that one of them will listen to In Flames.|
Usually when you go to the movies with your guy friends, there's always this sort of awkward situation when it comes to sitting together. Especially when the theater isn't crowded. If you sit one or two chairs away from your friends, they might be insulted, or get the impression you think they smell bad. If you sit right next to them, you're gayer than flip-flops. There's really no winning in this situation. If you're going in the movie by yourself, you can avoid that seating standoff altogether. As an added bonus, you don't have that chuckle headed douche friend with you who won't shut the hell up about how unrealistic the guns sound, how the car shouldn't have exploded from a scientific standpoint, or how there's supposed to be no sound in space. If I wanted to hear how a real gun was supposed to sound, I would buy one and shoot you with it. Needless to say, I was happy to completely hate the movie Thor all by myself.
When you eat out by yourself, you earn the pity of your server, which in turn actually means sufficient dining service for a change. He/she continuously checks back to refill your drink, makes sure you're okay, and on some occasions, will actually sit down with you to take your order. They pay special attention to you, because you have nobody there to distract you long enough for the staff to leave you alone to tend to other guests. The only potential drawback here is that if you drink too much, you have to drive yourself home. I call this a potential drawback because I have a hard time calling anyone who can't drive better drunk than sober a "metalhead". Even after all the great service, I can leave without tipping anyway, because I have nobody who can judge me for it.
3. Metal Shows
You might as well be baby-sitting. Like I explained before, you can't surround yourself in this world with anybody but poseurs, and where poseurs fail hardest is at a metal show. They do anything and everything wrong, from bringing their beer into the crowd, to recording the event with their cell phone, to standing on the pit's rim protecting girls. As the only true metal patron, these morons are now your responsibility, and it makes you look like just as much of a jackass spending what should be an amazing night trying to corral these chuckle heads. Finally when the nightmare is over, you're left outside waiting for an hour and a half, because they had the brilliant idea to buy a t-shirt at the ass end of a show. Why put yourself through this shit? Leave the dead weight at home, make the drive out yourself, focus on the live music, the circle pits, and the oblivious babes you get to fondle in the crowd.
|Alright, who's the genius that brought Baseball Hats McFalse over here?|
|Friends: Still not metal.|