Little Villains

I first 'met' Philthy in 2005, back in the days when MySpace was popular. He messaged Ye Gods! (one of the other bands I play in) after we sent him a friend request. The messages went like this:

PHILTHY - TO YE GODS!

Oh Ye Vile Blasphemers.....

Thou darest call thyselves Gods?!!!

Well, try this and prove it.

Canst thou turn Wine into Water?..........I can.

Canst thou makest Darkend Vile Odorous Brown Heaps from thy very living Bowels, and verily make it so none may touch them??

Hast any one of ye ever been nailed to yon burning door?

And lived?

Hast though exceeded the divine Holy Speed Limit whilst passing a police vehicle on the left?

And then were though brave enough to fling Given Ticket with a fierce hand and crushed it into the dirt?

Hast thou Vomited Heartily with joy in your heart up someone else’s coat sleeve on the late night bus back from The Dead City of Cleckhuddersfax, in the Valley of Why?

Challenged old people that it is NOT their divine right to push in at the checkout queue?

Released all last vestiges of the trapped gas from a cripple’s wheelchair?

All these things and more have I completed in my past life as a MEMBER of a certain Secret Society known only to a few million world wide.

What?

What? You have?

Oh alright then, you can be my “friends”.

But don’t abuse the privilege and ask me questions about... HIM.

He who bears the mark of the Wicked Wart of WICKENBACKER. Or he shall smite us all verily with trick questions about WWII.

NOW GO!!! And do your “THING”. We shall not speak again I fear until “THE DOING HAS BEEN DONE TO DEATH”.

And now rest, for yes, we do rest, oh yes, we do. We rest and we rest on nice comfy mattresses with only a few piss stains (they’ll come out in the wash) from previous owners. I go... phttufff! See? Gone.

YE GODS! - TO PHILTHY

Mighty Philthy, Dark Banshee of the Night

Indeed, we do thusly call ourselves Gods with brazen recklessness. Verily may we be punished by those deemed mighty enough to pass such judgment.

Wine into Water? We canst, although ‘tis the yellow, unpleasantly odorous water of piss.

Brown Heaps? Indeedly, with the aid of Bass Ale the foul, brown porridge flows freely.

Yon burning door? A test we have yet to pass... we are not as mighty as thee... yet!

Police? We answer only to the police of Rock Justice. Should ever we produce a tune that we wouldn’t be prepared to take into the belly of hell and play to the horned master without fear of death, then lo, let us be punished...

Cleckhudderfax? A place yet to be visited. Although we understand Hull is similarly so.

Old people? They run in fear of my beard. Let them be scared!

As for the evil warted master of bass madness, no questions shall be asked. None. Ever. And so it shall be!

Your faithful servant, Icecry

PHILTHY - TO YE GODS!

Thy reply pleases me. So be it.

Thou shall now be called “FRIENDS” of Philthy.

Verily telleth me where canst this strange “Brown Porridge” be found? This intrigues me. Speak me I say on this Brown Subject. For, the only “ODEROUS” I HAVE KNOWN IN MY THOUSANDS OF YEARS AS A PRO DEITY was a slimy little Demi-God who called himself “Mr. Rogers” and would magically appear upon a magic box called a “smellyvision set”. (Hath thou heard of such vile trickery upon thy plain?) WEARING A STRANGE PIECE OF BODY COVERING CALLED A “CARDIGAN” yet beneath the waist (I am told) out of sight he wore clothing only of which women should be adorned. This baffles me greatly. Why would a person be so strange and “ODEROUS” yet be loved and adored by children and parents alike? You live in a strange World indeed. I was greatly pleased when I heard from my spies “below the WORLD” that he had recently entered that domain and will be boned up the arse for eternity by JOHN HOLMES and all comers with arse splitting dimensions. This pleases me.!!!

Cheers Philthy.

YE GODS! - TO PHILTHY

Ah, the brown porridge, a subject frequently asked about; Let it be said:

The Brown Porridge is an entity of extreme pleasure, but at the same time pain; a two horned demon, a double cream walnut whip of split persona.

If one consumes vast quantities of the fabled Bass Ale and then a Chicken Madras, some poppadums and a pint or two of Kingfisher, then after one’s belly has had a night of sleep to contemplate, digest and yay verily and nay ‘process’ said mixture, one’s ass will undoubtedly produce the said Brown Porridge. And it will be joyous. Much fun can be had. One may even feel compelled to find ones friends, and show them what has fallen out of ones ass. Ah, yes, the pleasure at watching the looks of horror spread over their faces as the smell hits them, and yet they are compelled to also look and see what smells so bad.

But be warned. With this joy also comes untold evil. For, though the Porridge of one’s own ass may bring untold joy to the bearer, the porridge of another beings ass has the opposite effect. The Brown Porridge of others brings pain, humiliation and vomiting.

So treat the Brown Porridge with respect, and be weary of it; ‘tis an untamed beast!

Overlord Icecry