In the gangrenous north, sorry frostbitten north, hunched over his unholy cauldron of brown soup in the dark woody depths of the Dark Deep Woods, the glory that is Anus Dei was lost in contemplation. This soup is brown, he thought, and this soup is good. He pondered. He assumed a very grim and very trve pose, eerily and completely dissimilar to Rodin's The Thinker. Perched upon the blasted rocks he peered mightily down upon the brown soup. If this soup is good, and it is brown, then I shall play metal, and it shall be brown. And it shall be good. And it shall be brown. For brown is the faeces that slid down the accursed God's leg to form man. Brown shall be the metal that oozes from my mouth and spills from my fingers, and the glorious brown metal shall call as seductively as a siren's song to the slumbering brownness of man, and then there will be a slightly overlong but nevertheless pretty fucking cool CGI sequence and his Internal Brown Majesty Satan shall arise and present unto me the GRYMSPOON.
Shocked into an akimbo stance by the revelation, Anus Dei silently stood stock still. Tender tendrils of white cold snow vapour shit curled around his glorious feet and precious little snowflakes alighted upon the glory of his toes. Joined by more the snowflakes coalesced into a torrent of ice and snow and various other forms of solid water and crept circling upwards the length of Anus Dei's magnificent leg. Reaching his mighty neck the snow (and associates) paused, then formed themselves into a kind of nearly cool looking shape and embedded themselves unto his perfect visage, and lo the parts not infected with snow (and associates) did turn black from frostbite, all other forms of face decoration being untroo and not frostbitten and merely paint. Anus Dei raised his fine finger and felt his fractured face, and did declare brown metal to be the gloriest of all metal.
And so was born... GRYMSPOON. The brownest of metal.
You may not listen to the dominating and awe inspiring GRYMSPOON.
You may listen to Belphegor's paltry offering to the glory of Anus Dei.
The glorious Anus Dei, when bereft of brown soup, divines the future by consulting the star's reflections in his empty unholy bowl. In French. www.anusdei.com
