Suggested Audio Candy

 

Hirax “El Diablo Negro”

 

Thursday 6th June 2013 11.30am

 

The time is in spitting distance now. I’m feeling revitalized and as prepared as I’ll ever be for what could well be my last handful of breaths. I just necked a fistful of Prozac and knocked one out in the shower with one hand against the wall to release the overbearing tension. If I’m not primed to meet the infamous Marcus Miller now then I’m shit out of data. Actually being Keeper, there are a few little tricks tucked up my sleeve. I’m a people person and, without seeming conceited, folk gravitate towards me as I swear by being kind and courteous. This includes the cursory smile to a stranger and kindly allowing the feeble old woman to cross to the other side of the road without revving my engine and causing her bowel to relinquish. Fuck I’ve never even kicked a chicken! Surely good karma is due to pay me a visit, the old rabbit foot in the pouch and lucky jockeys should count for something right? Not a snowball’s chance in New Dehli, I’m royally fucking screwed!

Last night I made the ill-fated decision to view The Orphan Killer once more before absconding my motel room for the final time. As I sidestep the dubious discarded skipping rope that I haven’t had the balls to move from its nestling place days ago, I set off to face my most shadowy fear. There are two stop offs to make en route in a last-ditch attempt at gathering intelligence before I enter my freshly formed vision of wretchedness. First I must swoop past the local gym where the great Matt Farnsworth maintains that robust physique and I’m informed I may run into Mike there too which could provide critical insight.

As I enter I catch a glimpse of Mike leaning with one foot against the wall and I can taste the relief. That faint metallic tang of my own liver has been ever-present since I first gawked death in the mug. It is then that I catch sight of the toned Adonis, one of the precious few men who could stand next to Diane Foster without looking like he must be her brother. This man is an enigma and, the deeper you burrow, the more you revere him. I’d imagine he shits entrepreneurial spirit, networking even before the final clench.

If it sounds like I’m gushing then you have assumed correctly. Farnsworth is the dude chicks want inside them, fellas yearn to be, and mothers crave to breast feed. If I appear starstruck then I assure you it is merely cruel admiration. I have prepared like no other for this tête-à-tête and made it my job to found out the relevant shit after my primary introduction to The Orphan Killer three months back. That’s how I roll; I have a thirst for insight and drink that shit in like a roadside desert critter. I make my mind up with folk very swiftly and pride myself on my instinctive ability to sort the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Matt Farnsworth is pure wheaty goodness man; he puts the wheat in Wil Wheaton motherfuckers!

Anyone not clued-up would imagine the mind that pioneered the most controversial slasher flick of the last thirty years to be a bit unhinged and, while he embraces the sickness gladly, that couldn’t actually be farther from accurate. Farnsworth is an absolute gentleman. I imagine him ushering that frail old dear across to safety, using his coat lining to shield her from the cock slave revving his engine. A community figure, positive role model, proud father, devoted husband, and loyal as Lassie towards his growing nation of TOK devotees, I could tell all of this through those first few exchanges. He positively bleeds integrity and anyone of the belief that you can aspire to accomplish what this dude has in his mortality thus far alone by being an utter ball-basket needs to check themselves before they wreck themselves.

The Orphan Killer is more than just a slasher, its social media at its most prosperous; a chat room for those with dark tendencies and welcome mat as far as the worldwide web can stretch. This man gets it! Talking of which he just clocked me, that warm smile inviting me onward. I shall make the most of these instances, I want to approach Matt Farnsworth as the fanboy I am in my dark heart, take this opportunity to ask the posers I want to hear answered and trust that in doing so I’m asking the posers any Grueheads desire to ask also. I pledge to savour it as things are due to get considerably less hospitable soon.

Click here to read Verse IV

 

Please tell my family I love them,

 

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

First Knight of TOK

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013 (Revised Edition 2015)