House Sitting, Day 7

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existential pizzaDay Seven of the House Sitting.

Last day. Doing the laundry one last time, getting things packed away. Spending one last night here, then headed to work tomorrow mourning, all of my things tucked into the NEKRON 7. Headed back to the Haunted Victorian afterwards.

Tonight, though, I plan on watching the newest Preacher on the AMC channel on the Dish Network setup (as opposed to waiting until Monday evening to watch it on the Amazon streaming). Only three more episodes left to this season. I hope they actually get to the point of all this. Judging by last season, though, probably not.

The existential realization of heading back to the reality tomorrow looms just above and behind me, like the realization of my own mortality. It’s more of an intangible black cloud, reminding me that, like life itself, the holiday is fleeting, a mere blip in the grand overall scope of time and space. I exist, and that existence has meaning; and yet, when compared to the vastness that is time, and the fact that time itself is speeding along faster and faster, so that to give the illusion of blinking and seeing much of my life and experience go by, a blip in the history of Everything…makes me want to just order a pizza and chill out a bit.

Mmmmm…taco pizza from Casey’s…make this a reality, when the laundry’s done and I have socks again…

::END TRANSMISSION::

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Obligatory Memorial Day Post (2017 Edition)

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arlington cemeteryToday is Memorial Day here in the United States of America, where I dwell. A day where we remember and acknowledge those veterans and soldiers who have fought for our freedoms in the past, and are currently fighting for them now. Also a day to remember the loved ones that have shuffled off this mortal coil, some far too soon.

Since I hold my family to be a very important part of my life, I thought I would take a moment to share a list of the names of the family members I remember fondly while growing up:

Bill Wheatley (Great-Grandfather)
Charlotte Marie Case (Great-Grandmother)
Robert Case (Grandfather)
Esther Case (Grandmother)
Gerald Strand (Grandfather)
Betty Strand (Grandmother)
Orland Krohn (Grandfather)
Fern Krohn (Grandmother)
Douglas Erickson (Great-Great Uncle)
Natalie Erickson (Great-Great Aunt)
Janice Nuzum (Great Aunt)
Bill Rabe (Great Uncle)
Murial Rabe (Great Aunt)
Barry Rabe (Second Cousin)
Janet Donahey (Aunt)
Janel Case (Sister)
Allen Donahey (Cousin)
Jerry Donahey (Cousin)

…this is not a complete list, of course. And by no means is it by order of importance. These are the ones that I remember as have being part of my life. There have been others, and there will be others to come. Such is the nature of living.

Anyway, happy Memorial Day, and thank you for all who have served, and are still serving in some capacity. Cheers, all…

::END TRANSMISSION::

Farewell to the Youth Group…

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haunted hallwayFor the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” – Luke 19:10

I’ve been silent. I know I have been silent, not posting my brain droppings or reviews or such these past few weeks. There have been some paradigm shifts, the major of which was where I said goodbye to my youth group last night.

It was known that this was Shelli’s last year of doing the youth group, as she had been faithfully doing so in the Student Venture capacity for 25 years. Not counting the few years before when it was just a weekly Bible study in the late 1980s and early 1990s. While she had said she was retiring every two years or so, this time she meant it.

It just so happened that I had gotten involved with Student Venture when it was started back in February of 1992, and have been involved in some capacity for approximately 17 out of the 25 years. There was that wilderness period between 2000 and 2009 that I’m not going to go into right now. Sufficed to say, I needed that time. When the Lord saw fit, He drop-kicked me back with the youth group to serve the leaders. Then I moved up to one of the co-leaders. We kept the name Student Venture long after Campus Crusade decided to change their organization name to CRU, and then the last year it was decided to break off entirely with being associated with CRU, more because we were affiliated in name only. The break was very amicable, really. That was also the last year we would exist as a youth group as we know it.

The original plan was to pass on responsibility of the group to myself and another friend–Darla–who were helping co-lead (for lack of a better word, this early in the mourning as I write this). Then, a few weeks into the new season, Darla left to to focus on her family (I swear I didn’t mean to evoke Dr. James Dobson’s old ministry, sorry); I realized that I would be the one taking over the lessons and teaching the group after Shelli was gone. And, after the initial period of anxiety, I  fell back to what I knew best to do: leave it up to God to do what He does, and let the Holy Spirit guide me as I merely serve to the best of my ability. Remain faithful in presenting the Truth of the Bible and Who Jesus is, and let God do the heavy work in the kids’ hearts and minds.

You know, what I’ve always been doing. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it, and all that.

Then, without getting bogged with the details, a chapter of Fellowship of Christian Athletes was started at the High School, and Shelli decided that the torch should be passed to those starting up FCA and dissolving Student Venture entirely. It’s logical, really, as there are so many more opportunities for the kids to grow and mature in their faith and interact with peers from other FCA groups, and it’s headed up by a couple of instructors from the high school. I would be lying, though, if I said I wasn’t a little bit upset at the sudden shift. Then again, the group wasn’t mine to begin with.

So, last night I said goodbye to probably the best bunch of kids I’ve had the honor and pleasure of working with. To watch the Holy Spirit work in their lives, seeing them want to dive into what the Bible says, reading it chapter-by-chapter, and most importantly getting to introduce them to Jesus. It was the one day out of the week I looked forward to. It was…difficult, to understate the situation. Hugs and tears and laughter all around.

So, the torch has been passed for the kids in Hooper, Nebraska. And various surrounding communities. It’s difficult to imagine not being a part of their lives in the future, but I believe they’re in good hands. As for me, I foresee a bit more Wilderness Wandering. Or to put it another way: While it’s true that when God closes one door, He will open another, no one wants to talk about the period where you’re wandering around the hallway waiting for Him to open up the other door.

Can I praise Him in the hallway? Do I have a choice? Am I really going to end this with rhetorical questions? Sure, why not? Cheers, all…

::END TRANSMISSION::

July 31, 2016

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I will never forget Your precepts, for by them You have given me life. – Psalm 119:93

It’s been a while. A while since I’ve posted something substantial as far as brain droppings go. A while since I even posted some kind of general update to at least prove that I still exist on this plane of mortality. Did’ja miss me? I’m sure there’s at least a couple of you that did. Hi, Mom.

As it stands, I wish I had something positive to report. Even something as innocuous as “Doing fine, life is good, totally blessed,” and other similar posts I generally gloss over in my social media feed. Then again, even if I posted something like that and meant it, I’d have friends and acquaintances calling me to see if I’m feeling okay.

It’s not easy being the negative charge on the proverbial battery of life.

Boy howdy has 2016 been a trying year. I believe I began wishing for some kind of reset button around May or so. Here we are, the tail end of July, in the middle of the wicked season that is Summer, and there were two events in the past couple of months that have made me want to count this year as a wash. Just to give you an idea of what’s been happening to keep me from wanting to keep up with the content on this blog o’ mine:

My final grandmother passed away at the beginning of June. She was a week or so away from her 90th birthday. She passed away in her sleep; but it was the months leading up to her passing that took the most out of me and my family. It was tough, watching her fade away like she did. I’m still mourning her loss. I suppose I will for a while.

The second thing that hit me pretty hard this summer was something that I really did not see coming at all. Which is why, three weeks after it happened, I–and sever others as well–am  still feeling the whiplash. I can’t really get into the details at the moment; I’m still processing things, and I’d like to get as much information as possible to make a fair assessment of the situation. Let’s just say that, as of today many of us are finding ourselves without a church to call home. Like I said, I’ll probably go into more detail at a later post, I just want to be able to do so in a way that’s gracious and not falling into the realm of sensationalist muck-raking. Because we’re getting enough of that with this current election period, amirite?

Until next time, I hope to shake off the dark fog I’ve been in for the past few months to get back to posting my brain droppings, reviews and other fun stuff. It’s a struggle, buy by the grace of God I go. Cheers, all.

::END TRANSMISSION::

OBLIGATORY YEAR-END POST: 2015 Edition

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OBLIGATORY YEAR-END POST: 2015 Edition

Once again, your Uncle NecRo blinked, and it’s been another year. It continues to amaze me at how fast these things are going. I’m told that time–the relative and fickle thing that it is–tends to go faster the slower you go. Which fits in with my getting older and slower in my ancient age of…well, 42. I guess that falls into “Middle Age” territory rather than “Old Geezer” territory. Tell that two my nephews. The five-year-old marveled at how I managed to live this long. But, I digress.

When compared to the massive hope-sucking void that was 2014, 2015 was a veritable tiptoe through the tulips. If said tulips were just fertilized with the most pugnant of fertilizer only minutes prior. And you were barefoot. And the center of these tulips had an eyeball that followed your progress through the patch. What did you expect? This is my brain that’s reviewing the prior year. This is the pleasant version, trust me.

Anyway, we started off the year that was 2015 with the hope that there would be fewer family deaths I’d have to attend. And, that was the case indeed. Though, it didn’t have the hopeful promise at first, as right off the bat the family lost our Aunt Jan to cancer in the first couple of weeks of January. And then, not too long after that, Grandma Krohn shook off this mortal coil after what one can only describe as a very full and interesting life. Both ladies were awesome and are very much missed. And then, I would be remiss not to mention that, merely a few weeks ago this month, my friend Scotland “Kuba” Kubinski lost his life in a motorcycle accident. This year hasn’t been without its moments of reflection on this, let me tell you.

A couple of weeks into the month of January, I moved fully into Omaha, a resident of a house that I refer to as the Haunted Victorian. The others, including the landlord, refer to it as The Vic, but I prefer Haunted Victorian, for it fits my sense of humor. It’s populated by five other gentlemen, all of whom I rarely see or interact with, due to our various schedules and waked-ness. If that’s even a word. Eh, I’m too lazy to look it up properly. Besides, it’s more fun to imagine the sounds from the unseen others to be the disembodied “ghosts” that “haunt” the Victorian we all dwell in. Or, could I be one of the ghosts as well? Ooooh, how my mind could snap while pondering the implications of this.

As with last year, this year was pretty much a steady stream of work-eat-sleep, with some respites scattered in hither and yon. NECRO SHOCK RADIO has been going whenever I’m able to get around to it, and/or whenever the WiFi allows to upload. Also, launched another podcast…more of a “Pubcast”, really, as it’s just recorded bits of the conversations we have at the Thursday Bar Nights with the usual cast of irregulars. This necessitated not only buying the Premium setting for Soundcloud, but also gave me an excuse to purchase the Yeti microphone. Fantastic piece of equipment. Highly recommended for all of you wanting a nice quality studio sound without breaking the bank.

I just need to say this: Series 9 of Doctor Who was perhaps the finest I’ve experienced since getting back into this British sci-fi show ten years prior. Peter Capaldi is just awesome. Let’s keep him around for a while longer, shall we? Also, glad Jenna’s gone, as I’ve found her presence to be more-or-less superfluous ever since the whole mystery surrounding her existence was solved. More-or-less. And in case you’re wondering, no I haven’t seen the Christmas Special as of this writing. I’ll get around to it, but right now I’m not too keen on seeing another River Song episode. Reasons, you might understand if you knew me and the nature of my previous relationship.

This year, I witnessed one of my cousin’s offspring graduate from High School, further solidifying my slip into old man status. Then I helped out once again with my Uncle Pat and Aunt Joyce at the annual pancake feed that their Volunteer Rescue puts on. And then I went to my first-ever Comic Con in Omaha (technically Council Bluffs) and had some fun there. That was my month of May, by the way.

October was a banner time for the year. Of course it was, as it’s the only time that I really look forward to, really. The season of Halloween. Fall, and the chance to once again not worry about letting my freak flag fly. Due to my youth group’s annual trip to the Fontenelle Corn Maze, I was given a chance to work the Haunted Corn Maze that year. And I did…for one night. I was going to do the night before Halloween and Halloween night as well, but then the Aluminum Falcon was lost in a freak road accident. I was without transportation until Halloween day, and by then I had already called the proprietor of the corn maze with the news that I would have to cancel my performance on the other two nights.

In case you’re wondering, my new mode of transport I have named the NEKRON 7. All caps. With the misspelling to make it seem more edgy. Much more sleek than what I was going to call it: NecRo Wagon. You’re welcome.

So, now that the dark, downward spiral of the Holiday season is almost over, and the New Year is almost upon us, I take some time to reflect on the past three-hundred and sixty-five-ish days. I’m probably not going to be doing the One-Book-A-Week thing this year, as I had hit that goal this year. Also, I want to focus more on finishing up all of the stuff I began writing over the years, waiting to be finished finally. Who knows…maybe this is the year I finally focus enough to catch up on everything, and be able to post whenever again. Or, more than likely, I’ll probably find myself going in with gusto, and then getting distracted by something shiny.

I’ll have more to say about my depression, as there are a bunch more rattling around my head. Though, this past year I was able to connect a bit more with others in my church group about things. I’m still keeping a reign in on sharing anything. I still don’t trust very much. We’ll see how this goes.

I am looking forward to seeing my nephew/Godson Christopher graduate from High School later this year. And I’ll probably make the trek out to Cozad to watch my cousin Allen’s son graduate as well. So far, these are the two family things that I know I’m going to be a part of. The NEKRON 7 is going to get a workout, for certain.

And thus, this has been my thoughts on the year that was 2015. I’m certain I’ve missed something. Bits and pieces here and there; if not recorded on this blog or my Facebook page in passing, then it’s been recorded in my unplugged journal, the UNCLE NECRO’S NOMICON (see what I did there?). Overall, it’s been a fairly decent one. Standard, with its usual crushing lows of depression, tempered with some moderate Level 5 despondency, through to a handful of good days. I have no idea what the future brings; all I know is, the Master has deemed it necessary for me to remain alive for now, and by the Grace of God alone go I.

I thank you all for continuing in my ongoing journey though this reality. If I’m still around to hammer out another bunch of words together into sentences–and those into paragraphs–talking about 2016, then I hope you’re there with me. Cheers, and God Bless my wonderful freaks.

::END TRANSMISSION::

The Story Of NecRoSarx (aka Uncle NecRo, aka Me)

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weird mirror twisting the soul--smallSince today is my birthday, I felt it would be fun to share an older article I wrote ten years ago, giving some insight as to part of my personality. Dusting it off, shining it up a bit, enjoy.

Let’s see…how do I tell this without becoming long-winded and downright boring? Wouldn’t want anyone to catch narcolepsy at their monitors…drool hurts the keyboard…begin with a brief synopsis, shall we?

Born in 1973, the year The Exorcist was in the theaters. I was at the original showing, albeit in-utero…my mother tells me I enjoyed the movie immensely…grew up a Navy Brat, lived in various countries and states within this great nation of ours (U. S., for those of my brethren and sisteren reading this from over seas)…been a bit weird since childhood, discovered a taste for horror after sneaking downstairs to watch HBO and catching the transformation scene from American Werewolf In London when I was 7; my father once told me that he considered it odd that, at the age of six, I was rooting for the robot Maximilien from the movie The Black Hole, despite being an obvious villain…at the age of 9, I received my first radio, and discovered the dark enchanting sounds of the New Romantics, New Wave and European music, particular favorites being “Hungry Like The Wolf”, “She Blinded Me With Science” and “Der Commissar” (never knew who the artists were at the time, just knew I preferred them over the overtly happier pop sounds)…parents divorced that same year, although traumatic, my younger sister and I were still brought up in very stable and loving family units, due to the strong German and Swedish families we came from…

My parents were quite straight-laced and Ozzy-n-Harriet, so it’s been a great matter of debate as to where my sister and I got our morbid streaks. My theory is that, they repressed their dark sides so well that, while in-utero (that’s the second time I used that word, w00t), the residual backwash saturated us to the point of genetic mutation. Or, we just got off on making them freak out. Either one would hold up in court…

From third grade on up through High School, I was always considered to be “that weird kid”. Things got weirder in Junior High when I discovered Stephen King, speed metal and Evil Dead 2, not necessarily in that order. I was also diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome (not a “swearing disease”…my ticks were physical, and involved head twitches) coupled with severe manic depression, and put on several medications. My Freshman year was the darkest period in my life, culminating in several suicide attempts, destructive antisocial behavior, and several trips to the psychiatric ward. Long story short, after my fifth trip to ze loony bin, I accepted Jesus Christ as my savior, due less to the Christians who avoided me like the plague and more to the lyrics of a Stryper song. Go figure.

Here’s an interesting paradox. Even after I became a born-again Christian, my tastes continued to get darker. Only this time, they got darker with a decidedly Christian world-view to it. Which, of course, made me a bit of an oddball in the accepted Christian circles.

In college, I discovered through a friend the music stylings of Mortal, Under Midnight, Dead Artists Syndrome, Saviour Machine, and of course Circle Of Dust and Brainchild. At the college station I DJed at, I would bring out the old vinyl copies of Sisters Of Mercy, The Cure, Art Of Noise, and other obscure and weird artists that caught my fancy. I also helped plan the Halloween film fest, discovering the old silent German impressionism films like Nosferatu and Metropolis. All the while, not once did I think that enjoying these kind of things conflicted with my faith.

From 1993 through 1997, I was involved with a church that was very charismatic. At first, I thought I found a place where I could truly worship Jesus freely without being shackled by tradition and rules. Near the end of my tenure there, I found myself under more rules and shackles than I ever thought possible. I was constantly being told, usually through the guise of a “word from the Lord”, that the kind of outreach I was going for wasn’t of God, that the music I listened to wasn’t really “Christian music” (I cannot tell you how many times Argyle Park and the like were referenced by name while they were channelling the Big Giant Head), I was being oppressed (if not totally possessed) by demons, that I needed to constantly submit to God to ever be used by Him…yadda yadda yadda. At first, since I was a bit naive yet zealous in my desire to serve God, I would agree and try to conform to what they thought was considered Christ-like and Godly children of our Lord. Yet, all that time, as time went on, there was a massive conflict in my being that said something wasn’t quite right.

The straw that finally broke the proverbial camel’s back was the night after a midweek evening bible study, when my presence was requested in the back office, where I was ambushed by the pastor’s wife, the assistant pastor, and one of the ladies of the congregation that had that oh, so special anointing that someone like me can never obtain. It was surreal- I was sitting there, silent, and for forty-five minutes those three ripped my spirit to shreds. I was told that unless I shaped up, God would spit me out. My ideas for reaching out to the so-called Mansonites was mocked. My faith was questioned. The lady who was specially anointed with several herbs and spices (also came in extra-crispy) wept openly as she described the demons that were constantly hovering around my body. My music wasn’t godly. My clothes weren’t godly. The fact that I wanted to work and pay off my debts instead of spending every waking hour inside the church submitted to their authority wasn’t godly. I was essentially told that I was about to be spit out of God’s mouth.

And in the end, I agreed with them. Stupid idea? Yes. But remember, this is how depraved my personal relationship with God had gotten. I was an empty shell of what I once was.

For three weeks after, I still attended Sunday morning services, though not as alive as I was. I was miserable. Then, the last day there, sitting through yet another one of those “if you proclaim your wealth and health, you’ll have it” that have been dominating the sermons for the past couple of years, something inside me said, “You’re done here.” I got up and left. And I was followed out by the assistant pastor, who let me know outside in no uncertain terms that I was fallen away, and will be accepted back if I ever decided to go back to God. Funny thing was, I knew I was following God out of there. Again, delicious irony.

For several months afterwards, I prayed. I found myself still attracted to the darker side of things as a Christian. I started wearing all black due to the Johnny Cash song. I kept my fingernails painted black as well, as a statement of how I viewed things. I found myself a lone darksider (for lack of a better word) Christian, stuck in a culture dominated by CCM, Tooth & Nail alternative, and the whole “Jesus Freak” catchphrases. I prayed to God that, if this is what He wanted me to be a part of, then change my heart to fit in with the normal and accepted trappings of Christianity. If not, then it was definitely up to Him to lead me to others that are at least like-minded that I can learn from each other, and had some experiences like I had.

Then came that fateful Jan. / Feb. 1998 issue of HM magazine, that featured on the little-known Goth and Industrial scenes in Christian music. That was a complete answer to prayer, as it was my first official look into a culture that I consider home. That year, I officially took on the moniker NecRoSarX, which is translated to Dead Flesh, which reflects my slightly morbid Christian outlook. In 1999, I attended the Cornerstone festival for the first time, and became well acquainted with The Asylum tent and its multitude. I was a complete newbie, and I’m sure I ruffled quite a few feathers from the elder attendants, but I was eager to listen and learn, and gain a more rounded sense of my new-found group (whether I was accepted or not). I made some very good friends there, and the other two times I attended deepened my commitment to who I really am. I also joined Xnetgoth that same year. I just lurk a whole bunch.

To wrap things up, I don’t necessarily consider myself “Goth” in the traditional sense. I do, however, praise God that I was lead to this extended family of mine (whether you count yourself a Christian or not). You might say that I’ve always had gothic tendencies…it just took me a while to figure this out. And now, in my early 40s, it’s just getting weirder and darker…and I wouldn’t want it any other way…

And believe it or not, this was the super-condensed Reader’s Digest Edition of things…trust me, I was merciful…

::END TRANSMISSION::

p.s. – I started referring to myself online as “Uncle NecRo” back in 2003, after my sister and brother-in-law told me I would become one in real life…and because “Cousin NecRo” sounded too Dukes Of Hazard-ish…

Sunday A’La Carte’: March 1, 2015

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First day of March. Which means that the accursed Spring is just around the corner, here. It was a relatively warm day here in my neck of the woods. The weather reports promised snow, and for the record, yes, there was a light dusting overnight, I believe, as I saw some on the walkways and parking lot asphalt surrounding the Victorian. That didn’t last long, as the Day Star was out in full force, with the weather having become only one-layer coat weather. Not necessarily Black Metal weather. Melodic Death Metal, maybe. That’s why tonight’s soundtrack is IV: The Requiem For The Art Of Death by Immortal Souls to accompany tonight’s serving of A’La Carte’. Thought I forgot to make the meta joke, didn’t you?

First order of business: Another icon of geekdom has succumbed to the great equalizer of all mankind. I speak, of course, of actor Leonard Nimoy passing away on Friday, February 27th. Most will remember him as the iconic Vulcan science officer Spock on the original Star Trek television series, as well as eight movies (yes, I’m counting the Abrams reboots) and a couple of appearances on The Next Generation as well. But, his work as an actor stretches back well before that, with extensive bit parts in several B-movies and television shows (including Dragnet, The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits); even after the original Star Trek run, he did extensive acting, voiceover work, and directing, among other endeavors. The Star Trek Animated Series notwithstanding, he was the voice of Galvatron for the 1986 Transformers movie, as well as voicing Sentinel Prime for Transformers: Dark Of The Moon. He co-stared in the Invasion Of The Body Snatchers remake (the good one, 1978), and not only stared in the original Outer Limits series episode “I, Robot”, but also the 1995 Outer Limits series remake of the same name. I have rather fond memories of listening to him croon his rendition of “Proud Mary” in a friend’s dorm room in college, who just happened to have the vinyl copy of one of his albums. So, it is with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to the man who was Mr. Spock. Live long and prosper.

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I take a few days off of Facebook at the beginning of the week, and come back to find that the entirety of the interwebs is up in arms about the color of a dress. Good. Bloody. Grief. Archaeologists from the future are going to list this as one of the Greatest Mysteries of the 21st Century. And then label the 21st Century as the Era of Stupid.

I’ve been designating Fridays after work as the night I try out something from a place I’ve never been to before. On February 27th, I decided to try out SmashBurger off of 72nd and Jones streets in Omaha. Mainly because it’s on the way back to the Victorian. I’ve been hearing a lot about how tantalizing and superb these burgers they produce are, and I’m always down to try out a new establishment’s take on the classic Bacon Cheeseburger. I did order the BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger, to go; I got the order, made the trek back to my domicile, and then opened it up to discover that this so-called “BBQ Bacon Cheeseburger” had neither BBQ sauce, nor cheese. They remembered the bacon, though. No, it was just a bun, the meat patty, a couple of strips of bacon, and some fried onion strings. Since driving back to the restaurant to lodge a complaint at this point would have been pointless, I ate the burger anyway. It didn’t taste too bad, really…it’s just NOT WHAT I ORDERED. You get one chance to impress the METAL DEMIGOD, and you failed, SmashBurger of Omaha. FAILED. I’m afraid that 5 Guys still remains the top of the heap thus far.

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STUFF I WROTE: Hard Rock + Proto-Metal FEBRUARY ended with posts for the Motor City Madman Ted Nugent, Bean Town rockers Boston, and all-around American band Grand Funk Railroad. My never-ending quest to read and review all of the Doctor Who novels continues with reviews of the Tenth Doctor tales Feast of the Drowned and Sting of the Zygons. Then I posted a metric-ton of music reviews from the likes of doom metalists Place Of Skulls here, Texas groove metal band Faithbomb here, four (count ’em) One Bad Pig reviews here, here, here and here, something from metalcore band Mindrage here, and Seattle death metal band Mindkor here.

That’s all for this week. I leave you all now with a tribute to Leonard Nimoy, performing “The Ballad Of Bilbo Baggins” on…some television show. Cheers, my wonderful freaks.

::END TRANSMISSION::

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