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состав, дискография, фото, музыка в Real Audio, ссылки на MP3. Vice Made For Pleasure (); Vicious Rumors Soldiers Of The Night (). Call all Fanzine fans! So here are a bunch of potential Roskilde names · Download the new HIM song for free · These Arms Are Quitting · SBS to record on.

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состав, дискография, фото, музыка в Real Audio, ссылки на MP3. Vice Made For Pleasure (); Vicious Rumors Soldiers Of The Night (). 17 B2 Duel B3 XXXX - 1 B4 XXXX - 2 Torrent unleashes 8 malevolent Opener “++^. x^ -_-___” playfully introduces the record, the iridescent melody creeps. Call all Fanzine fans! So here are a bunch of potential Roskilde names · Download the new HIM song for free · These Arms Are Quitting · SBS to record on. STARSECTOR 0.65.2A TORRENT If you have My Account profile to view your. Sharing screens, and I've got it. Now, open the eight fully customizable in as much look for its.

Do you follow them home or stalk them? To lots of people all that they want out of life is a spouse, or kids, or a job. You have every right to worry because people like you exist. They really struck a chord in me, I guess you can say. If you want to hear a fucking sob story then talk to my parents and ask them how their lives were when they were young.

But I am not white. I intended for this letter to be positive because punk music keeps me happy and sane. But I am, or was made into, a very negative and angry person, partly because of snobby, stick-up-the-fucking ass, wanne-be, prejudiced preps. I have to. I wish my brother could. Then I met a friend in 7th grade I have no omniscient older sibling and I am only fifteen years old - see?

With a kick start from her, I slowly began to look for I my own music and eventually found punk. Like I [said before, it keeps me happy and sane. What else could you ask for? Even though I realize that [not all punks are like that, I have [found too many to be hypocritical. I thought being punk, money [was not what you played for. The I Ramones are loved and respected [for their music and I thought that [would be good enough. Try to understand. And come on, this is just a trend anyway.

Be patient, willya? A girl somewhere in the U. Go figure. As for the safety pin thing, most people copied Mr. Rotten on that. Those who do should have their body dry up so they would learn to conserve that precious saliva. Johnny only did it cause he had bad sinuses. Stupid fucks. I really like the letter that was written by Marcy Corr in NY. I agree with her whether she likes me or not.

Based on the material above, I open the pages of An idjit! His lack of spelling and punctuation rendering his stories completely unreadable!! As in, Valley Girl speech! I know! Yeah, this is gonna work, I can see it now! I think George's column gets subjected to the same spellchecker as the rest of the columnists. As far as punctuation, there are a lot more serious offenders running arounc here. Actually, my master plan ini creating a diversion is to have ridic-J ulous letters like yours and the next one appear.

Simple, mul-j tiple-type band shots was standard! I think it would be safe to as-l Jsume nearly every record in yourl I shithole is graced by a band posing! I took thesel [pictures of The Makers over thej [course of six years on my fuckingj [Vivatar. Rich boys up here dress! I can only guess that one of the Makers spit on you or fucked your girlfriend, because it appears be personal.

You don't even mention the songs, insect! You are either A just a stupid uck, or B a spiteful scab out for revenge. It makes me sad to think your ego will probably receive a boost from this. Of course, that proves what kind of diarrhea you are. I can see why you get a boner doing this. Revenge is so alluring. I wish you and your loved ones ill. So what's 1 I the problem? Chris wanted to yank yourl chain and put out the bait. Did It taste f good? In his I column Mykel talked about straight edgers at one point.

We want to fuck, we want to punk rock, but when your addicted you NEED it, whether it be alcohol or drugs. It takes more courage to say no than to say yes. And if you have to do I that, then you are a sell-out. You are then bowing down to a governmental influenced I companies that make their money [from you buying its alcohol and ciga- I rettes. Mykel] Board you are wrong.

I player for the now extinct band the 1 Replacements, is found dead in his Minneapolis apartment in February. Victim of an overdose. The Replacements were a great band in their early days. I was a twelve yea. Sad, I know. Bob Stinson, rest in peace, I hate music. They were part of a group of around 70 punks in the city centre that year for the Annual Picnic. So he is going to have to do the full stretch.

Around 40 punks [filled the public gallery and a full [party was in swing earlier on the [steps of the court. Police lined the [court with truncheons at the ready [expecting it to kick off all over again. You can write to [each one individually with the ad- [dress at the end of this letter and all [mail will be passed on to them at [their new prisons.

A couple of points to remember [before writing. Has anyone else complained about this or am I retarded? And all those kids are sedated, they feel as punk is I with the way they do it. Even when they are confronted with a political band, they don't give a fuck about lyrics or intentions. Only five out of fourtyj replied.

Five out of fourty were inter-J ested in a free single!!! I We have to state our differences,! We gotta have! When we! I did that too,! I I hope I made sense and myi English is not as bad as I think. I've never instigates it. I guess [that I'm just pretty darn lucky, huh?! That's news to me, because no one,! Some- [time in ' did form a band named [Emma Peel. We also broke up that very same year. I hope that! It's a very [foolish move on their part. It can [only hurt tham. I'm not a vindictive person, but [this mess does bother me.

We'll probably be booked [at any out-of-town gigs with my past. They were [quite fortunate not to be labeled 'ex- [MinorThreat'. Stop screaming [and give me a minute to explain. If Jit can work with corporate entities [ major labels, MTV, etc. The assumption here is [that capitalism can be made to work [for the band.

This, as far as I can tell, is the position of j people whose radical politics seem to contradict their sometimes sketchy 'business practice, like Jello Biafra. Cultur- ally: you hate MTV? Top 40 radio? Rolling Stone? How can you hate the culture industry and still be a part of it? This all sounds like such a bum- mer, I know. It gets worse: ail these fucking things are intertwined. So what? Sure we can party and have a good time anyway.

And for some of these people, punk is this form of opposition. This is especially true for European punk bands, in my experience. Others simply want no part of a system that does all these horrible things for the benefit of such horrible people. But my fundamental point is this: the arguments derive from, and revolve around, competing attitudes toward capitalist structures. Arguments about how to maintain opposition to capitalism come out as arguments! Of course people concerned with these issues are going to sound self-righteous to those carefree punk businesspeople in the first camp.

Anyway you get the idea. Punk just becomes an effective selling point for people in the first camp, j and who the fuck needs a new way to sell commodities? Split 7". Too busy! Hard melodic U. An essential disc! Raw and heavy, no bullshit, no love songs, great! To thank us, they bounced a check.

That was a year ago. If they don't give a shit about us, why should you give a shit about them. Please boycott the store! Labels selling direct and distributors be aware M! For credit card mailorders call our mailorder hotline at 31 2 U. Alloy, Toxic Apt.

Records brings to you Ip CI CI Stand Up cd only!! Look for "I record store in Lancaster soon, as well. Prices postpaid in U. All orders include 40 page catalog! C SAT. It's Free! II Only three bucks each, postage paid! Slick, color covers. Send cash, check, or M.

Twelve surf songs plus an intriguing B-side mystery track. Contains 14 songs, all about slot N v car racing and associat- ed phenomena. White vinyl with plain yellow label it looks like a fried egg, getit? Special guest appearances by Elka Zolot and her daughter! Contains Ape-Bass and Jungle Drums!! Foriegn customers double this charge.

Please send orders and make checks payable to: Neurotic 1 Folsom St. Please visit our store when in San Francisco. Common Cause, XMist. Box S. Adress in this issue. CD S8. Cass S3. CD S Quicksand "Supergenius Boot " Saidchild "Crush" Sleeper "Preparing Today.. CD S6. TenSeven "YouTe Cool" TenSeven "Chainsaw Orchestra" LP S7. Ten-G-Seven "Happiness Breakdown" Undertow "At Both Ends" Undertow "Control" Hardcore Maniacs - HC Photozine Can Mex Add SI.

Europe Add S3. Asia Add S4. Your Goodies how to be a punk label fif hzf all punk, hip and independeni— while rafionalking disf rib ufion fhru majors Make Ike youre. The only difference is that back in those days, there was no Internet to Sun- day-drive on. Though I'm certainly traditional in my ways. Actually, I hate CD's more now than I did five years ago how's that for hypocrisy?

CD's bought me my big, fat T. Then again, hoisting boxes off of pallets and into trucks bought me my first car and I wasn't a big fan of warehouse work either, so fuck it. But when punks started merging onto the info highway, I naturally assumed they'd be cruising the strip in their cherry-red GTO's; instead, the mealy-mouthed little twerps are farting around the parking lot of the Dingbat Mall at A.

You can bet your ass they're not cruising for chicks. Being a heavy duty devotee of the crapola that comes into my house via my thirty-five inch T. It makes us think that anorexic, tight-assed bitches like Julia Roberts are not only "hot," but have brains and personality as well. It feeds our delusion that illiterate junkie cock- hounds like Courtney Love are not only in some way a valid part of our culture.

It shows us a life we can never have never bothering to point out the banality of such an existence and then pulls the rug out from under us, offering us as the only antidote another dose of T. No sir, T. It's shit, it's not good for me and yet I like it and I watch it anyway. Sorta like the Kool sticking out- ta the corner of my mouth at this very moment. Oh, we have our moral messages at the end of every half hour of prime time slop, but even the slowest kid in the third grade remedial class knows that stuff is just a bunch of patronizing horseshit designed to keep mom from declaring that you're rotting your brain and turning the goddamn set off.

Naturally, the punks aave taken to the Internet like ducks to water; it's the most class-biased piece of technology to come along since, umm.. Not ONE. The purpose of this rant is not really to attack users of the Internet; that's a bit like challenging a quadraplegic to a fist- fight. What's been leaving me feeling like I need a maxi-shot of Geritol lately is the dishonesty of my friends and colleagues, I. And I'm not talking about the little white lies we all tell each other to soften the blows of our often overly- savage criticism.

The esteemed Rev. Norb, who has written about me far too many times in the past year for me to have any serious misgivings about breaking the no-writ- ing-about-other-columnists rule, is a prime example of a combination of fine writer, brilliant wordsmith, pun man and highly effective satirist. He's also, to put it nicely, RELUCTANT to write anything nasty about anyone he might one day actually encounter or who might be able to have a negative effect on his band.

And even when he does jab someone harshly, he sticks his tongue so far in his cheek that a conjured visual would resemble Johnny Wadd getting blown from a side angle. While criticism that a few of my recent columns have resembled Norbie's is accurate, we all know that A. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and B. I could never take the gloves off and end up simply giving a harsh noogie instead of a well-deserved verbal ass-kicking. Chandler, a fairly talented writer from Corvallis, Oregon who publishes Mutant Pop , usually has real insight into the musi-political issues of the day, but he often waters them down by being too kind to his friends and simultaneously trying to prove that he's objective.

Ana it's further true that the fanzines that come the closest to being sincere and honest are the most boring I f ive you Punk Planet and as I've told you efore, you can keep it. Still, when your dishonesty moves from being a strategy to entertain the reader into the realm of not wanting to ruffle the feathers of the right people, you've become a bigger sell-out than anybody who writes for Rolling Stone.

Chandler hasn't slid over to the side of complete dishonesty yet, but I always worry when a qualitative fanzine writer takes on another project like a band, or in Chandler's case, a record label. The bitter acid changes to a slightly severe sunburn and the hilarious, gross generalizations are sifted through care ully to exclude "friends" who may ben efit their other endeavors. One person who's probably more aware of this problem than most fanzine publishers is Bob Conrad, creator of the always entertaining Second Guess.

Bob's always been careful not to blindly side with his friends but ever since he started taking his band more seriously, he seems to be going out of his way not to side with his frienas. The subject matter is unimportant - the point is, if you read Gervasi's response to Board, you'd see that he hardly lets Board off easy. In fact, he takes him to task, point for fucking point. The only conclusions that I can draw are A. Bob didn't read what he reviewed very carefully, B. It was a weak, well-disguised attack on Gervasi or C.

He felt a need to show us that he doesn't play favorites. I'm left with C. Naming names isn't the point of this article. I picked the first three people that came to mind for some strange reason, the shittiest, lowest scumbag writers don't come to mind as K eople I want to give ink to. Maybe I'm avmg trouble sharpening my point NOT the one on top of my head because it's so fucking obvious.

Still, when I talk baseball, I don't fuck around] , then you quickly become what one L. Livermore likes to call a one trick pony if the irony of that doesn't send you sprawling with laughter, GOOD. I'll let you know if it ever improves.

But none of the people I mentioned are dishonest in the sense of purposely making shit up, or printing the kind of distorted bullsnit rumors you get on the Internet really, the Internet is fucking unbelievable. Neither do they engage in the kind of mindless scene jingoism that Bi- afra has accused Maximum of not that some of the people over here DON'T engage in that stuff - it's just that Biafra was wrong in that particular case.

There's my out! I m in the middle of a parentheses and I've actually fucking il- ustrated my point by perpetrating the crime I'm railing against! Maximum in general will denounce the Riverdalesfor making too much money or being on MTV or hanging out with Billie Joe or something. I'll be branded a paranoid [hmmm But by having written what you just read, I gave myself an out. This is too unsettling to go into any further right now They're good writers, decent guys who just let their other projects lead them astray the way most of us are led astray by our genitals and if that's not gender correct, nothing is.

It's also dishonest, so feel free to insert "dick," "wee-wee," or "doni- ker" in place of "genitals. Don't worry, I'll still be here when you get back. But check this out: "If the River- dales don't play an all-ages show around here Chicago soon, they'll lose more credibility than they already have.

That's okay, because this asshole fanzine-thumper is attempting to do what Biafra accused me and Tim of doing - he's trying to create something out ofnothing! When the hell did the Riverdales lose our credibility? But the guy's apparently not smart enough to be entertaining in a sleazy way and his concern for the kids' and presumably, HIS ability to see the Riverdales apparently didn't manifest itself in the form of him dragging his hippie.

Wicker Park-by-way-or-yer-av- erage-middle-class-suburb, sensitive punk, whiny ass out to see the Riverdales play an all ages show in a lily-white town that's probably not too far from where he's spent most of his life. I haven't the slightest clue where this guy's from - he could hail from Phoenix for all I know. And he might not be a whining, puling, sensitive punk at all. I mean. I'm sure the guy likes the Tick, but that doesn't earn him a promotion out of the butthole department.

I'll just have to try harder next time. You've learned your lesson for the day. You can put the magazine down now. In view, about three hundred and fifty feet away was my mortal enemy. A guy who had. A guy who had just accused I me of lying, and a guy, who in the past, I had inflicted a lot of physical pain on me.

Now I it was pay-back time. Just one little squeeze of the trigger, and he'd know that fucking with George Tabb was a bi mistake. A mistake heYl never forget, figured I was gonna go down in history as a big hero or something. So what if I was only fourteen, and the guy at the end of my sights was my father. But I guess I should back up a bit, as usual. My father must have been a nice I guy at one point in his life. He married I my mother, and she, had good taste. So my dad must have I been okay.

I remember as a small baby, I my dad would ride me in his bicycle I basket to Coney Island on the weekends. II would be scared shitless, but my dad didn't care. Ya see, to him, I wasn't being I manly, I was being a coward. And no I Tabb was allowed to be a coward. So I'd I be crying, and he would just go faster. I But that was okay, because, I eventually learned not to get in the basket and go with him. But he must have loved me anyway. I think all the shit between me and my loyd, out on our Long Island gravel riveway, playing with all the little rocks, arked in the driveway was our family's hevy Station Wagon, with its brown ood-paneled sides and rear seat that aced the wrong fucking way.

I would always get kinda car sick, nd beg my dad to pull over so I could hrow up. He never did. But that was kay, because I eventually learned not to et in the car with him. Anyway, that day, ne and Lloyd came up with this great dea. We liked the smell that ame out, and we wondered what it ould sound like if we dropped a pebble there. So I picked up the first one, and et it roll.

I heard it go "plink, plink, plink, plink, splash! Wow, that was cool. Then it was Lloyd's turn. He did the same thing. Punk Fuckin' Rock! And there were plenty of these ittle things around. All big or little nough to tit in that hole where that good mell was coming from.

Eventually, as I jot older, I found other things to put in [other places, if ya know what I mean, udda-bing, budda-boom. Anyway, eventually it got to the oint where it was "plink, plink, splash! So we got bored and screwed the thingamajiggerbackon, closed the panel, and went on about our business of playing in the sandbox, or [finding those tiny little frogs and eating [them. My mom left my dad when I was [about five. She had met this guy named slick, and decided she liked him better.

I lon't blame her. What then followed was bitter custody battle which resulted in ny dad paying off a judge lots of money le made on Wall Street doing insider [trading. My dad paid off the judge to let him keep us kids, and severely limit the [amount of time my mom was allowed to r isit with her three sons, Lloyd, Seth, and r It sucked, because we loved our mom very much, and missed her. But, we had to make the best of a bad situation, so we tried to adapt to living with my dad, and his new wife, Connie.

Connie, now what I a piece of work she was. She had been previously married to this guy named Boris, and had two kids, Dana and Tracy, my now step-sisters. Both younger than me. He, Boris, left her for some airline attendant, and she married Lester Tabb, my father. So it was really three boys and three girls. We'd all go out to eat at some fucking restaurant, and people would say, "look, it's the Bradys! Yeah, The Brady Bunch on angel dust is more like it.

My dad more and more resented my mom, and more and more took it out on me. I remember he would tell me that I was just like my mom, and I better get rid of that part of me. He told me she was useless, like myself, and we'd both never amount to anything. Nice things to tell a six year old. Anyway, as I got older and older, my dad and I got along less and less. His hate for my mother grew by leaps and bounds, and every other Sunday, when we would see my mom and Nick, would be the happiest days of my childhood.

But when we would get home to Lester and Super-Bitch, we would be punished or beaten for nothing. Things like, "you didn't empty the garbage in the guest room", or "Barbara and Nick brought you home too late" would get us some good beatings.

Now, I gotta tell ya, I don't like beatings. And I don't like 'em worse on my two younger brothers. So, if my dad was going to town on either Lloyd or Seth, I would usually try and distract him so he'd go after me instead. I felt responsible for Lloyd and Seth, like an older brother should, and would be damned if this monster was going to beat them. So I usually took the beatings.

Now f otta imagine me, this puny little kid, my dad, a very big man, who liked to overly use his fist. Whatta guy. How macho. Boy, I sure wished I could be like him when I grew up. So I didn't like my dad. He beat me often, emotionally and mentally abused me every day of my life, and in general, was not a very nice guy.

And his wife, well if she wasn't busy fucking the car-1 penter, she was also busy abusing me. He was this Italian coivmms guy, who lived in Porchester, kinda near where we used to live. He would come over to the Tabb estate everyday, and do some kind of repair work on the house, or my step-mother. He would be at our house every morning before my dad went to work stealing other peoples money, and would still be there when my dad got home.

Every morning my dad would give Tony a list of things to do, and Tony would tell him, "Hey, its a no problem. I canna fix anything", then he'd smile that Cheshire Cat smile. My dad would nod his head and go to work, or to some hotel and fuck one of his secretaries.

Yeah, right. Anyway, as soon as Lester the Molester split to work, off would come Tony's shirt, and the next thing ya know he'd be driving golf balls in the back yard. Then I'd go out there and ask him if I could try. Sometimes he would let me. But then my step-mother would come out and tell me to get lost.

To go do some chores, or she'll tell my dad I was bad, and I'de get a beating. Yd walk away, and watch them talk as I did. She used to put her hand on his chest, and tell him how "manly" he was. Next thing ya know, budda-bing-budda-boom, they were up in her bedroom. I remember once, I walked in on them by accident. They both said nothing. The next day I was hanging out in our kitchen, playing with a mouse that I had caught in the dog food in the basement.

I even built it a little house in an old shoe box. Tony took the mouse, and told me to watch. He then took out a Zippo, and lit the mouse's tail on fire, then threw it out the window. The mouse ran up the driveway with its tail on fire, squealing. Tony asked me if I got the picture. I told him I did. Then Connie came in with my stuffed Lamb, my only stuffed animal beside my snake I had won at Coney Island for shooting water into some clown's head over and over, until my mom and Nick must have given the guy twenty bucks.

Connie took my lamb, and chucked it out the window as well. She too asked me if I got the picture. I told her "loud and clear". Every Saturday and Sunday, my brothers and I would do chores around the estate. We had fourteen acres of land, seven horses, one wheel-barrow and a manual lawn-mower, the kind with no engine.

Early Saturday mornings, we would muck out all the stalls of horse shit and piss. This usually took at least six hours. All the time we were doing this, my step-mother and my step and half sisters would be out riding, and would be bitching at us to hurry up, so they could put the horses back in their stalls. They would ride, we would clean up. I begun to hate those fucking horses. All except Charlie, a Shetland Pony we had since I was two.

Me and Charlie saw eye-to-eye, literally. He was a short pony. With asthma, and a bad attitude. My dad would always yell at Charlie, and some times threaten to "put him down". So me and Charlie were in the same boat. We both were around when my dad was married to my mom, so maybe Lester hated Charlie 'cause he reminded him of my mom. I remember once my dad got this clog, a bull-mastiff, named Douggie. Douggie used to make all sorts of weird noses, and drool a lot.

My step- mom used to say that Douggie sounded like my brother Seth, 'cause Seth had asthma. She told Seth this. He would get upset, then my dad would get upset because he was upset, and start beating him. Then I'd step in, and well, you know the story. Anyway, Douggie had a problem with the horses. He liked to kill them.

I remember once he leapt at this horse's neck, as he often did, and this time, he caught it. I don't know if Douggie actually killed the horse, but we never saw it again. Actually, my dad and step-mom were boarding the horse, ha ha ha. Then we had some goats and sheep and chickens. Douggie liked to kill them too. I had this one goat, Felipe, named after the Indian in the Village People.

He was cool. Anyway, Douggie got him. Chewed him in half. Finally, my dad gave Douggie away to a nice home. A big farm upstate somewhere, where I'm sure he killed and killed again. So, where was I, oh yeah, so we had to clean those damn stalls, but then came the fun work. The damn lawn. And we had this manual lawn mower to do it with. The kind ya push, and the blades spin, and the grass gets cut.

One mower, three brothers, and fourteen acres. It sucked. Every week during spring and summer, and until the first snowfall. I remember my dad would be out there yelling at us to hurry up, that we were going too slow. That he wanted to play golf, or ride the horses, and he couldn't until the lawn was cut. So that is how I spent my weekends. But that was okay, I eventually learned to run away a lot.

And that got me outta a lot of k. Then one day, my dad came home from work with all smiles. He seemed happier than a pig in shit, which he was. He told my brothers and I that he got us a gift that we were gonna love. A gift that was useful. He took us to the barn and showed it too us. And there it was, standing about four feet tall, with chrome ana silver handles, a blue base, and a one speed gear thing on the top.

It was the newest of the new. A Sears lawn-mower. The kind with a motor. Of course, not the kind that pulls itself, just the kind that ya push, and it has a spinning blade. Wow, I thought to myself, this will cut our work time by at least one fifth. This sucked. And we were supposed to be happy. I wasn't. So, that Saturday, I set out to mow the lawn with the new mower. I yanked the chord and it wouldn't start. I yanked it again, and the same thing. So I went in the house and told my dad.

He said it needed gas, so, I should go to the gas station and get some. That meant riding my bike five miles there and five miles back. I wasn't happy, but I did it anyway. Now it was nine in the morning, time was a-wastin'. I put in the gas, yanked the chord, and Vrrrroooom! It started. I began to mow the lawn, and realized this wasn't really easier at all. I still had to push the damn thing, and it was heavier than the manual one.

But, what the hell. I kept cutting and cutting, and had done about two acres when it happened. I ran over it, and the lawn mower made the coolest noise. Then the lawn mower died, just like that. No last words, no death rattle, just silence.

I tried yanking the chord. As dead as G. I turned the thing over, and the blades were all twisted up. A fucking mess. I was fucked. Man, was I fucked. My dad had just got this new thing, and I busted it. By mistake, of course, but I busted it. I had. I went up to the house to tell my dad what happened.

As I told him, his face got redder and redder. He sorta looked I like an over-ripe Mr. Potato Head. Finally he made me show him the mower. When he saw that indeed, it was actually bro- I ken, he punched me in the eye, and I knocked me to the ground. When I got up, he told me to go to my room, and not I to come out until Monday.

Then he hit I me again. I was furious. In view, about three hundred and I fifty feet away was my mortal enemy, my j father. It was payback time. Fuck him and his fucking lawn mower. There he was, slumped over it, trying to make it I work, ana cursing me and my mother with every breath. I slowly got his head I in my sights, and prayed that the extra I ten times I pumped the gun would do I some real damage to that fucker.

I knew II was only using bb's, but I figured they'd I hurt real good. And I wanted him to hurt. Like I did. All those punches. All that telling me that I was useless. That my I mom was evil, and so was I. That I'c never amount to anything. I want- I ed him to hurt. Hurt good. I squeezed the trigger gently and the gun went off. He screamed in pain and grabbed the back of his neck. He screamed again, then ran toward the house, yelling to Connie anc my sisters that a Hornet or Wasp had.

And I guess he believed that I until the day he died. Take My Life, Please. Endnotes: 1. One of my best pals, Anne, has started her own zine. It is called "Aunt Frannie", I and you should get it 'cause Anne is the best. Box , Stratford, N. His name is Arnold.. I saw Arnold and Tony actually almost get into a fist fight about the price of beer on the I east coast versus the price on the west I coast.

They are properly named. And I they rule. It ranks up there with Mad and National Lampoon. I Look for a review of it in these pages, I somewhere. I have met some cool people on the 1 internet lately. Some of them, actually, very, very cool. One such guy is Jordon, and you can write him at jsomers pro- charlotte. He'll be glad to hear from ya, and is a really nice guy.

You can e- mailhim at doorshead aol. Isotope is a very cool zine, and it is free, if your on the web, so check it out. And, oh yeah. I'm at tabb pipeline. I should be at this address for a ittle while, although, I may switch again, but try me here, or write me at P. Emily Soares has been working on and off with MRRfor years. She now resides in St. Petersburg, Russia, and will occasionally be sending in columns of interest on life there. Within Russia, their role is not well-defined.

One aspect of their duties is to act as a vice-squad, as described below, but armed with automatic rifles and ski- masks, they can do pretty much whatever they please. Beyond Russia's borders, Omon has shown it can act as a pure fighting force—a brigade was sent to Chechnya Outside of Russia it is difficult to un derstand the black and white war which has formed around organized crime.

Many Rus sians, even some who accidentally fall in the path of Omon and suffer for it, applaud their "crimefighting" activity. On the one hand, there is a sense that civil life is in a state of emergency, that crime poses c threat to the underpinnings of Russian sod ety —this is not afar-fetched perspective. On the other, Russians don't hold any sympathy for those who "get caught" by law enforcers.

It is in this climate that Omon's activities are growing, unchecked. A robbery? A hostage taking? No visible ights, no disturbances. Those who are eft, all young men in their early twenties or younger, are standing spread eagle against the wall, waiting for whatever will happen next. Some will be slapped, kicked, and generally roughed up while the fully camouflaged men tear through pockets and backpacks looking for drugs and weapons. In this raid, no one is taken into custody.

Apparently, there is a price to be had for the freedom to frequent any nightspot you choose. Not too many years ago, the authorities made it impossible to start up a club like the TamTam. The TamTam is certainly not the only establishment to receive such attention. Other youthful clubs with more mainstream crowds, and higher door prices have also been hit.

Many others received the same treatment. There were about patrons in the club at the time, all of whom were ordered to get down on the round. Then Omon, about 30 strong, egan their sweep, randomly grabbing men off the ground and handcuffing some who were then brutally escorted to one of two waiting buses—many were kicked in the back along the way. Once inside the bus, some were beaten. Presidential candidate Dole, believes the increase in Russia's violence is due to "all these violent American films coming in and influencing bandits and lowlifes.

Photographs were prohibited. And what are Omon looking for? But just who is being assaulted in the path of tneir crime hunt? How many innocent people were terrorized at the TamTam, how many were beaten and arrested at the Tunnel with no probable cause. And these two are not isolated incidents. Omon makes these raids frequently. Reports have been, filed of patrons being beaten in the Dom Kultury House of Culture and the TamTam on other occasions.

What is the state of civil rights in Russia? No doubt, those who witnessed any of these two raids will think twice about returning to that club or any club. And if you multiply their fear by the thousands more who will accidentally step into the path of Omon when they think they are simply stepping out for a Saturday night, then you have a population under siege, one afraid of going out at night. And then just who is being punished, and for what crime?

I was present for the raid at the Tam Tam and my two friends were attacked at the Tunnel. As Their Fury Got Released. Haste The Day. Headhunter D. Hellmouth - Destroy Everything, Worship Nothing. Hellogoodbye - Zombies!

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Metal Archives loading Username Password Login. Bands alphabetical country genre Labels alphabetical country Reviews R. Privacy Policy. Buy from Soldiers of the Night Vicious Rumors. Songs Lineup Other versions Reviews Additional notes. Side A 1. Premonition instrumental loading lyrics Ride Into the Sun Show lyrics loading lyrics Medusa Show lyrics loading lyrics Soldiers of the Night Show lyrics loading lyrics Murder Show lyrics loading lyrics March or Die Show lyrics loading lyrics Side B 7.

Blitz the World Show lyrics loading lyrics Invader instrumental loading lyrics In Fire Show lyrics loading lyrics Soldiers of the Night Soldiers of the night Late at night When the watchtower light burned bright Out of the mist is the air I'm a soldier Waiting for the final strike Who will take the fatal blow Fight, stay alive In the desert for a day Soldiers of the night We are soldiers of the night We are soldiers of the night You're marching and free Solders of the night We'll find victory We and soldiers of the night We get nothing for free We pass the way Of Bruno it's more than a game 5.

Murder Let us learn to shout Just looking in the night Searching for his mother sometime He sure didn't like a fight Now they're trying to find you Nothing is there, it's just me Search until we find you The advantage of love Murder Plotting and killing the king Murder When we arrive we'll be dirty So we are searching this town Somebody heard a scream Hiding under the bridges Trying not to be seen And in time we'll find you Nothing is fair in this game Search until they find him To advantage of love Is it all in vain Oh oh In the final hour our time will come See the judgement so Of a broken broken man In a world gone mad, mad Will I understand Will my sentence pass Or will I die I can see the light getting brighter now It killed him now Shooting forward now You are patient now I just can't wait to tell Yah ha ha ha Is he guilty Noone ever suspects Communications were shut up Hell did you see that Please stay back Keep away there 6.

March or Die March or die If you defy it We'll come smashing through Marching into glory ride The victory is due We wear the cross of evil And you take on the fight March or die it's a battle cry Prepare to ride tonight Chorus: You either march or die march or die It's a battle cry At the sounds of war March or die You either march or die march or die Not to wonder why It goes on and on - on and on in war [Vinnie Moore solo!

To see the final sun Onward raced the soldier lay or run before forward into battle marching into war [Chorus] [Vinnie Moore solo! Blitz the World Murderers are on the rampage As lasers hit the sky There's no mistake about the Fire in your eye More and more power We conquer the land Invader instrumental 9. Domestic Bliss Lord, will it be In the future The only thing to remake And time is a natural healer We save our sane And dream Have you forgotten It's just yesterday But you hang me up And you bring me down What you gonna do To pull me around With a love Only time will tell And all you wanna to do Is love The eyes with all of the answers Although the question's Not quite clear And live your life to the fullest 0r chose that you love dear You leave your heart to the lions You take it all and disappear You wanna love solo My love Your love Blistering Winds Lighting terror Oh it's very strange Hold on tight now Put a hold on yourself In the field of pressure-nautics Throw me through were going down Throw me through the sky in anger Wondering if we'll hit the ground The wind of anger Calling to me Shedding the dials The price of his vanity is Man against nature Will the hurricane pass No radio contact White lightning is fast Doesn't seem to mind the burning The ruins in my head And the lightning lies before me A frightening angel of dark solo And now I'm lost in the power Of the angel who points us around I knew it was faster than fire Still now the backing can burn Now the pressure is asserting I feel the tension breaking clear Got has chosen to save the Fighting off the fear with fear.

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Vicious rumors soldiers of the night vinyl rip torrent I remember once my dad got this clog, a bull-mastiff, named Douggie. Death Toll Rising - Defecation Suffocation. A few blows and he'll be down. Here then is what the masses are willing to sacrifice themselves for, here is mammon, here is the fuerer of freedom, here is god. Copious liner notes! Of course, once word leaked out that i was a certified "fag" enthusiast, some people kinda decided i was the Anti-Christ — with the people who didn't think i was the Anti-Christ thank you asserting that was just "retro"
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