Still the coolest satanic band.


Okay, okay, okay. I finally have time to write this review.

I was wary when I went to see Ghost in Denver a couple of weeks ago. I had listened to it beforehand, and their new album, Meliora, is anything but what the title suggests. Their previous albums, Opus Eponymous and Infestissumam, in my opinion, are much better.

I was disappointed by the new album mostly because of the lyrical content. Their previous studio albums were rife with double innuendo and the risque, not to mention just plain sex. Like, listen to the way Papa E (I’ll get to his appearance in a second) sings. Its sexy and commanding and mature. By way of example, some of the instrumentals enable opportunities to wrap an arm around a lover.

A less important facet of my wariness was the band’s new look. At the prior concert I went to, Papa E was papal, in the style of those inversed black masses.

black mass

Basically a Ghost show.

He contained himself, which made the song’s lyrics that more uncannily unholy. Because of Papa E III’s dancing, I was afraid the  The new masks of the Nameless Ghouls were kind of corny. They weren’t spoOoOoOooky enough. People expect spook.

I am not a fan of Papa E out of his gown. He looks good in it, he should keep it on.

I write all of this merely for the sake of my natural tendency towards criticism and bemoaning. In actuality, none of this matters.

It doesn’t matter, because Ghost needs to be dynamic. Their schtick is based in theater, and theater lives on variance.Despite my complaints, Ghost still does a great show. Its difficult to leave a Ghost show disappointed and they cannot always do the black mass thing. It is important to take the papal gown off of Papa E, or else every show will be the same.I mean, two women in nun costumes went on stage and administered unholy communion to the first row, c’mon.

A band only produces good work with diversity, or else it drops redundancies, not albums. Good job on not getting pickled in repetition, dudes.

If things go as planned I’ll be performing a ritual satanic sacrifice


Ghost is playing in Denver in two days, and Hoss and I are going to go see them. In an unprecedented move, a friend of our’s mom bought tickets for us, for free, which is about the coolest thing I’ve experienced. All shall embrace the love of Satan.

Their last concert that I went to was metal as fuck, what with the background noise of crying babies and the opening act of King Dude.  We shall see what their new act is like now that their new album is out.

Hoss and I recently bought a vape pen, which will undoubtedly only add to the metalness.

Keep an eye out for a review in the next couple of days.

Drag Day – Part One


A while ago I volunteered at a drag show. And by volunteering I mean I mean I drained a water bottle containing a big Caucasian and smoking Camels. The drink, not the race, though that would have been okay too.

Add a drawn-on douche beard and a Tupac song and Joan would have made a really good drag king.

Add a drawn-on douche beard and a Tupac song and Joan would have made a really good drag king.

Hoss and I decided it would behoove us to blaze before going over there. And we did. We also played a little dress-up. I was a skinny little leather daddy with an outrageously over-sized vinyl police hat. He was done-up in a red-dress.

Ah, Satan, I’m so depraved.

Anyways, we get to the venue. We wait around for a while, draining the Caucasian. We smoke the “special occasion” pack we had promised ourselves.

Rehearsals went well. (“Well” in that everybody who showed up seemed to have a basic understanding of what their act would look like. Not well in that the rehearsals were the day of the show or that not everybody showed up. Everyone was working on queer standard time, so it was understandable.Also, word had gotten around that the gaybies who had coordinated the event had not gotten their shit together soon enough, and that the venue was shitty.) Hoss rehearsed his routine.

Several more hours passed. The cool queers and I went out for drinks and nachos and got sufficiently drunk. Hoss and I went bong-browsing. We still had a shit-ton of time to wait.

…(Several cigarettes later)…

It finally came. The drag show. A good two-thirds of the venue was filled, which amounted to a couple hundred people. We started fifteen minutes after the scheduled 8 PM (that’s queer standard time, for ya). Backstage the gaybies had broken out a box wine, a bottle of vodka and accompanying tonic. With that little bit of courage, we started.

It was phenomenal. The gayby leaders proved themselves to everyone. The venue was almost full, the lights were fantastic, and every performer really gave a shit: The drag kings did their pelvic thrusts perfectly, the drag queens dolled themselves up in dazzling neon make-up, sparkled their eyelashes, padded their boobs to disproportionate sizes. There is one queen I would like to mention in particular: I can’t remember her name, or the song she did, but her outfit was gorgeous. She had these silicone breasts on that bounced with every step of her nine inch heeled boots. She contorted herself like Lilith on the stage, strange and erotic and dark. I can’t describe it, but it was metal as fuck.

Black-Eyed Susan, Hoss’s drag name, did Loretta Lynn’s “You Ain’t Woman Enough (To Take My Man)” She took the stage wearing an ugly checkered house dress. When the chorus struck the first time, she dropped it, revealing a red tutu and bra, her shitty blond wig whipping around. I flitted over to stage and offered her my dollar, which I had to bum from a friend. She took it, and it warmed my heart. For the final lines of the song, she drew a switchblade from her bra, and licked the blade as she walked away. My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen and genderfucks.

I had to run backstage to help with the next show. A friend of mine was doing what she called her “power dyke” song. Here it is. She took the stage, aiming her hot pink machine gun at the audience. One of the gaybies and I walked up to the front stage bearing a poster saying “Your Make Up Is Terrible”. She ripped through it for the climax of the song, shot at some more audience-members. The gayby and I were her awkward back-up dancers.

We finished the night with “YMCA”. Hoss convinced me to dance on the stage with everyone else. I wasn’t at all dressed up, so I decided to strip to my underwear. Thank Satan I was wearing my sexy boxer briefs.

But the night was not truly over. We still had the after-party.