“Through my own charm, genius and palpable immodesty, I have single-handedly, along with Grymm, convinced the Angry Metal Elders to grant me a big boy year-end list. My year’s tenure in the catacombs of AMG headquarters has proved fruitful beyond measure thanks not only to my brilliant colleagues and our dedicated readers…” Pretty much anybody gets a list these days. There goes the neighborhood!
“August. Cicaidas scream in the oaks. The punishing sun presses vapors from the Earth, rendering the air nearly drinkable. You could brew tea in the steam rising in the morning light. Even the dogs relinquish their rightfully-given portion of summer in favor of an air-conditioned shelter. Inside of that shelter, complete with the high-speed internet needed to distract one from the horrors of the season, a terrible, moments-long sound streams from the wide, unblinking eyes of the speakers. It sounds like fucking Decapitated.” Death, thy name is Decapitated.
