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Rating: The economy was in shambles, and all of this sparked my desire for Brutal: a guy on TV said the finances were a mess and talked about a second adjustment that might be a wrestling move, but I wouldn't bet on it. Another guy, with glasses and a dandy pocket handkerchief, called him a liar, saying that in the end, with vaseline, it would have gone better.
Changing channels, there was the football match that makes us all feel united around the flag and the nation: how wonderful! But then you discover that the kids accompanying the players onto the field have nothing to do with it, and anyway, Moggi did his tricks regardless, kids or no kids. In such a climate, all one wants is something Brutal, very Brutal, more Brutal than spending a summer afternoon inhaling steam from the compost bin. I couldn't do anything but turn to the leaders of Brutal, namely the Cadavere Cannibale.
I knew what to do and, in fact, I went online to order a random album from Cadavere Cannibale (since they are all wonderful and all Brutal): one click and the dose of Brutal is guaranteed! At that point, they could even leave the troops in Iraq and dedicate a mosque to Quattrocchi, and it would still remain very Brutal. A few days ago, I ordered the CD of Cadavere Cannibale (a random one in a very Brutal discography) and I can't wait: to kill time, I even resorted to something Post Hardcore like watching the electric meter spin. Just when I'm about to plug in the iron to make it spin faster (when it goes slow, it's boring), the doorbell rings. Who could it be?
In case it's the postman, I prepare myself and go down armed with a pencil sharpener: how Grind I am today! In fact, it's the postman who, before I can hurt him, hands me a strange package, along with some kind of Robot; "strange," I think, while the robot starts yelling "Terun d’ le bale, va a travajè, che mi pagu co ti!"; looking closer, I notice it's Bossi, and he isn't mad at me but at the postman: I find him likable and propose an anti-postman alliance, and he invites me to eat sausage by the Po.
But now I don't have time, because in the package there's a masterpiece by Cadavere Cannibale: "Faccia spiaccicata da un martello." "This I already have" I say surprised to myself, but then I see that on the cover there's not a skull, but an actual face smashed by a hammer: this changes everything! I'm sure it will be a masterpiece, and I go to listen to it immediately. Unfortunately, Ruini appears, and he starts questioning the morality of the artifact, the Da Vinci Code, and especially the cover color; fortunately, here comes Bonino to my aid, bearer of secular values and a dose of cannabis, which she claims is therapeutic (it seems she suffered permanent damage after her last hunger strike in defense of the PPO, Pro Piccioni Orfani).
While the two of them are arguing, the cardinal hits her with the pastoral staff, and she, in response, has an abortion. I find myself listening to the same songs I already had (and of which, I recall, two are covers of Black Sabbath and Possessed, and the other a song that was already in "Tomba dei mutilati"). All this is very Brutal (even though my mom is more Brutal and is making a gluey pasta like never before): not even from Cadavere Cannibale could one expect them to be so Brutal as to make a second copy of a copied album by adding two songs that are copies of other songs from their previous, easily available albums!
Cadavere Cannibale, after my mom, are consecrated as the most Brutal group of all time… Bertinotti insists that people who sell second copies of copies with copied songs are not friends of the people, but the red cover, a good cigar, and the presidency of the Chamber make him change his mind. Now the world is much more Brutal, and I have the urge to do something Brutal: in fact, I open the freezer, take a hake, and smash it on the ground until I shatter it. Mom doesn't appreciate it and takes a Manowar album and smashes it; I suspect she's losing it because if she wanted to do something Brutal, she would have broken a Brutal album, like "Faccia Spiaccicata da un Martello" (the first or the second one, they are both the same and both Brutal).
In any case, Chris Barnes is happy with my Brutal gesture and introduces me to a dear friend of his, Giuseppe Pinelli. He doesn't quite tell me where he met him, seems to be at the hospital after a bad fall from a skateboard or something: Beppe tells me he liked to fly and also to carry three shoes, one of which to leave in the hands of whoever would help him if he fell. Honestly, he doesn't seem very Brutal to me, he smells like one of those idealistic dreamers who then make the world less Brutal… but then he tells me that there was a guy who brought him to an office and that he told him "Now I'll show you how an Italian dies," and he threw himself out the window, demonstrating that, when he wanted to, he was also capable of not flying like idealistic dreamers always do.
Chris's friends are always very Brutal!
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