Deicide
In Torment In Hell

The left had won and Dad was paying more taxes, though soon he could marry some other fag. Mom was falsifying ballots and my sister was taking them to the polling stations for counting. Meanwhile, the members of the Supreme Court were dining at Prodi's expense while Calderoli was chanting an epinicion. "If Andreotti made it, why can't I?" Berlusconi said in his final statement on Forum while Santi Licheri was increasingly convinced of his innocence. Meanwhile, a finance guard was impatiently rattling the handcuffs and a red robe (not a cardinal, those were in conclave to decide the prime minister) was rustling the file "Freemasonry lodge P2." Vittorio Feltri was publishing porn cartoons about Mohammed and Bin Laden went to McDonald's to see if the "September 11" special menu was out.

I was at home popping pimples, which is a bit grind but I still like it, and I laughed heartily every time I managed to hit the toilet making the pus splash (then tell me I'm not Brutal). I had already ordered a Deicide album because this electoral stasis had made me impatient, and I wanted something evil and cruel. And what is more evil and cruel than a Deicide album? Only Mom, who could burn the roast in a much more cruel and evil way.

As I was hunting down mice in the bathroom trap (which is very Brutal), the doorbell rang. "Who the hell is it?" I gurgled while trying to kill a big rat with a toothbrush, but I answered myself "It’s that jerk of a postman!" and, armed with toothpaste, I rushed down the stairs, ready to kill the disturber of Brutal moments. But instead of the postman, I saw none other than Glen Benton, dressed as an Easter bunny: with that blind eye shaped like Satan’s horn, it could only be him. He moved his pink ears and told me "At Easter, everyone is nicer, but you must continue to be bad and Brutal: you’ve bought 'In Torment, In Hell', but that’s not enough. Now you need to subscribe to the Order of Evil and Black Satanists so that once again we can kill Jesus, the puppet that makes the world sick. Remember, 'Kill the Christian', in fact, while you’re at it, buy the album with 'Kill the Christian' on it, and then you’ll be truly cruel." I didn’t have time to tell him that at Easter Christ rises and does not only die, and he snatched my wallet and disappeared: how Brutal Glen Benton is!

However, when I returned home and Mom asked me for the 10 euros she had given me for groceries, I realized that no one surpasses her when it comes to being Brutal. In fact, she started throwing insults at me so heavy that not even Glen in his songs like "Decapitate the Prophet" would have dared to say them. In any case, I didn’t worry too much because I wanted to listen to "In Torment, In Hell": I put it in the stereo and the sky went black. A swarm of evil, dark, terrible satanic black bees rushed into my house and started making honey: but I thought honey is not very Brutal. Then Glenn Benton appeared, dressed as Cesare Cremonini but recognizable by the sulfurous and hellishly foul cough he emitted; he told me that it wasn’t honey but pus from the Demonic Diabolical Evil Luciferian Infernal Lord who goes by the name of Satan, master god of his body and of the Order of Evil and Black Satanists. This meant the album was truly Brutal and, encouraged, I put the honey—that is, the pus—into jars but then I wondered what to do with it: but already the effect of Lord Belzebù and Ascaroth and Belphegor was being felt. I had managed to summon Euronymous!! But Glen Benton was jealous and reappeared dressed as Burzum. A dispute broke out between the two over who was more evil and satanic and black and malicious and anti-Christian: so Glen began to flaunt his penis-shaped Lucifer tattoos and his scars shaped like an impaled Jesus while Euronymous showed him photos of the churches he had burned and of his friend Dead when he shot himself in the head. Who would be more evil? Glen pulled out the contract with Roadrunner Records and Euronymous's Deathlike Silence wavered. While Euronymous was listing the sites and magazines talking about him and reading statistics of teenagers stealing sacred objects in his honor, Glen was showing him his bank account and tax return; Glen wanted to take advantage of being dressed as Burzum to kill him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it because Euronymous wasn’t Catholic but satanic and cruel. Eventually, the two burst into tears and hugged, but Euronymous vanished… “Carramba, what a surprise!” said Glen, astonished.

To escape boredom, I had meanwhile listened to all of "In Torment and In Hell" and was convinced I had to sacrifice a victim to the god of evil who knows no pity or mercy or goodness, but only eternal darkness and evil and malevolent temptation, whose blood could flow and soak the wings of Emperor Lucifer. With a bucket in hand, I went to find a misbeliever of Satan to make him pay dearly for his betrayal: however, Mastella arrived with an aspergillum and started exorcizing me, invoking the spirit of De Gasperi while Casini showed him a brioche in an attempt to bring him over to his side. But Buttiglione was immovable; he wanted to run for mayor in Turin and make mass compulsory at school every day. Berlusconi no longer needed Ratzinger, so he freed me from the three and told me to do what I wanted. I joined the Order of Evil and Black Satanists under the chapel of Gorgoroth with the other members, and we all sang Deicide songs a cappella while Glen played the bass, acting like a great bassist. Then we were about to eat a newborn, and La Russa intervened to say “I told you if the Left won, the communists would come.” However, Ferrara stole the potatoes we had cooked as a side dish and recited an Agnus Dei disappearing into the night. I returned home without dinner and without money (I had spent the last on that masterpiece of "In Torment, In Hell") but now I had become bad and evil enough not to fear the bullying of the red administrations and the red robes: I returned to listening to "In Torment, In Hell" but realized that maybe God didn’t exist.

Thinking back on the evening spent, I opened a beer and burped.