Seems like a good day to GO KICK ASS!

15 December 2010

Douchebaggery, Winter 2010-2011

36 Hours Until DoWi'10-'11 Is Initiated. Tick, Tock.

@#$%T^*(*&^%$#@ @ #$%^!!!!!!! ......20 minutes later, the suitcase looks as if the wardrobe threw up in it and it still feels like the mountain of socks is taking the space of some other lost in oblivion ~something~. I chose the biggest suitcase I had, for this trip, partly because exploring a new continent has awoken feral instincts of immigration and partly because there's always the possibility I'll just buy too much useless shit -which will completely lose its appeal once I get back-.
I look at my suitcase monster with approval; it has wheels so dragging around my socks & stuff shall prove easy.

Character List of DoWi'10-'11

American Douchebag - American Douchebag was one of the protagonists of the prequel (DoSu'10) and since budget is tight, he will again have the leading role of the alpha douchebag male. Being an adventurous monkey, this U.S. manufactured assgoblin ended up in Europe where he met European Douchebag for the holy purpose of starting an international crusade of assholeness. During the process of collaborating in retarded shit and experiencing extreme situations, he proved himself to be an efficient and trustworthy caveman, getting shit done and bringing a certain level of savagery to everything. Fearless and brilliant in a rather retarded way, he resembles an onion in terms of multi-layer personality complexity and also stench.

European Douchebag - Having a more artistic taste in retardation than the American Douchebag, this other Douchebag-protagonist's brain is wired in a pointy unconventional way. Functioning like a mirror in terms of intuitive knowledge of the others and eating many lotuses, are things this Douchebag is notorious for. After a catastrophic ride on the roller coaster of obsessing with perfection and caring too much about this, that and the other, her venture in remaining lizard cool and turning all the past angst into carefully designed plans, succeeded in helping European Douchebag make a comeback in the Hall of Badass (as opposed to depressed) Laziness, well before meeting the American Douchebag; a timing perfect for them to both help each other reach their true potentials. Stubborn and adaptable, she resembles a magician's top hat: either something awesome will come out or a fan-aiming shit-thrower mechanism will be activated and the joke's on you.

Ned The Gun Nerd - Ned the Gun Nerd is an artist, proficient in the arcane physique of the human mind. A cult poet, visual artist and zombie killer, he pacifies the crowds with his pimp vibe. He likes shooting things as a means to balance his explosive creativity and on top of all of the above, he has good hair.

George The Veteran Of Useful Skills - George finally raises the age average of this toon pack, reinforcing it with experience and tried taste. His expertise in the field of movie making has mentally adorned him with a vast gallery of film references and quotes. His exceptional cooking will be put to the test when I arrive, since he has promised a special, custom-made feast (~happiness~).

Oh Mommy - The final boss. The one that determines whether you lose or win the game. The mother of the Douchebag American, in whose house I'll spend a big part of the Christmas holidays... God save us all. God save me, if "all" is not doable. In fact, I think I'll award myself with three war medals for the bravery of this endeavour, right now.
It is true that all the movie in-law related clichés will be put to the test. However, I have a few aces to pull out of my ass and anyway, it's fucking Christmas....hopefully I won't spend it in the garage.

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Douchebaggery, Winter 2010-2011 by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License.

11 December 2010

The Troll Bait Has Been Bitten

  1. Thou shalt not cuss nor shalt you use derogatory terms.

  2. Thou shalt not analyze or make reference to real arguments; thy facts shalt be retarded, but the level of thy language expertise high.

  3. Thy statements shalt be tarot-like generalisations; the more conservative, puritan or stereotypical, the better.

  4. Thou shalt not bear false witness against anything, but merely declare ~your~ opinion.

  5. Thou shalt declare such opinion with knifelike, bull's-eye choices of controversial, misunderstood or conspiracy prone concepts and key phrases.

  6. Thou shalt offer a somewhat irrelevant reason for your mannerisms and have it glide unnoticed after summoning a certain level of fury.

  7. It is coming.

Start A Sentence With Perhaps

  • Perhaps you should read the previous post.

  • Perhaps it had to do with Americans and hot potatoes of the American history and culture.

  • Perhaps it was about offering them a view of what the rest of the world thinks about the ones not living in big cities ("ignorant cowboys who live in the middle of nowhere"), the same way the Arabs are considered semi-barbarian fanatics or the Japanese weird technological savants with a tendency towards perversion.

  • Perhaps it was about bringing attention to the fact that national stereotypes are extremely offensive and not very funny.

  • Perhaps it had to do with the fact that no matter if you understand or "approve" of a culture, you have to respect it regardless of whether it's the American one or anyone else's.

  • Perhaps the previous post was an ironic, sarcastic bashing of anti-Americans and their narrow-mindedness.

  • Perhaps it wasn't about Americans at all.

  • Perhaps it was about the fact that no matter how much of an apathetic badass who thinks that his/her country sucks and that the country's government is a pile of shit, one is, if a foreigner pushes the right buttons, the subject will go ballistic -if a native does that, he/she will be considered unpatriotic, by said "apathetic" subject.

  • Perhaps you were offended by it and hate my guts anyway.

  • Perhaps you should google the definition of the name of this blog.

  • Perhaps I don't give two shits about whether you like me or not, because you don't pay me, grade me or are my parent.

  • Perhaps you should start paying me, because one day I just might write something you'll hear about. And hear about it again and again, until you can't stand it any longer and wished you were making money off of it.

For business inquiries, please send your e-mails to TheSchismarchBusinessInquiries@gmail.com
Thank you.

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The Troll Bait Has Been Bitten by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License.

09 December 2010

If You Are A White American/ African American/ Mexican/ Native American/ Alien* And Not Mortally Offended By Sentence 6, Read To The End

*in order of appearance

[Quick Summary of previous post]
Having flown with Dussenbagen Stukas Airlines of the Proud German Nation for a little less than 20 hrs, I am expected to finally land at an airport of the American Southwest. There, after the typical strip show for @$*?#&! airport security, I will be joined by that American asshole I thought I got rid of after summer and we will proceed in starting to fuck shit up in extreme ass freezing temperatures, once I properly have a beauty sleep. At some point I will have my debut in a circle of his friends ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HrMRmEeCfJM ) and all will be dandy.

The Southwest Marlboro Man In The Eyes Of A European
Years of thorough research (watching movies) have taught me that the people of the Southwest are very hospitable, a bit nosy, great cooks of homemade pies and splendid late afternoon porch banjo players (while black people collect cotton from the fields). I was however notified that the situation has now changed and that now Mexicans seem to be more qualified for manual labor. I have faith in the essential decency of the white man's judgement, so I'm sure this is all for the best -I'll just make sure to follow the proper etiquette by using my whip on Mexicans, instead of being outdated and doing so on African Americans.
American correspondences also notify me that the general area is a bit gang infested -many of which are in fact of Hispanic origins-. Since I am unaware of the local gang names and differences, I will collectively think of them as ~The Chupacabras~ and in case of gun shooting, side with the man who has a silver star on his chest. Just to be safe, I will also practise vital phrases such as "YO NO SOY GRINGA!!", which will be used in a high-pitched, pleading voice if all goes to shit. Generally speaking though, I should be careful of the way I handle my affairs in the Southwest, since everyone there seems to have six friends who run faster than me.

I Hope My Totem Is Not The Cockroach
Proving successful in understanding the delicate balances of racial matters of the American modern-day culture should obviously be easy for me, but I am also interested in learning more about Native Americans. Indeed, not much is taught about the various tribes who proudly used to roam the American plains, in this side of the Atlantic. From what little I know, the Navajos seemed to be some mighty fine asskickers. I just hope I can get something closer to the real deal than a 5$ show or a visit to a casino owned by Indians. I must also refrain from accidentally killing Pocahontas by.. dunno sneezing -a method tested by my, in all accounts soap allergic, European plague-y ancestors-.

Abducting An Alien
But who really cares about all that shit when Roswell is in proximity! U.f.o.'s, cattle mutilations, E.T. phone home and all that jazz in the Mecca of ufologists, New Mexico, are of course a must-see for the thirsty-to-spend-money tourist! In this case, I am not sure as to what sort of preparation I must do, aside from rewatching a few X-Files episodes perhaps. If the truth is out there, then it surely must be out there in New Mexico. I hope they are friendly.

Getting My Ass Bitten By A Rattlesnake
When it comes to the wildlife, North America will offer me the opportunity of learning about species that can't be found anywhere else in the world. IS THIS SHIT EXCITING OR WHAT! I mean, aside from the cultural aspects of the museum roaming, I also want to find out more about their animals and, why not, plants (or combine things by finding out more about the stuff that is smoked in peace pipes).

Explanatory Note
By now, you might have developed the feeling that I'm speaking a bit.. tongue in cheek I dare say. The story behind this is that after the 5 seconds of extreme jealousy and hatred experienced by anyone who hears that I'm travelling to the U.S.A. this winter, they naturally ask "where exactly". When the Southwest is mentioned among the places I'm visiting, a blank stare follows, quickly accompanied by the question "... and what the fuck will you do there??". All of the above is pretty much my answer. Even though I of course am not exactly dead serious, it has to be made clear that if I didn't find North America a very interesting continent to explore, I wouldn't travel there in the first place (economic crisiiis hellooo! -no money for needless faggotries).
I am a traveller by nature since I have been travelling to foreign countries since the age of two and also by choice since I'd literally rather starve for some time if that means saving up money for a trip. Also, whoever thinks that a place, no matter where that place is and no matter if you risk getting shot by ~The Chupacabras~, getting bitten in the ass by a bear or abducted by aliens, has nothing to offer and won't affect you in ways thrillingly unimaginable, is a damn brute and should go back to his cave -'nuff said.
I've wanted to visit the U.S.A. for quite some time now and one way or the other, this IS going to be a life experience. After all, everyone who lives in a western/-ized society might not be a Christian and a democrat...
EVERYONE wants to live the American dream though.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnepPZChA5U ! :)

In The Next Episode:
-Character Dynamics & Analysis
-Revealment of The Final Boss

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If You Are A White American/ African American/ Mexican/ Native American/ Alien* And Not Mortally Offended By Sentence 6, Read To The End by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License.

✖Top Secret Mastermind Plan✖

It is now 8 days away from the beginning of my journey in the fourth-continent-to-tick in my let's-go-international-WOOT! list and the top secret Ultimate Plan Of How Shit Is Supposed To Go Down will be exclusively revealed here.

♕Ultimate Plan Of How Shit Is Supposed To Go Down

The War Drums Start Beating

1. Throw toothbrush, nailclipper, 50 cremes for all skin types, hair products, the smart-job-interview-approven outfit, the casual-on-the-verge-of-dykeness outfit and the slutty-enough-to-make-someone's-girlfriend-go-home-and-eat-away-her-feelings party outfit in a hugeass hideous suitcase my parents will definitely uncover after some Indiana Jones adventure in the basement section of prewar junk.

2. Exchange three euros for 500 dollars the way exchange rates are right now.

3. Do breathing excercises and clearly enanciate to parents that I haven't forgotten passport, air tickets or the first-aid kit with all the magic stuff for the case of extreme shitting on board.

4. Hopefully have the first two by the time I get to the airport.

5. Avoid eating the in-flight nuclear meals and gag when fat people eat that crap around me.

6. After hypothetically losing the opportunity to miss 3 flights, get molested in some Ellis island type of shit American airport (thoughts of wearing a strap-on affectionally named ~Bonerkiller~ so that the body scan dude will be punished for the much unwanted Superman vision occur at this point), right before meeting the representative of the doughnut-eaters to pick me up in the airport.

~Congratulations, I have now reached America~

Level Two

The Case Of The Eternally Cold Feet

1. Be slightly miserable upon realising that it's cold as fuck, but do not show any signs of intimidation to the Mcnuggetheads, CAUSE EUROPEANS ARE TOUGH MOFOS! ROAR!

2. Secretly wear three pairs of granny panties and three pairs of socks at all times.

3. Engage in activities based on level of heat produced and not on level of interest.
-> e.g. standing still to take pictures of unique landscapes/ artifacts/ etc. when sight-seeing = bad
poking hibernating bear = good

4. Do not fall asleep when and where local homeless people wouldn't.

Social Anxiety Disorder Of My Little Toe

Over the course of time, I've had the pleasure of getting to know distinctive figures I'm really looking forward to meeting in person ◠‿◠ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLuW-GBaJ8k

On the other hand, I, for unidentified reasons (͡๏̯͡๏) , am expected to socialize with mysterious douchebags around my age, the problem here being that when a foreign subject enters a circle of peers who share a complicated history of intricacies (which in the case of the human species in its youth basically revolves around who has fucked whom, who wants to fuck whom and who is supposed to (not) know the pre mentioned) that has kinda reached a dead end in terms of new wonderful ways to increase the dramatic value of everyday life, the new subject has a 50% chances of getting socially cannibalized.
Of course, the best rated method of dealing with such situations would be "Who Gives A Flying Fuck Anyway".

However, in this case, there seem to be very specific agents of the Crazy American Mothabitch archetype involved, for reasons known only to god Retard.
Weeell, not only do we have a rapist in Linkin park, but it's also a fact that I am not spending Christmas or New Year's Eve with family and friends (criminally insane) and I'm a European (foreigner! xenophobia!) with Japanese origins (the land of the crazy fashions) visiting the U.S. (the land where all the crazy Japanese fashions become mainstream). In other words, I actually have many excuses to be a real dick, should I be left with no other sufficient method of rising to the occasion, of course.

I hope this is written in a simple enough form to be apprehended by the shitheads it concerns, so that they will refrain from using their maximum brain effort to come up with ridiculously unhidden hidden agenda ideas, thus ultimately ending up with a second asshole.
Second assholes will also be ❁ ❀ ✿ kindly distributed ✿ ❀ ❁ among those whose intentions are to introduce me to the lovely company of said shitheads for their own amusement.

I Should Have Brought That First-Aid Kit

Last in this post's Level 2 hazards, are the potential complications caused by local cuisine (needless to say, that using the phrase "local cuisine" when referring to American food is a bit funny, since finding legit American food in any city around the globe can be achieved effortlessly). In any case, the closer I am to the source of the McBuffalo, the better it's gonna be. Besides, I want to try eating Mexican food (which oddly enough I have never tasted) and one of the States I'm visiting is extremely close to Mexico, so my hopes of getting my fork/ spoon/ hands around authentic recipes are high.


In the next episode:
- Further Dissection of the "Plot"
-Character Dynamics & Analysis
-Revealment of the Final Boss

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✖Top Secret Mastermind Plan✖ by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License.

07 December 2010

To The Land Of Ronald McDonald My Brave Ones!


The idea is to cash in on a product of a brainstorm that has already proven to be profitable.

The DoSu'10 can be described as many things, one of them being a period of happily munching away the paternal capital, not to mention that despite of the protagonists' touching each other's pipi hole, no one made a revenue ( <-whores!.. stupid whores!). However, once the project was over, phone calls were made- parents cried over phone bills, texts were sent- cellphone networks were happy, packages and letters were mailed- we aged until they got to their destination. Days passed, weeks passed and information continued being exchanged by all optional means of communication. The only possible conclusion was that a Strong Allegiance had been formed and it is true: We are not like Romeo and Juliet, we are not like Antony and Cleopatra, we are not like Scarlett O' Hara and Rhett Butler. We are not like Eros and Psyche, Lancelot and Guinevere, Cinderella and Prince Charming. But we ARE like: +

Besides, if that Frodo Douchebaggins of an American adventurer travelled across the globe to meet me, the only equally unreasonable thing to do, is to return the favour.

So, in exactly 10 days I will be walking on American soil.

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To The Land Of Ronald McDonald My Brave Ones! by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License.

07 November 2010

The Force Doesn't Give A Shit, It Takes Its Name By Being Forced To Be With You

I've tongue in cheek written before about the Feminine vs Masculine being the ultimate contrast (but now that my love-life is even more retarded, I've concluded that this is a personal problem............ we all share XD).
The truth however, is that the mother of all philosophical -particularly in religious context- bitching has always been Super Good vs Ultra Bad.

No matter what letters you put together to describe the so called good/evil, you end up with two basic concepts. Two concepts so fundamentally similar anywhere and anytime, that they define each other. In fact, no matter what system you choose to do a research on (in history, religion or politics for example), you soon enough end up with two opposing factions, one vilified and one sanctified -in reality both at the same time, depending on perspective-.
The same way "Lucifer", (lucem+ferre= the Light Bringer), brings light exactly because he is the manifestation of darkness*, the name itself is a reminder of the fact that absolute good can not exist without absolute evil.

Of course, most people agree that good and evil are mere labels whose (ir)relevance depends on all the factors of the circumstances... What if, however, there was a way to define pure good (≠evil)?

My theory is based on the humanly possible and thus aiming at the least selfish.
So ->

If a person and its out-of-the-body reflection both perceived something as good, then the "something" would be good in regards to all the factors concerning the person AND could not be characterised by absolute self-serving purposes.

Of course you haven't understood anything, so let me explain the shit I'm talking about. If there's one thing everyone, consciously or subconsciously, IS wishing for, that's a lil' bit o' looove.

It IS the one emotion that when truly experienced is the most altruistic shit ever after all. So, the person who truly loves you (excuse the cheesiness of everything, but in my defense I haven't mentioned puppies yet), will be the one most aware of things that concern you in a very accurate, yet different from yours, point of view. In other words,

if two parts of a whole identify something as ~good~ (that very thing being the one that makes them a whole), then perhaps that actually IS motherfuckin' gooood.

Perhaps Love is the manifestation of pure good.

Since you were adopted, you will now debate on whether such a "good" can actually be perceived as "good" by other systems as well. Well, I'm gonna use corky card#1 and emphasize on the fact that I'm talking about real, benevolent, magnanimous l.o.v.e. The kind that makes you stronger in the most subtle of ways, because it makes the person stronger, as opposed to the belief of the others about the person.

Maybe good and evil have always been perceived as a self-devouring ouroboro,

because people do not take into account that in order for god-like pure good and (anti)god-like pure evil to exist, one must be either god-like..ly selfless and... well, pure at heart or (anti)god-like..ly empty, emotionwise.
It takes a little bit of magic, it takes a little bit of luck: it takes a little bit of love.
After all, if pure love isn't the manifestation of pure good (and the absence of it the cause of pure evil), then what the hell is?


*euphemism is another guess of mine, especially during the ages when Christians where nothing more that a god-fearing, ill-informed, superstitious bunch of villagers basically (kinda like not saying Voldemort out loud).

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The Force Doesn't Give A Shit, It Takes Its Name By Being Forced To Be With You by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License.

31 October 2010

In Sickness As In Health, In Poverty As In Wealth [Wacken 2010, Part II] -DoSu10'

Returning from day 1 of Wacken
was a difficult task because of
  • the freezing cold, which gave off a temperature wise touch diametric to Hell's as soon as the sun set,

  • our feeble, dragging asses

  • and the various routes and paths we took until accidentally finding the exit of the festival, a process which almost mentally defeated us (of course we could have just looked at the facilities map we had been given, but our hands were too frozen to search into pockets and bags without breaking and besides by that point we had already lost it).

Day one featured shock rocker Alice Cooper, glam bad boys Mötley Crüe and heavy metal legend Iron Maiden as well as various smaller bands like the French A rank-supporting band Gojira (they have been the supporting act of bands such as Immortal, Children of Bodom, Cannibal Corpse etc.). Mötley Crüe were by far one of my favourite bands of W.O.A. even though I would have never thought so originally. Saints of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal, Iron Maiden will always be THE FREAKIN' MAIDEN, but it has to be said that Eddie looked like the only band "member" who hadn't escaped from an eldercare nursing home.

Upon returning to the hostel, the trembling and shivering (cause of the fever) and the stuttering and mumbling (cause of exhaustion and retardation) created a caveman level of communication which we maintained till the following morning.

Drugs(?), Nudity and Heavy Metal

When the sun shone again revealing our animated in a very metal way cadavers, we were feeling slightly better. After having an unidentified breakfast which looked pretty much like a fatty carcass

(and will definitely cause us a heart attack in three years maximum) we decided to take a look out of the window in case something epic (or edible in a less occluding-of-a-coronary-artery way) lied right outside.
Now, I will never pretend I fully understand this, but on the far corner of the roof top accessible from our window, there was a supermarket cart overflowed with plastic, transparent bags which were filled with ~something~. Perhaps it was something magical. Perhaps it was a corpse disposal method of some super dangerous gang whose young and good looking leader would fall for me. Perhaps it was many small mountains of cocaine, in which case we would either die rich or very happy soon. At that point, it seemed perfectly reasonable to me to suggest that someone should go check that shit. Naked.

<- someone going to check that shit. Naked.

Of course, in every ambitious mission, there are collateral damages... such as the people who witnessed this from their hostel room:

However, I still believe my idea was infallible and intelligent in all profound and spiritual ways. The content of the bags will always be a secret...
Once the traumatizing of the local population no longer was of any interest to us, we decided to go to Wacken to spread our microbes and outmetal everyone.
The bands (Slayer, Kamelot, Tarja Turunen, Arch Enemy, 1349, among over 30 other bands)

were all dandy and shit, but we had started tripping because of our possibly cannibalistic breakfast or the karma striking back after the soul-handicapping of the innocents in the nudity related rooftop events that followed.

When the sun started dying on us, firstly due to meteorological reasons and pretty soon due to geographical reasons, a war conference needed to take place. Our budget wasn't enough for us to return to the hostel and actually make it back to Wacken the following day. We might have seen Slayer, and other cool dinosaur bands, but Cannibal Corpse and Immortal where playing the next day. In what can be described as a spectacular burst of moronity and bravery in equal doses, we decided we would spend the night there and either freeze to death or get the full metal experience of nearly freezing to death in order to get to watch our favourite (death) metal bands perform.
As our asses were freezing more and more with each passing hour though, we hit an all time low in terms of body functions and generally speaking life under strictly biological terms. At this ice-cube farting state, we only had each other to blame for our entire fucking lives (if you are to blame someone, blame them for everything), yet in a very extraordinary and miraculous way, we managed to not despise each other from the bottom of our souls. In fact in a state described as "the most pathetic of my life" by me and "AAAW MAWW GAWWWDD...sniff" from the other 1/2 of our bunch, we not only survived that night, but actually laughed our hearts out.

The Ice-Cube Farting Extreme Situation Plan
Originally we hovered from shop to shop in the Wacken tent market area, but when they started closing we could only go to the 100-euros-per-bite canteens. Those were exposed to the weather atrocities though and their only advantage was that we found a place to sit. When it got to the point that my tear ducts were no longer under my control due to the fatality combo of illness and cold (meh... crying for emotional reasons can be relieving to a certain degree, but crying as a body reaction is plain pathetic) we started walking towards the unknown, out of the festival grounds. The experience of being sick, cold, hungry and broke, without a place to sleep in an area that is residential (but also surrounded by woods and fields) was an incredibly Sans Famille situation. We were feet away from people and all the commodities of civilisation, but exactly because of an overly civilised upbringing we wouldn't just go knock on someone's door and die on their front door mat. So, envious of HEALTHY people who ate FOOD, slept in BEDS and were WARM, we continued walking to stay warm, saying bullshit and laughing all the time.
In the end, we were thirsty as well... x.x

I Didn't Pee Myself On A Cold Summer Night In A Photo Booth In Wacken
When it became apparent that there was no way we could find protection from the wind unless we broke into someone's garage, we got into a photo booth and kinda collapsed on each other, laughing hard about our scenarios of how to find a place to fucking crash without our colds becoming terminal. My companion was in desperate need of a place to sleep while among everything else, I..had..to...PEE!!! Laughing hard while trying not to explode in a magnificent BANG of microbes, boogers and pee was probably one of the most difficult things I have ever accomplished. However, even though at that point I didn't look much like a human -let alone a female human- I had to pull this off by all means. So, no, I didn't pee myself on a cold summer night in a photo booth in Wacken.
I didn't want to go to the chemical toilets in fear of the microbes there actually outnumbering and beating the ones I already had and running around cows with my butt exposed in some german field didn't appeal to me either. The woods looked like some medieval monster would jump out of the dark to bite my ass, not to mention I would probably break my legs in the dark and do indeed end up peeing on myself. Drowsy and Spastic needed a shelter with a decent ladies room and that had to happen soon. We must have spent at least 20 minutes of contemplating how to get in the only building which was still open to the public (AKA the Wacken office place), in that photo booth. In the end, we just got in prepared to collapse on the floor if everything else failed, only to find out there were others who had already done that. Douchebag American immediately collapsed and that was the end of it.

I did some bondage tying up of our bags on his limbs in a way that if anyone tried to steal anything that corpse would be forced to reanimate itself and in frustration sneeze German plague on the unfortunate culprit. Now, my sole lifeforce was my urge to pee.

(My God, He Actually Did Die)
Leaving behind bags, corpse and warmth I hurriedly walked back to the Walken festival grounds. On my way there, a beautiful dawn enabled me to take some amazing pictures. Once priority #1 was satisfied, I got something hot to drink and walked back all the way to the Wacken office which looked like a scene out of a b-movie with all those irrelevant travellers lying around in one big room as if it was a zombie emergency situation. The corpse had moved places and was now lying on something like a bench with all the shit I had tied on it still in place, either underneath it or hanging from its sides. At this point science failed me again as every fly which was in the nearby area was either flying over or sitting on the corpse (wtf). "My God, he actually did die". Out of a sense of respect I tried keeping the flying bugs away (there must have been some sort of food spilled near him). In the meanwhile, the sun was rising and the place started becoming crowded with Cillis and Willis.

That shit soon became annoying, so we decided to bust a move and find another place to sleep.
As everyone starting unfreezing, more and more people were walking on the streets of Wacken village. Too many people, too much noise. However, it was warmer now, so we decided to camp and fall asleep in the only outdoor place where no one would bother us.

Even though we skipped the prerequired step of death, the place was perfect for a relaxing outdoor sleep.

Last Metal Notes In Wacken

After waking up, we immediately headed back to the metal pit, to see W.A.S.P. (whose performance I enjoyed a lot since I seem to have a preference to old school metal), Cannibal Corpse, Stratovarius and Immortal perform in front of thousands of frenzied metalheads.

Corpsegrinder dared us all to do faster windmill headbanging than him...

and proceeded to beating everyone.

Unfortunately, Stratovarius were on stage the same time as Cannibal Corpse, so I had to run from one stage to the other.

The Epilogue

W.O.A. is a life experience and everything Metal in its glory has to offer. Most things that happen in Wacken stay in Wacken and as a metalhead, you haven't seen shit if you haven't been there.
We succeeded in getting the full experience of what was to be offered and got to do what we wanted, despite all difficulties of our personal situation. We never had a moment of falling out, we never disagreed, we never were disappointed by anything -we just changed the modus operandi many times to be able to achieve our goals. And our main goal was to have a hell of a summer. Success.

We passed our last night in an actual hotel and celebrated in a Hollywood-movie fashion:

The next day, we separated without any fixed plans to see each other again...

Creative Commons License
In Sickness As In Health, In Poverty As In Wealth [Wacken 2010, Part II] -DoSu10' by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License.

Creative Commons License
In Sickness As In Health, In Poverty As In Wealth [Wacken 2010, Part II] -DoSu10' by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Greece License. -All photos are mine.