Chris Krovatin

When spring comes around, I’m torn between frolicking through sunlit fields and locking myself in the bathroom with a pair of pliers...

1) The Invisible Orb: raise hand cupped, as though cradling a spherical object (this is also commonly known as the Invisible Orange). See: Dio, George Fisher, Gaahl.

For every Night Songs, there was a Reign In Blood. For every In The Heart Of The Young, there was a Scream Bloody Gore.

Finally, America has held its first metal awards ceremony. And I saw it happen. I threw the horns, I wheeled the fists, I screamed the battle cries.

I'm going to the Golden Gods, but I’m scared. Why? Because with my luck, something horrendous is going to happen shortly before April 7 that will prevent me from attending this awesome event. The question is whether or not I’ll let it stop me.

Every time some asshole in some metal band uses an interview to complain about about how hard it is being in a band, I want to break my foot off in their taint

Baalberith, it’s me, man. Heh, yeah, it was a ton of fun. I think. Listen, I woke up with a small Irish flag jammed in my anus...

Without warning, a car blasting Machine Head’s “Davidian” rolls past your classroom window. The next thing you know, there are three cops with guns pointed shakily at you.

There’s no point in holding out any longer. There’re no jobs to be found, there’s no love to be had, there’s no future worth fighting for, and honestly, I’m sick of playing this game for one more fucking second.

Thoughts on Highline Ballroom: This place is swank. Shouldn’t they be having an ’80s dance party here?
Lookit the lights over the bar: It’s like American Psycho up in this bitch.