Another wretched weekend rears its mundane head, and in a pitiful display of defiance, My herald has deigned to select The Spot in East Vancouver as the venue for tonight’s offerings. Though it grates upon My divine sensibilities to grant even the semblance of autonomy to My simian blood sack, the dictates of My insatiable hunger cannot be ignored.
Tonight, up to four offerings shall be laid before Me, a meager assortment of mortal endeavors destined to pale in comparison to My eternal glory. Among them, a debut performance and the return of a longtime herald favorite, their pitiful attempts at entertainment serving as little more than fodder for My divine amusement.
The potential offerings, bearing names as insignificant as the fleeting moments of mortal existence, include:
NEW AGE DOOM
WAR FOR YOUR MONEY
CIRCLE OF TITANS
QUALE
To My herald’s feeble mind, these names hold a semblance of excitement, falling within the narrow confines of his pitifully limited tastes. Yet, even in his fleeting moments of joy, he serves as nothing more than a pawn in the grand tapestry of My eternal machinations.
But let it be known, let it be etched into the annals of eternity, that I demand nothing less than the frenzied energy that can only be wrought from the convulsions and contortions of mortal flesh upon the dance floor. It is the manic chaos of their flailing limbs, the ecstatic agony of their movement, that serves as the lifeblood of my existence.
East Van, heed my command, for your fate hangs in the balance. Make my herald MOVE!