THE CRONOS WARCHILD EXPERIENCE PART II
Remember the uttlerly aburdistic hidden article in ST NEWS 5.1
written under severe alcoholic intoxication?
Well, we are back. Drunk again.
This time on apple wine, Chivas Regal Whisky (the Good Stuff)
and Rum donated to me by the OVR guys. Yeah....
(Unnecessary to say, it has been grotesquely heavily edited
afterwards. All is still intact except for the absurd amount of
Cronos looked around himself in a bewildered fashion. Jezus,
what NOW? We was just having an erotic fantasy about all sorts of
onslaughts involving sensual females in various states of
undressment (WHAT? Undressment???) when he entered a certain
state of bewilderment that he had never experienced before.
Suddenly there was a door.
Through the door he went and suddenly he ended up in a Napalm
He didn't really know what he was going to witness, but he had a
vague feeling that is was going to be 200 BPM and he really knew
that he liked that. Social Sterility. Fuck you! Man! What a load
of fucking garbage that's really incredible to behold!
Stefan's going again for I don't really know what the shit is
going on because I have tried too much of the stuff he had in his
cabinet (of course, these are Cronos' views and not those of the
This is worse than the previous thingy we did for ST NEWS!!!!
Yeah, Stefan back again!!!!!
Massive amounts of spastic bodies surrounded him in a frenzy of
slaughteramic music. The singer was growling things that sounded
like they came from the deepest of dark caves in the prehistoric
times of mankind. Let's everybody scag. More and more people
became engrossed in maniac movements. Arms and legs convulsing,
bumping into Cronos lotsa times.
Time to die.
Senses numbed by the savage music, the flashing lights, the
mist, Cronos activated a number of gadgets he had on him. People
were ripped apart, bodies torn, blood gushing. Apple wine getting
down like an anvil. The crowd became mad, the band raved off into
a massacre of subhuman slaughters. Fangoria's 100th issue raged
in his brain. Death, slaughter. Ripping flesh, eternal wounds,
time to suffer.
KILLL!!!! POGO!!!! EXPLODE!!! SPLATTERPUNK!!!
You can't feel the beating. Frothing mouths, cholesterol, Fluffy
is gone, rape her with a guitar pick, suck dick you cunting hard
Richard on the keys, amazingly drunk
"I don't really know what's going on here. All I know is that my
fucking throat is burning with the aftertaste of alcohol", said
Cronos, "I don't know much of what is going on here but I do know
that I like to scream and that my cheeks are aching with it. The
people around me are doing weird things, groaning like a bunch of
copulating madmen but I guess that's OK. Napalm Death is still
playing OK I guess. From this stage position you really get a
good view of what is happening even though I really don't know
what is. What.......they want to talk a bit OR WHAT? I hate these
fucking sods as long as they are talking...
They arer snaring my mind into bits so that it refused to let me
refuse to do any death groan the likes of "AAAARRRGGGHHHHHJJ" you
know what I mean. I think somone else is bound to do something
here othersiwe things are going to be a bit frantic.
I don't know anything about notes, do I?
I only feel this cacophony of longitudinal air vibrations soothe
my eardrunms. I bet I am going to sleep very soon and very deep .
Wooozuuugghhwa.... I smell peanuts so I guess someone else is
eating them or somthing. I hate their fucking guts! I feel my
throat burning with the sweet taste of a chemical compound
generally known as 'alcohol'. Bye.
Yeah, I'm back.
Right, let's skag.
NO NOT MY CARD!!
And leave that pillow alone.
Death orgies are held everywhere. Quabalism rules. May the
five-pointed stars invade your nightmares. Inflict mental pains
beyond human endurance. God, I'm in a black mood. Just invert the
cross and keep pounding the flesh. He just wanked off his base
guitar that fucker! These damn things are still crispy after two
Cronos gulped the Vodka with a contorted face.
FUCK!! This stuff is vicious.
It's still alive so torch it. His flamethrower licked at the
many bodies around. The music came to an orgasmatic climax.
Leatherface rules. All-ribbon 5 pounds the air. Will it never
Fuckaduck. Wide-open eyes stared at him. Fuck that telex-box.
May it scorch in Hell!!! It's always gonna be a repulsion.
Dick is back.
Cheers, he said, and it was all over for me. Shit and a fucking
mutant cunt for him there. I feel my lips swell and I feel my
tummy bulger, too. I think I am going to vomit here. Someone is
putting all the beer back in the box, and I really don't feel
like anything except for sleeping. I really feel like I can
handle anything tomorrow. But I am not sure what. My spelling
mistakes are quite horrible today.
"No more howling after twelve o'clock" I just heard someone say
so I guess it's beddy-byes time today. Bye. I feel very
draaierig. Tomorrow I feel I'm going to be VERY sick, SICK!
One final deathgroan and he is down. The tap drips in
retrospective. Blast it. It is asleep I think but it still talks.
I'm sober it mutters. I don't think it would be able to find its
dick if a naked female offered herself to him. I'm sorry but I am
rude tonight. Let's sleep too. Nightbreed is calling. Time to
shut the lights, fuck the night. Right. Laughter emerges from the
corner. The scroll vanishes. What kind of potion might this be.
Control-V is what I should remember. The neighbours are gonna be
pissed off. Stop laughing you shit.
Is the world coming to a schreeching halt? A war as a TV show?
damn, I'm talking about the war. Shitfuckit. Crosshairs and
laserguided bombs. Videogames and pilots out there. A FUCKING TV
SHOW!!! FUCK!!!! Saddam must be stopped, but war is Insanity. No
Digital this time but harsh reality. Madness is ruling once
again. Bush is executing his absurd plan. Saddam is maddened. My
God, the world is coming to an end. I told you I was in a black
mood (How poetic it might be).
Death to them all.
The final word has come.
Time to die.
The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.