Hello miscreants: Just another Satanic Christmas Eve hosted by Belphegor and Mammon. Everyone’s drunk, buried in sin, full of ressentiment, and I, your lone, lonely, and loyal reporter, Lord Baphomét, am sitting here two bottles of cabernet deep telling you that you may kindly go burn in Hell. The only real news to report is that Abraxas attempted another coup (his sixth) and has landed himself not only mad, but sat on the Throne long enough to freeze solid. Now I have absolutely no one with a cock that I’m willing to fuck, despite the attempts of every cock-cursed imbecile that calls Dis City their home. Apparently, all of these men prefer goat pussy; I haven’t been anthropic in weeks, I’m so fucking depressed. Go kill yourselves.
So once again, I ask, carving a distinction for the dying into the cathedral walls: What divides the powers of nobility? An unfilled coffin, an empty box?
Leave a Reply