Like a werewolf from the sunshine fist, out of the planet of Satan comes a hard jamming, chode slamming freightrain made of marshmallows on fire with spikes made of iron poking out of them that were shoved in the holes by demons who just got through whacking off to pictures of chicks wearing hooker boots and then they went into the kitchen and baked themselves some brownies and put LSD in the brownies and proceeded to jam hard to Satan's almight fist of power and then they drew their swords and rode horses to fight evil demons that live on the nearby street corner and the demons almost beat them in this mighty battle but the heroes proudly exclaim "Nay!" and continue in the act of beating the balls out of these demonic creeps and then after winning the battle and feasting on mutton, mead and hot pockets, they deep fry some pop tarts and get stoned off of the fumes that it creates and they start hallucinating and tripping down stairs in their house that's made of copper and wood and it begins to melt like an ice cream cone on a hot July evening in which there are fireflies and bears and ever mythical creature imaginable floating around in a hot tub made of vacuum cleaner cupcakes.
That, my friends, is Slayer's 1985 album
Hell Awaits.
37 minutes of demons fighting over marshmallow rape beats like icicles on a moonlit beach in Haiti while the earthquake rages on and planes crash into towers and shrimp boats and colorful beads are ruined by hurricanes in different hemispheres of the nine worlds.
This album does away with the new-wave-of-British-heavy-metal influence that was found on the first album and replaces it with the sounds of evil. Pure evil...evil, and, of course...the thing that I and my bros like to call passion. And hard jamming. Lots of hard jamming and hard fists. Of fire.
Each of the seven songs is more evil and hard jamming than the one that comes before it...never losing momentum, this album is hard as a chode.
But how hard, you ask?
Harder than steel. This album is like a rollercoaster; and white light flashes like a bang on a silver-shaded mountain made of moon and pies are baking in mile-long ovens...what does it mean to be an American? Are Americans the true spawns of suntime bath showers and do queefs live on in the night? Yes it does, I say. American folk can make an album like
Hell Awaits, then chodes and diltches must be real after all. If you are a true hard jammer, you must buy this album now. It features soft melodies and dulcet softness...neeeck! It is harder than frozen ice that just got melted into hard steel. *** off.
