Review Summary: Cyberpunk? Whoda cyberthunk it. Fuck on, my wayward son
The year is 203X. Infamous boomer thrasher parksungjoon, aged 96, finally kicks the bucket when he reads a 34chan /mu/ post about this totally epic, obscure, overlooked, forgotten gem called Sunbather and gets a ***in aneurysm. When my son finds my lifeless body, he sheds a manly tear before something catches his eye. Ah. He notices that just before I died my mouse cursor was hovering over a folder called illegal futa vore hentai. His face becomes flushed bashfully. He feels a gay tingle up his spine, both scary and arousing. He knows it’s wrong but he decides to *** on. He pries the mouse from my cold dead hands and clicks. His bratwurst engorges with delight. Inside the folder was only a 320 mp3 rip of the 2010 thrash album Atheist Crusade by a Swedish band called Immaculate.
My son’s manly tears dry up. His heart begins to be filled with trve metal once again as he gayzes at the album cover. This Dr Doom lookin cyborg cunt on a badass cyborg horse fills him with hope. The urban wasteland he’s chilling triumphantly in reminds him of the real world, the present world. Ah. For you see, the world had gone to ***. Despite the enlightened denizens of /r/books warning everyone that 1984 was supposed to be a warning not an instruction manual, we found ourselves living in a dystopia. The world was ruled with a limp rubber fist by none other than the ghastly triumvirate of Beef Jizzos, Bike Cuckerberg and whatever the *** that guy who owns Google is called idk. The absolute state of consoomer capitalism had left us all in shambles, living in sewers and forced to eat rat *** and used condoms to survive. The bootlickers and its-just-a-word-bro-im-not-a-racist s were wrong, it wasnt Jews that would cause the downfall of society but capitalism. Ah.
Upon pondering thusly, vengeance and trvth begin to swell in my son’s proud, virile, throbbing manhood. He clenched his teeth and ***ed on, proceeding to listen to the digitally dusty old masterpiece his dad had left him. He transfers it to his elastiflexible holophone and begins to listen as he loads his gun, puts on his thrashin boots and walks out the door. After a decent intro the album starts bringing the riffz. My son finds himself readily impressed. Even though I had raised him on the finest of big brain music such as Coroner, Aspid, Sadus, Kate Bush, Nasty Savage and Sweet Trip (and not mainstream poser *** like Sylosis and Vektor ugh) he recognises that while this little album isn’t quite as good it’s still pretty ***in trve.
He begins to make his way towards the citadel of oppression and tyranny, mind dead set on three things and three things only: thrashing, pissing, and slashing the *** out of those greedy corporate algorithm***ers. The techy riffz give him strength. The audible bass fills him with determination. The trve pounding of thrash drumz and blastz ignite his courage, even though the production is a little clean in all honesty but eh at least it’s not as soulless and ***ty as modern day Kreator or Testament I guess. Anyway. When the guy on this record shrieks like the wind raging through a distended anus, my son’s heart shrieks also with righteous trvthful revenge. The speed and fury of the music imbue him with speed and fury of his own. (E/N: Basically a +2 bonus to agility and +1 to dexterity.)
He begins scaling the monstrous, erect tower where Jizzos and the other technocratic manipulators live, deft as a ninja. The music is still blasting in his ears, thrashing, teching and ***ing like never before. He appreciates how this band doesnt just meander and chunder on like Municipal Waste, Warbringer or Havok or countless other garbage ass 2000s thrash bands that fart out of their dicks. They are trve, and their songs are long and interesting but in a cool badass way like Death Row, not in an autofellating bitchforkcore way that people pretend to like so they can seem cool on the internet. The guitar solos rule as well, they’re not just pointless wank or dull sugary twee gay melodiousnessicity. He notes in his head that the title track is an especially epic thrashterpiece that makes Heathen’s Victims of Deception look like child’s play by comparison.
Ah. Finally, he arrives at the top, ready to free us from the suffering inflicted upon us by these digital dicktaters. He is outnumbered and outgunned, by their evil personal army of missile-based destructive drones, lazer loli sexbots and body odour that reeks of cum. But just as he loses faith, the final track on this album kicks in. Gutterthrash begins to *** fury and fire in its thrashtastical frenzy, making my son’s body mosh instinctively. With the storms of a thousand pits and ten thousand fists, he begins moving like Neo in the Matrix (pretty apt for a cyberpunk story if i do say so myself) and caps the knees of all the wrongdoers. Cuckerberg tries to start the self destruct sequence but it is too late, my triumphant son has already plunged his rock hard thrashing member deep into the robotman’s ears, through his vile brain and out the other ear.
The album ends. The tower begins to crumble as the clouds *** off and for the first time in his life my son is able to feel the sunlight upon his face. Tears start rolling down his cheeks. Exhausted from the superhuman feats he had just performed in the name of trvth, justice and metal, he falls. With his dying breath, he only manages to utter two words: “Thrash lives”