WhiplasherBern
Welcome to Entertainment from Hell, 101.
I suppose making mention of my presence, while not entirely required, might help the few of you that have yet to hear our songs know just who I am and what the hell I do.
In other words?
The great answer to 'Why the fuck does he wear make up'?
If you feel like enlightening yourself, try to find whatever wrenched monsters emerge from the term industrial metal.
Yes, these white painted faces come with a reason- on top of the fact they can a make a wicked man look ever so daring.
"So...Who are you again?"
Simply put, kiddies, the boy's of my tight collective cult enjoy chanting my name as Whiplasher Bernadotte, however I do take the shortened form of Whiplasher just as kindly. Besides- who wants to fumble with long names when they could be cackling at the hilarious antics that ensure every time you throw the beings known as Skinny Disco, Bone W Machine, Nightmare Industries, and Cat Casino (or the 'tight ass virgin we all want to rape in the locker room') together with your's truly?
What makes us the stars of Death?
Who the hell else can sit around and laminate in a most passionate fashion about Bass beer while being slap happy drunk off their asses?
"What the hell do you do all day?"
That being said, it should come to notice that my personal life tends to run along the lines of: sing, terrorize, sing, and cause chaos.
See, I've got this small little reputation of being both a complete asshole to the right folks or a down right snake eyed charmer to those who strike me well. It's a fact I tend to praise and pet like some pulsating heart in a jar.
Frankly, kiddies, play along with my little games when I'm happily chasing the darklings and you'll find yourself on the high end of amusement hill come dawn.
I'm a kind killer and a sweet tongued devil given the right pitch, but dart that beady eyes in the wrong manner and someone will end up with more than just a metaphorical dick in their skull.
Defensive? No, but protective? Very much so. I've wasted away too many nights saying farewell to fond friends that I should have kept, so to gain my trust might seem easy on the surface but take it from Bone- I'm a hard ass fucker with a taste for rough shit.
But enough about me- no more will I bore you with the wild rides of my ind-rock life.
Time to step away from the shyness, my dears, and let ol'Whip hear you.
I promise I won't bite too hard, if you promise to give me your first born son...
-Whiplasher
"Were the abstracts too dark for you?"
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