Raise your kids right with the black metal babysitter
Here’s the thing: I don’t like kids. Never have. Probably didn’t even like myself, which led to all sorts of melancholy I’m sure, and so here I am, trying to make my living as a writer. Calling Dr. Hippocrates!
I won’t go into detail, as it’s pretty irrelevant, but should my grim loins ever produce bawling crotch-fruit, I’d be happy to leave them in the hands of this man: the black metal babysitter.
Now, I’m not advocating church burning per se, but as an induction into the metal mindset, it’s fairly harmless – as long as you keep the lighter fluid and matches on a high shelf. Next lesson: entry-level blacksmithing, or perhaps kool aid pentagrams on the patio?