Metalocalypse: The True Meaning of Christmas

Toki: Merry Christmas Evening everyone!


Nathan: Merry Christmas


Murderface: It’s Merry Christmas EVE you douchebag


Toki: Mistletoenail!


Murderface: It’s mistle-Agh! Toki, shtop it! It’s grossh!


Toki: Mistletoenail!


Pickles: Ick! Toki, how many candy canes have you had?


Skwisgaar: I don’t understand the point of Christmas when we all gets each others is booze, like, I’m nots feelings the spirit of it all, you know.


Toki: That’s not true, remember when Santa givens me that nice guitar?


Skwisgaar: Ugh, you dildoes that was’t me. Don’t you know that Santa Claus is not real?


Toki: He is too!


Murderface: Ish not you douchebag. There’sh no such thing as Santa–


Toki: Mistletoenail!


Murderface: Would you shtop it you already kissed me you douchebag! Gah!


Toki: I kiss you again in my rage and I’s do it again if you no stops calling me the douchebag. And I has not had very many candies, only a few dozens or more. I is not even full yet.


Skwisgaar: Oh great, Toki is all hyped up on the sugar. He is going to get sick and we’s has to hold his hair when he throws it up and–


Toki: Mistletoenail!


Skwisgaar: Argh! You dildo there is no such thing as mistle-mistle-mistoenail-mistle-mis


Nathan: Actually there is such thing as mistleltoe.


Skwisgaar: No, it is saying you get when you are idiot and want to kiss your bandmate because somebody is all hyped up on the sugarplum fairy dust. I bet you my left testicle there is no mistletoe.


Murderface: Hey siri, what is mistletoe?


Siri: a leathery-leaved parasitic plant that grows on apple, oak, and other broadleaf trees and bears white glutinous berries in winter.


Murderface: Haaaa shee I told you.


Nathan: Your left testicle is mine!


Skwisgaar: Fuck me! I blame Toki for his sugarness idiocracy. Mistletoe actually sounds prettty brutal being parasitic and all. Do you die if you eat it?


Murderface: Hey Skwisgaar, maybe Nathan can keep your left testicle in a pickle jar with his collection of pickled body parts as some kind of a–OW what the fuck you punched me in the fucking balls you douchebag!


Skwisgaar: I keeps my testicle, okay, you sick bastard and all.


Murderface: Holy shit I need ice for my fucking balls, you piece of shit!


Toki: Misteltoenail!


Nathan: Gah! Toki! If you don’t stop eating candy Santa is going to fly past Mordhaus and you won’t get any presents.


Toki: You sees now, Nathan believes in Santa Closet.


Murderface: Ow my fucking balls!


Skwisgaar: He’s only saying it because you are annoying, you fucking dildo.


Pickles: What the hell, Nathan, what’s up with him? Maybe we should, you know, kick him out of the band.


Nathan: No, Toki has never had an American Christmas before he joined our band and we can’t take Santa Claus away from him. I have an idea. Toki! You don’t want to miss Santa Claus, do you? You better go to bed now or Santa won’t come.


Toki: No, Nathan, I has a better idea. Since no one believes me when I says Santa Closet is real, than we stays up and waits for Santa and then he comes and I proves he is real like I has said.


Skwisgaar: Oh, but they says you can’t stays up or he not come this year. Has you not had enough candy for now?


Toki: But you not believe in me and you not believe in the Santa Closet. You wait. We stays up the whole night and then you will all see that Santa is reals.


Nathan: Grr, alright. We will stay up and see if Santa Claus comes to visit. But what will we do to stay up all night?




Nathan: You got any 3’s?


Toki: Go fishing


Murderface: I got a five


Pickles: You’re not supposed to–You got any fives?


Murderface: Ah you suck!


Nathan: Can we, uh, play something a little easier?


Skwisgaar: Ja, this game sucks major balls.


Pickles: Can’t we go to bed, now? It’s 4 in the morning and we’ve played Go Fish, charades, Twister, truth or dare, strip poker, and the most brutal game of Monopoly ever.


Murderface: And I could have won but you assholes cheated!


Nathan: You tried to take out a loan of twenty-thousand dollars.


Murderface: What’s your point?


Skwisgaar: There’s no twenty-thousand dollars in monopoly money you dildo.


Pickles: Yeah, and the rules said–


Murderface: Forget the stupid rules! We’ve been up for hours and SANTA still isn’t here.


Skwisgaar: Aren’t you tired Toki? You have baggage behind your eyes.


Toki: No, I is not. Tired. I think. Maybe? Santa. Coming soon. But we stays….up….to…then he comes…reindeer. Elves. Tired. More candy. Santa.


Nathan: I am, uh, going to the bathroom. I, uh, think I hear Santa’s sleighbells or something…like that. Be right back.


Pickles: Gee, I hope Santa doesn’t disappoint. I don’t want to hurt Toki’s feeling when he realizes–


Nathan: HO. HO. HO.


Murderface: Look it’s SANTA, Toki. Aren’t you going to ask if you’ve been a good boy?


Skwisgaar: Ja, ask Santa what he got you.


Toki: Actually, you guys’es, I has confessions to make. Nathan?


Nathan: Yes, I mean, I’m not Nathan, little boy. I’m Santa!


Toki: I knows it’s yous, Nathan. And I knows all along Santa is not real.


Pickles: What!?


Murderface: Aw, you shuck, Toki! You made us shtay up for nothing!


Toki: But I didn’t!


Pickles: Yes, you did you ignorant, fuck! I got my tongue stuck to a frozen toilet seat bowl in that stupid game of truth or dare!


Skwisgaar: Ja, and I got farts on during naked Twister.


Murderface: Only because you lost strip poker and I had to eat a gallon of beans because SOMEBODY couldn’t guess my game of charades so I had to fucking spell it out for you.


Nathan: All because we wanted you to believe in Santa. And you ruined that as well! What’s your problem Toki?


Toki: You’re all blinded dildoes! Santa is not person but believing in spirits. Each Christmases we open shitty presents of booze, drinking and fighting like all the time spent every day. I hope for difference each year like in TV show where family is happy to be family. You are the only family to me and that is the best and the only present I could have only asked for, and just once I want to spend the Christmas spirits happy with the family I have ever asked for. I hope you care for me like I have cared for all of yous.


Charles: He’s absolutely right, you know.


Nathan: What are you doing up at this hour?


Charles: I’m always up this time of year, consoling Toki who stays up all night crying each Christmas because none of you understand the true meaning of Christmas. You did a good thing, Nathan, by keeping him company instead of leaving him alone on this special holiday.


Nathan: Wow, I never knew this holiday meant so much to him. Come to think of it, we had a lot of fun, didn’t we?


Murderface: Yeah, it was pretty funny seeing Pickles’ tongue stuck to the toilet bowl.


Skwisgaar: And you know, I had never played the strip poker before. The embarrassment was actually quite, you know, humorous.


Pickles: And I can’t believe Murderface ate an entire gallon of beans in five minutes.


Nathan: So, I’m, uh, sorry we ruined your Christmas.


Toki: Are you the kid in me? This was the bestest Christmas I could only ask for!


Dr. Rockso: HO! HO! HO!


Toki: Santa?


Dr. Rockso: It’s me, Dr. Rockso, Santa’s naughty little rock-and-roll elf! I do cocaine! And I hope you all have a white Christmas, I know mine is! G-G-G-G-YEAH!
Toki: Mistletoenail!

Metalocalypse: Christmas is Brutal PT 1

“Okay guys, listen up,” growled Nathan, “This year we need to make the most brutal Christmas card for our fans, so we’re heading to the downtown plaza to get our pictures taken with Santa–”
“Santa!” screamed Toki with glee. Nathan roared,
“I wasn’t finished, Toki! And we are going to–”
“Santaaa!” squealed Toki. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes.
“Ugh, the shopping mall. You knows, there’s going to be lots of peoples bashing their brains out for dildos, you know. It’s going to be completely–”
“Shut up, Toki!” Pickles screamed.
“TOKI!” Nathan roared, “And while we are there, we need to buy each other–”
Toki flung himself over the less-than-jolly mall Santa who grumbled to himself over the man’s over-enthusiasm. Nathan frowned and Skwisgaar rolled his eyes.
“Likes, whats the deal here?” Skwisgaar grumbled, “Don’t you knows thats mall santa here not real?” Toki didn’t seem to hear him as he gushed,
“SANTA!” Toki screamed, “Has I been good boy this year?” The mall santa grumbled,
“Don’t you know there is a line of fifty people you just cut?”
“Get back to the end of the line or I’m calling security!”
“But Santas, I’s only wants to–”
“You call for security and we’ll rip your jolly face off!” threatened Nathan, “Let’s get this picture over with.” With Toki joyfully on the mall santa’s lap, Nathan, Pickles, Murderface, and Skwisgaar awkwardly squeezed in.
“Yous smiles now, Nathan,” Toki said with a wide grin for the camera.
“Aw geesh,” Murderface scowled, “I don’t wanna take a shtupid pictshure wish Shanta. Thish ish sho shtupid!”
“Ja, and has you ever seen Nathan smiles, now? He’s no smiles ever.”
“Yous gots to smiles Nathan!” As the Dethklok band argued, the mall santa grumbled and those waiting in line began to complain.
“No!” Nathan growled. The photographer waved at them.
“I never smile, ever, in my life. It’s not brutal.”
“Yous says you no smile? What abouts the time yous gots drunk and pissed on Pickles?” Pickles smacked Toki upside the head.
“You asshole, Toki! Why’d you have to bring that up again?” The photographer waved for their attention.
“Say cheese!”
Toki stomped on the ground as he looked at the developed Christmas photo.
“You assholes! Santa has not even says I was good boy or no! Alls your fault you no not smiles. ****** photo of no smiles and Santa no says I was goodly or badly so I has never known not now ever or will be!” Nathan tapped Toki on the shoulder who looked up with a shriek at a horrendously hideous ear-to-ear toothy grin of black, mossy teeth which frightened Toki to paleness. He then looked to the photo.
“Oh, I sees,” Toki said thoughtfully, “You no like smiles because you’re so ugly and you make photo with Santas worse with such ugly face as yours. I do not know how ugly your face is until now. So it is better in fact you no smiles in Christmas photo for fans to see such ugly face.” Nathan facepalmed while the Dethklok bandmates doubled over with laughter.
“Ha!” howled Murderface, “I don’t mind being sho fat when your face ish sho ugly!”
“Shut it, Murder,” growled Nathan, “I’ve smiled once in my life and it killed someone.”
“Ja, cuz they looked at your ugly face and decided to kill themselves, right?” laughed Skwisgaar and the others roared with laughter. Nathan looked at the floor sheepishly.
“Uh, yeah, something like that.”

Metalocalypse: Love is Brutal CHAPTER 1


Rated PG

Pickles is the first victim to succumb to the “love drug”


“Winter. Storm. Wind. Blowing. Lightning. Strikes. Thunder. Storm. Thunder. Storm. Raa!” The venue of the headlining Dethklok band was riveting with drenched moshing fans. Thunder booms and lightning exposed the faces of the members of the heavy metal band who wailed on their guitars and demanded a drum solo. Hair whipping proved less dramatic with the soaking rain dampening their hair to their faces, and the black paint around their eyes oozed down the band members’ cheeks. Heavy blowing winds knocked over the stands of food vendors crushing concert goers in its path. Another strike of lightning caught the stage aflame. Nathan Explosion whipped his soggy hair and roared,

“It’s freezing cold. I’m soaking wet. The skies aflame with lightning bolts. I hear the cries of fallen angels. There is no time for your defeat. There’s demons dancing at my feet. Inside I cry. I want to die. The thunderstorms are roaring yet.”

Lightning strikes a fan dead but the moshers scream and holler demanding more. Skwisgaar falls to his knees lifting his black and white guitar up in the air, sparks flying from his fingertips as he delivers a mind-blowing solo while Nathan roars and growls on stage.

“It’s time to die. You cannot try. The lightning strikes your mother dead. Raa!”

“G-Gee, that was a h-h-hell of a sh-show!” said Toki who shivered in a blanket by the fireplace and coughed, “B-but I wish we didn’t have to play in a f-freaking f-freezing thunderstorm.” Skwisgaar tsked.

“Buts yous were by the flames on the stage,” bickered Skwisgaar, “I hads to dos a solos in de ****ing cold, you asshats.”

“Shut up! I was not!” Toki wailed.

“No, you shuts up! Yous so were!”

“Shut it!” growled Nathan, “We put on a show of a lifetime. It was worth it, wasn’t it?”

“Hellsh yeah!” shouted Murderface, “Sh-eriously, it wash sho ****ing aweshome. I only wish thish shtupid phone washn’t sho shtupid. Why do we have shuch shtupid ideash when we’re drunk?” Murderface clenched the pointy metal cell phone in his hand and stared at it with disgust. Charles, the multi-talented Dethklok manager, entered the living room with a tray full of steaming mugs and the members of Dethklok jumped up in excitement.

“This should perk you up on a cold winter day,” said Charles kindly and the members of Dethklok grabbed a mug. Nathan gulped it down and spit it out in a dramatic fashion.

“The **** is this?” growled Nathan angrily.

“It’s tea,” said Charles simply with a frown, “black tea.”

“Black tea? Brutal,” said Nathan with a devious grin, “But if it’s black tea, then why is it yellow? That’s not brutal at all. Brutal tea should be black like my soul.” Pickles scoffed as he walked across the living room,

“Nathan, you have no soul.”

“I do too,” grumbled Nathan, “and it’s as cold and brutal as my black heart.”

The dwarf made his way through the ventilation system. He passed the kitchen where the zombified servants prepared the band’s meal. The warm, inviting smells of roasted pig and caramelized apples wafted into the ventilation ducts, and the dwarf smiled, gun in his hand, with the knowledge that the decadent, satisfying meal may be the band’s last. The dwarf moved forward, his tiny legs thudding against the metal, and he stopped when he heard the zombified servant bellow a cry of confusion. The dwarf waited a long and quiet moment before moving on. He made past the bedroom where clothes laid strewn about and the bed left unkempt, before reaching his destination, the living room. He stopped in deep thought, considering the most discreet way to get onto the floor as he listened to the gentleman below.

“Pickles, alls I’m saying is there’s no needs for it,” Skwisgaar argued angrily. Pickles huffed and stomped towards the other side of the room.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Skwisgaar. I’m tired of you telling me what to do all the effing time.” Pickles crossed his arms and stared at Skwisgaar through the reflection in the mirror, grumbling, “Really ****ing tired of–Ow!” Pickles grasped his neck with his hand, feeling a sharp pain with the likes of a large bee sting.

“You asshat, Skwisgaar! What is your prob–?” Pickles fixated on his changing reflection, stars exploding and vivid colors flashing in his widening eyes as he looked at himself with a warm, glowing sensation radiating deep inside his chest. His mouth dropped, admiring the cherry red cornrows he once doubted as frizzy and unkempt. Rows of crimson roses, flowing velvet hair in the wind, cruising down the highway with his highschool sweetheart beside him caressing him ever so softly, the engine revving louder, freedom ringed in his ears. She kissed his chapped lips as they are now in his reflection, tugged the piercings on his eyebrows, whispered softly in his ear, and nuzzled his neck. The drums pounded deep in his chest. Were they drums? He felt the faint wailing of a guitar, the low growling, the song of hatred leave his soul and in place an all-powerful mesmerizing sensation of mystical wonder. He touched the mirror, lost in the image and his chest swelled with a growing pride. Once the center of mockery, the confidence that had been stolen from him years ago had regained itself and demanded him a constant attention of neediness. The disregard from his apathetic mother, the struggle of the hallways in his school days, the loss of his home, the band his only inclusion in his life at the cost of the daily belittlement, even the music, became a forgotten nothingness. The music was a distant memory, drum solos a distorted sound in his head, his bandmates a blur, what were their names again? He couldn’t look away from the image of undeniable beauty. He was in love.

“Yeahs, Pickles, yous keeps your mouth shuts,” grumbled Skwisgaar, “I’s swears, yous so sensitives sometimes. Alls I trying to do is help yous but no, yous rather do its the hardest ways. Pickles? Are yous even listenings to me? Pickles!” The members of Dethklok turned to Pickles who smiled dopily at himself in the mirror, giggling softly to himself.

“Whatsh sho funny Picklesh?” asked Murderface with a scowl, “Whatsh wrong with you?”

Glancing at the others, Skwisgaar approached Pickles who traced himself in the reflection with his finger and started kissing the mirror much to the rest of the band’s dismay. Skwisgaar waved his hand in front of the ginger and whistled twice for his attention. Pickles ignored the blonde, giggling and hugging the mirror. Skwisgaar looked at Nathan and shrugged.

“I has guessed he’s caughts a cold.” Nathan stomped across the room in a fury.

“Pickles, enough!” Nathan roared. With great force, Nathan yanked Pickles by the arm pulling him away, but a high-pitched scream caught Nathan by surprise and he let go. Pickles raced back to the mirror to coo at his reflection. Nathan and the members of Dethklok exchanged nervous glances. Toki pointed at Pickles and asked Nathan,

“Hey, what’s that thing on his neck?” Nathan looked at the ginger and retrieved a tiny dart from his neck. He cringed at Pickles who was kissing his reflection again, and examined the tiny red and black dart closely before turning to Charles.

“Charles,” Nathan growled, “Analyze this. Find out what this is and who did this to Pickles. Whatever it is, it brainwashed Pickles somehow. Go!”

“Yes, sir, I’m on it,” said their manager, “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Metalocalypse: Love is Brutal PROLOGUE

Rated: PG
The high-elected men propose a new scheme to take down Dethklok


The headlines read, “Dethklok brings more death”. The high-elected men watched videoclips of mass destruction around the world caused by the band of the headlining name. Buildings smoked, men and women lie dead, fires blazed on. Fans of the heavy metal band smashed windows out of shops and looted the goods inside, they flipped police vehicles over in a mob-like fashion, and those in a panic trying to flee were beaten to death. News channels around the world read the number of casualties and the millions of dollars of damage that came between the path of Dethklok. These scenes of anarchy and mayhem were nothing new to the men who grumbled in their seats, pointing at the multitude of individual monitors depicting images of chaos and asking themselves what could be done. How could the rise of Dethklok and the violence surrounding them be stopped?


The high-elected men came from various backgrounds. Military generals who represented the Americas and European countries were among those who were called upon to face the Dethklok epidemic along with the Archbishop, the CIA, the FBI, as well as leading doctors and psychologists who studied the band and an array of scientists from all over the world. For years they have kept a close watch on the Dethklok band when they first began touring, but as the fandom grew they soon realized the threat of a global takeover. Many schemes were devised to overthrow the power of Dethklok but to no avail. Their options were limited and hope could soon be lost if Dethklok could not be stopped.


“Damn them all to hell!” General Crozier shouted, “This is an outrage! How can one band defeat the likeness of generals like me who have gunned down even the mightiest of terrorists? Something must be done, or we will all be doomed to heavy metal music and anarchy.” The men grumbled again, pointing and arguing with one another.  The Archbishop slammed his fists to the table and rebuked,


“We have tried countless times to no avail. Rumors are flying and the fandom is growing ever more powerfully. We must sever the tie between them or we are all doomed!”


“Now, now, gentlemen, I believe I have found a solution.” The men silenced. An older gentleman in a ratted brown suit stood and was looked upon with disgust as he twirled a long strand of snow white hair with slender fingers. A scientist growled,


“You, Dr. Malice? Surely not! All your schemes are flawed and they have gotten us nowhere! I certainly will not tolerate anything which comes from you.” Dr. Malice chuckled as he gripped his gnarly wooden cane tighter and gently thrusted it in an outward motion as he spoke to the grumbling men.


“Ah, tsk, tsk, but neither have yours. I have with me the most prestigious psychologist in the world and he shall explain to you my newest scheme. Dr. Ranfield?” A gentleman wearing an awful mess of a scroungy faded black suit stood up beside Dr. Malice, and the rest of the men began to point and argue louder than before. Dr. Malice tapped his gnarly wooden cane three times on the table and slowly the men silenced so the shaggy man could speak.


“Violence only ends in violence,” spoke Dr. Ranfield calmly,  “and studies have shown that the members of Dethklok is in itself violence, which creates a ripple effect of more violence. If Dethklok is to be stopped, it is only logical that we attack them with the antidote of violence…love.”


“Love?” scoffed General Crozier, “Are you implying that if we show Dethklok love, the violence could end? Impossible!”


“Ah yes,” said Dr. Ranfield, “I believe Dr. Malice can explain his proposal.” With all the men at his attention, Dr. Malice fished for something in his pocket. A dart, black in the body and red at the tip, was a mere inch of length with frills feathering from its body. The men leaned from their seats to inspect what the man was showing them.


“This is unlike anything we have ever seen, my friends. This tiny dart contains a concentrated amount of endorphins so powerful it shall make the target fall madly in love with the first person they see. Shoot the members of Dethklok with this dart and they will be so madly in love that they will be consumed by the feeling, consumed enough so they disregard their needs to make music and therefore, stopping Dethklok in its tracks and saving all humanity. It is fool-proof.” The men looked from one another to the wicked man in the highest chair who smiled a devious grin.


“I shall allow it and see what unfolds.”


“Here, here!” said the men, and Dr. Malice set forth to put his plan into action.