Dear emos, dubsteppers, BVB army and other such miscellaneous cultists. If you’re like 90% of Christwire’s malcontents (13 years old, barely literate, and riddled with with insecurities about your identity), then it’s time to face the truth about your favorite bands: They are deplorable emosexuals. And they are probably rapists. Hiding beneath their makeup-caked visages is a sinister grin which, upon witnessing the orgiastic behavior of their lustful idolators, widens in mischievous mirth. These molesting marauders pay homage to none other than Satan, and they won’t stop until you do, too. Let’s take a look at some of Lucifer’s greatest hits:
1. Tokio Hotel
This German abomination is a standard rock-pop combination infused with an indefatigably pessimistic outlook on the topics of love, Jesus, and things that make you happy. And if you think they’re harmless, think again; these underaged wanton pixies confuse and titillate their innocent admirers with preposterous fashion statements and overstated androgyny.
Now let’s examine some lyrics from their song “Pain of Love”:
The pain of love, won’t break us up,
We don’t need your salvation.
The pain of love, will never stop,
We are our own creation.
Let’s ignore for now how insufferably melodramatic this is, and focus on how it’s tearing your soul to pieces. Examine the first line: “The pain of love, won’t break us up, we don’t need your salvation.” Clearly this is a metaphor for the rejection of Christ’s love. Only the blackened souls of Satanists would withdraw in response to the healing light of Christ. Then: “We are our own creation.” This is pure, defiant arrogance against the creation of God. The truth is simple, my young lambs: there is no creation but God’s creation. Don’t be fooled.
Tokio Hotel in typical casualwear.
2. My Chemical Romance
My Chemical Romance, or “MCR,” is an all-male punk-rock band with a twisted taste for the macabre. MCR attracts wayward Christians by seducing them with a band name that alludes to science, the supposed sworn enemy of Christianity. In reality, the band is anything but scientific; the only thing chemical about “My Chemical Romance” is the seminal fluid leaking out of the sewer-holes of its brainwashed devotees.
But let’s take a look at some lyrics, shall we? This one is from “Teenagers”:
The boys and girls in the clique,
the awful names that they stick,
you’re never gonna fit in much kid,
but if you’re troubled and hurt,
what you got under your shirt,
will make them pay for the things that they did
Anyone else scared for their children? What exactly do they have under their shirt? A gun? A GQ Magazine? The tip of their defiler pole? Whatever it is, it can’t be good. My guess is that they’re encouraging violence, anal play, gay experimentation, or some combination of the three.
My Chemical Romance is conspicuously lacking in the “chemical” department.
3. Fallout Boy
Fallout Boy is a (surprise, surprise) all male emosexual band that dabbles in androgyny. They are not to be trusted. Look, for example, into the mascara-lined eyes of Pete Wentz, bassist and lyricist, who has been accused of multiple gay affairs while with ex-wife Ashlee Simpson. What do you think is running through the head of somebody like that? If you’re male, and 13 or under, it’s probably something like “I want my sin snake deep inside your gutter pipes.” Does that send shivers down your spine, too? I hope so.
By this point, you are probably beginning to grasp some of the things these bands typically have in common, so let’s move on to …
Lyrics! From “Thnks fr th Mmrs”:
And I want these words to make things right,
But it’s the wrongs that make the words come to life.
Who does he think he is?
If that’s the worst you got,
Then put your fingers back to the keys.
One night and one more time.
Thanks for the memories,
Even though they weren’t so great.
He tastes like you only sweeter.
We’re going to have to work backwards to get to the heart of this one, bearing in mind that Pete Wentz pens the lyrics. Let’s start here: “Thanks for the memories, even though they weren’t so great. He tastes like you only sweeter.” Ladies and gentlemen, I submit that if Pete Wentz hasn’t come out to the public, then he has come out to his audience through these lyrics. Who could the “he” be that tastes so sweet, but a homogay lover? Having tasted the forbidden male fruit, he finds it “sweeter” than the female counterpart, as he gives in to his revolting desires. The first half of the lyrics is his insincere apology to his former lover, whose heart he has broken through his unholy deeds; when he says “Put your fingers to the keys,” he’s telling her to drive away. The end of his relationship, the end of any shot he had at going to Heaven.
Don’t like the way they’re looking at you? That’s because you’re not a pedophile.
4. Panic! At The Disco
Ah, yes. Panic! At The Disco is another all-male, all-gay (sensing a trend here, aren’t we?) emosexual band with a penchant for androgyny and soul-rape. PATD (or as I like to call them, Parental Advisory: Totally Depraved), is, from a musical perspective, superbly mediocre, and from a Christian perspective, colossally dangerous. But rightfully, you wonder at this juncture: why? What makes them so threatening? Allow me to demonstrate.
The following is from “Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taki”:
I’ve got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck
Than any boy you’ll ever meet, sweetie, you had me
Girl I was it, look past the sweat, a better love deserving of
Exchanging body heat in the passenger seat
No no no, you know it will always just be me
Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster!
The threat here is so obvious, it almost speaks for itself. What we have here is a full paragraph of lyrical content filled with titillating imagery that is clearly targeted at a younger audience! Parents, take heed. The following are key words in the above lyrics that get your adolescent daughters’ hearts racing: “fuck, sweetie, sweat, body heat, passenger seat, beating, faster.” And have no doubt that it’s your children they want. For no sooner have they painted this evocative imagery than they spout this gem: “Let’s get these teen hearts beating faster, faster!” Disgusting, I say. How much clearer can they make their pedophiliac ambitions, and still get away with it?
Panic! At The Disco excels at blurring the line between band names and stream-of-consciousness, as well as between male and female.
I rest my case.