Imagine, if you will (as a sort of academic exercise) Satan himself in his infernal laboratory. Bunsen burners, test tubes, white lab coat; Hitler and Stalin acting as assistants, their forms hunch-backed and twisted, their manner groveling and servile as they fetch this and carry that, close switches, raise lightning rods and stitch corpses like grotesque seamstresses. Picture the devil brewing up a concoction most vile, a simmering stew of poisons and toxins from the nastiest of slag-heaps and nuclear disasters. He throws in a pinch of crap, a heaping tablespoonful of rotten pig liver, a cup of half-dissolved hair sludge extracted from hell's hair salon drains. Into a big pot it goes, and the stench thereof is enough to make seraphim weep and cherubim fall upon their own swords.

The result is a work so foul, so noxious and deadly, that it approaches being a reasonable, if pale, facsimile of the steaming, horrid mess of suck-assitude that is the latest System of a Down song I have been cruelly subjected to, called (IIRC) B.Y.O.B. Yes, like all of the rest of SOAD's filth, it is truly that bad, no exaggeration whatsoever.

That SOAD is allowed to churn out such gaggingly vile work is a bewilderment to me; that people actually buy that garbage, and in sufficient volume to encourage such malicious effort, constitutes one of the mysteries of the universe that simply boggles my mind. I lack the mental capacity to comprehend it, and the vocabulary to describe it in a manner that does it justice. The simple fact of SOAD's existence hurts me inside, deeply and terribly.

Thank you and good day.