South Goruguay: A Horseman's View

Merry greet fellow horsemen and horsewomen.
I hope most are well, but not all- as treachery is afoot. Yes, saboteurs in the Goruguayan subcontinent. Enemies of the blood afficionados, both Northern and Southern have come to light.
Punished they must be upon apprehension. A pink pair of pants must be thrown in with their whites during the wash.
What have they done? Well I am forbidden from saying, but it is equivalent to what non-Goruguayans, especially Europeans would call treason. It involves an ancient concept that is poorly understood by modern Goruguayans but the Gorugese word we use in history classes is "gunhaugen". I believe the English version is "troth" or "truth" or something similar anyway.
But anyway, times are dark in my world. We have been expunged from our Northern homes by the Fantastic Shape and plunged into the underground sewer systems of South Goruguay. The Southerners quite literally shit on us now.
They are such an unpleasant bunch and have insisted we are branded with some kind of symbol so they can try to give us an easily identifiably good kicking when we're above ground.
Fortunately they aren't the toughest of people, some of them are even shorter than me. So its more of an irritation than anything else.
It amazes me to say that every now and then, a "good" Southerner comes along and provides me with good conversation and fresh fish. However this rarity is seldom found below ground, and thats where all the internet cafés are.
What else..? Well the people suck, the food generally sucks, the dialect sucks, the accents really suck and the weather sucks. And everything else.
I want to go home :(
But some good has happened. Edmund Headmund is now a distant memory as his replacement supercedes him in all Goruguayan ways. I met this Northerner on the border-crossing on the Day of the Shape. We live in the same area of subterrania now and he has taken a pledge to the Spirit of Goruguay to become conjoined to it. But more on him later. I have a new full time member of GORE to report- The Corpsifier! Another Goretar, but exceptionally turbo-charged. I created The Corpsifier just before the Day of the Shape, and it has survived the exile along with Spirit and Lord. However the Gas Cloud is gone forever.
Ah well, I hunger for fish. Farewell.

A Wonderful Day for Destruction

So where was I?
Hand lives.
Edmund has left Gore.
Asomvel still at large.
Gore Don back from exile..
But now its a fresh start, a very very fresh start.
Like.. straight from the cow's udder. Thats just how fresh this start is.
Not quite newborn fresh, but the udder analogy is suffucient to express my inspirational freshness.
Gore is fresh, like fish from the fisherman. And decisions are to be made as to its future.
We need to find someone to replace Dr Headmund on goretar so we can continue the propaganda. Or at least re-orchestrate a lot of music.
Having saved Edmund from many scrapes I am fairly saddened at the loss. So saddened that I went out and constructed a new goretar. I had the shape shipped in from a special boat, but have since then dissected and modifried the new monster to produce.. "LORD".
Its being fine-tuned at present but I'm dying to get it out on show!! Its fresher than orange from the tree.

And Dinohorse flourishes.

Pulmonary Punching- With Captain Hand

Hand's operation was a complete success and his new baboon heart seems to be beating well.
He got to choose between three species of primate-
Yellow baboon: Papio cynocephalus, gelada baboon: Theropithecus gelada and the extinct Necrolemur antiquus.
We loved the name of Necrolemur however the heart was far too fossilised and also a little too small to pump enough blood around Hand's masive hands to keep him alive.
The gelada escaped before doctors could operate, so it was an old Yellow baboon heart that we found in a bin.

The Greatest Show on Earth..

Roll up, roll up. Gather round and witness the most entertaining event ever to happen. And here is your host..

Captain Mister "Heart Attack" Hand!

After a very lacklustral gore-formance its no surprise that Hand's body decided it wanted to try killing itself. Perhaps if he ate more shit he'd be dead today. So the moral is, if you want Hand to die, feed him more shit.
To explain, last night doctors told him that he had suffered a mild stroke in the early hours of the morning. His shooting pains developed into a wretching, convulsing kind of state or something and subsequently the left side of his face seems inactivated.
Maybe now he'll be a bit wrong. But I'm sure he'll be fixed. Poor Hand. Why do such problems attack the innocent? He performed better than everyone else last night.
But in criticism, he was a bit selfish to wait so long. If he'd had his heart attack onstage, it would've raised the profile of the show!

Gorehorse Fraterno Hand Goruguayaanse

Send Money for Starving Dinohorse

The end of Sticky Stallion Industries has been penned in for Friday 13th of Spray.
And I have no patients at all for my new direction. Perhaps they will fall out of the sky.. or I could finally free those bodies from the backrooms at work and ask them.
So, soon the money is going to stop rolling in. I don't have much to sell apart from musical instruments and myself..(!) Everything else will have to go back to work or isn't really mine in some way.
Perhaps I could open my own theme park, or become the Pope.
Maybe I'll return to my project- awfulbands.com - that I haven't registered yet, but it will showcase my favourite terrible bands. I love dreadful music. It makes me feel superior. So I have much respect for the incompetent musicians of the world who really think they can make it.

Need Patients: Apply Now

So the countdown to the end of work has already begun as I mentioned before. And what does the future hold for me and the family Splatterhouse? Its time to get serious on my strengths. The second Gore album doesn't look like its going to be finished anytime soon- and that would be such a magnificent source of gold. Therefore I shall go back to my education.
As many of you know, Edmund Headmund graduated from the University of Bowelitica a few years ago with his honours degree in Pyropractic. But not many people know that I am a graduate of Bio-weaponry and Flan-throw-pology, and that I am studying the art of Psychotic Therapy at the University of Bleeds.
So I am qualified to do something.. therapy.. soon. And I need some people to practice on. Then I'll charge more than my weight in hippos for hippos to lose as much weight as me. Except hippos are not indigenous to Goruguay. And safaris cost money.
But I digress. I do enjoy eating a hippopotamus as much as the next fellow, but it will help me not to discuss their merits at this point.
Lemurs though.. I've seen a few of those about. Especially on No Friends Island.. that chunk of Goruguay with all kinds of strange creatures that remained untouched by the influences of the mainland for millenia.. evolving beautifully, unchallenged by mainland predation.
Brilliant place for a holiday.

Blind

So hello Goruguay and the world wide web. It has been a while since we last met.
But now my sight has been restored and I can see all the horrors of the universe in full colour.
You see, I had my eyes stabbed with hooks in a bungled copycat murder attempt disrespecting famed Mayor and vigilante Jo Jangles.
I've played a few shows with Gore since my disenvisioning, but nobody could tell. I always have a certain glaze about my eyes whether I can see or not. I am assured that all three stadiums were filled to the brim with Gore fans by Edmund.
Ah Edmund.. what has happened to him?! Constantly under a cloak of deception that has been pinned to him like a straitjacket. His paranoia and distrust of all is leading to his descent into living Hell. We all try to make light of his misery by poking fun and stealing his cars, but for the first time in several days, I am starting to think that perhaps this is not helping to solve his riddle. One colleague even suggested that it was making things worse- but I'm not sure about that. And what is his despair? Only the Pyropractor himself could decide whether to tell you such a personal problem. But I'll give you a clue- chlamydia.
And Glenfren.. he's leaving the North for the unsettled South. On the telephone last night he suggested squatting in the east wing of Palace Don-Don. So perhaps his militant aura is coming to fruition and he will join our distant brothers of rebellion and attempt to crush us Northern lords. Well whatever he decides, it gives me something to write about. So good luck to Mr Asomvel.
And the rest? Captain has found peace with religion and is going by the name "Hand of God", but I feel this phase will pass just like his adventure into the glove industry.
Gore Don.. as ever elusive and cunning, plotting, readying himself, hungry with mischief. But is taking a break from his lupine-natured characterisms enforced upon him with his rebelious leadership, to flee to another Continent soon. A secret mission he says.
Back at the stables Dinohorse has learned to strangle and ligate. She has a favourite toy that we call Goraffe. The wonderfully extensive amount of neck on Goraffe is perfect for nourishing Dinohorse with gripping and bone-crushing skills.
And I, Gorehorse.. discrimination at work has lead me to sack everyone and close down business. Under the shield of legal redundancy, they will be slave-driven for four more weeks before I, and they, are out of work.
So money is tight and ducks are plentiful. But geese all seem foreign these days. What is their fascination with my country? I don't think I know any Goruguayans who have been to Canada.

Splatterhorse out.