01: O​-​Cult.

by Boobs of DOOM

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"O-Cult." is part one of a two-part concept album telling the rise and fall of a rock and roll band that gets elected to government and instigates massive positive social change, but ultimately succumbs to corruption, hubris and derangement.

Part one chronicles is the rise to power on a wave of righteous indignation.


released March 3, 2014

- - -

Written, recorded, drawn, painted, manipulated, mixed and mastered, by Sadsack, Thumper and Muto,

December 2013 - January 2014.






Boobs of DOOM Scotland, UK

& Thumper;
Two WoW obsessed Scottish morbid misanthropes soundtracking the end of the world with stoopid-computers, rusty guitars and an ageing wonky TB-303 called Muta, since 2013.

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Track Name: :-)
See her there?
See her good
she is in the grip of THE FEAR
she wears it like a chiffon wrap
those eyes; so restless
those white knuckles; agitated fingers cannot relax without something to grip
the reek of THE FEAR assails you from yards away
it bleeds from her pores
her brain is lost to THE FEAR
those ceaseless shifting eyes;
always shifting spasmodically
jumping from one deadly candidate to the next
she is hiding from the hated certainty;
the cemented fact that she might well be wrong
in the faces of strangers she seeks a reflection;
some kindred doppelgänger
for THE FEAR dictates that one day she will catch the gaze of a homeless
and in those haunted tramp eyes
she will see god staring back
and if god is real;
is he wrathful?
Track Name: Jesus Sufferin' Fuck!
To understand the reason why Dustin Constable was eviscerated by a crowd of hundreds on the town square, one must first understand what it was to love Jennifer Cooly.
Jennifer, or 'Jaycee' as she came to be, was a plain girl from a small town. Some arsehole of nothing you would be hard pressed to find on a map. Her origins are largely irrelevant, although they would be over-analysed and puffed up into a thing of legend in due course by those seeking one more extra detail to obsess over. What was important was that Jennifer was the first true freak of nature. Jaycee was born with some kind of genetic abnormality; something different about how her brain and pheromones worked, that made her affect others around her. Everyone who came into a certain physical proximity fell in love with her on some level. For some it was merely a fondness – they found her immensely likeable and could not bring themselves to dislike her – for other is was something altogether more intense. They found themselves revering her on some profoundly primal level. They were lost to her, some so deeply enthralled that they would die for her. The basic animalistic urge to please and revere likened her on some level to that of a living deity – a goddess made flesh.
By the time she left high school (top of the class, glowing recommendations; for her teachers were no more immune to personal bias than anyone else) she had amassed a small following. Jaycee choose to go on tour and spread her personal message of peace and tolerance. Many have speculated on Jaycee's true motivations, good or bad, but it is assumed by most that she had some understanding of her uniqueness and choose to use it to do some good. You see, for her ability to have an effect, a person would have to be in physical proximity (once caught, forever lost).
Television producer Gavin Conrad happened across Jaycee at a gala parade, where the townsfolk absolutely insisted she MUST be the gala queen. In the throws of his own personal obsession, he hit upon the idea of putting Jaycee on television to get her message out to the masses through the old idoitbox. It failed miserably. Several thousand people were perplexed as to what the fuss was, about this plain hippy drippy girl, and why all the studio audience was so caught up in her clichéd 'peace and love' shtick. Whatever bizarre frequency Jaycee transmitted on, it certainly was not transmittable by electronic means.
Pictures and radio didn't work either. You had to be there, to be close. You had to see her in person to have your soul infected. Regardless, it took another media whore to boost Jaycee from the small travelling cult freak-show into the mass hysteria the followed.
Alyssa Perkins was in marketing. She knew how to sell shit to a sewage worker. She knew target demographic, viral campaigning, logo pattern recognition and how to turn a name into a brand. Ironically Alyssa was an associate of Gavin Conrad who, after the chat show débâcle, believed he was personally responsible for failing Jaycee, committed suicide. After the funeral Alyssa decided to search out this girl phenomena and see what the hell all the fuss was about. One look and she was gone. Lost like thousands of others at this stage. However Alyssa retained enough of her smarts to see where Gavin had gone wrong. Her approach was then to dress up Jaycee and make her a brand, a lifestyle choice, a fashionable trend. People would then come to see her. Then they would understand.
It worked. Pretty soon everyone was wearing Jaycee t-shirts, Jaycee jewellery glinting on their fingers, smelling like Jaycee perfume and spouting Jaycee diatribes as their own opinion. And this was before they attended one of the 'concerts', saw her in person and had their brains mashed in with everyone else. These concerts, these tours, were unceasing, international. A cosmic happening with each stop. It became more and more like a travelling circus. A gleeful roaming festival.
Soon enough the ripple though society was building into a tsunami. People were walking out on their families. People were not turning up for work. The only topic of conversation was Jaycee-this or Jaycee-that.
Some damn fools in a position of authority took notice. Declared Jaycee a public menace. Some even going so far as to cry 'terrorist'. They sent insidious investigators, infiltrators, and spys. They sent police in riot gear to try and break up the concerts. They sent the army to make roadblocks to stop the procession at borders. Of course all it took was one look at Jaycee, a few lines of patented platitudes, and they were gonzo, whacked. Sucked into to the vortex like everyone else. The whole world was teetering on the verge of collapse, the remaining population was split into those who loved Jaycee and devoted their live to her, and those whose had yet to see her in the flesh. This mass hypnosis was such that the only inevitable endgame was complete anarchy as everybody just stopped doing there everyday things and devoted themselves to Jaycee things.
Dustin Edward Constable, 'Dusty' to his friends, was seventeen when he attended a Jaycee concert at a ramshackle mass festival affair just out side of town. Like countless others before him he was absorbed into the hive mind as soon as she took the stage. His love for her was no more extreme that many others that fell under her spell. But fate has a way of playing a fixed deck and he found himself in a unique position by chance. Jaycee was pretty much surrounded by people twenty-four seven, but such was their love of her that they would concede to her every whim. One such regular whim was that they give her a little 'alone time'. She would often ask to be left alone for a short spell and wander off into the countryside and find a quiet place in a field somewhere and just spend a few moments with her thoughts, relishing the fragile solitude. It was during one of these moments that Dustin (let's call him Dusty, I consider him a friend to all in hindsight) chose to make his big move. You see, Jaycee had convinced nearly everyone in her congregation that she was for everybody. Her love and her message was for no-one alone and she loved everyone equally. Dusty had managed to convince himself that if he could only get Jaycee alone, he could convince her that his love for her was so much stronger than everyone else’s. That he was the one for her, and him alone. Because Dusty had a bit of a selfish streak and he wanted Jaycee all to himself.
In a lazy green meadow, on a Wednesday afternoon, less than a mile from the latest stop on the never-ending Jaycee festival circuit, Dusty made his move. Jaycee was lying on her back watching the clouds. Dusty had followed from a discreet distance and finally choose to approach only when he was sure no-one else was around. Jaycee was mildly startled at first to find the boy mutely standing over her, lost in his thoughts. Sidetracked from his mission by what he perceived to be the ultimate beauty in the flesh, Jaycee responded with a small upturn of the lips, a weary smile, and a hello. Dusty shook himself awake from his reverie. He suddenly remembered his reason for being here. He blurted out his confession. He professed his love and a hundred reason why they should be together. He shook with frustration at his own in-eloquence. Everything he said seem like a horrible cliché from a inane pop song. He ran his mouth. He tripped over his words till tears were in his eyes. Despite all this Jaycee said nothing. The smile widened. Eventually, as poor Dusty's words devolved into guttural grunts and cracked squeaks, Jaycee put her arms around him and pulled him into a firm embrace.
Dusty felt the anger and frustration drain from him. He felt peace and a warming presence of gentle joy. Please God, let this moment last forever, he thought. His serenity was slowly shattered when Jaycee finally began to speak. She rambled on about peace and love and the importance of her message. How she had a duty to everyone. How it would be selfish of her to choose one above all others. This was her gift and her curse.
The tears returned. Anger swelled. Dusty ran howling.
Four months later Dusty shot Jaycee at a rally in Central Square. Shot her in the heart. Point blank. No chance to miss. You see, nobody in her entourage, or Jaycee herself, thought that they needed security. One look was all it took, and nobody could possibly want to do harm to Her Holiness. What they never counted on was the hate. Hate and jealousy that would overwhelm desire. If Dusty couldn't have her then nobody would.
In the instant of her death a message of shock and horror radiated from Jaycee's mind. It rippled through the crowds like a wave. One by one they turned on poor dejected Dusty. Hands clawed. Fists swung. Feet kicked. Inevitably all that was left was a bloody mess on the concrete.
Then the wave rolled back. The spell was broken. The crowd dispersed slowly with a confused rumble of mutterings and shame. The dream, the trance, was over.
You are too young to remember all this. You don't know just how close we came to total enslavement and collapse. That's why there is a statue of Dusty Conrad in Central Square, not Jaycee. A stone reminder of how hate saved the day over blind devotion. How it allowed us to re-establish the Status Quo, just in the nick of time. Hooray for hate. Yay us.
Back to work everyone.
Breaks over.
Track Name: Why You Should Care About Nihilism
Run screaming into the night
the Horrible Truth is coming

The Horrible Truth is coming!