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[Dear_Rob: You_Suck]

Dear Rob,

It took me awhile to get around to giving a rat's ass about the latest round of NIN junk that will be obsessively collected by the people who never stop photographing and then wanking over their awesome hoards of NIN related garbage, namely, the latest round of lithographs commemorating the tour of small markets, but I finally did.

Normally, I'd be too busy looking for pictures that showcase Trent's pornographically sexy teeth and thinking deep thoughts about Kierkegaard and what not to be bothered with a bullshit topic like this, but seriously, Rob, are you fucking kidding? I know the usual response you get for your trouble in whipping up such things is a fat load of retards lining up on messageboards the NINternet over to enthusiastically slob your knob, but here at WTC, we are not about that, because frankly, I can barely comprehend how you still have a job. You must be cheap, or something.

Let's forget, for one moment, the embarrassingly venal milking it effrontery of making four concert lithographs that, displayed together, make up a complete image, thereby compelling those who scream "WHOOOOOO! NINE INCH FUCKIN' NAILS! WOOOOO!!!!" in your brilliant videos to spend more of their parents' money in an effort to be the ultimate collector, and let's forget the question of why anyone needs a fucking Nine Inch Nails BILLBOARD commemorating the never-ending [With_Teeth: Until_The_End_Of_The_World] tour. Let's just concentrate on the image itself, ok?

I'm no prude, but is it just me, or is there something about this bullshit right here that just REEKS of puerile imbecility?   

I don't know why I'm surprised. I mean, this is the work of the man who fucked a latex pussy in a plastic beer can and then proudly told the entire interweb all about it, produced this (not work safe) Christmas Card for the readers of his frat-tastic blog, and whose smugly self-congratulating tone in posts like this one (in fact, in every post) is only enhanced by the smarmy gambit of last minute self-reflexivity, but goddamn, that is just fucking retarded.

Yeah. I think I'll collect all four and hang a giant, NIN-branded COCK on my wall.

Cheers. Great idea.


Posted by Dierdre ~ in dear_rob | Permalink | Comments (47) | TrackBack



Well, I've had a foray back into the land of dating.

I'd been steering clear, you know, ever since I left Michel on the eve of our planned nuptials and ran away to London, but I've had another little trip, and I'm returning from Romancia to tell you guys that, just like I thought, being in love with Trent from afar is a lot more satisfying than actually engaging in carnal gymnastics with some guy you just met after drinking 5 beers when everyone knows you have a three beer limit before actually puking.

I mean, sure; it's nice, every once in awhile, to actually GET LAID and everything, and there are real needs that can be satisfied by a skillfully wielded uh... instrument, but for the heart and soul, true love is the only food, and that's what I feel for Trent: TRUE MOTHERFUCKING LOVE.

Oh yeah, I can hear the haters laughing; talking about how my vagina is too close to my brain... don't they know that it's the exact opposite? As a matter of fact, I'm talking pure, spiritual love, right now. I am practically the fucking POPE at this moment, people. I am saying that feeling my soul correspond to the pure, transcendental poetry of another's is a consummation far more devoutly to be wished  than actual consummation. It's a pity, really, that I can't take vows of chastity, and get me to a nunnery in Trent's name -- The Convent of The Great Holy Name of That Which I Can Never Have. Awww, yeah. That would be the best. In MY convent, Meathead (and slavish minions), fingerbanging oneself while listening to rutting beast Trent pant through his ultra dirty cover of "Physical (You're So)" on repeat would be a HOLY FUCKING RITE.

Fuck you, haters. I hear you huffing with righteous indignation, and I think you are all a bunch of fucking pussies.

Mind you, gentle readers, I'm not saying I wouldn't be positively delighted to welcome the Royal Imperial Highness of My Heart, should he ever pay a visit to my Netherlands, but that's neither here nor there. What I love about Trent has precious little to do with the fact that he actually posseses a cock, for chrissakes. It's his BODY OF WORK I love, and of course, his everlasting SOUL.

I could easily subsist by holding that perfect vision of Trent's glorious, supernal luminosity with perfect focus in my third eye until the day I drop dead, and all I ever really need him to do is keep singing me songs in that voice that pierces me as surely as any actual TOOL ever could, and fills me, body and soul, with his incomparably mighty potency.


Posted by Dierdre ~ in unrequited_love | Permalink | Comments (73) | TrackBack


[My_Name_Is_Trent_ And_I'm_Out_Of_New_Ideas]

So I'm sure by now everybody has heard the news that Nine Inch Nails has elected to have Saul Williams open up for them on the latter half of their upcoming [Milking_the_Teat: 2006] tour.

A far cry from the usual alt/industrial crap one one expect from a NIN opening band, Saul William's unique blend of hip-hop and spoken word is truly revolutionary, and this new exposure continues Reznor's tradition of exposing his fans to new and exciting music.

Oh, except for the fact that he fucking already did that already.

What the fuck, Reznor? I mean, SERIOUSLY. Seeing The Dresdon Dolls and Autolux were a fucking revelation -- I never really would have given either band the time of day, and was utterly floored by them both. Thank you; now I have two new bands I like. And I've checked out Saul Williams since you toured with him in Europe.


Do you really mean to tell me that there are no other bands left on Planet Earth that need the exposure you can provide? That after the first leg of the tour, when you've utilized the mystical power of whatever mysterio opening act you're going to announce, that the well has utterly run dry? That going back to a previous opener is the best utilization of the spot, and best entertainment for the fan dollar?

For some reason, I don't think so. Let's face the truth pal -- you're LAZY. I'm not suprised; with all the working out you do, you probably just want to recline with a nice beet shake, your pre-release copy of HALO 3 and get crazy with the rest of the guys on the NINtranet you have installed at your house. But cut us some friggin slack, boss.

"Oh, I would love to do something new instead of serving the audience," you say. "I'd really like to do a solo piano tour, and I so respect Bowie's ability to do what he wants," you posit. And then just like George Fucking Lucas, you go ahead and take the easy way out instead of working your brain. Can you really not take the 15 minutes necessary to pick a new band? I mean hell; we all know that you don't even bothering going to see the bands anymore (anybody want to point me in the direction of that diary entry/interview with Amanda Palmer where she mention T-Rez was sick and never saw them before they played on the NIN tour). It can't take THAT MUCH TIME, Trank.

And yes, I know some folks would say "Oh, but those of us in America didn't get to see Saul Williams!" To which I say "all Reznor's fans know who Saul Williams is already so mission fucking accomplished."

Come on dude, pick somebody cool to open up for you. Like Poison. Or Def Leppard. The Axl Rose Experience.

Or even Filter. Come on, dude. Do something unexpected for once... please?

Posted by Gabriel in things_i_hate | Permalink | Comments (85) | TrackBack



Hey guys. Sorry I haven't been around much. I've been a little busy lately, getting laid 'n shit, and I've had a tight schedule of staying out too late and then trying to recover from it all the next day. It's rough, here in Paris.

Anyway, with this post, we officially kick off the WTC bookclub. The following people have declared their intention to participate:

Baal Glyttr
Dierdre, too
Buttercup (?)

That's a good crew. You guys are total rockstars. I can't wait until we get it underway. If I have missed your name somehow, or you're interested, but not listed here, let me know, and I will add you to the list. Also, if each one of you would send me an e-mail with "wtc_bookclub" in the title, that would be great.

Here are the books that have been mentioned thus far:

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin
The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things by J.T. Leroy
The Disappointment Artist by Jason Lethem
The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker
Valis by Philip K. Dick
Why Girls Are Weird by Pamela Ribon
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitgerald
A Fractured Mind by Robert B. Oxnam
Flowers In The Attic by V.C. Andrews
Long, Difficult Philosophical Tomes, as suggested by Jane
(I'm all for it. Anything more specific, Jane?)
Something by Bret Easton Ellis
The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus
Go Ask Ogre by Jolene Siana

Being that I currently reside in a foreign country where the procurement of specific books in English can be difficult, and since Baal has already sent me The Left Hand of Darkness, I'm going to move that we begin with that book. It's a classic in its genre, so it should be easy enough to get. Meanwhile, I will set about trying to get these others, and hopefully, will have one or two of them by the time we finish. If any of you have other book suggestions, please post them here, and I will keep a running list.

I don't know what you guys's schedules are like, or how quickly you all plow through books, but it would be great if you could let me know how much it would be comfortable to cover per week. I read books really quickly, so I think we need to set an amount of the book to get through each week, and make a rule that no one can post anything that spoils anything beyond that for the others. Then, I suggest that we make one day per week, say, Wednesday, "WTC_bookclub day," and I'll post a discussion thread about that week's portion of the book. Sound cool?

Finally, I think Baal is right -- whatever we read, we need to somehow relate it back to the collected works of our raison d'etre, Trent Reznor. Shouldn't be too difficult, since, as we all know, everything is all about Trent. Obviously.

And, finally, for reals this time, sometimes I cannot thank my kind readers enough for the good shit they send my way. I'll leave you with more utterly scrumptious Trent's teeth porn. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.


Posted by Dierdre ~ in wtc_bookclub | Permalink | Comments (59) | TrackBack



The video for "Every Day Is Exactly The Same" is being shot this week in Los Angeles. Francis Lawrence (Constantine) is directing.

UPDATE: Proving once again that Trent reads WTC, nin.com has now updated with a still from the EDIETS video shoot, confirming our scoop. Thanks for the props, Trent!

Posted by Gabriel in gabriel's_ponderings | Permalink | Comments (56) | TrackBack



Dear Trent,

I got some action this weekend. (Yeah, really.) He was cute, had a nice accent, and knew which button to push, so it was pretty nice, all in all. I'm not much of a drinker, but I don't mind telling you that there was a beer or two and a Hip Hop nightclub involved. Since I'm not an alcoholic, and I'm not really that big a fan of Sean Paul, I think that's ok. Of course, when you and me fall madly in love, I'll happily give it up altogether in solidarity with you, Sparklepants (the drinking, not the hip hop nightclubs, because that shit is HILARIOUS), but for the time being, I'll just continue being a cheap drunk every once in awhile, ok?

It was alright, I guess. It's always nice when someone you fancy wants to shag you rotten, but I won't lie, baby: I thought about you a little bit in key moments. I thought about your sinewy elbow and your scrumptious, meaty forearm. I thought about that time when I felt your surprisingly soft, hairy chest, and the way you rub it with the flat of your palm when you sing "Something I Can Never Have". I thought about your sharp eyes and teeth, your shiny, sweaty skin, and your tight little hips. Let's just say that it's truly remarkable how much it helps, just letting a thought like any one of the aforementioned cross one's mind, in KEY MOMENTS.

Everyone always tells me: GET A REAL MAN, stop dreaming of a man you'll never have! It's easy enough to "get a real man," I guess, but sometimes, even though, like I have said before, a real man can satisfy immediate needs, I can't help thinking that some of those needs are things I could probably take care of with greater efficiency and less hassle on my own. I had a real man in Michel, but ultimately, as real as he was, he just wasn't very satisfying. There's a flame that burns in my heart for everything you are to me that I just can't put out, and halfway through the events of the other night, I have to tell you that I just felt a little... non-plussed. I mean, sex is great, and my most recent conquest fully knew how to do it the good way -- I've got no complaints -- but I want to feel something more. I want to be with someone whose very existence on planet earth thrills me beyond any expression; someone about whom, no matter how many words I write, I can never really make words convey the full breadth and depth of what I feel. I just don't want any less than that, and while I'm at it, I want a perfect body, and a perfect soul, too.

I think I'm in for a long wait.

Meanwhile, Trent, I think of you sometimes. You know, like when I cross over Le pont Saint-Michel, and Paris fills my heart with its humanist beauty; or when I'm in the Metro, and the wind comes up the tunnel before the oncoming train, and blows my hair back; or when I make my weekly pilgrimage to the cemetary in Montparnasse to leave flowers for Samuel Beckett and Jean-Paul Sartre. I bring you along in my mind, you know, in KEY MOMENTS, and when I say that, I don't so much mean your smokin' hot rig, I mean your questing soul.

I love Paris, but I'm lonely here sometimes, even when I've got company. When you're with me, even though it's only in my mind, it helps.


Posted by Dierdre ~ in dear_trent | Permalink | Comments (75) | TrackBack



Oh my God, you guys! Someone stop WearingTheseChains from totally ruling ass!!

I just want to say, for the permanent record, that the haters can so blow me, because there is nowhere else on the web where you can discuss Nine Inch Nails with cooler, smarter, funnier people.

I mean, where else can you kick off with pubic rug styling to discuss the tension between authenticity and artifice as it manifests itself in the collected works of Sparklepants Reznor with a tie-in to the latest publishing scandals

I love you fucking guys.

I'd feel all G-A-Y for blowing our my own horn, if that's what I were doing, but I'm not; I'm blowing yours. WTC would never be what it is without you, so thanks. You totally rock. If Trent himself came around here and hated on us, I'd tell even him to FUCK OFF. Then I would tell him to get a fucking sense of humor transplant, because people, we rule.

Of course, I would still offer him all of my most devoted love in the next edition of [Dear_Trent]. I mean, "love is not love that alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove" am I right? Oh no, baby, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. I'll be bearing that shit out even to the edge of fucking doom, my friends. I'm not fickle.


All the book talk around here makes me think we should organize. Last week sometime, during the epic Lathe of Heaven discussion, Buttercup made a suggestion that I, personally, think is fucking awesome: WTC BOOKCLUB.

Here's my idea: first, who's in? Second, what should we read? Use this thread to ante up, and let me know your thoughts on what we should tackle. Once we have decided, we'll give it a week for everyone to get the book in question, and once we all have it, we can get started. Once a week, we'll have a WTC bookclub thread.

Sound fun? Let me know.

Oh, and Trent Reznor?


Posted by Dierdre ~ in wtc_bookclub | Permalink | Comments (115) | TrackBack



Last night, while I was shootin' the shizzle with my old friend Baal Glyttr on the interbot chatter, discussing, for like the 4783rd time, the preferability of a more natural approach to pubic grooming vs. the creation of an artificial little wedge of ornamental fur, he, arguing in favor of crotchal tidying-up, posited that notre amour avec les pantalons scintillant was OBVIOUSLY more of a groomer than a farmer, if you get my gist.

Obviously?! Of course, I strenuously objected to the horrific notion that peeling those sparkly pants off that hot rig would reveal a nancyish little gay-porn-style topiary and balls as smooth as a baby's ass, rather than a lush forest of fragrant, manly, natural growth. I cited photographic evidence of the state of Trent's scrumptiously unwaxed hairy shoulders in a desperate bid to shore up my position, but Baal contended that Trent is 100% meticulously self-invented, and that, in view of his alleged tight-assed control freakery, there is no way that he sports a natural downstairs.

And, by the way, I know you're cringing right now, but I feel like it's ok to talk about this topic, because my friend who's rich enough to be a card carrying retard for Trent told me that on The Spiral, there is an entire thread, some 7 pages long and growing, dedicated to speculation about Trent's favorite sexual position. I shit you not. Unless she is shitting me, of course.


Oh, hey! Are you getting all revved up to post your speculation as to whether or not Trent trims the verge in his pants? Well, hold up, cowboys and girls, because as riveting as that would surely be, it is NOT today's topic. I think we've had enough "cockfro" talk around here to last a fucking lifetime.

The truth is, Baal's contention that there is nothing "natural" about the Trent we know was an interesting one, and his contention, along with Gabriel's constant douchebag harping on about "projection," and the fact that he seems to think that lately the former Gothic Princeling of Pain has morphed into the 4 Star General of Lies, makes me want to ask you this: how much of what Trent says as part of his job as a rock star do you believe?  Do you think Trent levels with us, or do you think he is constantly constructing a meticulously invented public persona, his heart of hearts hidden from our prying eyes? When Trent says something, do you take him at his word, or do you take it with a generous sprinkling of salt? Do you take his drama literally, or do you savor his melodramatic theatricality?

Do you take Trent Reznor for a paragon of naturalism and authenticity, or a master of artifice?

Do you love him, or are you sick of his shit?

Both? Neither?

Do tell...

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (106) | TrackBack


[Pictures_of_You_#_18: The_WTC_Mailbag_Edition]

My friends, you would not believe some of the brilliant shit that comes my way via WTC mail, but this week, I got two little gems, pictures of notre amour that are just TOO GOOD not to share with you.

The first one comes by way of reader Genesis Durden, from Mexico. It's this picture of Sparklepants shopping for strappy black sandals with the help of a very queeny salesperson (or Jim Rose, whatevs), arms akimbo:


Who knew our man was such a shoe whore? I'm going to just pretend he's shopping to assuage his secret fetish for ladies' footwear. Please don't anyone type anything into our comment window that might shatter my dreamworld. I'd rather Trent were a pervy cross-dresser than embrace any other option as to why he might purchase ladies footwear.

Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, ladies, am I right?

This next one freaking rules, because you know you know how I feel about Trent's teeth, right? Well, a week or so ago, I received a charming e-mail from a young man whose father was Trent's dentist back when he was rocking The Perfect Moustache in New Orleans. Apparently, my correspondent's father performed (expert) prosthedontic work on Trent, Chris Vrenna, and Charlie Clouser, including the repair of a one of Sparklepants's front teeth that was badly chipped in a violent encounter with a microphone (HOTT!).

"I thought you might be interested," said he, "since you seem to like Trent's teeth."

Uh... YEAH. All I'm saying is that someone's dad is my hero, because those teeth are NUMBER ONE, baby. Apparently, Trent was "extremely nice, and even joked around" when visiting the dentist. More than I can manage at the dentist, I'll tell you what. Moreover, Mrs. Dentist ran into Trent in Walmart, buying video games, and the whole family attended a party chez Trent for the preservation of houses in the Garden District.

Here's a picture of Count Trentula in an apparently not so rare appearance in the light of day... AT THE DENTIST:


I love the photographs of TEETH on the wall, his surgically sculpted facial topiary, and the pirate headdress with earrings. Nice.

That's all for today's WTC mailbag, kids. If anyone out there has any other pictures I simply MUST see, please feel free to shoot 'em on over.


Posted by Dierdre ~ in pictures_of_you | Permalink | Comments (100) | TrackBack



The world's awesomest rockstar turns 59 years old today...


And, gentle readers, he is still a total juggernaut of absolutely staggering genius. Yes, yes. Trent is totally awesome, but all I'm saying is this: ZIGGY FUCKING STARDUST, DUDES.

Happy Birthday to David Bowie...

...and David? Thanks for always being so nice to Trent.

Posted by Dierdre ~ in inside_dierdre | Permalink | Comments (54) | TrackBack