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[Pictures_of_You_#_21: The_Darkest_Hours]

Hey. It's me, Dierdre.

Remember last week when Trent, with delightful, bitchy aplomb, notified Jerome Dillon that he "looks like an asshole" in his recent publicity photos? Man, I laughed my ass off. That Trent. He sure is funny, and, yeah -- it really is a lame picture. But, I got to thinking: is Trent really the guy to cast the first stone about looking fucking ridiculous in photos?

I think not.

With that in mind, I bring you the latest in WTC photo essays: an odyssey through only a VERY SMALL SAMPLING of the millions of times notre amour himself has stumbled, photographically speaking. Yes, this is a little traipse through only a few of dear old Sparklepants's most questionable moments of self-presentation, and a little explanation as to why, despite all the jackassery, we still TOTALLY LOVE HIM.

Without further ado, I bring you:

[Sparklepants_Unchained: The_Darkest_Hours]

Enjoy, my darlings.


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


[The_Secret_Life_of_Gabriel_Miller: Back_in_Action]

Am I the only one who’s ever noticed that Gabriel is just a little cagey re: his personal life? I mean, we all guard our privacy and anonymity to a certain extent, but we barely know anything about the boy beyond l’orangerie stank and brief allusions to certain ill-advised sexual encounters with some friends in San Diego. As with Trent, we have no idea what Gabriel does behind the scenes, and I think that he is no less worthy of some fanfiction than “notre amour.”

So in honor of our webmaster and record-breaking spunk producer, I present my own creative interpretation of The Secret Life of Gabriel Miller…

Volume 1

Gabriel clicked on “Post” with a smile. That’ll show Maise, he thought. He couldn’t help exclaiming aloud, “I am AWESOME!”

“But not awesome enough…Pisces,” a husky female voice intoned behind him.

“Gemini,” he acknowledged without turning around. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she confidently replied.

“How did you get past the state-of-the-art burglar alarm, motion detectors, and retina scans?”

“Oh, we hacked into that earlier. The password wasn’t especially hard to figure out. ‘I eat what I made.’ Brilliant.”

“And the bear traps?”

“You must think I’m a fool.”

“And my vicious guard panther?”

“He’s a pussy.”

“Well, Gemini,” Gabriel said, “I guess you’re as good as you always were.”

“I’m better. Look, would you just turn around already?”

“No,” Gabriel replied.

She sighed deeply.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to find me, though.”

“We didn’t need you before. Now we do,” she shrugged.

“So sorry, I’m retired. Remember?”

“There are no retirement options in The Zodiac.”

“Well, I don’t believe in that astrology crap anymore, sweetheart.”

“You used to.”

“That was mostly to get laid.”

She snorted in disbelief.

“What?” he protested, finally facing her. “We were lovers once.”

“No, we weren’t,” she declared, “I fucked you. Enough of the terse banter. We’ve got a job to do, and I am to bring you back to headquarters willingly…or not.”

“Not tonight, kitten,” Gabriel replied, standing up slowly. He grabbed his trusty nunchucks from beside the computer and started swinging them in a figure-eight motion. “You know,” he began, “I never meant to use these again to kill…”

Without another word, Gemini reached inside her leather trench coat and pulled out a small bamboo blowgun. She blew through it, and Gabriel was stung in the neck with a dart that, although tiny, was extremely painful.

“What…the…fuck?!” he asked with a strangled cry as he dropped to his knees and then fell face-first onto the floor. His vision began to blur as he stared at her impractical black boots. He gingerly craned his throbbing neck upwards to peer into her scowling face, which was framed by long, straight, honey blonde hair.

“It’s beddy-bye time, Pisces.”

And as Gabriel faded out of consciousness, he was once again touched by his Poetic Muse. “Hair…the color of…golden…treachery,” he murmured.

“God, you suck,” she replied.

When Gabriel awoke, he found himself lying on the floor in a small, windowless, and completely empty cell with walls made of smooth, nigh-indestructible titanium. In the past, he himself had put prisoners in this cell. He used to think it looked cool. Now, rubbing his sore neck, he said to himself, “This is so not cool.”

To be continued…

Posted by maise in tales_of_terror | Permalink | Comments (43) | TrackBack


Abu Ghraib Revisted: The Chains of Spunk

Okay motherfuckers. If you've been keeping up today, Dierdre "Stalin" Keating got some sand up her swimsuit when people (okay, ME) started discussing some stuff on her "Here's How It's Gonna Be And If You Don't Like It You Can Suck My Sheridan" post. You know, the one where she so GRACIOUSLY told us exactly how she was going to run her little website, and how the rest of you, if you so decided to contribute, had a good chance of not cutting it because she think your stuff sucks already.

Well after conversation upon conversation about backhair, dry ice on rockstars, and fantasy-laden dreams of boning said rockstar, I decided to start talking about some stuff I think's interesting:


You know, jizzum. What you make when you climax. The white creamy goodness. The Sexy Love Juice. The Rice Pudding of The Heart.

You know what I mean.

Anyway, apparently Dierdre didn't like this -- mostly because it was TOTALLY AWESOME and REALLY ENTERTAINING (and probably because I mentioned the video I had of her hooking up with our old friend Veronica), and her HIGHNESS OF BULLSHIT fucking locked the comments thread.

Mind you, this is the person that TODAY once again rejected the notion of turning this into a full-on messageboard, because of the work involved, and because she didn't want to have to bother with things like locking threads. This is the person who went ATOMIC BATSHIT on me when I DARED to write a post under her precious "Dear Trent" subseries header, and changed my posts without my permission in response. And this is the same person that has gone ON AND ON (and yes, ON even more) about how having a place to express yourself is what WTC is all about, and blahblahblah.

Well guess what, bitch? I still made this site, and i want to talk about JIZZ. Shooting up in the air, on my hidef TV screen, and all over the backs of the whores from last tuesday night (there were two of them, Mandy and Dominique. Dominique was prettier, but Mandy had the ghetto booty which, like Trent, I enjoy quite a bit).

So FUCK YOU, Dierdre. SPUNK = FREEDOM, and i will bandy about my spunk to all that will listen, taste, touch, or smell.

And trust me -- there's a TON of them. And even more of the cumjuice.

In fact, since Rob Sheridan recently ripped me off AGAIN (Yes, that's right motherfucker -- your dumbass webcam THE HOLE stole the name of my old band's website, THE STANKHOLE, and don't think I didn't notice you fratboy motherfucker. Jizz on your FACE, sheridan!). I'm going to set up a webcam soon.

What will the webcam be called? THE SPUNKHOLE. And what will it feature?


Yeah, that's right. So you can suck it -- literally. You will not censor my pants, bitch. You may be in some fucking bullshit foreign country where freedom is irrelevant, but I live in a different place.

I live in America, bitch.

Posted by Gabriel in gabriel's_ponderings | Permalink | Comments (67) | TrackBack

[Faring_Forward_In_Chains: How_It's_Gonna_Be]

If we can all take a little break from talking about Gabriel's spunk, I want to thank all of you for your input on the question of how WTC is to fare forward after the lifting of the veil. You all threw down with some great suggestions, and with the exception of that bullshit about turning this place into a messageboard that some fatuous blowhard wouldn't quit shilling, I think we'll be incorporating most of them into the Future of Chains.

You may have noticed some changes on the site. For one, I've asked our favorite canine ghost, Maise, to join me on the Masthead. She will be posting what it pleases her to post, and helping me out with editorial duties. I don't think I can overstate how excited I am to have her join me in loving the pain. She's pretty goddamned witty for a ghostly dog, and her editorial skills are the stuff of legend. I think we're all pretty lucky.

Now, if you scroll down, and look under the RECENT POSTS list on the right hand sidebar, you'll see a new installation: BEYOND THE VEIL. That's where you can find our e-mail addresses and something new that I want to call your attention to: the contribution e-mail link. This site started as satire, but it's changed a lot since those days, and I'd say it's all about community now. I want to encourage all of you to throw in with anything you'd like to add, from AWESOME fan art and fiction, to poetry about Trent's body hair. Bring it, bitches. We can't wait... BUT! Let me just say this about that:


I hope that doesn't sound fascist, and I don't want anyone to have hurt feelings or not send in their submissions on this account, but we really want to keep the writing sharp around here, so there will be an editorial process. I can guarantee you that every submission will recieve a response, but not every submission will be posted on WTC as a guest contribution. Futher, I ask that any submissions you make follow our one editorial rule around here: no fictional account or depiction of Trent Reznor in flagrante delecto will ever be posted here, so please, as much as imagining Trent giving you the high hard one might be fucking awesome? SPARE US.

As you all now know, Dierdre Keating is a fictional character. I have decided that despite that revelation, she must live on. Why? She rules, and the haters can suck her hog. She will, therefore, write Trent nutty letters of soul deep, true love and lust, and compose incisive photo essays, as before. At the same time, Dierdre's puppeteer (ME) will occasionally post in her own voice, which may not be all that different from "Dierdre's," but probably won't make quite as much reference to Trent's nuclear weapons grade hotness, or wax quite so lyrical on the topic of his scrumptious body hair. I've decided not to make the distinction between Dierdre and Dierdre any clearer than that, because I think schizo ambiguity is more fun. I hope you all agree.

I'd say "Rock on, Nuccas," but I think Maise might kill me, so...

Uh... yeah.


Posted by Dierdre ~ in inside_dierdre | Permalink | Comments (51) | TrackBack


[Trent_Reznor: The_Basil_Fawlty_of_Rock]

Basil3_2 Basiltrent3_2

[So it's my first time posting, and all of a sudden I turn into my mother and get all technophobic. Please excuse any Typepad snafus. Oh, and a huge thanks to Trent for his latest post, which makes this essay almost timely.]

I think it’s high time on WTC that we delve a little more deeply into a topic that we normally gloss over—Trent’s well-documented anger-management issues. Sure, many of his on- and off-stage implosions can be viewed as immature or unprofessional or perhaps as a sign of a deeper disturbance. But I think that I speak for many NIN fans when I say that there’s something quite endearing about his howling fits of rage or bitchy rants. As I once remarked to a good friend, “I love him even when he’s in the throes of a tantrum. He’s like a John Cleese character.” And then it struck me: Trent isn’t like just any old John Cleese character—he is the rock-and-roll version of THE John Cleese character, the permanently grouchy British hotelier in the single funniest sitcom that has ever been and will ever be made, Fawlty Towers.

For those of you who are perhaps not quite as obsessed with British comedy as I am, a brief history of Fawlty Towers. When the Pythons were filming on location in Torquay, England, they stayed at a hotel run by the rudest man they had ever encountered, and this experience inspired John Cleese and his then-wife, Connie Booth, to create 12 episodes of pure genius. Each episode of Fawlty Towers involves Basil Fawlty physically and verbally abusing his staff, exasperating his overbearing wife, being inexcusably rude to innocent guests and excusably rude to boorish guests, simultaneously being a class snob and a total cheapskate, inevitably being humiliated by hilariously improbable circumstances, and having at least one breakdown per episode. And if you’ve never seen the normally civilized-looking, 6’5” Cleese shouting “YOU BASTARD!!!” at the top of his lungs, well, you have never lived.

Now, Maise, you may be wondering, this is all very entertaining and informative, but what precisely does this have to do with Trent? Well, we all know that there are many, many facets of Trent, most of which we have chronicled and celebrated here. His charm, his wit, his sensitivity and perfectionism that he pours into his music, his commitment and fearlessness, his charity and altruism, his love for animals, his smoking hotness…but I maintain that there are more than a few facets that Trent shares with Basil. Also, I believe that despite these rather antisocial traits, both are beloved for them. At least by me.

Attitude towards the Hired Help

Disclaimer: yes, I know that it’s not funny or particularly nice to abuse people, but I should point out that since no one has actually died at the hands of either Basil or Trent (yet), we can look at these things in a slightly irreverent light for a moment.

Both Trent and Basil are notorious for their short fuses, and their employees tend to bear the brunt of their frustrations. Compare these clips, if you will.

Clip #1: Basil assaults Manuel, his hapless Spanish waiter.

Clip #2: Downward Spiral-era Trent assaults his band members.

Clip #3: And in case you were thinking, oh Trent has totally mellowed out now, check out his hilarious lunge at the roadie in the infamous (and recent) “Something’s gonna get BROKEN!” clip.

Bitchiness and Rudeness to the Deserving and Undeserving

There are far, far too many examples of both Basil Fawlty and Trent Reznor being ill-tempered and peevish to list here. Being rude is Basil Fawlty’s raison d’être, whereas being rude is probably only an occasional indulgence for Trent and mostly a consequence of everyone else not living up to Trent’s high standards. But here are a few of my favorite examples:

Basil, to disgruntled guests, in “Waldorf Salad”:
“This is typical…absolutely typical…of the kind of…ARSE I have to put up with from you people. You ponce in here expecting to be waited on hand and foot, well, I’m trying to run a hotel here. Have you any idea of how much there is to do? Do you ever think of that? Of course not, you’re all too busy sticking your noses in every corner, poking around for things to complain about, aren’t you. Well, let me tell you something—this is exactly how Nazi Germany started, you know. A lot of layabouts with nothing better to do than to cause trouble. Well, I’ve had fifteen years of pandering to please the likes of you, and I’ve had enough. I’ve had it. Come on, pack your bags and get out!”

Clip #4: Basil argues with his guests about a fire drill, during which he concludes, “We should just let you all burn.”

Clip #5: Basil takes on the equally rude Mrs. Richards.

Trent, on the Grammys:
“The Grammys make me hate music, and certainly everyone in the ass-licking music industry.”

Trent, on the Spiral:
“I've only read the first entry in this thread, and I've got to say this is the reason the internet and it's fucking message boards and all of this shit can be a waste of time…And while I'm at it... it really doesn't matter what gets done for you people - there's always someone bitching and bitching about one thing or another. Flame away, internet whiners.”

Trent, on former employees:
"Now I venture into commentary: Jerome continuously has to see himself as the victim in all circumstances. He lives in a world where he is always being wronged by someone or something. That could be me, that could be management, that could be his drum tech, that could be the girl who mistakenly washed his permanent press designer jeans, that could be the person that didn't cook his chicken properly before the show, or that could be the record label that wont give him tour support for his new band to play a show. On that topic, what in the hell do you need tour support for? You're a new band with no record sales yet... do what any new band does - practice in the garage, pack your shit in the car, play a goddamned show and quit whining about it. p.s. You look like an asshole in your picture."

A Slight Animosity towards Germans

In the episode, “The Germans,” Cleese parodies the lingering tensions in post-WWII Europe. In this episode, Fawlty Towers’ staff expect to receive some German guests. Sybil (Basil’s wife, who rules the roost) is in hospital, and Basil is in charge, which means that all hell is certain to break loose. Basil incurs a head injury, which renders him even less sensitive than normal, and despite his repeated cries of “Don’t mention the war!” to his staff, he manages to make the most un-PC ass of himself.

Clip #6: Basil offends some Germans in a way that I don’t personally recommend.

Unlike Cleese, Trent didn’t grow up during the Blitz, but when he was touring Germany with Guns N' Roses, he came under attack: “There's something about the sight of every single person flipping you off in a giant stadium that makes you go instantly numb. I started laughing, then insulted them with anything I could think of. At that moment I see this fucking link sausage come flying up onstage and I thought, okay, Germany, link sausage, you got us. So that was a penis shrinker.”

After an experience like that, apparently some hard feelings remain.

Trent, responding to an incoherent, angst-filled statement from a fan:
"Wow! I feel the same way. I thought it was due to having to spend summer in Germany.”

Oh, and let’s not forget… “Deutschland kann meinen Kugelsack lecken.” [sic]

But We Love Them Anyway

Now, it may appear that I’m busting Trent out for being short-tempered and bitchy and deutsch-o-phobic, but when I compare him to one of the very best of John Cleese’s characters, I am bestowing one of the highest compliments I can give. Although I certainly would not want to work for them, my love for Basil Fawlty and Trent Reznor courses through my very veins, and the older I get, the more I can appreciate those who do not hesitate to unleash their id now and again. At work we currently have a certain client, a demanding, sadistic woman who delights in making my coworkers and me absolutely miserable. I am utterly at her mercy multiple times a year, but it makes me smile to think of Trent letting out some primal scream and throwing a chair or Basil calling her “you scabby old bat.”

Plus, from an outsider’s point of view, an angry outburst can be exceedingly funny to watch. Just don’t be caught laughing at them mid-rant. People like that really hate it when you do that.

Posted by maise in maise_bites | Permalink | Comments (168) | TrackBack


[Call_&_Response_#_12: Whither_These_Chains?]

Well, kids, now that the proverbial cat's out of the bag, there's some question, here at WTC Headquarters, and by that I mean MY BRAIN, about where to take this website, so I was wondering: what do you think?

As has been noted, the satirical purpose of this site hit its peak a long time ago, and it has, since then, become more of an alternative to some of the more stultifyingly retarded and often ridiculously fascistic destinations on the NINternet, as well as a lovely little community of people who love the collected works of Trent Reznor, and aren't terribly worried about going ahead and being a little bit weird about it. I like that. I certainly wouldn't want us to get too sane around here.

So, my question is this: What would you miss most if it were gone? Do we still have takers for the book club? Knowing that Dierdre is a fictional character, would you still like to read an occasional distinctly off-kilter missive of tortured love addressed to notre amour? Do you have any ideas for things we need around here, but don't have? Would you be interested in making guest contributions on occasion?

In short, dear readers, whither these chains?  I await your thoughts with baited breath!

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (77) | TrackBack



This was in my WTC mailbag this morning (click on the thumbnail for a larger, more toothesome experience):


I have to say, I was really touched. Thanks, Emma. I'd just like to add that enumerating the many reasons why Trent deserves our love is Dierdre's raison d'etre, so I'm glad to hear that she's doing a good job.

Now, for another toothsome experience, I recommend this link. Very DENTAL, no?

Posted by Dierdre ~ in inside_dierdre | Permalink | Comments (40) | TrackBack


[Pictures_of_You_#_20: Hard_Evidence]

Well, it looks like there's proof of what Dierdre's been trying to say all along, and we can put all speculation on the subject to bed:

Trent Reznor really is "smokin' hot."



Good to finally have confirmation on that, isn't it?

Posted by Dierdre ~ in pictures_of_you | Permalink | Comments (32) | TrackBack


[Dear_Rob: QUIT_IT]

Dear Rob,

Just because Dierdre isn't real, don't think that I'm still not totally ready to take you outside and flog you. Here's what's on my mind today: the whole AXL ROSE thing that's been going on with the pictures posted to nin.com.

Now, I will readily admit that the last time I saw Axl Rose on a stage, I had to leave the room, because it was just too sad to see him not only go all Jacko freaky-style with the cornrows and orange tan, but also to demonstrate that he can no longer carry a tune. I agree that Guns 'n' Roses truly set the bar for how we can know that a rock band has completely jumped the shark that time they made the 45 minute music video with the full orchestra, an aircraft carrier, and Axl swimming with dolphins. That did totally suck. I also know there's the whole Robin Finck incident, and I suppose there must be something to the mythology of the vindictive tenor of Trent's spectacular break-ups with his former minions, but dude, please. STOP.

I mean, nothing tremendously negative has been "said" via your little photo-rigging in-joke, but Axl Rose used to be totally rock 'n' roll magic, and if you're going to post a picture of something as FUCKING AWESOME as Trent, on his knees, twiddling knobs for Saul Fucking Williams, is it really necessary to despoil it with some stupid photoshoppery involving Axl Rose? I mean, that whole Chinese Democracy business was kinda funny, I guess, in light of the sense in which NIN is totally not a democracy, sort of like, uh, China? But, maybe that isn't what you meant to say?

Just what ARE you trying to say, Rob? If you, or the bossman (and, frankly, I can't imagine that it's him photoshopping G'n'R mularkey into everything), have a point, then fucking make it already. If you don't, and this is all just a clever bid to generate retarded conspiracy speculation amongst the geniuses who frequent NIN message boards, then I am begging you to please STOP, because GOD KNOWS they don't need any help.

I'm sure you're sitting there at your laptop feeling totally chuffed with how fucking hilarious you are, Mr. Wizard, but please stop spluging frat juice all over pictures of my favorite artist at work. At best, it's boring; at worst, it makes Trent look petty. Seriously, give it a fucking rest.

Until next time,

Posted by Dierdre ~ in dear_rob | Permalink | Comments (39) | TrackBack


[The_Gothfather: Part_Three]

As I'm sure most of you already know, bauhaus is opening up for Nine Inch Nails on a leg of their new summer tour dates.

That fucking midget. Guess The Persona Formerly Known As Gabriel will be seeing you all in Irvine.


Posted by Gabriel in gabriel's_ponderings | Permalink | Comments (29) | TrackBack