Sidenote: I wrote this a while back, after a few drinks. I’ve thought about editing it a million times but fuck it, it makes me laugh. You’ve been warned. And if by some fucking chance FOTL are reading this….dudes, I will make this into a music video if necessary.

The year, 2010. Kevin Lyman become weary of making the Warped Tour more and more irrelevant every year. He decided one night that he wanted to create the SATAN RULES TOUR 2010. He adds all of the greatest bands of this generation onto the bill. Bands like The Devil Wears Prada, Millionaires, ICP, Brokencyde (in fact, all scremo-crunk acts are there), Trivium, 3OH3; oh fuck, you get the picture already! It sounded fabulous and tickets were only a dirt cheap $97 (before service charges, of course).

Keep reading after the jump (if you dare).

Flash forward to the first day of the tour. Everything is going according to plan. The bands have plenty of eyeliner. The rules are simple and established. Everyone must wear t-shirts where it looks like the paint is having a fucking orgy with a lava lamp. Swooshy hair is a must. If you have less than 45,000 plays on Myspace that day, you do not play on any of the stages and you must rub All Time Low’s feet (among other things) for the remainder of the day.

In the middle of the day, a mysterious chest arrived at the festival grounds. Nobody knew how it got there. The bands were all intrigued by its mystery. No post markings of any kind were found.

“Yo Bitches! We gotsa open dis chest right nah,” Brokencyde screamed.

“I’ve communicated with Jesus Christ and he said that he’s tired of moshing and he wants to see what is in this god damn chest,” Family Force 5 stated.

Just then, the chest slowly opened. Everybody at the festival became eerily quiet, waiting to see what wonders the box holds.

Throbbing bass oozes out. A bright white light. It gets louder, louder, LOUDER.

God damn it, it’s going to rain. I only brought my socks. The night might hide my shame. But she won’t dry my balls.

“WOWAAAA! Maybe the Book of Satan is in there. SATAN RULES! ” Trivium proclaimed.

“(giggle) Maybe there is like Cristal in there. Or, like, Coke. (giggle) Or, like, boys. (giggle),” Millionaires added.

No auto-tune is heard. The bands were puzzled.

Hollywood Undead breakdanced.

“Yo, lets get fucking freaky now with dis box yo!” Brokencyde shouted.

“ARE THERE HOOKERS IN THERE?!?UP THE PUNX!” Lars Fredrickson screamed.

“Fuck you you old vagina, we’re punk! Move it or lose it pops,” Gallows said as pushing all of them to the side.

The spell that brought me here, dissipated when the weather turned. Yeah sure, Satan rules, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be practical.

Just then, the clouds start to turn red. Blood fucking red. A force starts to take over all the bands. Nobody can move. They are all transfixed by this wonderful, yet, incredibly angry noise coming from the mysterious box. Then, simply put…. shit got crazy.

What kind of orgy leaves a deeper sense of love?!?

No words were spoken. The bands knew that their crimes against music would now be paid for. Resistence was futile.

YOU NEED SATAN MORE THAN HE NEEDS YOU

The white light engulfed all the bands. Faces were melting. A maniacal laugh grew louder as it grabbed all the bands and threw them into the box. The chest vanished into thin air. The sky turned back to a beatiful baby blue.

With all the confusion and destruction, only one thin was clear; Future of the Left had saved rock and roll from the forces of evil.