It was a cold and rainy day when I met the zealot.

Aye, t’was the fall of 1346, and I, but a simple but excellent blacksmith, were making my pilgrimage to the market, so I could sell my newer swords and farm tools. My chisels are the envy of scores of better-trained blacksmiths, but ones with less talent than I.

But on the way there, standing authoritatively in a patch of mud by the streets, I saw a monk. He was very short, and seemed to have been outside for a while, as evinced by the rain that had completely soaked his thin brown robe. He seemed to be catching his breath.

When I had stopped to look at him, his head swung up and stared me straight in the eye. His blue eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

“I have seen it.” He croaked feebly, groping in the empty air around him, as if searching for something to hold on to. Being the kind man that I am, I walked over to him and supported him.

“What did you see, my good monk? Mayhaps you shall want me to take you to the monastery?”

The monk seemed to awaken from a dream. “No! There they threw me out, because they didn’t believe me- they think me mad with delirium! Hoo! I shall show them who is mad! When the prophecies made by myself have come true… six-hundred-fifty-nine years from now is when this evil shalt be unleashed ‘pon the unprepared world to smash the fiercely guarded firmaments and archival clandestine pillars of reason, of goodness, of factuality and nay, the fabled pillar of SENSE ITSELF! Our mother Church would alone withstand an attack from this entity!”

I now believed that this monk was indeed mad. “Praytell, good monk, what did you forsee?”

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, showcasing the whites of those sight globules. He moaned, as if in pain. “It is known as… Totally Fucking Gay… With Friends Like These Who Needs Enemas, and its evil is unparalleled by even the most rapacious knights who dare to call themselves chivalrous! Forsooth, thou shalt all see! It masquerades as a thing other than what it is, pretending to be ‘grind’ when it is truly merely an offshoot of electronica! Forthwith, what is grind but an experiment in minimalism that pummels the mind? But here, nay, there is but ridiculous humor and idiotic spoken-word vocals that evoke a man I met in the future by the name of William Shatner!” He screeched this in a resounding, echoing voice. I was steadily backing away from the demonic man.

“And now, even now,” he continued, getting his breath back and grinning manically. Spittle shone on his lips. “People here know nothing of its nonsensical, directionless musical inanity! Stay away from it! Stay away!”

It was there that I left the mad monk, cursing the sky and air for bringing forth from the world the scourge apparently known as Totally Fucking Gay.