It arrived today. The package deceptively plain, like the kind delivered to your door when you don’t want the neighbors to know your taste in inflatable fauna with realistic orifices. Just a plain, brown box with my name on the label and a bar code. I ripped open the packaging and removed the object of my own secret infatuation—my Lateralus blanket, complete with a flayed man exhibiting all the symptoms of transcendent apotheosis. From his palms, the chakras spat forth chromatic flame whose light penetrated all things, whose power could not be measured. Meanwhile, from the center of the hapless victim’s head, the spiral force of the Kundalini, and about him a nimbus of the same eldritch cosmic power. Surely this was a martyr. My heart raced as I took it outside and gently unfurled it on the ground. A charcuterie platter and growler of IPA—sacraments to complete the altar—and I initiated my communion. Now, the brothers of the A,’. A.’. Know that to each of them is attached some lesser demon to distract them from the great work. So when the boy with the basketball ambled through my yard, I should’ve known my picnic was beset upon by denizens of the Dark Brotherhood. The demon walked past me, his nearly hairless legs shining white in the Alabama sun. “Tool? That’s dad music. You’re old.” Inflamed with the lust of desire to see this miscreant punished, I sent forth a missile of holy righteousness to banish the monster to the lowest depths of Hell that had spawned it. My growler met the foul beast’s head with a resounding yet sloshy P’TANG! “I’m telling my mom!” The ancient curse known since preschool echoed across the hillside. When the police arrived, the man on the blanket did nothing. Even as I barked command after command in the names of EL, ELION, YHWH, ON, ADONAI, and SADDAI, the icon refused to assist me as the forces of evil took me to jail. Four out of five stars because the dude really should’ve helped me fight the cops, man. Do better, Tool.