Hello, Cincinnati! We are Feast of Death! Are you ready to rock? I repeat: Are you ready for some of the most vile, blood-drenched, brain-rattling metal ever?

Oh, you are? Fantastic.

I hope you all enjoyed the last performer, Satanic Christmas, fronted by my former graduate-school colleague, Steven. Wasn’t he a marvel, ladies and gentlemen? Frankly, if I may be frank for a moment—BEFORE MELTING YOUR FACES WITH THE ANGRIEST SHREDDING THIS SIDE OF HELL—how divine does Steven look in those pants! What would you call them? Jodhpurs? A round of applause for Steven, a man whose poise in a pair of jodhpurs is unmatched in our profession.

In a moment, I WILL SEND YOU ALL SPIRALING INTO THE DEPTHS OF SATAN’S KINGDOM. But before I do so I’d like to share with you a few reflections on the time I’ve spent in this wonderful city, Cincinnati, Ohio, where I was born and raised. This starlit spring night reminds me, you see, of the greatest love affair of my life, which took place right here in the spring of ‘04. Birds in trees, making love (tweet, tweet). Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, “More Than Words” (the Rockapella version), warm breezy afternoons in the country, double-chocolate-chip ice cream, mutual masturbation (because we didn’t want to rush things), trips up to Lake Michigan, blowing all my cell-phone minutes, and the secret nicknames we had for one another, like Snugglepoop. What memories!

“Snugglepoop, I’M ABOUT TO SEND YOU SPIRALING INTO THE DEPTHS OF SATAN’S KINGDOM,” I would say to her, as we spooned together in the grass. She would giggle.

I know what many of you must be thinking—that I’m a troubadour and a Satanist, that I’m not built for love. But the fact of the matter is that no matter how many women you meet on tour, no matter how many sexually ambiguous glam rockers you explore your own sexuality with, we all, ultimately, want someone to come home to. Behind all this makeup is a passionate, pimply twentysomething. A boy who owns Garden State on DVD and desperately wishes he had a special lady with whom he could curl up on the couch and watch it—a lover with whom he could explore THE CANYONS OF HELL and the glorious hilltops of heaven.

Look, I don’t love my job. It’s a job. It pays the bills. I could walk away from all this—I could walk away from Steven—and it wouldn’t kill me. But to live without true love, ladies and gentlemen, is TO LIVE IN THE DEEPEST DEPTHS OF HELL, WHERE FIRE MELTS YOUR SKIN AND YOUR BLOOD BOILS!

Oh. My. God. How could I have been so foolish all these years? I can’t do this anymore. Snugglepoop, I’m coming for you!