And further convince me that we’ve tapped into something that’s not only seriously funny but hilariously serious:

It seems almost banal for me to say — as if it’s news to anyone — that there’s something of a tendency for put-upon geeks to revel in revenge fantasies of intricate detail, imagining sublime immolations and sledgehammers upon skulls . . .

But that’s not infernokrusher, to my mind; infernokrusher doesn’t give a shit about such petty rationales as revenge. Infernokrusher takes that little posturing puerile ego in its black trenchcoat out behind the bike sheds, gives him a cigarette and says, settle down, pumpkin. It’s no fun blowing stuff up if you do it out of anger.

No. Infernokrusher finds that sorta psychological self-abusing and self-excusing wish-fulfillment wank just . . . well, dull.

— Hal Duncan, “Why Do I Infernokrush?”

(H)al, I think you’ve just posted either the introduction to, or the lead-off essay for, the first issue of Burn Ward: Dispatches from the Infernokrusher Frontier.