Name: Darion Conwell
Position: Writer, Web-master, Minaj Hater
Email: darionconwell@gmail.com
Darion is the name my father gave me. If I had it my way, I’d probably have been named Murderous Maximus or something powerful like that. Alas, that is not the case. I have a passion for writing and drawing web comics. On my free time I enjoy reading hate mail, screaming at my television, and hitting a couple of golf balls at the driving range.
I enjoy all kinds of music, in fact the only genre I truly dislike is Country (excluding Johnny Cash and older country musicians that blurred the lines between Country and Old Rock n’ Roll). My main music interests are Punk and the incredibly vague genre of “Alternative Rock” though in recent years I have taken to listening to more Pop and Hip-Hop music. My contributions to this music blog will usually be written with humor, sarcasm, and a pinch of bitchiness.
As for my background? Well, pull up a seat and open your imaginations; because the only proper way to tell this tale is round a roaring fire fueled by the charred bodies of your enemy’s children. I was sired long ago in the drowning northwest by a lost warrior and a cosmic wolf spirit. I was only an infant when the wolves came.
Some say it was a miracle, some say it was fate. When the white wolf of Asingre came to my crib, it saw my eyes and ran. Years later when I was still a mere child, I ventured into the forest to find the white wolf and avenge my people. A child of seven on his own. Aided only by the whispers of his ancestors and a shiny dagger hastily purchased from a shady old drifter. I hadn’t been in the forest for long when the howling started.
The wolves sensed a presence in their domain.  A human child.
Before I knew it, I was surrounded by the beasts. They howled and snarled as they circled me. I was not deterred. I screamed at them in my native tongue, I spoke the words of the ancients and demanded parliament with their leader. The wolves looked at me, the look of  dumb animals. They were about to strike when a voice rose above the trees, sending the ravens to flight.
“Let me see the boy” said the raspy voice.
This was the white wolf of Asingre. He looked into my yes with a knowing stare. At that moment, my eyes emitted a purple beam of  light and the wolves gasped (as they often do).
“The child is born of a wolf spirit”  said the white wolf  “He is kin”
“I am not your kin”, I said in disgust. As the words left my mouth I threw my dagger in the air, and froze it there with cosmic energy. As the beasts stared at this sight, I dove at the white wolf and together we toppled over a cliff and into the misty void of the whispering chasm. We fell for eleven years, fighting as we descended.
It only took me one year to bite a hole in his throat. By the second year I had crawled into his gaping wound. The world around us was cracking and shifting. Where we fell was a place outside of time and space. Strange energy probed us and changed us into something else.
We thought we would hit the bottom, but instead when the eleven years were up we felt an abrupt stop. We saw light, and felt warmth. I woke up in this land. No sign of the white wolf, or the lands I call home.
Now I write articles for a music blog, but sometimes I hear the voice of the white wolf in my sleep. He growls to me
and in his choking words I hear but one message:
“Nicki Minaj is not talented”
  1. […] is this?Behind the blogAndrewDarionKarliLeahNeffGuest WritersHow we can […]

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