Post by weareanarchy on Aug 29, 2016 20:56:37 GMT -5
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The videos I have used actually tie in to the story...at least, the first two do.
I look down at the Underground Title as it lies face up on the deck of the yacht like the gold and black eye of some idiot, unwinking moronic god. I smile, unzip my pants, remove my Johnson and proceed to give my new title the ‘respect’ that it deserves. When my bladder is empty, I look down at the metal and leather prize as it now lies in a puddle of urine. I sigh in disgust and kick the thing across the floor where it slides under a gate that is used for disembarking and hits the waves with a splash as it begins to sink in the night dark waters of the Gulf of Mexico. I giggle to myself at the despair the company and the fans are going to feel at the loss of such an important and historic title.
Insert sound of eyeroll here.
I head to the rear of the boat where Brother Maylock and the Jackdaw prepare for the next round of our game.
‘Now I know what you folks at home are thinking,’ I begin, ‘why are they on a late night pleasure cruise through shark-infested waters? That is a good question and when we asked it of the folks who own this boat their only response was to tell us to get off their boat. So, we have been entertaining ourselves from then on.
'
I hear screams from the water as I approach the rear of the boat. Ah, well I know it’s confusing what with the man-bun and all, but what I think is a man, (though it might, in fact, be a hipster millennial douchebag) is in the water wrists tied to the back of the boat. He is screaming and screeching though the rough chop of the waves slams him in the face from time to time causing him to sputter and cough instead. He kicks his feet angrily and with all his strength as he cries and wails.
‘Brother Maylock,’ I ask, ‘ how is this particular engine doing?’
Brother Maylock turns his craggy scarred face towards me with a smile. ‘Not so well, Lunacy, I believe he hasn’t managed to push us even one iota forward,’ he responds.
‘Well, we could perhaps turn on the engines,’ I suggest, ‘but I suspect he will be providing us some entertainment before we could get it done.’ I point behind him where a large dorsal fin has risen in the water behind the young screamer.
The young man sees it as well thrashing his legs harder and faster.
‘Please…,’ he begs, ‘Please let me up…PleeeeeeEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!’ This last word is apparently the result of the mouth of a Great White suddenly engulfing his legs, its massive teeth sinking into his stomach and spine like a drunk at Wendy’s mowing down some Chili-cheese fries. (I love that, by the way, chili cheese fries with a hot spicy chili, maybe some bacon pieces with some sharp cheddar over really piping hot salty fries…
)
Jackdaw taps my shoulder in an effort to get me to shut up about the God-Damn cheese fries and move on.
‘SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH, ‘ I shriek in his unspeaking face. Then I point at the remains of the young man hanging from the back of the boat.
‘Jackdaw, Maylock, dispose of that, let’s get the next one in place,’ I say. They begin to get the next one ready as I turn towards the cabin. I grab the ladder, climb to the top and take a seat in the Captain’s chair as I turn to face the camera. There is a loud splash from the rear of the boat.
‘PCW. It’s time we had a bit of a chat. You see, I know that most of you are little better than chimpanzees and your wit is a hindrance and you actually understanding the words coming out of my mouth is a bit much for me to hope for. However, I thought at least PCW management understood me. I thought that they got my purpose. My fault, I suppose. I did, after all, describe myself as a villain which for the majority of the PCW faithful means a chest-pounding thug who sets out to get one title or another by any means necessary.’
I pause to lift the bottom of my mask long enough to issue a raspberry. I pull the mask back down. (A raspberry, you cretins, is when someone sticks their tongue out and makes the ‘fart noise’ at the same time. Jesus, you are simpletons!)
‘Do you know the difference between heroes and villains? Any of you? I’ll wait.’
The image switches to several dozen PCW fans in an arena booing. Meanwhile the ‘Theme to Jeapordy’ plays. When the song ends, the point-of-view switches back to me in the Captain’s chair. I grab the armrests and almost leap to my feet.
‘It’s perspective, you morons! The difference between heroes and villains is God Damn perspective! Hitler is the worst villain in the world, EXCEPT to the German people who, following their defeat in World War I were broke and had lost almost any sense of national pride or spirit…and then Hitler shows up, tells them all that they are the proud descendants of the Aryan race, that it’s the dirty Jews’ fault that their lives are horrible and it’s time to live up to their potential once more. To the people of THAT Germany…Hitler was a hero.’
I put my hand up to one side of my mouth, look both ways and whisper.
‘Sound familiar, Trump supporters?’
I put my hand back down.
‘The same applies to most of your heroes. Barrack Obama is a hero, the first black President campaigning for health care for the common man. That’s heroic…UNLESS you happen to believe that blacks are inferior and have a lot of working capital tied up in the medical industry. Then Barry O is an over-reaching ape who threatens your way of life.’
Once more, I place my hand beside my mouth.
‘I stole that from Trump’s speech writer. True story.’
Once more I let my hand fall.
‘Yes, I have no doubt that most of you see me as a villain. After all, we use group tactics, we beat down opponents following matches and we do whatever we want. Clearly these are the traits of a villain. But to a certain few of you…we prove that you don’t have to caper and dance to a tune set by the upper 1%. To a certain few of you, we are tireless rebels tilting against the status quo to try to prove a point. To a certain few of you, we are proof that even the disenfranchised have a purpose. To a certain few of you we are the heroes. ‘
‘For the rest of you…and for PCW management…we consider ourselves to be at WAR! Come September 8th, we respond to the first shots fired against us and to your pathetic little attempt at a bribe. Titles? I would rather be murdered live on national television! Your titles are meaningless. Supposedly they prove who the best is but that is so much BULLSHIT! What they prove is whoever management thinks is marketable! You saw what happened to the Underground title…give us another and we will do that or WORSE!!! WE ARE ANARCHY! For those of you who STILL don’t know what we want, the answer is simple…we want to BURN PCW to the ground! First, though, we want to strip the masks off of your heroes! We want you to see them as the money-grubbing, self-serving monsters that they are! We want to poke holes in everything PCW so you begin to understand that this place has always been a corrupt pile of filth…just you refused to acknowledge the stench of corruption! We CANNOT be bought! We CANNOT be reasoned with and when it is all said and done PCW will be nothing but ashes. And those will get the same treatment the Underground title did!
The time has come! Our time is at hand! You have two choices…stand and fall…or walk beside us. Make your choice. As for you, High Tide, I really don't worry at all about you. You can show up or not. Either way, you are a minnow walking into the mouth of a Helicoprion. (It's an extinct fish...READ A BOOK!) I look forward to making you bleed!'
With that I spin around and leap from the cabin to the ground below. Jackdaw and Maylock have just finished tying the next former crew member to the back of the boat. She is blonde with a long ponytail. Her nails are chipped and broken and she appears to be covered in dozens of cuts. She screams as she kicks, flailing her legs as she attempts to push the boat in the night dark water. Brother Maylock is humming the theme from Jaws as the Jackdaw stands stoically and watches. I share some time with my comrades before I nudge Mark. He gets a can of gasoline from the cabin and begins to douse the boat. Jackdaw hands me a piece of fabric and I take it back up to the pilot’s wheel. I attach it to a flagpole and run it up so it flaps in the breeze. The flag says ‘PCW’ although the word ‘FUCK’ has been embroidered over it in bright red thread. I climb in a dinghy (a dinghy is a kind of boat, you brainless buffoons) and am joined by Maylock and Jackdaw. Maylock begins to row us away from the yacht and once we are about twenty feet away, I stand up and spread my arms. A fireball seems to fall from out of the blue and the deck of the yacht ignites. Mark begins to row us away as I begin to sing an old sea shanty.
I look down at the Underground Title as it lies face up on the deck of the yacht like the gold and black eye of some idiot, unwinking moronic god. I smile, unzip my pants, remove my Johnson and proceed to give my new title the ‘respect’ that it deserves. When my bladder is empty, I look down at the metal and leather prize as it now lies in a puddle of urine. I sigh in disgust and kick the thing across the floor where it slides under a gate that is used for disembarking and hits the waves with a splash as it begins to sink in the night dark waters of the Gulf of Mexico. I giggle to myself at the despair the company and the fans are going to feel at the loss of such an important and historic title.
Insert sound of eyeroll here.
I head to the rear of the boat where Brother Maylock and the Jackdaw prepare for the next round of our game.
‘Now I know what you folks at home are thinking,’ I begin, ‘why are they on a late night pleasure cruise through shark-infested waters? That is a good question and when we asked it of the folks who own this boat their only response was to tell us to get off their boat. So, we have been entertaining ourselves from then on.
'
I hear screams from the water as I approach the rear of the boat. Ah, well I know it’s confusing what with the man-bun and all, but what I think is a man, (though it might, in fact, be a hipster millennial douchebag) is in the water wrists tied to the back of the boat. He is screaming and screeching though the rough chop of the waves slams him in the face from time to time causing him to sputter and cough instead. He kicks his feet angrily and with all his strength as he cries and wails.
‘Brother Maylock,’ I ask, ‘ how is this particular engine doing?’
Brother Maylock turns his craggy scarred face towards me with a smile. ‘Not so well, Lunacy, I believe he hasn’t managed to push us even one iota forward,’ he responds.
‘Well, we could perhaps turn on the engines,’ I suggest, ‘but I suspect he will be providing us some entertainment before we could get it done.’ I point behind him where a large dorsal fin has risen in the water behind the young screamer.
The young man sees it as well thrashing his legs harder and faster.
‘Please…,’ he begs, ‘Please let me up…PleeeeeeEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!’ This last word is apparently the result of the mouth of a Great White suddenly engulfing his legs, its massive teeth sinking into his stomach and spine like a drunk at Wendy’s mowing down some Chili-cheese fries. (I love that, by the way, chili cheese fries with a hot spicy chili, maybe some bacon pieces with some sharp cheddar over really piping hot salty fries…
)
Jackdaw taps my shoulder in an effort to get me to shut up about the God-Damn cheese fries and move on.
‘SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH, ‘ I shriek in his unspeaking face. Then I point at the remains of the young man hanging from the back of the boat.
‘Jackdaw, Maylock, dispose of that, let’s get the next one in place,’ I say. They begin to get the next one ready as I turn towards the cabin. I grab the ladder, climb to the top and take a seat in the Captain’s chair as I turn to face the camera. There is a loud splash from the rear of the boat.
‘PCW. It’s time we had a bit of a chat. You see, I know that most of you are little better than chimpanzees and your wit is a hindrance and you actually understanding the words coming out of my mouth is a bit much for me to hope for. However, I thought at least PCW management understood me. I thought that they got my purpose. My fault, I suppose. I did, after all, describe myself as a villain which for the majority of the PCW faithful means a chest-pounding thug who sets out to get one title or another by any means necessary.’
I pause to lift the bottom of my mask long enough to issue a raspberry. I pull the mask back down. (A raspberry, you cretins, is when someone sticks their tongue out and makes the ‘fart noise’ at the same time. Jesus, you are simpletons!)
‘Do you know the difference between heroes and villains? Any of you? I’ll wait.’
‘It’s perspective, you morons! The difference between heroes and villains is God Damn perspective! Hitler is the worst villain in the world, EXCEPT to the German people who, following their defeat in World War I were broke and had lost almost any sense of national pride or spirit…and then Hitler shows up, tells them all that they are the proud descendants of the Aryan race, that it’s the dirty Jews’ fault that their lives are horrible and it’s time to live up to their potential once more. To the people of THAT Germany…Hitler was a hero.’
I put my hand up to one side of my mouth, look both ways and whisper.
‘Sound familiar, Trump supporters?’
I put my hand back down.
‘The same applies to most of your heroes. Barrack Obama is a hero, the first black President campaigning for health care for the common man. That’s heroic…UNLESS you happen to believe that blacks are inferior and have a lot of working capital tied up in the medical industry. Then Barry O is an over-reaching ape who threatens your way of life.’
Once more, I place my hand beside my mouth.
‘I stole that from Trump’s speech writer. True story.’
Once more I let my hand fall.
‘Yes, I have no doubt that most of you see me as a villain. After all, we use group tactics, we beat down opponents following matches and we do whatever we want. Clearly these are the traits of a villain. But to a certain few of you…we prove that you don’t have to caper and dance to a tune set by the upper 1%. To a certain few of you, we are tireless rebels tilting against the status quo to try to prove a point. To a certain few of you, we are proof that even the disenfranchised have a purpose. To a certain few of you we are the heroes. ‘
‘For the rest of you…and for PCW management…we consider ourselves to be at WAR! Come September 8th, we respond to the first shots fired against us and to your pathetic little attempt at a bribe. Titles? I would rather be murdered live on national television! Your titles are meaningless. Supposedly they prove who the best is but that is so much BULLSHIT! What they prove is whoever management thinks is marketable! You saw what happened to the Underground title…give us another and we will do that or WORSE!!! WE ARE ANARCHY! For those of you who STILL don’t know what we want, the answer is simple…we want to BURN PCW to the ground! First, though, we want to strip the masks off of your heroes! We want you to see them as the money-grubbing, self-serving monsters that they are! We want to poke holes in everything PCW so you begin to understand that this place has always been a corrupt pile of filth…just you refused to acknowledge the stench of corruption! We CANNOT be bought! We CANNOT be reasoned with and when it is all said and done PCW will be nothing but ashes. And those will get the same treatment the Underground title did!
The time has come! Our time is at hand! You have two choices…stand and fall…or walk beside us. Make your choice. As for you, High Tide, I really don't worry at all about you. You can show up or not. Either way, you are a minnow walking into the mouth of a Helicoprion. (It's an extinct fish...READ A BOOK!) I look forward to making you bleed!'
With that I spin around and leap from the cabin to the ground below. Jackdaw and Maylock have just finished tying the next former crew member to the back of the boat. She is blonde with a long ponytail. Her nails are chipped and broken and she appears to be covered in dozens of cuts. She screams as she kicks, flailing her legs as she attempts to push the boat in the night dark water. Brother Maylock is humming the theme from Jaws as the Jackdaw stands stoically and watches. I share some time with my comrades before I nudge Mark. He gets a can of gasoline from the cabin and begins to douse the boat. Jackdaw hands me a piece of fabric and I take it back up to the pilot’s wheel. I attach it to a flagpole and run it up so it flaps in the breeze. The flag says ‘PCW’ although the word ‘FUCK’ has been embroidered over it in bright red thread. I climb in a dinghy (a dinghy is a kind of boat, you brainless buffoons) and am joined by Maylock and Jackdaw. Maylock begins to row us away from the yacht and once we are about twenty feet away, I stand up and spread my arms. A fireball seems to fall from out of the blue and the deck of the yacht ignites. Mark begins to row us away as I begin to sing an old sea shanty.