Post by "The Asshole" Whitey Ford on Apr 24, 2017 12:14:26 GMT -5
They are all just spokes in the wheel.
"What wheel, you might ask? The wheel of power, which is always spinning even if it isn't neccessarily moving anywhere. People everywhere are represented as spokes in that wheel, always trying to stop on top. Inevitably, a stronger spoke comes after you though, and while you might be able to start from square one and continue on to be on top once more, the wheel will turn again and just like that your brief time away from the ground is over.
Then why try? Succeeding where many have succeeded before is an easy task, not one to boast about, especially when it's widely known that your time to shine will only give you a glimpse of...well, whatever it is you desire. Whatever drives you to work as a spoke and turn the wheel. This is quite possibly the best explanation of a 'vicious cycle.' I'll tell you what, I'm done being part of the wheel in general.
But what purpose does a spoke serve, if not to hold together a wheel? It doesn't. It doesn't serve a single fucking purpose, but that's the beauty of it. If there is no wheel and there are no spokes, then it's possible to succeed at what you want to achieve, and to make it a mainstay; make it PERMANENT, because without the fucking wheel you can't be rolled over and all your stupid effort is never made for nothing. Spokes could fight to the death, and if that spoke died or fell over or whatever, that's that. One less spoke to try and stop you from succeeding.
I guess if I'm not in a wheel anymore I can't keep referring myself to a spoke. I'm a person. I'm a human being!"
The air was humming around him magically, or at least it seemed to be. The white fur around his face muffled every sound, but he couldn't hear voices responding to his brilliant epiphany. Then one familiar voice chimed in, not from behind him or to his sides, but from ALL AROUND HIM. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, dude." The voice was friendly and deep and comforting, and it made him think of being safe, and also think why people call chicken nuggets by that name, but they don't call steak tips cow bites.
"I'm talking about Sermine...Sarah-mine...Seromine. Whatever. That dude, with the religion and the power to change people's names and talk spooky language. If I keep being part of the wheel, man, then I'll only be the wheelman to whatever he wants! I need to break free of the circle and the rotation and do things my way! This week is my last part of being the wheel. I don't want to fight Nathan. Nathan doesn't want to fight me. He wants to fight Seromine! I want to fight Sermonine! Why can't we BOTH just fight Serondime!?" Whitey asked incredulously, as he reached his paw into the magical basket of goodies he found on a shelf somewhere and traded some urchin a few pieces of green paper for. He withdrew a sculpture, a work of art, wrapped in beautifully painted shiny tin paper stuff, and set it next to a mundane looking bag of potato chips. "Doesn't that look better? I'm making the world SOOOO pretty."
A flash of light caught his attention, and he was instantly caught up staring into a magical box in front of a counter, promoting what appeared to be cuisine-style mozzeralla sticks for only ninety nine cents each. "I bet if I bought Nathan some mozzeralla sticks, he'd agree! I'll even give him one of these wonderful bunny sculptures. I think he likes rabbits. I don't know. I don't know much about anything..." Whitey's words trailed off, and his eyes wandered to a brightly lit machine in the corner of the building. It seemed to Ford that he was floating, and before long he had levitated in front of the machine. Pressing one of the brightly colored squares on the front of the machine made him squeal with excitement. Green ooze, cold to the touch and sticky enough to make the fur on his paws feel funny, shot out and went into a tiny floor cage, too tiny for any man he had ever seen to stand on.
He produced a pink egg from his magic basket then, setting it on the cage, and pressing as many buttons as he could. Soon, the egg was covered in multi-covered layers of multi-colored ooze, and Whitey clapped his paws together excitedly. "That makes me happy. That's pretty."
"Don't mind him, dude. He took a few hits of acid and rented an easter bunny costume and bought some eggs. I think he's working some things out." It was Bob's voice! Good old Bob, he always knew what was going on. Turning away from the slushie machine and taking a few steps towards him with his arms outstretched, Whitey frowned as Bob refused his offer for a bro-hug. "Don't touch me, dude, you're too sticky. We should leave the 7-11 now, people are starting to worry about their safety."
"SAFETY!?!" Whitey was incredulous, and held his arms high over his head, dropping a few easter eggs from the basket in his zeal. "I am a creature of peace! I AM A BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL CREATURE OF PEACE AND I PROTECT PEOPLE, I don't hurt them! Well, I hurt people all the time, just not today! And I only protect people when i want...honeslty, if I'm grumpy I might be a mean creature and bite you with my rabbit teeth. But just like Saniti is under my protection at Trauma, everyone in this store is under my protection right now! From Seromine, from the cops, from Donald Trump, from chemtrails, from public bathrooms and old cigarrette butts, from untied shoes and stale chips and--"
"Whitey!" Bob said forcefully, but still in a nice voice. He's such a good friend. Whitey thought. "You do know that you have to fight Nathan at Trauma, right?"
"Well, duh. I wrestle. I'm a pro wrestler, and I wrestler people for a living. But even though I'm on drugs, I know that this match isn't meant to pit us against each other to fight, it's about getting us in the same ring for Seromine to try and attack. And I'll be ready! Nobody is going to hurt Nathan Saniti but me, especially Seromine!"
A gentle tug came at the paw of his costume, and Whitey looked down confused only to see a small boy looking up at him hopefully. "Mister, can I have an easter egg?" The boy asked meekly with a smile. Without a moments hesitation, Whitey began thumping his foot against the linoleum floor, something he learned from the history channel that rabbits did when they were angry. The boy instantly took a step back.
"THESE are NOT easTER egGS!" Ford spat back, cradling the basket to his chest. "These are mine and they are for giving away, not for asking for-sies. Plus, I misplaced some LSD in here somewhere and I don't think you're ready...and...and..." His shoulder was firmly grabbed by his friend Bob King then. "Ready for that hug, Bob?" Instead of a hug, Whitey found himself being pushed towards the door. He didn't fight the movement, it felt good to be moved instead of having to put in effort to move himself. All he did was crane his head over his shoulder, to shout at the poor boy. "AND JESUS ISN'T REAL AND I'M NOT A REAL RABBIT AND THIS PLACE SUCKS! Where are we going, Bob?"
Out the door and into the waiting limo, that's where. Away from the general public, the safest place for him to be.
[/i]
"What wheel, you might ask? The wheel of power, which is always spinning even if it isn't neccessarily moving anywhere. People everywhere are represented as spokes in that wheel, always trying to stop on top. Inevitably, a stronger spoke comes after you though, and while you might be able to start from square one and continue on to be on top once more, the wheel will turn again and just like that your brief time away from the ground is over.
Then why try? Succeeding where many have succeeded before is an easy task, not one to boast about, especially when it's widely known that your time to shine will only give you a glimpse of...well, whatever it is you desire. Whatever drives you to work as a spoke and turn the wheel. This is quite possibly the best explanation of a 'vicious cycle.' I'll tell you what, I'm done being part of the wheel in general.
But what purpose does a spoke serve, if not to hold together a wheel? It doesn't. It doesn't serve a single fucking purpose, but that's the beauty of it. If there is no wheel and there are no spokes, then it's possible to succeed at what you want to achieve, and to make it a mainstay; make it PERMANENT, because without the fucking wheel you can't be rolled over and all your stupid effort is never made for nothing. Spokes could fight to the death, and if that spoke died or fell over or whatever, that's that. One less spoke to try and stop you from succeeding.
I guess if I'm not in a wheel anymore I can't keep referring myself to a spoke. I'm a person. I'm a human being!"
The air was humming around him magically, or at least it seemed to be. The white fur around his face muffled every sound, but he couldn't hear voices responding to his brilliant epiphany. Then one familiar voice chimed in, not from behind him or to his sides, but from ALL AROUND HIM. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, dude." The voice was friendly and deep and comforting, and it made him think of being safe, and also think why people call chicken nuggets by that name, but they don't call steak tips cow bites.
"I'm talking about Sermine...Sarah-mine...Seromine. Whatever. That dude, with the religion and the power to change people's names and talk spooky language. If I keep being part of the wheel, man, then I'll only be the wheelman to whatever he wants! I need to break free of the circle and the rotation and do things my way! This week is my last part of being the wheel. I don't want to fight Nathan. Nathan doesn't want to fight me. He wants to fight Seromine! I want to fight Sermonine! Why can't we BOTH just fight Serondime!?" Whitey asked incredulously, as he reached his paw into the magical basket of goodies he found on a shelf somewhere and traded some urchin a few pieces of green paper for. He withdrew a sculpture, a work of art, wrapped in beautifully painted shiny tin paper stuff, and set it next to a mundane looking bag of potato chips. "Doesn't that look better? I'm making the world SOOOO pretty."
A flash of light caught his attention, and he was instantly caught up staring into a magical box in front of a counter, promoting what appeared to be cuisine-style mozzeralla sticks for only ninety nine cents each. "I bet if I bought Nathan some mozzeralla sticks, he'd agree! I'll even give him one of these wonderful bunny sculptures. I think he likes rabbits. I don't know. I don't know much about anything..." Whitey's words trailed off, and his eyes wandered to a brightly lit machine in the corner of the building. It seemed to Ford that he was floating, and before long he had levitated in front of the machine. Pressing one of the brightly colored squares on the front of the machine made him squeal with excitement. Green ooze, cold to the touch and sticky enough to make the fur on his paws feel funny, shot out and went into a tiny floor cage, too tiny for any man he had ever seen to stand on.
He produced a pink egg from his magic basket then, setting it on the cage, and pressing as many buttons as he could. Soon, the egg was covered in multi-covered layers of multi-colored ooze, and Whitey clapped his paws together excitedly. "That makes me happy. That's pretty."
"Don't mind him, dude. He took a few hits of acid and rented an easter bunny costume and bought some eggs. I think he's working some things out." It was Bob's voice! Good old Bob, he always knew what was going on. Turning away from the slushie machine and taking a few steps towards him with his arms outstretched, Whitey frowned as Bob refused his offer for a bro-hug. "Don't touch me, dude, you're too sticky. We should leave the 7-11 now, people are starting to worry about their safety."
"SAFETY!?!" Whitey was incredulous, and held his arms high over his head, dropping a few easter eggs from the basket in his zeal. "I am a creature of peace! I AM A BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL CREATURE OF PEACE AND I PROTECT PEOPLE, I don't hurt them! Well, I hurt people all the time, just not today! And I only protect people when i want...honeslty, if I'm grumpy I might be a mean creature and bite you with my rabbit teeth. But just like Saniti is under my protection at Trauma, everyone in this store is under my protection right now! From Seromine, from the cops, from Donald Trump, from chemtrails, from public bathrooms and old cigarrette butts, from untied shoes and stale chips and--"
"Whitey!" Bob said forcefully, but still in a nice voice. He's such a good friend. Whitey thought. "You do know that you have to fight Nathan at Trauma, right?"
"Well, duh. I wrestle. I'm a pro wrestler, and I wrestler people for a living. But even though I'm on drugs, I know that this match isn't meant to pit us against each other to fight, it's about getting us in the same ring for Seromine to try and attack. And I'll be ready! Nobody is going to hurt Nathan Saniti but me, especially Seromine!"
A gentle tug came at the paw of his costume, and Whitey looked down confused only to see a small boy looking up at him hopefully. "Mister, can I have an easter egg?" The boy asked meekly with a smile. Without a moments hesitation, Whitey began thumping his foot against the linoleum floor, something he learned from the history channel that rabbits did when they were angry. The boy instantly took a step back.
"THESE are NOT easTER egGS!" Ford spat back, cradling the basket to his chest. "These are mine and they are for giving away, not for asking for-sies. Plus, I misplaced some LSD in here somewhere and I don't think you're ready...and...and..." His shoulder was firmly grabbed by his friend Bob King then. "Ready for that hug, Bob?" Instead of a hug, Whitey found himself being pushed towards the door. He didn't fight the movement, it felt good to be moved instead of having to put in effort to move himself. All he did was crane his head over his shoulder, to shout at the poor boy. "AND JESUS ISN'T REAL AND I'M NOT A REAL RABBIT AND THIS PLACE SUCKS! Where are we going, Bob?"
Out the door and into the waiting limo, that's where. Away from the general public, the safest place for him to be.
[/i]
