Post by Mr. Showtime on Dec 26, 2014 19:46:14 GMT -5
“You’re a mean one Mr. Showtime. You really are a heel. You’re as cuddly as a cactus and as charming as an eel, Mr. Showtime. You’re a bad banana with a greasy black peel.”
Mr. Showtime was drunk. It wasn’t a light buzz, but stinking rotten drunk. He’d spent the night chugging the bottle that laid in pieces on the ground. It was a jug of some sort of booze that was probably home made in a bathtub. A Christmas gift from the Dillinger brothers and it tasted fowl. It burned as it went over Showtime’s gums, but the moment he finished it he threw the empty jug against the wall.
He’d been avoiding alcohol for months now. The voice in his mind was significantly easier to control when Showtime’s mind was clear. It was almost easy at this point, but there were still times when he blacked out and couldn’t remember what happened. Today was actually one of those times he wished he couldn’t remember.
“I really can’t stay. Baby it’s cold inside. I want to go away. But, baby it’s cold inside.”
The series of events weren’t too catastrophic, but for Wryght it still left him alone, wasted and singing bad adaptations of Christmas carols. Every year Showtime, the philanthropist he’s always been, spent the day with under privileged children. Generally he’s dress up in a red suit and gave out toy until he ran out. Which probably would still be going on if this were the old Showtime. However today was different. The festive feeling had completely left Showtime and left him feeling that thankless rodents had surrounded him.
In honesty the children were no different then any other year. They said their thank yous and ran off with their toy. The only difference this year was Showtime. He no longer fed off of their joy. In fact, the exact opposite happened. The happier they seemed the more he resented them. It has been too long since he’d actually felt joy. He couldn’t help but loathe the little rascals with their toys.
Them with their doo-dads and whip-wizzles, Showtime heard from across the room. There was no one there but he heard him.
“You need to go,” demanded Showtime, barking across the room. He knew that the voice was coming from within his head, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t control the volume of his voice any more than he could keep it from slurring. The voice being back was the worse thing that Showtime could think of, but not something that was unexpected.
But it’s the holiday season. Time for new beginnings and friendships. Time to let old grudges die.
“Shumething tellsssss me that we’re never going to be friends.”
Just when I thought we were making progress. Why wont you think of the possibilities if we worked together. The pain and destruction we could rain down. I know that it’s what you want, but you’re just too big of a pussy to release me. Don’t sit there and act like those words at the pay-per-view were yours and not mine. You needed me, and I delivered.
“No the Black Hand tasked me to fire the first shot and so I did.”
No Billy, don’t give me the microphone. I don’t want to talk for the first time in my pathetic history. Honestly it’s embarrassing.
“Shut you’re mouth,” raged Showtime.
Do you remember challenging Cosmos?
“Of course I do.”
Funny you were drunk then too, but maybe not to this level. You puffed up your chest and demanded that you face him. For no reason of course expect that’s what I wanted you to do. He’s someone that we’ve never faced and now we will see who is in charge here.
“What do you mean?”
Well it’s simple. I love chaos and you are trying to bring order. Polar opposites that need the other to keep balance. Without me you are nothing, but without you I am set free. I’m looking for freedom Michael, and Cosmos is my conduit.
There was no other response. Only silence. Showtime grabs a random bottle from the desk in front of him and tosses back a few more slugs. The world around him starts to fade to black as his slips into his intoxication.
Right before he sleeps into a deep slumber he mutters, “Daffing through the snow in a one horse open wound. Over ropes they go, screaming all the way. Bells on time they ring. Making matches start. What fun it is to beat and sing a slaying song tonight.”
Nex Addo
Mr. Showtime was drunk. It wasn’t a light buzz, but stinking rotten drunk. He’d spent the night chugging the bottle that laid in pieces on the ground. It was a jug of some sort of booze that was probably home made in a bathtub. A Christmas gift from the Dillinger brothers and it tasted fowl. It burned as it went over Showtime’s gums, but the moment he finished it he threw the empty jug against the wall.
He’d been avoiding alcohol for months now. The voice in his mind was significantly easier to control when Showtime’s mind was clear. It was almost easy at this point, but there were still times when he blacked out and couldn’t remember what happened. Today was actually one of those times he wished he couldn’t remember.
“I really can’t stay. Baby it’s cold inside. I want to go away. But, baby it’s cold inside.”
The series of events weren’t too catastrophic, but for Wryght it still left him alone, wasted and singing bad adaptations of Christmas carols. Every year Showtime, the philanthropist he’s always been, spent the day with under privileged children. Generally he’s dress up in a red suit and gave out toy until he ran out. Which probably would still be going on if this were the old Showtime. However today was different. The festive feeling had completely left Showtime and left him feeling that thankless rodents had surrounded him.
In honesty the children were no different then any other year. They said their thank yous and ran off with their toy. The only difference this year was Showtime. He no longer fed off of their joy. In fact, the exact opposite happened. The happier they seemed the more he resented them. It has been too long since he’d actually felt joy. He couldn’t help but loathe the little rascals with their toys.
Them with their doo-dads and whip-wizzles, Showtime heard from across the room. There was no one there but he heard him.
“You need to go,” demanded Showtime, barking across the room. He knew that the voice was coming from within his head, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t control the volume of his voice any more than he could keep it from slurring. The voice being back was the worse thing that Showtime could think of, but not something that was unexpected.
But it’s the holiday season. Time for new beginnings and friendships. Time to let old grudges die.
“Shumething tellsssss me that we’re never going to be friends.”
Just when I thought we were making progress. Why wont you think of the possibilities if we worked together. The pain and destruction we could rain down. I know that it’s what you want, but you’re just too big of a pussy to release me. Don’t sit there and act like those words at the pay-per-view were yours and not mine. You needed me, and I delivered.
“No the Black Hand tasked me to fire the first shot and so I did.”
No Billy, don’t give me the microphone. I don’t want to talk for the first time in my pathetic history. Honestly it’s embarrassing.
“Shut you’re mouth,” raged Showtime.
Do you remember challenging Cosmos?
“Of course I do.”
Funny you were drunk then too, but maybe not to this level. You puffed up your chest and demanded that you face him. For no reason of course expect that’s what I wanted you to do. He’s someone that we’ve never faced and now we will see who is in charge here.
“What do you mean?”
Well it’s simple. I love chaos and you are trying to bring order. Polar opposites that need the other to keep balance. Without me you are nothing, but without you I am set free. I’m looking for freedom Michael, and Cosmos is my conduit.
There was no other response. Only silence. Showtime grabs a random bottle from the desk in front of him and tosses back a few more slugs. The world around him starts to fade to black as his slips into his intoxication.
Right before he sleeps into a deep slumber he mutters, “Daffing through the snow in a one horse open wound. Over ropes they go, screaming all the way. Bells on time they ring. Making matches start. What fun it is to beat and sing a slaying song tonight.”
Nex Addo
