Post by "The Asshole" Whitey Ford on Jun 4, 2017 23:24:09 GMT -5
I've seen the world spin before. I've went to school to learn that we are all, apparently, spinning on the planet as a whole. And at the same time that our little planet is spinning, we are essentially spiraling and rotating around in another larger circle. That only leads one to believe that we may be only a complex series of circles, always rotating; always spinning.
Back to the Earth topic, I've been drunk enough where the world simply would not stop spinning. Not even putting one foot on the floor of the dingy apartment or luxurious suite I was passing out in would make a difference, as they were both equally helpless to stop the fucking spinning.
I've been hit in the head with countless objects and I've been concussed so many times that even as I was walking or stumbling or being wheeled around in a chair I couldn't make sense of what direction I was looking.
One time I went on the Gravitron and Teacup rides sixteen times in one day, respectfully.
But this...this is very, very different.
Whitey's calloused and scarred hands clung to the dual colored ribbon styled pole, his equilibrium telling him he was traveling in the direction of left but his body was over compensating and listing to the right. For a moment he could barely remember where he was. The bright lights all around him seemed to make little sense as he couldn't get a bearing on their exact location. They were yellow, and alternating in between white and red. Horses, giraffes, a lion and a tiger and a bear...and elephant? They were all keeping pace with his own trusty steed, and also similarly impaled on a bright pole. The donkey he rode made no protest to the grotesque maiming, but had a toothy and frozen grin that reminded him of death and somehow, morbidly, his childhood.
There are other people here... He thought to himself, and brushed his matted dirty blonde hair from his eyes. He could make out vaguely familiar faces but couldn't remember the names to match them. Straining his eyes, Whitey focused on the outer circle of two...possibly three lanes. He saw a shadow of a smaller man typing furiously into a keypad that seemed to be implanted into a large gray glove of some sort. Shortly behind him was a unicorn that was skewered further down the pole than his race mates, bearing a larger shadow that seemed to produce a glow that indicated pride. Two fighters both rode the same tiger in the next slot behind, both sitting backwards and seeming to vie for not position, but instead who could hit themselves harder in the face. A more feminine shadow followed behind the insane ones, riding a robot horse and looking somehow unphased and concerned at the same time.
A few moments later, she passed by again, but sitting slightly different and boasting a more confident look on her face.
The ass that was his faithful vessel seemed to kick to the left just then, jerking his line of sight to the left again. Holy fuck, that's bright! Ford could barely stand to gaze in that direction, as a golden glow nearly blinded him. Whitey jerked his head back to the right, and forced himself to continue to focus and try to figure out exactly where he was. The figures on the outer ring were less visible now, yet the ones in the middle circle were clearer...as if casting light pollution on those further away. Ford could make out a man with orange hair and a top hat, but unlike the others didn't feel quite as much malice from. The difference from him and the others was that he rode in a chariot, flanked by a woman of too many colors to count. Even if I weren't convinced this was another acid trip, she'd be TOO colorful... Whitey though to himself.
The next passenger was just as strange, but in a different and more ominous way. Instead of a zoo animal for him to ride on, the crimson faced man sat stoically on a pile of sleeping bodies; Ford could actually see their breathing get quicker as he turned his attention to them. This man would not ride alone, and although he looked as raggedly dressed as the ones carrying him, he radiated a power that Whitey could not help but feel wary of.
BOOM! An explosion nearly threw Whitey right off of his ass (and yes, that's phrased right for two reasons.) Craning his neck behind him towards the source of the thunderous noise, Ford froze for just a moment. A dark, miniature pirate ship was impaled on a ribboned pole much like the other frozen, glossy animals, and was captained by a full sized man dressed in pirate garb. Smoke...is that smoke? Ford sniffed the air and looked down only to find a perfectly cut circular whole in his donkey's...ass. The cannonball had exited out the chest of his mount but somehow, the lights and the animals and pirate ship continued to rotate to the right unheeded.
Any other man may have given up, being disoriented and having been shot at by a pirate for no good reason other than he could. But Whitey Ford was a champion, through and through. and Whitey Ford indeed only froze for just a moment.
With a growl, Whitey suddenly realized that he could move his hands too, and steeled himself for another attack. Nothing came. Nothing but lights and more lights and vaguely familiar riders... Ford decided to finally try to focus his attention in front of him. I need to find out where I am, and where I'm going. I'm not going down without a fucking fight! So the former World Champion narrowed his eyes and peered forward, to find...
No mount.
No vaguely familiar figure.
Only a complete row, ranging from his front to the rear of the pirate ship in another circle, of hooded and completely silent figures all staring towards the center of the continually reducing circle. Ford felt the copper taste of blood and terror wash over his taste buds, but he ground his teeth and removes a shoe he had been unaware he had been wearing. Actually, he had been unaware he had even had legs that were straddling the donkey. I'll fucking show them...I'll fucking show all of them! I might be lost, I might be disoriented, and I might fucking be defeated...but I'M NOT FUCKING DONE UNTIL I SAY I'M DONE!
With a mighty roar, Whitey lifted his beaten down sneaker over his head. "YOU CAN'T FUCKING KILL ME! DO! YOU! KNOW! WHO! I! FUCKING! AM!" The sneaker flew, fast and true, towards the nearest hooded acolytes head...but it continued through the robe as if no one was there, eventually passing through to the outer circle and disappearing.
ALL HAIL SEROMINE![/B] What seemed to be a thousand voice in unison cried out. ALL HAIL OUR SAVIO--[/B] The malevolent and obedient chant was cut off by a blinding flash of light, immediately to Ford's left. The flash seemed to bring even more of his senses back, and "The Asshole" finally looked towards what the three circles were rotating around.
There was nothing but a golden pedestal, surrounded by the blinking red, yellow, and white lights, all of which seemed to shine brighter and more often now that his attention was fully on them. On the top of the pedestal was a ring of the brightest golden shine the entire world had seen. All of a sudden, Whitey knew only one thing: that golden ring was his. There was no want, no need, no desire in his actions...but Ford reached towards the ring with purpose just then, understanding that it was his right and nothing more, nothing less. But just as quick and deciding as the flashes of bright light had been...
...an encompassing, absolute shadow made an impenetrable wall around the ring, and everything went black. Ford could only make up a fire above the ring, but just for a moment; soon he noticed the deadly, serious grin and an imposing man hovering above the brilliant golden prize...wearing a golden belt of equal splendor. "THERE IS NOTHING FOR YOU HERE." A voice called out, confident and truthful and powerful, yet calm and knowing. It reminded Ford of the first time that he found out an absolute truth, perhaps the truth that evil will always prevail. "YOU WILL LEAVE HERE AS YOU CAME. A WARRIOR, RIDING A MULE, DESTINED TO ONLY BE REMEMBERED BY THE CIRCLES THAT DO NOT MATTER. MY TIME IS NOW, AND YOUR TIME WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE."
Whitey felt defeat, for the first time in his life. He had lost fights, arguably more than he had won, but he had never been defeated with a certainty. He felt it, however, and as despair washed over him in that instant his mount shifted to the left side, and allowed the pirate ship and still motionless acolytes to continue their merry circle. Things...things are so clear now.
He was on a carousel, and it was his time to go home, and it would only give him one chance to get off.
Ford dismounted the donkey in defeat, and cautiously made his way towards the outer rings of a childs amusement ride. A thought crossed his head, albeit briefly, that he still had no idea what right he had riding such a classic construct. I'll be gone soon, it'll be ok. His first step almost spelled peril as the pirate ship with the menacing captain refused to stop. A few more shaky steps got him past that lane, but another step was thwarted; the chariot carrying the ginger and the color explosion stopped directly in front of him to block his path. Ford felt a surge of anger coarse through him, but the unavoidable feeling of defeat overwhelmed him. Possibly the driver and his passenger saw it on his face, or maybe they just accepted his submission. Whatever the case, both seemed reluctant to move on but finally did, allowing him to pass.
On the last circle, Whitey didn't much care if he was mowed over by a faceless rider on a giraffe or not. The humongous and prideful shadow politely stopped as he strolled into harms way, however, and allowed him to the edge of the carousel...the one part he hadn't paid attention to. Whether it was really light pollution or what it looked like, Whitey didn't care. It looked like complete and utter darkness outside of the third ring. Feeling as if the massive black void was calling him, Whitey stretched one foot out over the final edge of the bright carnival ride...
And something made him pull his leg back in, resting the heel of his right foot precariously on the edge. What was out there, in that darkness, if he were to accept defeat? Was there solace, a reward of comfortable silence after a long and trying career? Could there be nothing but pain, as he was deserving of after years of heinous acts in any religious or moral standard? Was there happiness, a reward for giving up the fight and allowing things to take it's natural course? Whitey lifted his heel again, and prepared to thrust himself out into whatever truth await him. But as his balance was almost lost, something, somehow brighter and darker than the other flashes had been shocked him and left him dizzy.
As he put his foot back onto the carousel's decking, a clarity swarmed his thoughts with resounding results. There is NOTHING out there for me.
NOTHING...if I walk away from this, then I have nothing. This fight is mine, no matter how the deck is stacked, and no matter what I've failed at. There is only one option for me, one option alone.
I'm going to prove them wrong, yet again.
Ford turned around with a purpose, a cold smile on his lips and his hands clenched tight into fists that meant to cause harm. One stride through the third ring, and every ride seemed to combust at the same time. Their screams did not fall on deaf ears, but they were gone in a few seconds and "The Asshole" Whitey Ford had work to do. By the time he had strolled through the second ring, his smile had lessened a bit but his resolve and the flames had not; they had grown. The third ring was a bit different, however, as there were no flames and no screams...only silence. The pirate ship had become stationary, and the cultists were silent as always. The captain, however, had an antique pistol pointed at the nearest acolyte and his eyes were now also on the golden ring.
"We have unfinished business. I don't like loose ends." Whitey spoke softly up to the fire bearded terror or still perched over the golden ring. A hiss blew Ford's hair back, the steam off his adversary's molten breath burning his face enough to bring tears to his eyes. "But I'm going to get what I want; that's my golden fucking ring and my golden fucking title. You might think I'm a fool, you bearded fuck..." The donkey he had ridden before was still in the spot he left it, and with strength he had always known he possessed Whitey pulled the ribboned pole from it's lifeless back. The mount dropped to the floor in a heap of ceramic.
"...but Holden was a bitch, and I'm about to make you MY Caulfield!" As Ford brandished the pole in front of him, the evil smile broadened, and from the shadow came a shovel, raising high above the fiery beard and knowing eyes. As it crashed down towards Whitey, he leapt at his attacker with one hand stabbing the ribboned pole in attack, and the other grasping for the golden ring. Just as his fingers muckled on to the brilliant structure...
_______
"THAT'S MY FUCKING BELT!" Whitey shot up, sweating profusely and freezing. This being despite the fact that he was covered fully in a blanket and sleeping in a muggy bedroom in southern Maine. His gasps for air came in ragged pulls, and his wild eyes combed the darkness for any sign of his attacker. A hand softly touched his forearm, but with his pulse racing and suspicions raised Whitey jerked away.
The hand returned a second later, but with a more assertive backhand to his bicep. "Fucking A." Jamie's voice rasped out, still half asleep. "You yell. You fucking yell, every time you fucking sleep. Did you know that?"
Whitey looked down at her, almost being able to make out the shape of her face in the darkness as his eyes adjusted. "Every time? Well...it IS my fucking belt. I'm going to show Grimm that and I'm going to cement the fact that I'm the best PCW has ever seen."
"Ok, but...why did you start yelling Jason Statham's name an hour ago?"
"Because fuck him, that's why. Fuck Statham and everybody who looks like Statham." Whitey laid back down onto his mushed up pillow, and rolled over to pretend to sleep. It wouldn't come to him again easily this night though. There was far too much on his mind. With a yawn, he tried to quiet Jamie with one last statement.
"I don't exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it."
Back to the Earth topic, I've been drunk enough where the world simply would not stop spinning. Not even putting one foot on the floor of the dingy apartment or luxurious suite I was passing out in would make a difference, as they were both equally helpless to stop the fucking spinning.
I've been hit in the head with countless objects and I've been concussed so many times that even as I was walking or stumbling or being wheeled around in a chair I couldn't make sense of what direction I was looking.
One time I went on the Gravitron and Teacup rides sixteen times in one day, respectfully.
But this...this is very, very different.
Whitey's calloused and scarred hands clung to the dual colored ribbon styled pole, his equilibrium telling him he was traveling in the direction of left but his body was over compensating and listing to the right. For a moment he could barely remember where he was. The bright lights all around him seemed to make little sense as he couldn't get a bearing on their exact location. They were yellow, and alternating in between white and red. Horses, giraffes, a lion and a tiger and a bear...and elephant? They were all keeping pace with his own trusty steed, and also similarly impaled on a bright pole. The donkey he rode made no protest to the grotesque maiming, but had a toothy and frozen grin that reminded him of death and somehow, morbidly, his childhood.
There are other people here... He thought to himself, and brushed his matted dirty blonde hair from his eyes. He could make out vaguely familiar faces but couldn't remember the names to match them. Straining his eyes, Whitey focused on the outer circle of two...possibly three lanes. He saw a shadow of a smaller man typing furiously into a keypad that seemed to be implanted into a large gray glove of some sort. Shortly behind him was a unicorn that was skewered further down the pole than his race mates, bearing a larger shadow that seemed to produce a glow that indicated pride. Two fighters both rode the same tiger in the next slot behind, both sitting backwards and seeming to vie for not position, but instead who could hit themselves harder in the face. A more feminine shadow followed behind the insane ones, riding a robot horse and looking somehow unphased and concerned at the same time.
A few moments later, she passed by again, but sitting slightly different and boasting a more confident look on her face.
The ass that was his faithful vessel seemed to kick to the left just then, jerking his line of sight to the left again. Holy fuck, that's bright! Ford could barely stand to gaze in that direction, as a golden glow nearly blinded him. Whitey jerked his head back to the right, and forced himself to continue to focus and try to figure out exactly where he was. The figures on the outer ring were less visible now, yet the ones in the middle circle were clearer...as if casting light pollution on those further away. Ford could make out a man with orange hair and a top hat, but unlike the others didn't feel quite as much malice from. The difference from him and the others was that he rode in a chariot, flanked by a woman of too many colors to count. Even if I weren't convinced this was another acid trip, she'd be TOO colorful... Whitey though to himself.
The next passenger was just as strange, but in a different and more ominous way. Instead of a zoo animal for him to ride on, the crimson faced man sat stoically on a pile of sleeping bodies; Ford could actually see their breathing get quicker as he turned his attention to them. This man would not ride alone, and although he looked as raggedly dressed as the ones carrying him, he radiated a power that Whitey could not help but feel wary of.
BOOM! An explosion nearly threw Whitey right off of his ass (and yes, that's phrased right for two reasons.) Craning his neck behind him towards the source of the thunderous noise, Ford froze for just a moment. A dark, miniature pirate ship was impaled on a ribboned pole much like the other frozen, glossy animals, and was captained by a full sized man dressed in pirate garb. Smoke...is that smoke? Ford sniffed the air and looked down only to find a perfectly cut circular whole in his donkey's...ass. The cannonball had exited out the chest of his mount but somehow, the lights and the animals and pirate ship continued to rotate to the right unheeded.
Any other man may have given up, being disoriented and having been shot at by a pirate for no good reason other than he could. But Whitey Ford was a champion, through and through. and Whitey Ford indeed only froze for just a moment.
With a growl, Whitey suddenly realized that he could move his hands too, and steeled himself for another attack. Nothing came. Nothing but lights and more lights and vaguely familiar riders... Ford decided to finally try to focus his attention in front of him. I need to find out where I am, and where I'm going. I'm not going down without a fucking fight! So the former World Champion narrowed his eyes and peered forward, to find...
No mount.
No vaguely familiar figure.
Only a complete row, ranging from his front to the rear of the pirate ship in another circle, of hooded and completely silent figures all staring towards the center of the continually reducing circle. Ford felt the copper taste of blood and terror wash over his taste buds, but he ground his teeth and removes a shoe he had been unaware he had been wearing. Actually, he had been unaware he had even had legs that were straddling the donkey. I'll fucking show them...I'll fucking show all of them! I might be lost, I might be disoriented, and I might fucking be defeated...but I'M NOT FUCKING DONE UNTIL I SAY I'M DONE!
With a mighty roar, Whitey lifted his beaten down sneaker over his head. "YOU CAN'T FUCKING KILL ME! DO! YOU! KNOW! WHO! I! FUCKING! AM!" The sneaker flew, fast and true, towards the nearest hooded acolytes head...but it continued through the robe as if no one was there, eventually passing through to the outer circle and disappearing.
ALL HAIL SEROMINE![/B] What seemed to be a thousand voice in unison cried out. ALL HAIL OUR SAVIO--[/B] The malevolent and obedient chant was cut off by a blinding flash of light, immediately to Ford's left. The flash seemed to bring even more of his senses back, and "The Asshole" finally looked towards what the three circles were rotating around.
There was nothing but a golden pedestal, surrounded by the blinking red, yellow, and white lights, all of which seemed to shine brighter and more often now that his attention was fully on them. On the top of the pedestal was a ring of the brightest golden shine the entire world had seen. All of a sudden, Whitey knew only one thing: that golden ring was his. There was no want, no need, no desire in his actions...but Ford reached towards the ring with purpose just then, understanding that it was his right and nothing more, nothing less. But just as quick and deciding as the flashes of bright light had been...
...an encompassing, absolute shadow made an impenetrable wall around the ring, and everything went black. Ford could only make up a fire above the ring, but just for a moment; soon he noticed the deadly, serious grin and an imposing man hovering above the brilliant golden prize...wearing a golden belt of equal splendor. "THERE IS NOTHING FOR YOU HERE." A voice called out, confident and truthful and powerful, yet calm and knowing. It reminded Ford of the first time that he found out an absolute truth, perhaps the truth that evil will always prevail. "YOU WILL LEAVE HERE AS YOU CAME. A WARRIOR, RIDING A MULE, DESTINED TO ONLY BE REMEMBERED BY THE CIRCLES THAT DO NOT MATTER. MY TIME IS NOW, AND YOUR TIME WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE."
Whitey felt defeat, for the first time in his life. He had lost fights, arguably more than he had won, but he had never been defeated with a certainty. He felt it, however, and as despair washed over him in that instant his mount shifted to the left side, and allowed the pirate ship and still motionless acolytes to continue their merry circle. Things...things are so clear now.
He was on a carousel, and it was his time to go home, and it would only give him one chance to get off.
Ford dismounted the donkey in defeat, and cautiously made his way towards the outer rings of a childs amusement ride. A thought crossed his head, albeit briefly, that he still had no idea what right he had riding such a classic construct. I'll be gone soon, it'll be ok. His first step almost spelled peril as the pirate ship with the menacing captain refused to stop. A few more shaky steps got him past that lane, but another step was thwarted; the chariot carrying the ginger and the color explosion stopped directly in front of him to block his path. Ford felt a surge of anger coarse through him, but the unavoidable feeling of defeat overwhelmed him. Possibly the driver and his passenger saw it on his face, or maybe they just accepted his submission. Whatever the case, both seemed reluctant to move on but finally did, allowing him to pass.
On the last circle, Whitey didn't much care if he was mowed over by a faceless rider on a giraffe or not. The humongous and prideful shadow politely stopped as he strolled into harms way, however, and allowed him to the edge of the carousel...the one part he hadn't paid attention to. Whether it was really light pollution or what it looked like, Whitey didn't care. It looked like complete and utter darkness outside of the third ring. Feeling as if the massive black void was calling him, Whitey stretched one foot out over the final edge of the bright carnival ride...
And something made him pull his leg back in, resting the heel of his right foot precariously on the edge. What was out there, in that darkness, if he were to accept defeat? Was there solace, a reward of comfortable silence after a long and trying career? Could there be nothing but pain, as he was deserving of after years of heinous acts in any religious or moral standard? Was there happiness, a reward for giving up the fight and allowing things to take it's natural course? Whitey lifted his heel again, and prepared to thrust himself out into whatever truth await him. But as his balance was almost lost, something, somehow brighter and darker than the other flashes had been shocked him and left him dizzy.
As he put his foot back onto the carousel's decking, a clarity swarmed his thoughts with resounding results. There is NOTHING out there for me.
NOTHING...if I walk away from this, then I have nothing. This fight is mine, no matter how the deck is stacked, and no matter what I've failed at. There is only one option for me, one option alone.
I'm going to prove them wrong, yet again.
Ford turned around with a purpose, a cold smile on his lips and his hands clenched tight into fists that meant to cause harm. One stride through the third ring, and every ride seemed to combust at the same time. Their screams did not fall on deaf ears, but they were gone in a few seconds and "The Asshole" Whitey Ford had work to do. By the time he had strolled through the second ring, his smile had lessened a bit but his resolve and the flames had not; they had grown. The third ring was a bit different, however, as there were no flames and no screams...only silence. The pirate ship had become stationary, and the cultists were silent as always. The captain, however, had an antique pistol pointed at the nearest acolyte and his eyes were now also on the golden ring.
"We have unfinished business. I don't like loose ends." Whitey spoke softly up to the fire bearded terror or still perched over the golden ring. A hiss blew Ford's hair back, the steam off his adversary's molten breath burning his face enough to bring tears to his eyes. "But I'm going to get what I want; that's my golden fucking ring and my golden fucking title. You might think I'm a fool, you bearded fuck..." The donkey he had ridden before was still in the spot he left it, and with strength he had always known he possessed Whitey pulled the ribboned pole from it's lifeless back. The mount dropped to the floor in a heap of ceramic.
"...but Holden was a bitch, and I'm about to make you MY Caulfield!" As Ford brandished the pole in front of him, the evil smile broadened, and from the shadow came a shovel, raising high above the fiery beard and knowing eyes. As it crashed down towards Whitey, he leapt at his attacker with one hand stabbing the ribboned pole in attack, and the other grasping for the golden ring. Just as his fingers muckled on to the brilliant structure...
_______
"THAT'S MY FUCKING BELT!" Whitey shot up, sweating profusely and freezing. This being despite the fact that he was covered fully in a blanket and sleeping in a muggy bedroom in southern Maine. His gasps for air came in ragged pulls, and his wild eyes combed the darkness for any sign of his attacker. A hand softly touched his forearm, but with his pulse racing and suspicions raised Whitey jerked away.
The hand returned a second later, but with a more assertive backhand to his bicep. "Fucking A." Jamie's voice rasped out, still half asleep. "You yell. You fucking yell, every time you fucking sleep. Did you know that?"
Whitey looked down at her, almost being able to make out the shape of her face in the darkness as his eyes adjusted. "Every time? Well...it IS my fucking belt. I'm going to show Grimm that and I'm going to cement the fact that I'm the best PCW has ever seen."
"Ok, but...why did you start yelling Jason Statham's name an hour ago?"
"Because fuck him, that's why. Fuck Statham and everybody who looks like Statham." Whitey laid back down onto his mushed up pillow, and rolled over to pretend to sleep. It wouldn't come to him again easily this night though. There was far too much on his mind. With a yawn, he tried to quiet Jamie with one last statement.
"I don't exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it."
