Post by Cthulhuson on Jan 28, 2013 23:38:29 GMT -5
The marred air quality in New York City no longer resembled it natural state; but remained in a constant state of foulness and debauchery. The womb of the earth was defiled and deflowered and this pungent odor was all that we had left to show from our rape. Mother Earth/Gaia's insincere orgasm filling our nostrils, drowning our lungs and sticking to the clothes we don. Raven didn’t help the cause a single iota as she took another drag and flicked what remained of her corporate death stick just on the outskirts of the metallic gutter as she walked along the sidewalk.
It was currently 22 degrees and snowing in the city that never sleeps. Certainly, The Big Apple had lived up to it's moniker and more as the industrious people of New York hustled to and fro going absolutely nowhere. Working to live, living to work, it was the vicious cycle that the world fell into blindly. Even Raven fell into this trap despite treading softly.
The story of Innsmouth, MA was different.
The all too unfamiliar smell of napalm and gasoline just waiting to be ignited to invade the lungs of the enraged populous as pitched over vehicles suffocated , choked and drowned in flames. Some might have called it oblivion, to others, paradise.The common consensus around the public was that this revolution would be televised. As useless as they were, police armed with their batons and wishful thinking marched gallantly to restore any semblance of order and peace. The rioters thought otherwise. They hurled chunks of cement , bricks, broken glass from shattered store windows and beer bottle projectiles. A day where the government truly feared it’s people. News had got about Cthulhuson's supposed death, but even in the 'afterlife' he was starting a revolution.
She came back to her senses just in time to reach the entrance of the color coded subway. Slowly, Raven declined down the stairway into the depths of the city. The 10:00 eastbound train headed just a few blocks away from the shuttle to take her back to Innsmouth, MA.
A homeless person leaned closer into his seat and nodded in her direction with a shit eating grin smothered across his face. His tainted yellow clothing could have doubled as swiss cheese with the amount of holes it sheltered. The homeless man chuckled and before long his chuckling evolved into full fledged laughter baring his rotted mandible and fangs. Slowly his laugh subsided and died down into a whimpering cough as he slumped back into his seat, picking at tiny morsels of crumbs stuck in his stripped cotton gloves.
From out of her messenger back, she grabbed a wrapped Snickers bar and tossed it at the bystander. She watched as the Snickers bar hit the ground near the pedestrian's shredded docker boots. He suicide dived after the candy bar much to Raven's amusement.
Perhaps Cthulhuson was right in saying that there is no such thing as a good deed. There was no such thing as altruism. You could never remove yourself from the equation no matter how self less it seemed. Everything you do, you do for yourself. Sure you might give dollar here, a piece of food there, but you're no more performing a selfless act than you are fulfilling a small need within to simply feel good about yourself.
"Need fulfilled."
Raven placed the leather sole of her boot along the ridged fingers of the homeless citizen with a knack of reckless abandonment. "Oops" she whispered, applying more pressure along his crusted knuckles.
"I'll be taking this back."
She snatched snickers out of his hand, just like world gives and takes. The way the world gives you dreams, but takes away all hope of accomplishing them. The way the world gives you love, but feeds you fear. How funny a simple act such as this Snickers Bar could be used as a microcosm of society.
Or maybe she simply felt like being a vindictive little bitch with nothing better to do.
Maybe...
It was currently 22 degrees and snowing in the city that never sleeps. Certainly, The Big Apple had lived up to it's moniker and more as the industrious people of New York hustled to and fro going absolutely nowhere. Working to live, living to work, it was the vicious cycle that the world fell into blindly. Even Raven fell into this trap despite treading softly.
The story of Innsmouth, MA was different.
The all too unfamiliar smell of napalm and gasoline just waiting to be ignited to invade the lungs of the enraged populous as pitched over vehicles suffocated , choked and drowned in flames. Some might have called it oblivion, to others, paradise.The common consensus around the public was that this revolution would be televised. As useless as they were, police armed with their batons and wishful thinking marched gallantly to restore any semblance of order and peace. The rioters thought otherwise. They hurled chunks of cement , bricks, broken glass from shattered store windows and beer bottle projectiles. A day where the government truly feared it’s people. News had got about Cthulhuson's supposed death, but even in the 'afterlife' he was starting a revolution.
She came back to her senses just in time to reach the entrance of the color coded subway. Slowly, Raven declined down the stairway into the depths of the city. The 10:00 eastbound train headed just a few blocks away from the shuttle to take her back to Innsmouth, MA.
A homeless person leaned closer into his seat and nodded in her direction with a shit eating grin smothered across his face. His tainted yellow clothing could have doubled as swiss cheese with the amount of holes it sheltered. The homeless man chuckled and before long his chuckling evolved into full fledged laughter baring his rotted mandible and fangs. Slowly his laugh subsided and died down into a whimpering cough as he slumped back into his seat, picking at tiny morsels of crumbs stuck in his stripped cotton gloves.
From out of her messenger back, she grabbed a wrapped Snickers bar and tossed it at the bystander. She watched as the Snickers bar hit the ground near the pedestrian's shredded docker boots. He suicide dived after the candy bar much to Raven's amusement.
Perhaps Cthulhuson was right in saying that there is no such thing as a good deed. There was no such thing as altruism. You could never remove yourself from the equation no matter how self less it seemed. Everything you do, you do for yourself. Sure you might give dollar here, a piece of food there, but you're no more performing a selfless act than you are fulfilling a small need within to simply feel good about yourself.
"Need fulfilled."
Raven placed the leather sole of her boot along the ridged fingers of the homeless citizen with a knack of reckless abandonment. "Oops" she whispered, applying more pressure along his crusted knuckles.
"I'll be taking this back."
She snatched snickers out of his hand, just like world gives and takes. The way the world gives you dreams, but takes away all hope of accomplishing them. The way the world gives you love, but feeds you fear. How funny a simple act such as this Snickers Bar could be used as a microcosm of society.
Or maybe she simply felt like being a vindictive little bitch with nothing better to do.
Maybe...
[ Promo Time ]
The waves eloped with the empty remains of my opponents hopes, eroding their foothold on the trampled hearts of the NAW faithful just barely 7 moons ago! The barnacles of this vessel as made mention before, have slowly but surely started falling off into the depths of the murky depths. But ladies and broken gentlemen, our work is far from over.
I see you Virgil Keenan, do you mind if I call you just Virgil? I'm just going to call you Virgil.
(You don't see many Virgil's around these days do you?)
No, you most certainly don't. But none the less, foaming at the mouth with obscenities has not been lost to me. Adjectives, dripping from your lips like spittle hasn't been for naught, Mr. Keenan.
But frankly Virgil, I find myself quite perplexed. Quite perplexed indeed...
Not impressed Virgil Keenan?
Not impressed?
I don't recall the black plague being a very impressive thing, do you Raven?
(...I'm afraid not...)
I can't recollect a moment in time where the slow and agonizing demise of a sentient being, or an entity such as NAW in any regard being deemed "impressive". Do you Raven?
(Nope)
If I knew we were in 'wack-a-mole' contest, I would have matched the wrestlers you blindsided and beat up backstage, by simply taking out the replacement referee and the guy selling popcorn at his concession both. That would be slightly above your critically acclaimed achievements at Meltdown. Just slightly...
But where you shower me in a epitaph of this 'supposed failure', allow me to bestow upon you a random act of kindness. A little Northeastern hospitality if you will.
A mere compliment.
Lucky enough for you I have a knack for delivering the truth in a morsels small enough so that you don’t bite off more than you can chew. Often times this can be confused with a taste of defeat. But allow this appetizer to tame your palate for the time being.
What I find 'impressive' about you Virgil Keenan,
...is your politics.
Raven takes a moment to obsessive clap, donning the best face of admiration that she could possibly muster.
I tip my mask to you. Take a bow good sir, take a victory lap. Oh, and that campaign slogan of yours? 'Rejoice!' Where was that when Obama was shoving 'Hope' and 'Change' down our throats?
Virgil Keenan - Even the name rings true and regal.
(Virgil Keenan - 2013! Next World Champ!)
You have the roster wondering, who is this masked roustabout, this iconoclast so vociferously whispering sweet empty nothings into Alex Morgan's ear?
(Oh Alex Morgan! Oh Alex! give me a title shot, for this roster fails to amuse me. Cthulhuson, fails to impress me. Gunner, I'll challenge you, for you fail to encourage me. Everyone fails but me. Gimme Gimme Gimme)
Oh this tragic comedy...
Oh this parody of reality...
Wrapped up and gifted to us mere voters at the polls who should be "rejoicing".
But this isn't your fault Canadate Virgil Keenan, this is what you've been taught your entire life. You're a simply a product of your surroundings by it's oh so distinguishable inhabitants. Earth is very small stage in a vast cosmic arena and you want to worry yourself over a jewelry accessory.
A golden strap you has gotten you so lusting, so hot and bothered, that you've taken to the websites, the twitterspheres, the myspaces, the facebooks, the chatrooms and chatboxes, serenading us like a true politician about why you should have your title shot after a single match.
Our masked saving grace!
Our savior!
It's the 2013, the year of our Wrestling Lord - Virgil Keenan.
Long Live The King! At least, until you fall off your high horse.
And then, well... It's off with your head
Because lets face it, everyone has seen your kind before. You hit the scene all bright eye'd and bushy tailed, ready to make a name for yourself. Things tend to go your way at first, a win here, a win there.
But then the unthinkable happens.
You lose... and the all powerful and lauded Virgil Keenan and all guys like you, are never heard of again.
Maybe then we'll rejoice, or at least until you find the need again to run for another election, politicking your way to the top once more.
(In Virgil Keenan We Trust)
Oh... and where are you Erik? You're not indestructible, you're simply invisible.
I see you Virgil Keenan, do you mind if I call you just Virgil? I'm just going to call you Virgil.
(You don't see many Virgil's around these days do you?)
No, you most certainly don't. But none the less, foaming at the mouth with obscenities has not been lost to me. Adjectives, dripping from your lips like spittle hasn't been for naught, Mr. Keenan.
But frankly Virgil, I find myself quite perplexed. Quite perplexed indeed...
Not impressed Virgil Keenan?
Not impressed?
I don't recall the black plague being a very impressive thing, do you Raven?
(...I'm afraid not...)
I can't recollect a moment in time where the slow and agonizing demise of a sentient being, or an entity such as NAW in any regard being deemed "impressive". Do you Raven?
(Nope)
If I knew we were in 'wack-a-mole' contest, I would have matched the wrestlers you blindsided and beat up backstage, by simply taking out the replacement referee and the guy selling popcorn at his concession both. That would be slightly above your critically acclaimed achievements at Meltdown. Just slightly...
But where you shower me in a epitaph of this 'supposed failure', allow me to bestow upon you a random act of kindness. A little Northeastern hospitality if you will.
A mere compliment.
Lucky enough for you I have a knack for delivering the truth in a morsels small enough so that you don’t bite off more than you can chew. Often times this can be confused with a taste of defeat. But allow this appetizer to tame your palate for the time being.
What I find 'impressive' about you Virgil Keenan,
...is your politics.
Raven takes a moment to obsessive clap, donning the best face of admiration that she could possibly muster.
I tip my mask to you. Take a bow good sir, take a victory lap. Oh, and that campaign slogan of yours? 'Rejoice!' Where was that when Obama was shoving 'Hope' and 'Change' down our throats?
Virgil Keenan - Even the name rings true and regal.
(Virgil Keenan - 2013! Next World Champ!)
You have the roster wondering, who is this masked roustabout, this iconoclast so vociferously whispering sweet empty nothings into Alex Morgan's ear?
(Oh Alex Morgan! Oh Alex! give me a title shot, for this roster fails to amuse me. Cthulhuson, fails to impress me. Gunner, I'll challenge you, for you fail to encourage me. Everyone fails but me. Gimme Gimme Gimme)
Oh this tragic comedy...
Oh this parody of reality...
Wrapped up and gifted to us mere voters at the polls who should be "rejoicing".
But this isn't your fault Canadate Virgil Keenan, this is what you've been taught your entire life. You're a simply a product of your surroundings by it's oh so distinguishable inhabitants. Earth is very small stage in a vast cosmic arena and you want to worry yourself over a jewelry accessory.
A golden strap you has gotten you so lusting, so hot and bothered, that you've taken to the websites, the twitterspheres, the myspaces, the facebooks, the chatrooms and chatboxes, serenading us like a true politician about why you should have your title shot after a single match.
Our masked saving grace!
Our savior!
It's the 2013, the year of our Wrestling Lord - Virgil Keenan.
Long Live The King! At least, until you fall off your high horse.
And then, well... It's off with your head
Because lets face it, everyone has seen your kind before. You hit the scene all bright eye'd and bushy tailed, ready to make a name for yourself. Things tend to go your way at first, a win here, a win there.
But then the unthinkable happens.
You lose... and the all powerful and lauded Virgil Keenan and all guys like you, are never heard of again.
Maybe then we'll rejoice, or at least until you find the need again to run for another election, politicking your way to the top once more.
(In Virgil Keenan We Trust)
Oh... and where are you Erik? You're not indestructible, you're simply invisible.