"Do I have your attention?" I call out to an audience of no one, content in the fact that I won't receive an answer I can hear but at the same time knowing that as you hear the words escape my lips, you'll respond. Most of you truthfully, some of you with glaringly apparent sarcasm. It matters not whether you speak it aloud or say it silently within the confines of your own mind. As a matter of fact, if it's the latter you might not even acknowledge your own response. It's a subtle algorithm; your brain does it all the time. It's normal. As a matter of fact, all of this unspoken recognition and subliminal awakening to a single microscopic process among many has registered faster than it took for your eyes to get the visual signals, to correct said signals, and transmit the image of where I am to your brain to be analyzed and projected. Fascinating, is it not?

You've blinked a few times since I spoke, haven't you? Of course you have; but this time something a little odd occurred, didn't it? With eyes open, you saw nothing but darkness, with eyes closed you rightfully so see the same darkness, to the point where if you didn't feel your eyelids colliding you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between eyes wide open, and eyes shut. Then, when you opened your eyes once more you saw a flash of color. Red, to be precise.

Then, you see me.

Or, is it me? I definitely look a lot different than I've looked in the past. However, that isn't the only anomaly in this situation: avert your eyes from me. Do you see how the background's moving, shifting, changing. Expanding, contracting, contracting, expanding. No pattern; no rhyme; no reason. Just motion. Even more subtle, look at the color. The color is slightly, ever so slightly, being absorbed from the red in the background, each second passing turning it further and further to the bland, safe color - gray.

Safety is an illusion. No matter the color.

"What am I supposed to talk about?"

"Oh, right. The upcoming match between John Black and Mizuki Tsukasa; wherein my partner Tri Bute and I are on opposing ends, as manages for the actual combatants. I have to ask, is this really necessary?

You take the frightfully unskilled John Black and throw him against the painfully unskilled Mizuki Tsukasa, and expect what?"

We interrupt this promo to bring you something much more interesting!

In a world where fucks are given...


"One man dared, to give none."


Coming this summer to a movie theater near you: Luca Arzegotti: The Guy, The Movie, The Video Game, The Movie Again, The Book.

"Dude, this movie is going to blow, don't waste your money on it."

Even in death, you make selling yourself a hard job, huh? Whatever. He's right. The movie isn't worth the hour and a half, or the Theater prices. If you must watch it, catch it on Netflix or some shit. I'm done my job fucking sucks.

Luca Arzegotti was an incredibly Zany individual who managed to stir up quite a racket wherever he went, wouldn't you Agree? Really, it's a wonder that anyone could even Understand his incoherent, Shitfaced ramblings whenever he decided to spew them out for all to see.

Meh, people will buy anything these days, it seems.

Hijacked!

"You all! Listen to me! This woman who claims to be Jessie Diaz is an impostor!"

"Is that so, Tigris? Should I spill all I've learned about you to the audience and see who they believe? Maybe mention how you thought you could-"

"You stay quiet you liar! Everything out of this deceiver's mouth is not to be taken as truth!"

"Be real! Who do you think they're going to believe?"

"The one that looks how they're supposed to."

"Touche."

And on the seventh day, the Lord jacked it to some midget on giraffe porn.


For the record, I never denied that, I just told you that you were a pervert for even wanting to see that.



Ugh, she's right you know.

"Haha! You see? She's lying to you right now!"

"Oh, that's it!"

BANG!
"Hijack that, Tigris."

The return.

Down the rabbit hole you are, furthermore so you choose to go?

Well, if you made it this far: let's talk about Mizuki Tsukasa and John Black.

Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Drip, drop.

Drip, fucking drop.

Or, not. They're both nothing. Personifications of how little it apparently takes to be signed to the XWF so long as you keep out of sight of people with actual talent and mean streaks long enough to say you've spent some time in the company and as such should be treated with respect. No, neither deserve respect and worse yet instead of being there to slaughter them both (and possibly beat the English language into Black) I have to sit there and play nice while one of them finally manages to suck less than the other long enough to get a three count. All the while pretending as if there's some managerial competition between Tri Bute and myself. Spolier alert, those who aren't very bright: no there fucking isn't.

I'm not going to lift a single finger to try and help Tsukasa.

Or was it Black?

Whichever one I'm supposed to be helping, I'm not.

Disrespect intended.


You flip a coin. I forgot the rest of the story but you die at the end.

You walk your dog. You die.

You die. You die.

All roads lead back to one.

Freeverse poetry sucks.

Fuck this, I'm going back to my Giraffe/Midget porn.


Close your eyes.

Open them again.

You see nothing, right?

Now, close your eyes again. Keep them closed.

Now, open them. See me the way you ought to now. This is me.

Don't blink; you just might miss it.



Then again, I could be lying.

Who knows, really?