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John Austin · (01-30-2014)

Ariel Sharon
Or: How I would’ve done it

There have been a lot of salacious rumours flying around recently, ones that may perhaps threaten my life if I were to tell you they were true. So, I must stand here before you, wearing human clothes to conceal my genitalia, which I was informed would be necessary, as ‘The Linguist’ may come along and watch my promo. And as you all know, Neonero is all about keeping the peace.

Quote:Therapist Kerrigan says: Promos are when wrestlers talk to cameras.

- We are in a large hall, adorned with strange draped flags that cascade from the ceiling on either side of the far wall, almost like a backdrop. This would be an apt description were it not for the fact that they stand about five feet in front of Neonero, our ever intrepid protagonist. Strange snakes adorn the drapes, perhaps recognisable to some as the ‘Ouroboros’, a snake which perpetually eats its own tail. Inside each ‘snake circle’ is a single five-pointed star, otherwise known as a pentagram, although in this instance, it is not set in the ‘Baphomet’ position, rather offset by 45 degrees.

- Our masked Neonero himself stands looking imperious behind a podium, which seems almost like one you’d expect to see a dictator stand behind. A strange ‘crow’ shaped microphone adorns the top, and Nero rests his forearms lazily over the top. –

I should, first of all, probably introduce this sexy new room from which I will address you from, now, most of the time. But since I’m an inane cunt, I’m not going to be courteous. All things in time.

- Nero shuffles his feet, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side.

Now, let me proclaim to you, with all the enthusiasm I possibly can;

- Nero takes a deep breath inwards.

THE BASTARD OF JERUSALEM IS DEAD! And no, I don’t mean Jesus, even though we all know Mary and whichever one of the Elohim it was were totally not married. I refer of course to the death of Ariel Sharon, a man who is largely responsible for the current state of Palestine, to this day not even recognised as a real country by most of the world, and effectively ‘walled in’ by the Zionist regime in Israel. Sharon a man who, many years before becoming PM, was responsible for the murder of hundreds of Lebanese and Palestinians, yet still came to power.

- A cough.

Before I go any further, let me just say, I am not a proponent of ‘Juden Hasst’. My name isn’t Morbid Angel. My problem lies with Zionism, not the people of Israel and certainly not the Jewish religion. Just to save old

the worry of getting anti Semitism complaints from ANOTHER bloody employee. I’m not sure why I needed to clarify that, given that there is even a man calling himself Nazi here, but I’d rather not be thrown in that pile of black and white thinking. We all know by now I dress only in grey.

- Nero is of course wearing a mix of Turquoise and black as he says this; he’s being metaphorical!

Quote:Therapist Kerrigan says: Metaphors are fun.

Sharon was the worst kind of human being; one who supported subjugation, death and oppression just to keep his ideology safe. Backed by the West, he had almost free reign to place his thumb over Palestine, while the West immediately deemed anyone fighting back as ‘terrorists’. Basically a man who had all the power he needed, and used it the wrong way. Kind of like goes on around here, but on a much heightened scale. But enough back story; the butcher of Beirut is dead. And there are rumours that I was the man responsible.

- Grin.

Were that I was! What an honour it’d be, to say I was the one who snuffed out that old bastard, but I was in fact washing my hair that day. However, given that I enjoyed this news so much, I thought, why not? Why not give you a ‘what if’ scenario? How would Neonero go about such a feat? How would I get around one of the best equipped security services in the world? How could I possibly sneak into a highly guarded hospital, past security guards on a ward requiring card-key access, and do it all in a way that’d leave scant trace but the vague memory of my face?

Quote:Therapist Kerrigan says: Faces are at the front of your head.

Allow me to adumbrate. I shall do so in the form of first person, because that’s how I get down.

- We fade -

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Dust in your eye

I find myself in a long corridor, either side of me are burgundy walls, and beneath my feet a dark carpet, dull brown softened almost into darkness by the combination of low light and dark walls. The light itself comes from a series of low wattage bulbs hanging wearily, nary a lampshade in sight. Two doors ahead; one at the end of the corridor, one to the right. My information told me, ‘take the last door’. It follows that the last door is the one at the end.

My hand finds its way to a brass handle, circular in shape. It turns surprisingly easily, offering me no resistance as I rotate it clockwise, opening the door with a light click. Inside is bathed with a much purer light, and my eyes almost have to adjust themselves moving from the murk to the illume. Nevertheless I hesitate not as I progress through the doorframe.

Quote:Therapist Kerrigan says: Doorframes house doors.

As my form meets the space between the doorframe and the room, my head perfectly located betwixt the two, the scent of lavender is immediately apparent. I inhale deeply and feel strangely at home. As my eyes pierce through the momentary glare inflicted upon them, I start to observe the features of the room. Firstly, an old fashioned wallpaper, dull ochre red and white latticing like some intricate, zoomed in crosshatch drawing. A few old paintings hang upon the walls, watercolours, the kind of nondescript, bland paintings you tend to see in old people’s houses. There’s a yacht, an old fashioned house with a water wheel, some rolling fields, and so on.

JyanYoung, it’s good to see you dearie.

The voice I hear is familiar; it harbours a maternal quality. I don’t actually remember my own parents, which makes this an altogether obscure a sensation to me, yet it seems to register with me. Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself sitting in a comfortable high-backed green chair, with a roaring fireplace to my right. The heat is just right, and I feel utterly at ease.

Would you like a crumpet dear? They’re topped with Bovril, I know how much you like them.

No, I’ve never eaten a crumpet in my life. I’ve perhaps referred to a lady I’ve tasted as ‘a bit piece of crumpet’, but that’s just me being bawdy. I have never tasted a real crumpet, so to be told this is ‘just the way I like it’ is quite odd. However, by the time it’s in my hand, I’ve already seemingly taken a large bite. I’m chewing on this thing and it’s like there’s a millennium barn dance in my mouth; it feels good, even if there’s a bit of an earthy murk about eating it. It’s at this point I actually look up, registering the lady sat opposite me. Once again I am overcome with that maternal sensation, as I see an old lady, and one I know only too well. It’s...

[Image: Betty-White-9542614-1-402.jpg]

How did you –

Your Mother knows everything, dearie.

Quote:Therapist Kerrigan: Your mother is the lady who brought you into the world.

Now then sweetie, I believe you came here for a reason?

Actually, I was just told to come here out of nowhere, I was hoping you could explain why I’m here.

Well, you received the letter, did you not?

At this point, I reach into my pocket, withdrawing a sheet of paper, unfurling it. I’d folded it into a neat little square, but typically my pocket was too fucking small and it’s still come out all creased and crumpled.

You always were a scruffy sort, that’s why I always loved you, you scamp.

Not really knowing how to respond to such odd compliments from what must surely be an octogenarian, I proceed reading the letter out loud.

Quote:
– The hand of DU

Proceed to address censored. Await instruction.

Short but sweet. I have no idea what the ‘Hand of DU’ is, nor, to be honest, why I decided to follow the instructions on this letter. To be perfectly honest, I feel rather like an automaton. I remember nothing before walking down your hallway.

So, still having trouble remembering? DU has done well with you. Still, sweetie. Still, the time has arrived. You must start to remember, it is vital. Here, have a cream puff.

A tray of cream puffs appears before my eyes, and I tuck in without hesitation.

You’ve been sent back to Your Mother for a reason, CJY.

CJY. There’s something I’m not used to being called. But for some reason it rings a faint bell in my mind, as if it were an ignored part of my very character for as long as I’ve been self aware.

It’s my responsibility as Your Mother to help you recall. Now, if you will, just rest your weary head awhile. Your Mother has some tasks to attend to.

Before I knew it, I was fast asleep. And that, strangely, is where that particular encounter ends. What? WHAT? You thought this was the ‘If I did it’ expose? Christ, I’m not about to wrap that up in a sound byte. No, you will have to stay tuned for that shit. What happened next was to define 2013 for me - oh yeah, did I not mention how long ago this stuff happened? Well now you know. This is like, well, months ago. I could be specific with dates, but are you really that arsed what month it was? No, I thought not. Now, whoever you are, I bid you good day.

I said good day.

Malkuth

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