Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

John Raide · (12-07-2013)

[Image: tumblr_static_tumblr_static_looking_up.gif]

Take a look at a castle. Doesn't matter which one. Pretty ordinary, right? Now, break down the key elements that make it a castle. They haven't changed in over a thousand years.

First, location. It needs to be on high ground so that it can command the territory for as far as the eye can see.

Second, protection. Big walls, walls strong enough to withstand a frontal attack.

Third, men. Men who are trained and willing to kill.

Lastly, a flag.

You sit your men down and you tell them that they are soldiers.

You make them understand that the flag flying above them is their flag and no one else's.

Now you got yourself a castle.

The only problem is sometimes you lose sight on whether you're trying to keep people out or trying to keep people in.

It can get very lonely up there in the high tower as I'll explain very shortly.

---

I wake up on my back, a white vent of sunlight splits the blinds and conveniently finds it's landing on my face. I stir, roll myself to my feet and stumble into the bathroom to relieve my aching bladder. I sigh. It's another day in the sun baked hell of San Diego.

I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in my room. I'm just glad that foots the bill on stuff like this. Here's my gripe -- why is this mini-fridge packed with tiny 6 ounce bottles of water? Does anyone drink 6 ounces and go, man, my thirst is really fucking quenched now?

Follow up question -- can someone explain to me why this bottle costs twelve fucking dollars? Look, I'm not a cheapskate, but seriously, am I supposed to believe that because the water is from a "natural occurring spring" that that justifies twelve fucking dollars? It's about the principle, man.

If I can speak candidly with you for a sec, I'm willing to bet this water came from some sweaty fuck's leftover bathtub water and he just refills the bottles himself and uses a middle man for distribution.

I move out onto the patio and feel the hot sun as it hits my pale skin. I won't lie, it doesn't feel bad. It is a tad too bright though which doesn't help my hangover, but I dare say the place is growing on me a bit. It also appears that today will be sunny just like the last nine days before it, but at least it's not all fire and brimstone out here.

No, that's not a dig at John Austin's imaginary puppet master.

I'd hate for the all seeing eye of Sauron to get all crotchety for a remark like that one.

Serious question, asking for a friend, I'm relatively new here but you're telling me that because a guy walks into an Ace Hardware store and buys some paint to coat half his face with I'm supposed to believe he's possessed by a demon?

A knock at my hotel room door takes me from my thoughts and I go to answer it. By the time I get there the doorway is empty, but there is a package at my feet with the big blue XWF logo stamped on it.

I tear the envelope open and find a DVD and a small note that reads, "For your consideration."

I sit on the edge of the bed after popping the DVD into the player. The video cues up and I'm immediately struck by the shoddy production value.

"...matter what John Raide or John Austin says. It never has and it never will. Their voices are in silence. They may hear noise comin' from their mouths, but we all hear crickets..."

Yeah, you guessed it. I'm watching an Eli James' joint -- I mean promo.

It's half past ten and I already need a stiff drink.

Unrelated, this Eli fellow seriously needs to pony up for a better lighting guy. I was kind of looking forward to seeing that cool ass beard of his. It actually looks like crickets may live in there.

"...After I beat Mr. Radio, he decided to interrupt and attack a man who has already been in a fight..."

Look, man. It's not my fault you're a husky fella. If you can't handle more than a fifteen minute match, just say so. We'll all understand.

"...did was show us you're the little boy standing in the corner with urine coming through his pants, trembling in fear, and when tryin' to speak the voice cracks. I know, you thought by attacking me I'd be all upset and craving for revenge. You're not worth my time. You're ears are not worthy of the Almighty's word...

I let Eli ramble a bit more and finally pause the promo. I can only take so much of meth head Santa Claus and his gospel before I start grinding my teeth.

I'm at a real loss. I have no idea anymore what the fuck this hillbilly is even talking about. I also realize I don't care. That's quite freeing, actually. I stand on my bed and yell: "I don't fucking care what you're saying, Eli!"

Damn, that feels good. Go ahead, try it out for yourself. We'll do it as one big sing along and pretend that Eli is leading us in with his banjo. Ready...?

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, ELI!"

Whew! That will put a spring back in your step, huh?

Let me now just clear up a few things so there's no hurt feelings. I don't need you, Eli, to be upset or crave revenge. The only part of your blabbering, nonsensical diatribe that made sense was that I was looking to make an impact.

You're absolutely right about that and not in the way you think either.

Here's the thing, Cochise. You and John Austin (who I'm going to get to here in a moment) have a great deal in common. Your solipsism and short sightedness are going to eventually leave you with nothing.

Do you follow?

Let me break it down into fractions for you both since you probably have the equivalent of a GED between the two of you.

You're puppets.

Sheep.

And the sheep go, baaah.

And the sheep march blindly into the pasture because that's where they're told to go.

They don't question it because the person pulling the strings says it must be true, so go fucking figure, it must be then.

Sound familiar?

There is no almighty word.

There is no good word.

But please, keep enjoying your sky cake, because we all know the cake isn't a lie.

If you recall, we were talking earlier about a castle. I'm going to tell you about a very particular castle that sits up on a place called Bullshit Mountain.

In the high tower sits a man, named Eli James who looks down onto the land with a toilet paper roll and casts spells or sermons, or some other didactic nonsense and thinks that his Manson clan of merry idiots and him are untouchable.

Why? Oh, that's right, the invisible sky wizard who whispers sweet nothings into his ear tells him that he's doing the work of the righteous.

Man, what I wouldn't give to be that fucking naive sometimes.

You see that's what happened after your match was all about, Eli. It was about making an impact and proving you're not untouchable.

And it was about starting to clean up some of the fucking filth you brought in here with the horse you rode in on.

Anyway...

Down in the valley of Bullshit Mountain is a new development where a new resident is moving in.

His name is John Austin.

Welcome to Bullshit Mountain, Austin. Please enjoy your stay.

I want to make few things clear to you, Austin. I'm not here to bring change. I'm not a stable. I'm not here to change status-quo. I'm not a moron like that cock jockey Smoke Man who could tie a bell to his balls and still couldn't find his nuts.

Sure, I'm a contrarian, but I don't always need to buck the system.

I'm simply here to snuff out worthless pieces of megalomaniacal cancers like you and Eli James and others like you.

I don't want to be king of the world.

I don't need to fuck the hottest chicks around.

I'm John Raide and I serve no man.

I'm glad you're happy being a puppet, Austin. I hope it gives you the tingles in your scrotum. Just like Eli you're a slave to another form of control.

I kindly suggest you take that olive branch of yours, lube it up, and shove it up your tight ass until that demon inside of you starts singing the high notes.

Enjoy your time in the castle, gentleman. Because when I'm finished with you I'm going to be hanging the flag in your kingdom upside down.

The Raid has only just begun.

FULL DISCLOSURE: Things I did before I sent this out

1. Watched Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels. (Great flick).

2. Talked to payroll and got my salary worked out, but found out that Gilmour's salary consisted of a used Shane Prince CD, a handful of Chuck E. Cheese tokens and an unopened bag of vegan marshmallows. (Might explain the weight loss).

3. Rubbed one out to a pic of Jessie Diaz. (Fucking sue me, she's hot).

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Random Access Memories (RP:1)
Author	Message