Post by Logan on Sept 2, 2009 20:20:37 GMT -5
Dead End
..here they come marching down the street!
..here they come marching down the street!
Logan: Have you ever fucked a monkey?
Joe Smith: Well..
Logan: Oh wow! Really?
Joe Smith: Ah, forget it about it.
Logan: Forget about i-- You have to tell me!
Joe Smith: Nobody cares.
Logan: Does anyone care?
Joe Smith: I was at Zoo during the spring of 2007, my girlfriend, Catherine-- that whore slut fuckin cunt bitch-- er, me and my girl were at the zone.
Logan: This was before you caught her screwing the dog, right?
Joe Smith: Indeed! Ya' see, we were still together then, it was 2007, not 2008, in 2008 she was sleeping with the neighborhood flea bag, but, in 2007.. we were together. So, we're at the zoO, things are good, weather was nice, bought her a hotdog--
Logan: NICE!
Joe Smith: --we ate, it was real nice ya' know.. nice little spot under a tree, monkeys and birds were everywhere eyeing our food, eyeing us, eyeing our love. On days like that they feel different from the other days, ya' know? It's like during it, you know you'll look back on it, and just know it was special.
Logan: Why are you empathizing it?
Joe Smith: Because it was the day! It was the magic. After the lunch we held hands, walked along, joked the weird looking animals, participated in the zoo's special four leaf clover game. And yes! We found one. Her adorable little cheeks, ha, I painted little green four leaf's on them.. her little cute face. So, then, she went to the bathroom and I fucked a monkey.
Logan: A dude monkey?
Joe Smith: They have females?
Logan: ALLRIGHT!
*SING ALONG/PETE HUM!*
Joe Smith: I feel asleep after fuckin' a mon-keey, with ten cans of booze to hic-key me to sleep.
Logan: Hoooommmmmeeee--
Joe Smith: --MMOOOOO! Monkey!
Dead End
Homo Monkey
Homo Monkey
Stan. The rebellious monkey of Pedoheights, the one you'd pass by with a wicked grin because he'd be charming you with a banana, the-crazy-butt-licking-evil-charming-fuckin'-orange-original-Stan-the-homo-monkey! Stomping his feet in cheer, care free of life, not looking for such held regarded golden banana, just looking for a banana that will make him happy. With all the hotdog's and bananas going around you can see why Stan is gay. Stan couldn't take it all, he couldn't soak in the glory of a golden banana like he used to, he only roamed the streets of Pedoheights nowadays to discover himself, hope to find an answer to his banana addiction.
Stan: What's with the bone? I was fucked without a kiss, but now, a bone? That means I wasn't boned without a kiss. I'm too old for gold.
Spinning around in circles was the only thing that made him sane, it's what he did, who he was. So he span, and span, and span, and span, and span--
Dead End
--And Span
--And Span
Joe Smith: Are you spinning?
Logan: I am!
His vision became blurred, the world stood still for him, and he span. He didn't care, not at all, not one bit.
Logan: I don't caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee!
Logan, the once champion of WCF, the once champion of the word Mr. WCF, the once champion of hotdog eating contests, continued to spin, for he.. didn't care.
Dead End
Walking The Tight Rope of Sanity and Smiling
Walking The Tight Rope of Sanity and Smiling
Joe Smith: Would a hotdog calm you down?
Logan: Let's just run away, Joe. Not me and you, not in a romantic sense, but let's just free ourselves from this tight anus.
Joe Smith: Run free?
Logan: Yes! And-and-and-and-and someone can play that Bonnie Tyler song, Hero, while we run--like--like the Johnny Five robot. HOOOOMMEEEEEEEEE----
Joe Smith: MOOOOOOOO! Are you leaving?
Logan: Leaving home? Leaving the nest?
Joe Smith: Logan, do it.
Logan: Run till they catch us! They'll say were crazy, but, really.. this worlds already crazy. Crazy people are the sane ones. They're the ones who've figured out that shit can be turned into scrambled eggs, and scrambled eggs can be turned into one dollar bills. Joe, look at me, we're ALL capable millionaires. Once you've got that figured out.. life is easy--JOE WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?
Dead End
It's A Fuckin' WCF Title In The Wrong Hands!
It's A Fuckin' WCF Title In The Wrong Hands!
Borture, the Bort. He was a he, and he was a man of a million things--talent not being one of them. He couldn't fuck his way out of a monkey, he couldn't screw in a light bulb without first testing it with his male organ, his penis. He can, however, cuddle with his friend, Stan, and do weekly private intimate dealings with their ring master, Beth Peach. Beth Peach.. what a lady.
Borture: I'm all alone again.
Beth Peach: Shhh.. they can't know we're in cahoots.
Borture: Should I whisper?
Beth Peach: No, just, send me a text.. Stan is on the other line.
Borture: Speaking of Stan, we still fighting over the golden banana?
Beth Peach: He's in question with his desire provider, so, no.. probably not.
Borture: Damnit, I wanted to beat him again.
Beth Peach: Yeah, I know.
Borture: OR-- I could've lost, that way, we can have me win the title back a month later so I can soon break the record of golden banana victories.
Beth Peach: Indeed-- but then it would've had to been a three way banana match, don't worry, it'll happen soon, Bort. I promise you that.
Borture: I love you.
Beth Peach: I love you too.
Dead End
Give Me a Song That Isn't Same Old-Same
Give Me a Song That Isn't Same Old-Same
Joe Smith: Hoooommmmeeeee---
Logan: Again? Sigh, okay.. MOOOOOOOO!
Dead End
One Man Road
One Man Road
Logan. Defeated by Seth Lerch in two minutes and thirty-six seconds. Seth Lerch. Victorious opponent of Logan after two minutes and thirty-six seconds. Logan. A worn tool...
The superstar sits in his locker room, minutes have passed since the quick sweatless match with mister suit-and-tie, Lerch. Still in his gear, he sits on the locker bench, stare a blank, mind a blank, nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to say, nothing to feel, a meaningfulness.. nothing. He speaks, quietly.
Logan: Hold and love your victor-- me?
Pouncing to his feet with enough energetic levels to power Mother Mary's dildo.
Logan: --No. Not me. What can I say? It was a fluke? H'm?
In a mocking macho tone, he continues.
Logan: Argh, I'll get you next week boudle! You got lucky this time. If it wasn't for that photographic snap shot at the last second maybe I wouldn't have slipped off the turnbuckle and landed on my head. Errr, you'll get yours.. whooped in the ring.
His face pauses, the mockery of the prototypical WCF superstar ceases.
Logan: I have nothing--NOTHING to say. I returned to send a man to his gritty bottom barrel grave, and instead? He goes back up and I go back down. Maybe I'm the one who should just stop, step aside, let him do his thing and not breathe down his neck. Is it really in me not to be the center of attention? Can I really just let this thing with Torture... go?
Resting knuckles over his knee he stares ahead, he stares into the room's wall, he stares into a nothingless future.