Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2016 12:30:05 GMT -5
[Cut to video of Lester Parish stalking the grounds of his increasingly visible home, this so-called “bunker” and yet unassuming lair. July seems to have done well for his crops, now overrunning its acreage. Corn and other subsistence crops await as a bountiful harvest.]
“WCF… an exodus has come to fruition. Israel may be the most famous, but many have taken to a trail of tears and confusion in route to providence—a “promised land” prophesized by the previous generation. For all it’s worth, my work should be in a festival showcase. Sadly, I will need more mana to feed our hungry flock looking for answers in this downward spiral. Kevin Bishop and I have seen a number of setbacks, but any plan should expect pushback. An inevitable blowback billows outwards as a costly backdraft. We scoff and harrumph. Our hands pocket themselves as our chins lower, in view of kicked dirt or garbage. There may not be true happiness in relocation; however, well-wishing hides behind an arcane blessing. I reaped this field for myself. I watched it grow from saplings into their producing form, copulating with air through pollenating bees. It’s the moment a producer dreams of each night: a cycle of growth.”
[Parish heads through a grove to where a wigwam building stands. Inside a concert of electrical wires, exposed from its outlets, hangs from the ceiling. Other aspects appear unfinished, but the space looks livable. Three dozen bedframes line the chamber with their mattresses still in plastic. He tests one’s bedsprings, compressing it with one hand.]
“Israel has collapsed, but the future welcomes a new beginning. I’m not one to invoke a phoenix; simply put, the idea has already galvanized from this situation. Disconnection wrought our poorest elements as of late. The Plague knows that—although I dared repeat it to him, regardless of how long his head bobbed. For weeks now, I’ve helped to grow the home of his army. This land will feed their hungry presence. Brotherhood or not, the temptation to desert brethren will be our greatest concern. Bishop sees that and his moves might seem rash or unpredictable. He once sought to destroy my bunker because represented the weakness of humanity. Now he sees the truth: Here we shall forge not only his forces but also his inevitable crown as voice of the people, a solider of the masses and specter of prolonged healing. This concoction will spread with great virulence. From here, we can hone those unprepared and fortify the precepts of the Brotherhood. Here we’ll grow our newest generation from soil up.”
*****
[Parish argues with a man dressed like a contractor in a dimly lit room. We see a sprawling blueprint with a layout of his bunker across a card table.]
“There’s been no approval from the zoning commission.”
“It’s my land. Every square foot of these twelve acres are mine. I can develop them how I wish.”
“Not it if you want electricity, gas, or water. These plans need to be approved before my team can build anything else. And your plywood longhouse has scores of fire hazards. You’ll be lucky if they let you run a watt through it without fines from the fire marshal. You shouldn’t have embarked on this project by yourself. Nothing should work out here; the fact that any of it does is unbelievable.”
[Parish points to a section of trees on a separate sheet, one depicting the landscape.]
“Then we start here. Clearing the trees out will take time, but it’ll be worth it.”
“So you want to build an addition onto your Indian hut. And you want to build a one-car garage for a vehicle not even on the premises. What is this, a pyramid scheme or something?”
“Don’t wrap your mind around it. Focus on making this farm safe and livable. That’s why I’m paying you. I wouldn’t deplete my retirement funds on a whim. Do you know how long it takes to build up an account like this as a professional wrestler? It takes more gumption than you’ll ever see from another customer. Now, can we discuss it without arguing?”
[Parish massages his brow as they look over the plans further. Specifications call for a second building to protrude from the original hut—fully furnished with a kitchen, full dormitory bathrooms, and also HVAC systems and a water heater. The contractor makes an estimate on a single sheet torn from his steno pad.]
“Like I said before. We can’t do any of this without a zoning permit. Get that and we can start.”
“Your part in this is necessary, but not paramount. I have other methods if you wish to leave now. Unless you want to relinquish such a lucrative contract. I doubt your manager would see it the same way. This is an overestimate—and you know that’s true. Do you want out or not?”
“We don’t need your business, Mr. Parish. You want to do these renovations yourself, fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you want to let professionals do this, here’s our number. And for your information, the number is big because it has to be. At your ridiculous scale, I’d expect the final pricing to raise significantly by the time of its completion. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Cost is no matter. I want my brethren to feel safe and have the proper technology to thrive and fulfill their purposes. I wasn’t capable of building this all on my own. I built these structures, yet their forms are rigid and riddled with imperfect carpentry. Kevin Bishop deserves a kingdom—and you will be his architect. David must have a throne or he shan’t be seen a king.”
“Yeah, all right, whatever you say buddy. That’s the price. Contact Bev, our office assistant, if you need anything clarified. And have yourself a nice day—well, what’s left of it.”
“And let the moon be your guidance this evening. We shall discuss this in further detail soon.”
“You are one weird guy. Look, get the permits and it’ll be done before you and this Mr. Bishop can “hot tamale.” You got our number and the figure. Good day to you, sir.”
*****
[Periscope video feed opens to a masked Lester Parish sitting in room brimming with daylight. A solid ray colors the room from a cross-shaped window. The picture levels just beneath his chin.]
“A tag match has finally come together. Perhaps enough ranting and crooning finally establishes a friendship, our stable against the odds. Every day I look out of this farm, my swollen bunker, I see prosperity. Knicks and bruises will form in its cultivation. Bishop and I had many reasons to enact a plan as we did. We saw an opportunity to grab this company by the throat and change its wickedness—but we wrong. Systemic issue run the WCF like a blackened lung with sinews dripping their vital fluids. Toxins circulate from its cellular level—caustic DNA from the director up. Time can properly slice its defects, yet that will ages to undo.
We face a group of talent with age behind their side as well. The beauty of a tag team comes from its chemistry, of which The Plague and I are learning to fuse. We made a mistake of going alone into this company, unaware of the latent dangers echoing in the halls. We put our minds together for this day. Our energies unite into a full-fledged concept: ideas seen towards fruition. Kevin Bishop knows how to win a fight, and I know how to finish one. Our opponents will use their energies as well—but who truly fears a phoenix but those yoking others into vengeance. Let them all boo as we descend upon the ring—the Brotherhood, its message, its plague are nigh!”
“WCF… an exodus has come to fruition. Israel may be the most famous, but many have taken to a trail of tears and confusion in route to providence—a “promised land” prophesized by the previous generation. For all it’s worth, my work should be in a festival showcase. Sadly, I will need more mana to feed our hungry flock looking for answers in this downward spiral. Kevin Bishop and I have seen a number of setbacks, but any plan should expect pushback. An inevitable blowback billows outwards as a costly backdraft. We scoff and harrumph. Our hands pocket themselves as our chins lower, in view of kicked dirt or garbage. There may not be true happiness in relocation; however, well-wishing hides behind an arcane blessing. I reaped this field for myself. I watched it grow from saplings into their producing form, copulating with air through pollenating bees. It’s the moment a producer dreams of each night: a cycle of growth.”
[Parish heads through a grove to where a wigwam building stands. Inside a concert of electrical wires, exposed from its outlets, hangs from the ceiling. Other aspects appear unfinished, but the space looks livable. Three dozen bedframes line the chamber with their mattresses still in plastic. He tests one’s bedsprings, compressing it with one hand.]
“Israel has collapsed, but the future welcomes a new beginning. I’m not one to invoke a phoenix; simply put, the idea has already galvanized from this situation. Disconnection wrought our poorest elements as of late. The Plague knows that—although I dared repeat it to him, regardless of how long his head bobbed. For weeks now, I’ve helped to grow the home of his army. This land will feed their hungry presence. Brotherhood or not, the temptation to desert brethren will be our greatest concern. Bishop sees that and his moves might seem rash or unpredictable. He once sought to destroy my bunker because represented the weakness of humanity. Now he sees the truth: Here we shall forge not only his forces but also his inevitable crown as voice of the people, a solider of the masses and specter of prolonged healing. This concoction will spread with great virulence. From here, we can hone those unprepared and fortify the precepts of the Brotherhood. Here we’ll grow our newest generation from soil up.”
*****
[Parish argues with a man dressed like a contractor in a dimly lit room. We see a sprawling blueprint with a layout of his bunker across a card table.]
“There’s been no approval from the zoning commission.”
“It’s my land. Every square foot of these twelve acres are mine. I can develop them how I wish.”
“Not it if you want electricity, gas, or water. These plans need to be approved before my team can build anything else. And your plywood longhouse has scores of fire hazards. You’ll be lucky if they let you run a watt through it without fines from the fire marshal. You shouldn’t have embarked on this project by yourself. Nothing should work out here; the fact that any of it does is unbelievable.”
[Parish points to a section of trees on a separate sheet, one depicting the landscape.]
“Then we start here. Clearing the trees out will take time, but it’ll be worth it.”
“So you want to build an addition onto your Indian hut. And you want to build a one-car garage for a vehicle not even on the premises. What is this, a pyramid scheme or something?”
“Don’t wrap your mind around it. Focus on making this farm safe and livable. That’s why I’m paying you. I wouldn’t deplete my retirement funds on a whim. Do you know how long it takes to build up an account like this as a professional wrestler? It takes more gumption than you’ll ever see from another customer. Now, can we discuss it without arguing?”
[Parish massages his brow as they look over the plans further. Specifications call for a second building to protrude from the original hut—fully furnished with a kitchen, full dormitory bathrooms, and also HVAC systems and a water heater. The contractor makes an estimate on a single sheet torn from his steno pad.]
“Like I said before. We can’t do any of this without a zoning permit. Get that and we can start.”
“Your part in this is necessary, but not paramount. I have other methods if you wish to leave now. Unless you want to relinquish such a lucrative contract. I doubt your manager would see it the same way. This is an overestimate—and you know that’s true. Do you want out or not?”
“We don’t need your business, Mr. Parish. You want to do these renovations yourself, fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you want to let professionals do this, here’s our number. And for your information, the number is big because it has to be. At your ridiculous scale, I’d expect the final pricing to raise significantly by the time of its completion. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Cost is no matter. I want my brethren to feel safe and have the proper technology to thrive and fulfill their purposes. I wasn’t capable of building this all on my own. I built these structures, yet their forms are rigid and riddled with imperfect carpentry. Kevin Bishop deserves a kingdom—and you will be his architect. David must have a throne or he shan’t be seen a king.”
“Yeah, all right, whatever you say buddy. That’s the price. Contact Bev, our office assistant, if you need anything clarified. And have yourself a nice day—well, what’s left of it.”
“And let the moon be your guidance this evening. We shall discuss this in further detail soon.”
“You are one weird guy. Look, get the permits and it’ll be done before you and this Mr. Bishop can “hot tamale.” You got our number and the figure. Good day to you, sir.”
*****
[Periscope video feed opens to a masked Lester Parish sitting in room brimming with daylight. A solid ray colors the room from a cross-shaped window. The picture levels just beneath his chin.]
“A tag match has finally come together. Perhaps enough ranting and crooning finally establishes a friendship, our stable against the odds. Every day I look out of this farm, my swollen bunker, I see prosperity. Knicks and bruises will form in its cultivation. Bishop and I had many reasons to enact a plan as we did. We saw an opportunity to grab this company by the throat and change its wickedness—but we wrong. Systemic issue run the WCF like a blackened lung with sinews dripping their vital fluids. Toxins circulate from its cellular level—caustic DNA from the director up. Time can properly slice its defects, yet that will ages to undo.
We face a group of talent with age behind their side as well. The beauty of a tag team comes from its chemistry, of which The Plague and I are learning to fuse. We made a mistake of going alone into this company, unaware of the latent dangers echoing in the halls. We put our minds together for this day. Our energies unite into a full-fledged concept: ideas seen towards fruition. Kevin Bishop knows how to win a fight, and I know how to finish one. Our opponents will use their energies as well—but who truly fears a phoenix but those yoking others into vengeance. Let them all boo as we descend upon the ring—the Brotherhood, its message, its plague are nigh!”
