Post by Johnny Reb on Oct 29, 2011 11:25:52 GMT -5
Two days to Halloween, and the interior of Johnny Reb’s condo has been radically transformed to look like something out of a Vincent Price movie. Polyester cobwebs, spun by plastic spiders, festoon every corner; a severed head sits in a puddle of corn syrup blood atop the minibar; rubber bats hang silent and sinister from the ceiling. There are Jack O’Lanterns of varying sizes strewn about the living room, all carved with grotesque faces, all lit with the flickering artificial light of flameless candles. A fog machine exudes intermittent puffs of vapor that collect on the floor to swirl around at ankle height. The overall effect is comically spooky.
The Inveterate Confederate, just now, is busy dumping oversized bags of candy into plastic cauldrons. He won’t be home to answer the door for trick-or-treaters, not this year, but it doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun anyway. He knows his plan to leave the candy unattended by the front door probably means that the first few kids to drop by will get it all, leaving none for the rest. They might as well learn early – grab what you can, when you can, and screw everybody else. Right? After all, it’s not like there are any rules on Halloween.
Still, in spite of his festive preparations, Johnny’s mind is elsewhere.
Reb: Of all the goddamned, stupid things a guy can say…
He glances up to look at the camera.
Reb: Really, Odin? Really? I thought we were past the whole “you’re from the South, so you’re a toothless, ignorant, racist hick” bullshit. Like you got a lot of room to talk, with your Wagnerian-Gotterdamarung-Nazi routine. Seriously, every time I see ya, I expect to hear “Flight of the Valkyries” playing in the background. Ya got any more tired clichés for me? I think you forgot to mention a trailer park. But otherwise…real creative. Original. I never heard any of that stuff before.
Johnny rolls his eyes for emphasis, as if his sarcastic tone isn’t enough.
Reb: Ya do bring up a good point, though. What am I gonna be for Halloween? I was gonna go as an overbearing jackass that doesn’t have any idea what he’s talkin’ about… but I didn’t wanna copy you. Ya pull it off so much better than I ever would anyway.
See, ya just go on, an’ on, an’ on… An’ it ain’t exactly that I don’t understand ya; I just get bored about five minutes into whatever tirade you’re on, an’ I kinda stop listenin’. It’s the same claptrap every single time. For all your size an’ your dubious in-ring skills, you are one flat-out dull sonofabitch. Not only that, you’re a hypocrite, too. Ya call me out for talkin’ about my own accomplishments; then ya turn around an’ do the exact same thing. Do y’self a favor an’ shut that oversized yammer-hole for once.
All you’re really doin’ is pointin’ out to me just how worried y’are. I know y’ain’t scared – you’re twice my big an’ three times my ugly – but you’re vexed. That’s how come ya keep dismissin’ my deeds, my record. I mean, I assume y’ain’t so ignorant as to consider these things inconsequential. But ya pretend that’s what ya think. You protest too much. That bein’ said, don’t think I underestimate ya. At all. The only thing ya got goin’ for ya is your size; which is a clear overcompensation for a lack in… other areas. Y’know, like speed an’ agility, f’example.
What? Did ya think I was talkin’ about your cock? Please…that joke’s a little too obvious.
The Inveterate Confederate chuckles softly, mockingly.
Reb: But I digress… I have a tendency to do that sometimes… Point is, size ain’t everythin’. Oblivion is a big sonofabitch, an’ crazy as hell to boot; an’ ya know what? I still beat him before. So when it comes to a big, dumb, Midwestern jerkoff…
He gives a noncommittal shrug.
Reb: Oops! There I go, name-droppin’ again. ‘Course, you do it, too. Except the only guy you can think of to mention, aside from D-Day, is Logan. Logan’s yesterday; old news. Just like you’re gonna be after Monday night. ‘Cause, see… ya keep talkin’ about your two victories over me, as compared to my one at WAR. But them two victories was in tag team matches…an’ only in one of those was I actually pinned. So, y’know, not to put too fine a point on it: you an’ me ain’t never been in the ring, one-on-one – not for any meaningful length of time.
Still, it’s nice to know that you’re gonna give me the benefit of all your focus. I don’t want ya to have no excuses for your upcomin’ failure to take the World Title from me. An’ with that in mind, I’m gonna do somethin’ for you. A little gift of my own. I’m gonna give you what ol’ Doc Henry’s been after for months.
No…not this sweet, sweet ass.
Johnny reaches back and pats his own skinny rump, giving the camera a childish grin.
Reb: That’s not for you. What I’m gonna give you is the one thing the Devil Himself can’t force from me: the darker side of the Inveterate Confederate. Ya done got me all riled up. I know you’re gonna laugh it off now, an’ that’s fine. Enjoy the mirth while ya can. There’s only so much of this endless disparagin’ of character that a Southern gentleman like myself can take – ‘specially when it’s the same unimaginative crap over an’ over again. Ya done went well beyond that limit.
Johnny’s smile fades quickly, replaced by a look of smoldering fury.
Reb: So congratulations: ya pissed me off. That’s a rare feat, in an’ of itself. I could go on for another twenty minutes about what that might mean… but I’ll refrain. Let’s just see how that works out for ya, shall we?
You can underestimate me all ya want. ‘Cause I promise ya, come Helloween, I’m gonna shut ya up for good – an’ you can take that to the bank.
The Inveterate Confederate gives the camera one final, sardonic smile.
Reb: Deo vindice.
The camera focuses on him for just a moment longer, then cuts abruptly to black.
The Inveterate Confederate, just now, is busy dumping oversized bags of candy into plastic cauldrons. He won’t be home to answer the door for trick-or-treaters, not this year, but it doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun anyway. He knows his plan to leave the candy unattended by the front door probably means that the first few kids to drop by will get it all, leaving none for the rest. They might as well learn early – grab what you can, when you can, and screw everybody else. Right? After all, it’s not like there are any rules on Halloween.
Still, in spite of his festive preparations, Johnny’s mind is elsewhere.
Reb: Of all the goddamned, stupid things a guy can say…
He glances up to look at the camera.
Reb: Really, Odin? Really? I thought we were past the whole “you’re from the South, so you’re a toothless, ignorant, racist hick” bullshit. Like you got a lot of room to talk, with your Wagnerian-Gotterdamarung-Nazi routine. Seriously, every time I see ya, I expect to hear “Flight of the Valkyries” playing in the background. Ya got any more tired clichés for me? I think you forgot to mention a trailer park. But otherwise…real creative. Original. I never heard any of that stuff before.
Johnny rolls his eyes for emphasis, as if his sarcastic tone isn’t enough.
Reb: Ya do bring up a good point, though. What am I gonna be for Halloween? I was gonna go as an overbearing jackass that doesn’t have any idea what he’s talkin’ about… but I didn’t wanna copy you. Ya pull it off so much better than I ever would anyway.
See, ya just go on, an’ on, an’ on… An’ it ain’t exactly that I don’t understand ya; I just get bored about five minutes into whatever tirade you’re on, an’ I kinda stop listenin’. It’s the same claptrap every single time. For all your size an’ your dubious in-ring skills, you are one flat-out dull sonofabitch. Not only that, you’re a hypocrite, too. Ya call me out for talkin’ about my own accomplishments; then ya turn around an’ do the exact same thing. Do y’self a favor an’ shut that oversized yammer-hole for once.
All you’re really doin’ is pointin’ out to me just how worried y’are. I know y’ain’t scared – you’re twice my big an’ three times my ugly – but you’re vexed. That’s how come ya keep dismissin’ my deeds, my record. I mean, I assume y’ain’t so ignorant as to consider these things inconsequential. But ya pretend that’s what ya think. You protest too much. That bein’ said, don’t think I underestimate ya. At all. The only thing ya got goin’ for ya is your size; which is a clear overcompensation for a lack in… other areas. Y’know, like speed an’ agility, f’example.
What? Did ya think I was talkin’ about your cock? Please…that joke’s a little too obvious.
The Inveterate Confederate chuckles softly, mockingly.
Reb: But I digress… I have a tendency to do that sometimes… Point is, size ain’t everythin’. Oblivion is a big sonofabitch, an’ crazy as hell to boot; an’ ya know what? I still beat him before. So when it comes to a big, dumb, Midwestern jerkoff…
He gives a noncommittal shrug.
Reb: Oops! There I go, name-droppin’ again. ‘Course, you do it, too. Except the only guy you can think of to mention, aside from D-Day, is Logan. Logan’s yesterday; old news. Just like you’re gonna be after Monday night. ‘Cause, see… ya keep talkin’ about your two victories over me, as compared to my one at WAR. But them two victories was in tag team matches…an’ only in one of those was I actually pinned. So, y’know, not to put too fine a point on it: you an’ me ain’t never been in the ring, one-on-one – not for any meaningful length of time.
Still, it’s nice to know that you’re gonna give me the benefit of all your focus. I don’t want ya to have no excuses for your upcomin’ failure to take the World Title from me. An’ with that in mind, I’m gonna do somethin’ for you. A little gift of my own. I’m gonna give you what ol’ Doc Henry’s been after for months.
No…not this sweet, sweet ass.
Johnny reaches back and pats his own skinny rump, giving the camera a childish grin.
Reb: That’s not for you. What I’m gonna give you is the one thing the Devil Himself can’t force from me: the darker side of the Inveterate Confederate. Ya done got me all riled up. I know you’re gonna laugh it off now, an’ that’s fine. Enjoy the mirth while ya can. There’s only so much of this endless disparagin’ of character that a Southern gentleman like myself can take – ‘specially when it’s the same unimaginative crap over an’ over again. Ya done went well beyond that limit.
Johnny’s smile fades quickly, replaced by a look of smoldering fury.
Reb: So congratulations: ya pissed me off. That’s a rare feat, in an’ of itself. I could go on for another twenty minutes about what that might mean… but I’ll refrain. Let’s just see how that works out for ya, shall we?
You can underestimate me all ya want. ‘Cause I promise ya, come Helloween, I’m gonna shut ya up for good – an’ you can take that to the bank.
The Inveterate Confederate gives the camera one final, sardonic smile.
Reb: Deo vindice.
The camera focuses on him for just a moment longer, then cuts abruptly to black.
