Post by Deleted on Sept 29, 2014 15:16:58 GMT -5
The sky was clear. Devoid of clouds, haze, airplanes and contrails. Devoid of that Silver shit. There were no birds, no rainbows; there were no hopes or dreams. The only thing in the sky this day, the sun and its cosmic rays. Below Father Sky was Mother Earth, sustained by patriarchal bread winnings of radiation trapped in a web of atmospheric matrimony.
The Sun hangs alone in that large blue sky, looking down upon the Earth, reflecting on reasons why. “Why do I stay and why do I try?” It ponders as it warms the fields. The Sun starts to sob with solar flares, looking back upon its former greatness like a beaten defeated man, lamenting on four touchdowns in one game, now resigned to selling women's shoes.
“People down there, they used to fear me, revere me! REVERE ME DAMN IT!” shouts the Sun, monologuing to itself. Nobody can hear its depressed and suicidal thoughts in space, finger on that super nova button, right next to that Denmark destroy button. “You aren't fooling anyone!”
The Sun reaches for that self-destruct button but it's broken. IKEA ain't good for shit. The Sun will just have to do this Bud Dwyer, Hardcore! Pistol's in the mouth, that finger's on the trigger. A once proud being has looked upon all of its years of success and sees the culmination of its toil and labor. NO, this won't do. The Sun was a Bad Motha Fucka back in the day. Back when Pluto and David Gideon Smith were not yet twinkles in its eye. Back when Black Man was a relevant name and Rissi was Champion. There is a lot, a lot of 'befores,' far too many to count.
The Sun knew this, it sensed this so it's been trying to reinvent itself. With that reinvention it has seen two of the absolute best title changes in its history and nothing to show for its longevity. It was those, “good ol' days. Washed away with Hurricane Champ. However, as the Sun looks down, to take a final look at its intermingling of shame and pride, it notices a redeemer in the field. It spies a soul amongst the unborn
Cue that title sequence, Tarantino.
A Walk Among The Merlot Stones
The Evil Incarnate strolls leisurely through an expanse of grapevines. This vineyard ran for acres. It ran for miles and it just didn't stop. He walked in and out of the vines effortlessly and it gave the Sun hope that finally there was a man who gets it. Dressed in that classic grunge attire. Those grapes were ripe for the pickin'. Waitin to be plucked. They be waitin to be pulled from the stem, to be washed, pampered, crushed and fermented. They were waiting to be turned into something better than what they were. The Evil Incarnate held them softly in his hands, admiring each globe as if each was a world unto its own. Only the best will do.
Only the best.
There might be help after all. Down in the vineyard, The Evil Incarnate continues to walk and inspect grapes suitable for processing.
“So many...” Champ muttered “So many clamor for a chance, a chance to be warmed by the Sun. To be kissed and blessed. To be called upon. There are many grapes in EHWF, many men who want to be on top- many who need it. They covet it with prejudice and greedy hands and lying eyes. There are hundreds of thousands of grapes each with a million wishes. If only that were true."
The Evil Incarnate stirs up quite a chuckle.
“If only that were true. You see, the greatest battle in the life of the grape is to see who is among who, the jam to the wine? The jam to the wine? Or-who will roast in the sun- a raisin, an afterthought. There are many raisins in EHWF. There are many afterthoughts, but only a select few make it off the vine and into jam- into that moderate success, and fewer still become the wine. WAR happens to be one of those many battles where everyone gets to stand up and say “I- oh yes, I!” But those damn white grapes, without color, passion, drive or originality, don't know that struggle that the red grape must endure. It must be the correct shape. It must be the correct size. It must please the ever watchful eye of the sun, and its sheen must shine and glint and glimmer as rose colored gold. Only a handful become wine. Only a handful become Merlot.
There must be some of you out there who are saying “that Champ has lost his damn mind. Talking about raisins like they're really something.” These are incomplex thoughts of the masses, of the grapes that are not destined to be wine, and they knew it the day they saw the Sun shinin'. Let us peek a glimpse at those who are to wither on the vine, to be pecked at by the crows and eaten by the insects. Names like Smooth, Rose, Sykes, Mercer and DeAngelo. Unsuspecting suspects, victims of their own ignorant claims. They know what they said and I dare not repeat the ramblings of those who shall never make it. The White to the Red, the struggle be not known.
The Evil Incarnate throws out his arms and looks to the sky.
“But Oh! Preacher man! Preacher man! Send me a sign! Shall I be joyous or shall I be damned!? There are few things in life, worse than the ignorant ramblings of the unwashed masses, begging for a handout and THAT is of men who pass judgment unto others and unto themselves without due cause or process. Men like David Gideon Smith. Holier than thou. “Better than you and better than me.”
The Evil Incarnate looks back, straight ahead, cocking his head with a sickening POP of his vertebrae.
“These men all exist BECAUSE of the very person you see before you.”
The eyes of The Evil Incarnate grow wide, wild and fiery as he continues to speak.
“David Gideon Smith. My brother. A man only to be named in this group and not those that follow because, once in a while, bad grapes get their day and David has had many “Days.” Many spoon fed events that try and call upon his greatness as a figure above the rest. Look into these eyes, David. This is a man unimpressed. This is a man who will not back down, submit or cower because your name carries weight to others. While you have that experience to come with a heavy fist, you ultimately lack: You lack the freedom. You live inside that cage, David. You live inside four walls and a roof. A hyper inflated circle of trust where no bad can happen.”
The Evil Incarnate begins to laugh again.
“Well it just did. You see, you are a man who cares. You are a man who needs, wants and desires. Your finger is on the pulse because it needs to be there.”
The Evil Incarnate puts two fingers on his wrist to check the pulse that isn't there from the heart that stopped beating ages ago.
“You need to feel that pulse. You need everybody buzzing over you and if you don't get your way, as children do, you throw your soft handed tantrums, wrapped up in your “No fucks to give.” Yet men like you- I know men like you. I've seen men like you over the ages and men like you, David, never change. David is nothing without a prop to hold him up because he cannot stand on his own. You are the outermost grape who rests knowing the others hold him up, thus bettering his chances of being plucked and picked for harvest.
It's a mortal flaw and I understand that. No longer do I empathize with it, yet I understand it. Everybody wants! Wants! Wants! Wants! They need to take, take, take! Men with four walls like mansions need to build ever higher and higher. Hall of Fame, they need -”
The Evil Incarnate holds his hand up high, fingers spread wide.
“- five more minutes of fame but what is fame when there is no passion to drive it? Your times have all come and past and yet let's plug the nostalgic because one day, long ago somebody meant something. Dirt is a feast for worms, yet men trample it when they look for the grapes. The grapes suck dry the dirt as they try and shine up to win that prize. They swell and grow fat off the blood, sweat and tears of the fallen. So why do the fallen return? Is this meant to be a triumph of gargantuan proportions?
A band-aid to the front is better than a knife in the back, Silver. I will not sugar coat it, I will not seal it with cryptic language or puns. I am not here to play these games with you or anyone else in EHWF. David did to you what I've been longing to do for what feels like an age. He destroyed you, and The Evil Incarnate is here to take your place.
The Evil Incarnate has risen by merit from lowest of low and freest of the free to commander, founder, leader of the most influential organization in recent history. I am in a unique position that nobody thought I would be in and yet here I am. Here I stand because I am- FREE. I see the golden ring that you all try to grasp and I spit on it because gold will lose its luster and no good deed goes unpunished. I am not a used up grape, ready to be milked and squandered to be made into wine. My Family and I are the Merlot of the Merlot. We are the Champions of the Champions. It was this Sunday Night at WAR when we did what we do best...where James Champ, the one man no one thought would ever be where he is today- goes one step beyond and gains that title that everybody thought would elude him.
My Father has a good eye, I will give him that. A loving soul- well, that is subjective. What is not subjective- what is beyond question is that I stand a free man sentient in my being walking among the grapes. All of you have to grow and struggle and try and push your way. While I just walk on by and pluck you away from that very greatness you try and achieve. We have washed over the EHWF, like pesticide, like ebola. EHWF- EHWF...I hope you enjoyed it while you had it, your moments in the Sun, because after last Sundan, everyone finally awoke from their dreams and stepped into a nightmare...and legends fell into fantasy as giants will try and reclaim what they need to survive, James Champ will be there. My Family will be there. To shit can, cinderblock each and every guy who crosses those ropes. To murder with the axe wound, everyone who's attempted to put me in the very same box they force themselves to live in. War was where things changed and the mold was broken because the one thing that hasn't been counted on is the same thing that's been counted out: When it comes down to me and whoever- I versus they, they versus forever- eternity- a curb stomp takes care of all who dare to stand up and get in my way. James Champ – Your EHWF WORLD CHAMPION!”
The Evil Incarnate reaches over and plucks off a handful of grapes from a nearby vine and pops them into his mouth, one by one, holding the EHWF World Championship over his head the entire time.
“Conquer. The. Hate.”
The Sun hangs alone in that large blue sky, looking down upon the Earth, reflecting on reasons why. “Why do I stay and why do I try?” It ponders as it warms the fields. The Sun starts to sob with solar flares, looking back upon its former greatness like a beaten defeated man, lamenting on four touchdowns in one game, now resigned to selling women's shoes.
“People down there, they used to fear me, revere me! REVERE ME DAMN IT!” shouts the Sun, monologuing to itself. Nobody can hear its depressed and suicidal thoughts in space, finger on that super nova button, right next to that Denmark destroy button. “You aren't fooling anyone!”
The Sun reaches for that self-destruct button but it's broken. IKEA ain't good for shit. The Sun will just have to do this Bud Dwyer, Hardcore! Pistol's in the mouth, that finger's on the trigger. A once proud being has looked upon all of its years of success and sees the culmination of its toil and labor. NO, this won't do. The Sun was a Bad Motha Fucka back in the day. Back when Pluto and David Gideon Smith were not yet twinkles in its eye. Back when Black Man was a relevant name and Rissi was Champion. There is a lot, a lot of 'befores,' far too many to count.
The Sun knew this, it sensed this so it's been trying to reinvent itself. With that reinvention it has seen two of the absolute best title changes in its history and nothing to show for its longevity. It was those, “good ol' days. Washed away with Hurricane Champ. However, as the Sun looks down, to take a final look at its intermingling of shame and pride, it notices a redeemer in the field. It spies a soul amongst the unborn
Cue that title sequence, Tarantino.
A Walk Among The Merlot Stones
The Evil Incarnate strolls leisurely through an expanse of grapevines. This vineyard ran for acres. It ran for miles and it just didn't stop. He walked in and out of the vines effortlessly and it gave the Sun hope that finally there was a man who gets it. Dressed in that classic grunge attire. Those grapes were ripe for the pickin'. Waitin to be plucked. They be waitin to be pulled from the stem, to be washed, pampered, crushed and fermented. They were waiting to be turned into something better than what they were. The Evil Incarnate held them softly in his hands, admiring each globe as if each was a world unto its own. Only the best will do.
Only the best.
There might be help after all. Down in the vineyard, The Evil Incarnate continues to walk and inspect grapes suitable for processing.
“So many...” Champ muttered “So many clamor for a chance, a chance to be warmed by the Sun. To be kissed and blessed. To be called upon. There are many grapes in EHWF, many men who want to be on top- many who need it. They covet it with prejudice and greedy hands and lying eyes. There are hundreds of thousands of grapes each with a million wishes. If only that were true."
The Evil Incarnate stirs up quite a chuckle.
“If only that were true. You see, the greatest battle in the life of the grape is to see who is among who, the jam to the wine? The jam to the wine? Or-who will roast in the sun- a raisin, an afterthought. There are many raisins in EHWF. There are many afterthoughts, but only a select few make it off the vine and into jam- into that moderate success, and fewer still become the wine. WAR happens to be one of those many battles where everyone gets to stand up and say “I- oh yes, I!” But those damn white grapes, without color, passion, drive or originality, don't know that struggle that the red grape must endure. It must be the correct shape. It must be the correct size. It must please the ever watchful eye of the sun, and its sheen must shine and glint and glimmer as rose colored gold. Only a handful become wine. Only a handful become Merlot.
There must be some of you out there who are saying “that Champ has lost his damn mind. Talking about raisins like they're really something.” These are incomplex thoughts of the masses, of the grapes that are not destined to be wine, and they knew it the day they saw the Sun shinin'. Let us peek a glimpse at those who are to wither on the vine, to be pecked at by the crows and eaten by the insects. Names like Smooth, Rose, Sykes, Mercer and DeAngelo. Unsuspecting suspects, victims of their own ignorant claims. They know what they said and I dare not repeat the ramblings of those who shall never make it. The White to the Red, the struggle be not known.
The Evil Incarnate throws out his arms and looks to the sky.
“But Oh! Preacher man! Preacher man! Send me a sign! Shall I be joyous or shall I be damned!? There are few things in life, worse than the ignorant ramblings of the unwashed masses, begging for a handout and THAT is of men who pass judgment unto others and unto themselves without due cause or process. Men like David Gideon Smith. Holier than thou. “Better than you and better than me.”
The Evil Incarnate looks back, straight ahead, cocking his head with a sickening POP of his vertebrae.
“These men all exist BECAUSE of the very person you see before you.”
The eyes of The Evil Incarnate grow wide, wild and fiery as he continues to speak.
“David Gideon Smith. My brother. A man only to be named in this group and not those that follow because, once in a while, bad grapes get their day and David has had many “Days.” Many spoon fed events that try and call upon his greatness as a figure above the rest. Look into these eyes, David. This is a man unimpressed. This is a man who will not back down, submit or cower because your name carries weight to others. While you have that experience to come with a heavy fist, you ultimately lack: You lack the freedom. You live inside that cage, David. You live inside four walls and a roof. A hyper inflated circle of trust where no bad can happen.”
The Evil Incarnate begins to laugh again.
“Well it just did. You see, you are a man who cares. You are a man who needs, wants and desires. Your finger is on the pulse because it needs to be there.”
The Evil Incarnate puts two fingers on his wrist to check the pulse that isn't there from the heart that stopped beating ages ago.
“You need to feel that pulse. You need everybody buzzing over you and if you don't get your way, as children do, you throw your soft handed tantrums, wrapped up in your “No fucks to give.” Yet men like you- I know men like you. I've seen men like you over the ages and men like you, David, never change. David is nothing without a prop to hold him up because he cannot stand on his own. You are the outermost grape who rests knowing the others hold him up, thus bettering his chances of being plucked and picked for harvest.
It's a mortal flaw and I understand that. No longer do I empathize with it, yet I understand it. Everybody wants! Wants! Wants! Wants! They need to take, take, take! Men with four walls like mansions need to build ever higher and higher. Hall of Fame, they need -”
The Evil Incarnate holds his hand up high, fingers spread wide.
“- five more minutes of fame but what is fame when there is no passion to drive it? Your times have all come and past and yet let's plug the nostalgic because one day, long ago somebody meant something. Dirt is a feast for worms, yet men trample it when they look for the grapes. The grapes suck dry the dirt as they try and shine up to win that prize. They swell and grow fat off the blood, sweat and tears of the fallen. So why do the fallen return? Is this meant to be a triumph of gargantuan proportions?
A band-aid to the front is better than a knife in the back, Silver. I will not sugar coat it, I will not seal it with cryptic language or puns. I am not here to play these games with you or anyone else in EHWF. David did to you what I've been longing to do for what feels like an age. He destroyed you, and The Evil Incarnate is here to take your place.
The Evil Incarnate has risen by merit from lowest of low and freest of the free to commander, founder, leader of the most influential organization in recent history. I am in a unique position that nobody thought I would be in and yet here I am. Here I stand because I am- FREE. I see the golden ring that you all try to grasp and I spit on it because gold will lose its luster and no good deed goes unpunished. I am not a used up grape, ready to be milked and squandered to be made into wine. My Family and I are the Merlot of the Merlot. We are the Champions of the Champions. It was this Sunday Night at WAR when we did what we do best...where James Champ, the one man no one thought would ever be where he is today- goes one step beyond and gains that title that everybody thought would elude him.
My Father has a good eye, I will give him that. A loving soul- well, that is subjective. What is not subjective- what is beyond question is that I stand a free man sentient in my being walking among the grapes. All of you have to grow and struggle and try and push your way. While I just walk on by and pluck you away from that very greatness you try and achieve. We have washed over the EHWF, like pesticide, like ebola. EHWF- EHWF...I hope you enjoyed it while you had it, your moments in the Sun, because after last Sundan, everyone finally awoke from their dreams and stepped into a nightmare...and legends fell into fantasy as giants will try and reclaim what they need to survive, James Champ will be there. My Family will be there. To shit can, cinderblock each and every guy who crosses those ropes. To murder with the axe wound, everyone who's attempted to put me in the very same box they force themselves to live in. War was where things changed and the mold was broken because the one thing that hasn't been counted on is the same thing that's been counted out: When it comes down to me and whoever- I versus they, they versus forever- eternity- a curb stomp takes care of all who dare to stand up and get in my way. James Champ – Your EHWF WORLD CHAMPION!”
The Evil Incarnate reaches over and plucks off a handful of grapes from a nearby vine and pops them into his mouth, one by one, holding the EHWF World Championship over his head the entire time.
“Conquer. The. Hate.”