Scrambled Eggs and a Message to the Man
May 13, 2017 23:24:36 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001), and 2 more like this
Post by nudedragon24 on May 13, 2017 23:24:36 GMT -5
A hand steadily raises a rolled-up joint to an opening mouth, gently resting inside the parting lips of a white male, who's identity is concealed by a camera shot just below the bridge of his once broken nose. The shot extends down from his nose, the joint in his mouth, and the beginning of a blonde-red beard, thick as a forest and extending down out of shot below the jawline. The man takes a long, slow drag of the joint, pinching the end near his mouth between his thumb and index. He slowly pulls it away, inhales a couple more times, and blows out a thick grey that slowly parts in front of his face. The man inhales a little bit of smoke through his nose. His voice dissipates the smoke.
Hey.
He taps the joint on a glass ashtray sitting on a grey, red and black plastic table. Nearby sits a black coffee still steaming from the cup and a plate of half eaten scrambled eggs and salted hashbrowns. Behind the food sits a man in a dark grey sports jacket, unbuttoned to expose a white buttoned-up shirt that's parted near the neck. His beard extends down from his jaw, almost completely covering what would be exposed from the shirt.
It's been a.. long time.
The hand, tattooed with indistinguishable letters and designs, rests the joint on the edge of the ashtray. Both hand's fingers link together up near the jaw with the elbows resting on the table.
I truly have not missed you.
I truly have not thought about you in a long time.
I truly, honestly.. Hoped.. You had died.
And just like a cockroach after nuclear fallout, you have someone managed to climb out of the pile of shit that you took refuge in after the doors had been locked shut.
The man adjusts in his seat before pinching his joint again.
You see.. Graves are not meant to be disturbed, caskets are not meant to be opened, and the XHF... The XHF should have been chopped, cremated and then spread out into a city dump, never to be heard of again.
The man takes another drag. He rests the smoke in his mouth, opens his mouth a bit, and then inhales and passes the smoke from his mouth through his nostrils. He then exhales.
You dug up the rotting flesh of the XHF, clamped cables to it's cold dead body, and you are now trying to catch lightning to revive the monster.
You created a bastardize facade of what was once a great and respected company, a company that was great because of the talent that kept the wheels spinning and NOT because of the over-sized man in a pimp hat.
And now you expect me.. you expect us to come back?
The man takes one last long drag. He lets out a long exhale to follow and then rubs what's left of his roach into the little that remains of his late night breakfast.
You know.. Actually, I am considering coming back.
Not because the passion still lingers, not because the light is still there, not to scratch some itch and it sure as hell isn't to revive my illustrious career.
I'll come back.. to put an end to this facade.
And I'll come back to put an end to you..
Mongo, the Destroyer..
Be careful out there.
Hey.
He taps the joint on a glass ashtray sitting on a grey, red and black plastic table. Nearby sits a black coffee still steaming from the cup and a plate of half eaten scrambled eggs and salted hashbrowns. Behind the food sits a man in a dark grey sports jacket, unbuttoned to expose a white buttoned-up shirt that's parted near the neck. His beard extends down from his jaw, almost completely covering what would be exposed from the shirt.
It's been a.. long time.
The hand, tattooed with indistinguishable letters and designs, rests the joint on the edge of the ashtray. Both hand's fingers link together up near the jaw with the elbows resting on the table.
I truly have not missed you.
I truly have not thought about you in a long time.
I truly, honestly.. Hoped.. You had died.
And just like a cockroach after nuclear fallout, you have someone managed to climb out of the pile of shit that you took refuge in after the doors had been locked shut.
The man adjusts in his seat before pinching his joint again.
You see.. Graves are not meant to be disturbed, caskets are not meant to be opened, and the XHF... The XHF should have been chopped, cremated and then spread out into a city dump, never to be heard of again.
The man takes another drag. He rests the smoke in his mouth, opens his mouth a bit, and then inhales and passes the smoke from his mouth through his nostrils. He then exhales.
You dug up the rotting flesh of the XHF, clamped cables to it's cold dead body, and you are now trying to catch lightning to revive the monster.
You created a bastardize facade of what was once a great and respected company, a company that was great because of the talent that kept the wheels spinning and NOT because of the over-sized man in a pimp hat.
And now you expect me.. you expect us to come back?
The man takes one last long drag. He lets out a long exhale to follow and then rubs what's left of his roach into the little that remains of his late night breakfast.
You know.. Actually, I am considering coming back.
Not because the passion still lingers, not because the light is still there, not to scratch some itch and it sure as hell isn't to revive my illustrious career.
I'll come back.. to put an end to this facade.
And I'll come back to put an end to you..
Mongo, the Destroyer..
Be careful out there.
