"YOU THINK YOU'RE THE MAN?! YOU ARE A WORM! A PIECE OF LINT! A SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT FLEA COMPARED TO ME!!!" shouted a rather irate 1-eyed Edward. He held Kaiser Bubba in a triple-loop one handed belly hold that looked about as painful as stuffing your hand in a colony of drunken WASPs and asking if Jesus was black and gay. The Kaiser had had the gall to challenge ole 1-eye to a championship match of epic proportions, meaning that the pyrite-plated belt was up for grabs, along with the tacos and the spare change held by the promoter. And boy was it on!
The Kaiser started out with a punch right to 1-eyed's substantial gut. However, he got stuck. So 1-eyed Edward let out a belch so foul, I thought I had found a dead skunk and stuck it up my nose. The Kaiser reeled straight out of the ring and onto a table. Well, once the Furniture started to be broken, it really started to be broken. The Kaiser grabbed a nearby sofa and hurled it 1-eyed, who barely dodged. Edward retaliated with a barrage of fold up chairs, one of which grazed the Kaiser's cheek. Then the name calling started with the audience. Cries like you wouldn't believe! As children read this, I won't repeat the obscenities mentioned, but they made even the wrestlers blush. Needless to say, the FCC rushed in and violently censored the offenders.
The wrastlers charged each other once they regained their composures in the ring. Their tightly glad spandex a tad too revealing, Kaiser pinned 1-eyed Edward to the floor. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4... Oh! He tapped out! Now 1-eyed Edward has the upper hand. Back and forth, back and forth the two obese giants flailed. And then, God came down from the Heavens on high and proclaimed that all present had witnessed the Second Coming and were now admitted to an eternity of happiness, peace, and joy.
At least, that's what I assume it would have been like had it actually happened in the first place. In reality, I had started in high hopes. I was going to wrastlin' instead of Prom. The parity was brilliant. I popped some Willie Nelson in my cd-player and sped to the armory. But, what's this? A man, handing out papers! The parking lot's closed... And then, all my dreams come crashing down. I flag down Cory and we relate the bad news. No wrastlin' tonight. It'll only make it that much sweeter next week! (Which we're certainly going to try to go to.) Cory, of course, had no other ideas and headed home. I got enough courage up to go see what the problem was. I was handed a paper that said "CANCELLED DUE TO FAMILY ILLNESS." At this time, Morgan pulled up and found out the glum news too. We were quite distraught. But Morgan and I wanted to at least do something to spite all the Prom goers. So the next idea that came to mind was a German movie that might be showing at Downton West. Why not? A German film is still quite a different experience for me. So I switched the Willie Nelson with some Mendleson and headed down there. But at 8:15, all the movies had just started 20minutes ago and wouldn't be ready for another round for at least an hour or two. (Meanwhile, some kid I recognize vaguely from school (Joey, I think) asked us to make a wish on his stuffed, talking animal. I wished to be struck down, right then and there, by lightning. Didn't happen). So we were at impasse. Our efforts fruitless, we parted ways, our once well planned night and efforts all in vain.
Thus, the following poem on disappointment. I'm used to it by now, after it's slowly worn away my self-esteem and confidence to a canyon of immense proportions. But when it brings other hopeful people down with it, me feeling responsible since it was my idea, that's when it gets me even lower. If I had done something else, gone some where, seen some thing, done some stuff it might not have been so bad. But the chain of disappointment continues. I'm not one for conversation or sociality. I can't think of any thing to do or place to go. Other than home. I'd even invite other people here. But for what? It's a small, cramped, filthly place. I don't mind it all that much, but I'd hate to subject others to it. And even then, there's nothing to do.
So I write. And chat to Sara, who is also alone tonight. The first an escape and method of venting, the latter one more place to lament the need for escaping and yet another place to vent. The world is not a bad place. There's so many things to do, so many places to go, so many people to do them with. When others make mistakes, I'm generally quite forgiving. Yet I'm devoid of ideas. A blank. A failure. Joy of joys. Ironically, Prom would have made all this worse. It's a place with people and things to do. And yet, it answers nothing. All that's left is a constant yearning for something not known and not attainable. Only angst.
Hopefully you all had a good time at Prom. I may disagree with it, but obviously my alternatives aren't obtaining the desired end product, happiness. If you can eek some joy and fulfillment from it, who am I to judge? I suppose I'll go and escape into sleep now. Until next time...
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