Post by Green Man on Feb 22, 2013 3:11:40 GMT -5
I look myself in the mirror for the first time today.
(He says, as a voice in the darkness.)
It's bizarre, how I can go so long without seeing it now. If not for neccessities, such as taking a dump or eating, I would wear this skin instead of the shell I inhabited for so long. It's become difficult to remember where the skin ends and I begin.
Most people can not grasp that under this mask lies a mystery. I could be a killer, a man who likes to torture and disfigure. I could be a misguided, misunderstood soul who never truly meant any harm. My intentions are my own. But playing them out... that is always a thrill. People don't get me. I'm an artist. Most probably won't even get that this is prerecorded voiceover narration and I'm not even thinking these thoughts at the same time this tape is rolling. They think that every effort of mine is going to follow some preset formula, much like the already-repetitive actions of Jake Jester.
They also think I'm a joke to be laughed off, as if that wasn't an image I embraced when I put this skin on the first time.
Though, beginning now, the TWF will get to see first hand what I truly am.
The green snake has shed his skin for now and the unfamiliar face I see in the mirror looks back at me, pale, red-eyed and like a grinning ghoul back in the mirror. All I will show is the back of my head, though. It's not proper, since I don't have my face on. Hah.
The voice at my back, hectoring and whining, comes and I don't even turn around to face my longtime former friend. I don't even acknowledge his name in my mind. He is part of the past, of something that died in a previous fed, and part of someone that I don't wish to be right now. And he's still talking...
- Don't understand why you're doing this is all. Why did you go through with all this? Think of the money you're losing out on here.
I silence him with a look. He's used to being second fiddle in this team. And yet, by his side, I've took home numerous championships.
I? No, not I. The I underneath. I'm laying on the counter in this club bathroom, peeled from the skin of-
SHIT this is getting confusing. Where did I end and I begin?
I ignore his pissing and moaning. He isn't finished. He grabs my arm.
- Come on. For old time's sake. We'll stand in front of a grey backdrop and rip on people and then go eat some nachos!
Okay, that was an obvious red herring. I hold the face in the sink between my fingers as I pick it up, and examine it, looking into the blank eyeholes. Who was I when I first put together this idea, entered the costume? And who was I becoming? Did my past life cease to exist?
As if in answer, my ears were filled with the cacaphonous roar of the electronica music from the club outside. The face looking at me in the mirror's lip crinkled and thought "this music sucks!" but the face in my hands cried with a gleeful inner cackle, "PUT ME BACK ON AND LET'S GO DANCE!"
And so I did. The little man ran behind like a dog nipping at my heels. As I entered the room again, laser lights crawled over me and something by DeadMau5 was playing, working everyone up into a frenzy. As multi-colored lasers scrawled patterns over everyone, and as the girls swarmed around me, I turned back to him, lonely and forlorn and standing there in the bathroom door of a nightclub as I began to pop and lock my way through a crowd that had embraced me and taken me in as a celebrity in ways they never would when I was just another wrestler. And why wouldn't they?
There seemed to be no doubt that wearing this face had changed my life.
"THIS DUDE IS OFF THE CHAIN!!" a big black dude in club clothes shouted as I juked past him doing the running man.
And then through the crowd, I glimpsed someone that put the festivities at a halt. Alec Myers was standing on the rail up a flight of steps, motioning for me to come off the packed dance floor. I'd almost forgotten about my obligation to this new federation. That was the one last link to the old face that the new one allowed. A few girls pleaded with me to stay but I motioned I'd be right back as I made my way up to Alec.
Alec - Welcome Green Man, thank you for making the time to talk to me.
I wave him off, indicating that it's all my pleasure. Alec nods knowingly, and sits in awkward silence. He's drinking a tomato juice with a stalk of celery. In a club like this, that clearly marks him as such a gayboy.
Alec - So, that person I saw you with down there, wasn't that - I mean, he seemed familiar, I could have sworn that was your old running buddy -
Through a complicated series of hand gestures and pantomimes I tell him that he was mistaken and his eyes must have been deceiving him, because there was no way that was anyone he was thinking of. He sits, stymied, and somewhere inside I grin triumphantly at his consternation. This is fun.
Alec - Say, do you mind pulling up your mask or doing something so that we can talk normally? It's hard to have an interview like this and we're scheduled to talk about your up-coming match with Jake Jester, and -
I need only one gesture to flatly refuse him. He's obviously getting frustrated now, and my inner delight grows. He lets out a nerdy little exclamation reluctantly, like a priest saying the words "goddammit".
Alec - Well goshdarn it all! How am I supposed to interview you if you won't talk? This is a- a load of malarkey!!
I can barely contain myself now. See, trolling uptight little pinheads like this is a beautiful perk of the job. At length, I make scribbling motions, asking him if he has anything to write with. Always an intrepid reporter, he has a satchel (read, a man purse) filled with his journalism stuff, even a tape recorder for crying out loud, and scrounging around in it comes up with a notepad and a pen. I motion for him to ask me some questions.
Alec- Unorthodox, but okay. I suppose that fits you to a T. Okay, my first question is, what is your agenda? What do you hope to gain from this?
Instead of answering, I begin writing.
"I think that's for me to know and you to find out. Don't ask me anymore."
Alec - But you've gone on record as saying that you're here to bring something different to the proceedings. Do you really think you're doing that by, well... dancing?
I write again, amusedly. Then I turn it back towards him.
"As opposed to what? Sitting in a diner talking to an old woman like Warpath? Having a sitdown interview on a 'talk show' setting with an interviewer nobody cares about? When you define to me what's normal and what doesn't bore me to tears, I'll be sure to film my promotions exactly like that instead of going out of my way to do something different every time. I tried a documentary, and now I'm doing it this way, and next time I'll do something else. That's called doing what was advertised. Something, I might add, that's lost on Jake Jester, because we're two promos in and he's sounding like a damn parrot."
That took a long time to write. Alec was watching, and reading, and he rereads the whole thing again to be sure.
Alec - Well, to get to Jake Jester specifically, in his last promotion he had quite a few choice words to say about you and the, well, originality you speak about. He brought out footage of all the Green Men costumes you see at sporting games, including the -
Furiously I write.
"Including the 2011 Vancouver Canucks Stanley Cup run, yes, that was quite fascinating. I've never seen a video package I cared so little about. Here's the deal, have you ever thought maybe... I knew that people had worn the Green Man suit before. That was, literally, a point made to someone ABOUT ME in my first promo. I never said that the Green Man suit was something new and fresh that I had made up single handedly. But what I'm saying is that I'm taking it and I'm doing something with it that hasn't been done in wrestling. I defy you to name one person who's donned a green suit in a wrestling ring and done something with it in that way. And again, that's eclipsed by the number of Joker imposters. So in pointing out that "Yeah I might have ripped off the Joker and Heath Ledger wholesale but look there have been people wearing Green Man suits at hockey games!" just makes him look like the fucktard he is proving himself to be. The difference between this skin I'm wearing now and the Joker skin Jake Jester inhabits is night and day. I'm someone who people would never think fits this mold, but I put a costume on and have become something wholly different. Jake Jester puts on his suit "after he is released from an asylum" and it feels like play acting, like a bad Kinko's copy of a copy of a copy."
I don't even care how long it takes to write this, now, it needs to be said.
"So he found a lot of Green Man merchandise. He even found Green Man beer. I have to wonder if he downed a six-pack of that shit, put the beer goggles on so he could find that zombie-looking wench Harleen attractive, then slurred together an awkward promo that tried to convince people that it's okay for him to parrot comic books. Because that's all he's doing, let's be honest. He can say what he wants about where I even came up with the Green Man costume but the fact is that it's seen in sporting events, games, tailgating parties. You know, places where you can find social interaction. While he is just living out some four-color fantasy, every cosplay emo faggot's dream of going to some comic con as his favorite hero or villain. It quite frankly amazes me that he has the audacity to come out with a slavishly devoted fan-service Harley Quinn ripoff, because no real woman would ever want to touch the undersized pecker of some myopic comic book geek that lives in his parent's basement and sewed together his own Joker costume himself. Unless she's one of those creepy fangirls he met on a forum, the kind that sublimate their daddy touching them by getting really into dressing up in revealing clothing and letting geeks pant over them. That's the only reason I can see Harleen hanging out with Jake Jester."
Took a while to write, but the pen flew over the page. Alec Myers looks shocked senseless by some of the blue language, which he may not have even known I had in me. Leftover from my other face. Or maybe he's the churchy type that gets really squeamish about language.
Alec - Um actually, Harleen says that she was one of the doctors treating him at... the...
He trails off, apparently realizing by my eyeless stare just how ridiculous that sounds. I write:
"Okay, let's count all the contradictions there. 1) a psychiatrist falling in love with a patient never happens, because they're clinically conditioned not to see them as people to be attracted to but cases to be worked.
2) His version of the story has it that the psychiatric hospital he was in had many comic books and graphic novels in it that allowed him to read and absorb the exploits of the Joker. Too bad they wouldn't allow violent reading material available to someone disturbed with possibly sadistic tendencies and a mind so vulnerable and weak that it would imprint on something it reads in a magazine. They're trained doctors, not slack-jawed fangirls like Dr. Harleen.
3) What are the odds of a doctor named Harleen would start treating a patient, giving him fuel to his fetish for dressing up like the Joker and even exacerbating his fantasies worse by dressing up like Harley Quinn and thus providing the exact same origin as she had in the cartoon? That's not just ripping off the media, that's providing nonstop bullshit and making it conform to a stereotype. Harleen doesn't even seem like a real person, let alone a competent doctor, she just seems like a mindless drone spewing rhetoric that Jake writes for her and reinforcing his own stupid premise. We're supposed to take his word that she was ever smart enough to pass medical school? It's backwards and kinda degrading towards women if you think about it.
4) He says he's taking his cues from Frank Miller's version of the Joker, the ruthless person who will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. I don't know if he saw the same version of the movie that just came out or not, but that Joker wasn't ruthless. Just really, really gay, especially for Batman."
Alec - I... see. So what are you expecting to come from this match with Jake?
I write:
"I'm going to amaze everyone watching with my sweet skillz to pay the billz. I'm going to dance rings around him, while he's getting winded still trying to perfect his Mark Hamill laugh. I've already got him desperately grasping at straws to prove that the Green Man isn't on his level of sick, cliched "jokes", so I'm going to sit back and enjoy him making an awkward mess of himself in the ring trying to be someone he's not while I show him, who I really am. This is who I am now. This face I wear is the true face of the future. This face could be the face of the TWF, when the time comes to put a belt around someone, because unlike Jake, unlike everyone I've seen there is no formula, there is no plan. Dance is improvisation. I've got moves that Jake in his limited perception can't even conceive."
Thoughtfully, I sit there, thinking of a way to perfectly close this off.
"Jake Jester is someone who hasn't had an original thought in his life. If Jake Jester was in a psychiatric hospital at all, it's because he can't stop confusing fantasy with reality. Fantasy: he's a feared, ominous threat on the horizon of the landscape here in TWF. Reality? He's a bigger joke than I am, and I openly embrace the fact that wearing a silly costume and dancing is goofy. But the problem with Jake Jester isn't JUST that he's boring and sticking to an easy formula with his ripping off the Joker, it's that he's doing it so superficially. Unlike me, who lives inside this green skin and have made it my own, he comes off as just another cliched wrestler trying to sound tough while only throwing in the trappings of joy buzzer handshakes and whoopy cushions and an ugly chick dressed up doing the Harley Quinn ripoff along with him. Besides that, he's nothing special. All there is to Jake Jester is someone who's been exposed to too much TV and too many comic books and someone who's mind is weak enough for him to think imitating that is the best course of action. That to me isn't something he should celebrate and embrace, he should be embarrassed by the fact that he got his attitude out of the back of a comic book. Well, he should have cut out the coupons in the back and mailed them in for X-Ray specs that can see into how to defeat me. He should have mailed from the back of the comic books those little Charles Atlas ads about how to craft a bigger body that can fight against the bullies at the beach. I'm going to enjoy beating something special into Jake Jester. I'm going to enjoy maybe knocking a few of those loose screws out so that he can come to his senses and see how ridiculous he looks. I'm going to call Jake Jester, Little Bunny Foo Foo because hopefully when I bop him over the head it'll smarten him the fuck up!"
Page is getting full so I tear it off and start on the next notepad page.
"For so long, I've dwelt in darkness... but now I feel like I'm coming out into the light. By that, I mean that I've gotten my thrills from safe, comfortable, thrills. But now I find just as much satisfaction in watching men try and figure me out, try and see my true face.
And trust me, you haven't seen it yet."
Alec - What do you mean by that?
Confidently, I write. My green skin is sticking to the underskin and I see the girls at the bottom calling my name as another dubstep beat drops and the crowd goes crazy.
"You'll see, in time. It was fun watching Jake Jester try and guess, but ultimately, he failed. Now comes his punishment, and afterward, I'll be dancing over the grave of his stillborn TWF career. The dawn of a new green age is upon us."
I drop the pen dramatically, hold my arms up to the crowd on the dance floor. I turn my face back to Alec, sitting back in his chair bemused, lifting his gay little drink to his lips. Nobody's seen the truth yet, not even him. But it's right in front of them, about to drop like a sick Skrillex beat on the dance floor of the TWF.
(He says, as a voice in the darkness.)
It's bizarre, how I can go so long without seeing it now. If not for neccessities, such as taking a dump or eating, I would wear this skin instead of the shell I inhabited for so long. It's become difficult to remember where the skin ends and I begin.
Most people can not grasp that under this mask lies a mystery. I could be a killer, a man who likes to torture and disfigure. I could be a misguided, misunderstood soul who never truly meant any harm. My intentions are my own. But playing them out... that is always a thrill. People don't get me. I'm an artist. Most probably won't even get that this is prerecorded voiceover narration and I'm not even thinking these thoughts at the same time this tape is rolling. They think that every effort of mine is going to follow some preset formula, much like the already-repetitive actions of Jake Jester.
They also think I'm a joke to be laughed off, as if that wasn't an image I embraced when I put this skin on the first time.
Though, beginning now, the TWF will get to see first hand what I truly am.
The green snake has shed his skin for now and the unfamiliar face I see in the mirror looks back at me, pale, red-eyed and like a grinning ghoul back in the mirror. All I will show is the back of my head, though. It's not proper, since I don't have my face on. Hah.
The voice at my back, hectoring and whining, comes and I don't even turn around to face my longtime former friend. I don't even acknowledge his name in my mind. He is part of the past, of something that died in a previous fed, and part of someone that I don't wish to be right now. And he's still talking...
- Don't understand why you're doing this is all. Why did you go through with all this? Think of the money you're losing out on here.I silence him with a look. He's used to being second fiddle in this team. And yet, by his side, I've took home numerous championships.
I? No, not I. The I underneath. I'm laying on the counter in this club bathroom, peeled from the skin of-
SHIT this is getting confusing. Where did I end and I begin?
I ignore his pissing and moaning. He isn't finished. He grabs my arm.
- Come on. For old time's sake. We'll stand in front of a grey backdrop and rip on people and then go eat some nachos!Okay, that was an obvious red herring. I hold the face in the sink between my fingers as I pick it up, and examine it, looking into the blank eyeholes. Who was I when I first put together this idea, entered the costume? And who was I becoming? Did my past life cease to exist?
As if in answer, my ears were filled with the cacaphonous roar of the electronica music from the club outside. The face looking at me in the mirror's lip crinkled and thought "this music sucks!" but the face in my hands cried with a gleeful inner cackle, "PUT ME BACK ON AND LET'S GO DANCE!"
And so I did. The little man ran behind like a dog nipping at my heels. As I entered the room again, laser lights crawled over me and something by DeadMau5 was playing, working everyone up into a frenzy. As multi-colored lasers scrawled patterns over everyone, and as the girls swarmed around me, I turned back to him, lonely and forlorn and standing there in the bathroom door of a nightclub as I began to pop and lock my way through a crowd that had embraced me and taken me in as a celebrity in ways they never would when I was just another wrestler. And why wouldn't they?
There seemed to be no doubt that wearing this face had changed my life.
"THIS DUDE IS OFF THE CHAIN!!" a big black dude in club clothes shouted as I juked past him doing the running man.
And then through the crowd, I glimpsed someone that put the festivities at a halt. Alec Myers was standing on the rail up a flight of steps, motioning for me to come off the packed dance floor. I'd almost forgotten about my obligation to this new federation. That was the one last link to the old face that the new one allowed. A few girls pleaded with me to stay but I motioned I'd be right back as I made my way up to Alec.
Alec - Welcome Green Man, thank you for making the time to talk to me.
I wave him off, indicating that it's all my pleasure. Alec nods knowingly, and sits in awkward silence. He's drinking a tomato juice with a stalk of celery. In a club like this, that clearly marks him as such a gayboy.
Alec - So, that person I saw you with down there, wasn't that - I mean, he seemed familiar, I could have sworn that was your old running buddy -
Through a complicated series of hand gestures and pantomimes I tell him that he was mistaken and his eyes must have been deceiving him, because there was no way that was anyone he was thinking of. He sits, stymied, and somewhere inside I grin triumphantly at his consternation. This is fun.
Alec - Say, do you mind pulling up your mask or doing something so that we can talk normally? It's hard to have an interview like this and we're scheduled to talk about your up-coming match with Jake Jester, and -
I need only one gesture to flatly refuse him. He's obviously getting frustrated now, and my inner delight grows. He lets out a nerdy little exclamation reluctantly, like a priest saying the words "goddammit".
Alec - Well goshdarn it all! How am I supposed to interview you if you won't talk? This is a- a load of malarkey!!
I can barely contain myself now. See, trolling uptight little pinheads like this is a beautiful perk of the job. At length, I make scribbling motions, asking him if he has anything to write with. Always an intrepid reporter, he has a satchel (read, a man purse) filled with his journalism stuff, even a tape recorder for crying out loud, and scrounging around in it comes up with a notepad and a pen. I motion for him to ask me some questions.
Alec- Unorthodox, but okay. I suppose that fits you to a T. Okay, my first question is, what is your agenda? What do you hope to gain from this?
Instead of answering, I begin writing.
"I think that's for me to know and you to find out. Don't ask me anymore."
Alec - But you've gone on record as saying that you're here to bring something different to the proceedings. Do you really think you're doing that by, well... dancing?
I write again, amusedly. Then I turn it back towards him.
"As opposed to what? Sitting in a diner talking to an old woman like Warpath? Having a sitdown interview on a 'talk show' setting with an interviewer nobody cares about? When you define to me what's normal and what doesn't bore me to tears, I'll be sure to film my promotions exactly like that instead of going out of my way to do something different every time. I tried a documentary, and now I'm doing it this way, and next time I'll do something else. That's called doing what was advertised. Something, I might add, that's lost on Jake Jester, because we're two promos in and he's sounding like a damn parrot."
That took a long time to write. Alec was watching, and reading, and he rereads the whole thing again to be sure.
Alec - Well, to get to Jake Jester specifically, in his last promotion he had quite a few choice words to say about you and the, well, originality you speak about. He brought out footage of all the Green Men costumes you see at sporting games, including the -
Furiously I write.
"Including the 2011 Vancouver Canucks Stanley Cup run, yes, that was quite fascinating. I've never seen a video package I cared so little about. Here's the deal, have you ever thought maybe... I knew that people had worn the Green Man suit before. That was, literally, a point made to someone ABOUT ME in my first promo. I never said that the Green Man suit was something new and fresh that I had made up single handedly. But what I'm saying is that I'm taking it and I'm doing something with it that hasn't been done in wrestling. I defy you to name one person who's donned a green suit in a wrestling ring and done something with it in that way. And again, that's eclipsed by the number of Joker imposters. So in pointing out that "Yeah I might have ripped off the Joker and Heath Ledger wholesale but look there have been people wearing Green Man suits at hockey games!" just makes him look like the fucktard he is proving himself to be. The difference between this skin I'm wearing now and the Joker skin Jake Jester inhabits is night and day. I'm someone who people would never think fits this mold, but I put a costume on and have become something wholly different. Jake Jester puts on his suit "after he is released from an asylum" and it feels like play acting, like a bad Kinko's copy of a copy of a copy."
I don't even care how long it takes to write this, now, it needs to be said.
"So he found a lot of Green Man merchandise. He even found Green Man beer. I have to wonder if he downed a six-pack of that shit, put the beer goggles on so he could find that zombie-looking wench Harleen attractive, then slurred together an awkward promo that tried to convince people that it's okay for him to parrot comic books. Because that's all he's doing, let's be honest. He can say what he wants about where I even came up with the Green Man costume but the fact is that it's seen in sporting events, games, tailgating parties. You know, places where you can find social interaction. While he is just living out some four-color fantasy, every cosplay emo faggot's dream of going to some comic con as his favorite hero or villain. It quite frankly amazes me that he has the audacity to come out with a slavishly devoted fan-service Harley Quinn ripoff, because no real woman would ever want to touch the undersized pecker of some myopic comic book geek that lives in his parent's basement and sewed together his own Joker costume himself. Unless she's one of those creepy fangirls he met on a forum, the kind that sublimate their daddy touching them by getting really into dressing up in revealing clothing and letting geeks pant over them. That's the only reason I can see Harleen hanging out with Jake Jester."
Took a while to write, but the pen flew over the page. Alec Myers looks shocked senseless by some of the blue language, which he may not have even known I had in me. Leftover from my other face. Or maybe he's the churchy type that gets really squeamish about language.
Alec - Um actually, Harleen says that she was one of the doctors treating him at... the...
He trails off, apparently realizing by my eyeless stare just how ridiculous that sounds. I write:
"Okay, let's count all the contradictions there. 1) a psychiatrist falling in love with a patient never happens, because they're clinically conditioned not to see them as people to be attracted to but cases to be worked.
2) His version of the story has it that the psychiatric hospital he was in had many comic books and graphic novels in it that allowed him to read and absorb the exploits of the Joker. Too bad they wouldn't allow violent reading material available to someone disturbed with possibly sadistic tendencies and a mind so vulnerable and weak that it would imprint on something it reads in a magazine. They're trained doctors, not slack-jawed fangirls like Dr. Harleen.
3) What are the odds of a doctor named Harleen would start treating a patient, giving him fuel to his fetish for dressing up like the Joker and even exacerbating his fantasies worse by dressing up like Harley Quinn and thus providing the exact same origin as she had in the cartoon? That's not just ripping off the media, that's providing nonstop bullshit and making it conform to a stereotype. Harleen doesn't even seem like a real person, let alone a competent doctor, she just seems like a mindless drone spewing rhetoric that Jake writes for her and reinforcing his own stupid premise. We're supposed to take his word that she was ever smart enough to pass medical school? It's backwards and kinda degrading towards women if you think about it.
4) He says he's taking his cues from Frank Miller's version of the Joker, the ruthless person who will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. I don't know if he saw the same version of the movie that just came out or not, but that Joker wasn't ruthless. Just really, really gay, especially for Batman."
Alec - I... see. So what are you expecting to come from this match with Jake?
I write:
"I'm going to amaze everyone watching with my sweet skillz to pay the billz. I'm going to dance rings around him, while he's getting winded still trying to perfect his Mark Hamill laugh. I've already got him desperately grasping at straws to prove that the Green Man isn't on his level of sick, cliched "jokes", so I'm going to sit back and enjoy him making an awkward mess of himself in the ring trying to be someone he's not while I show him, who I really am. This is who I am now. This face I wear is the true face of the future. This face could be the face of the TWF, when the time comes to put a belt around someone, because unlike Jake, unlike everyone I've seen there is no formula, there is no plan. Dance is improvisation. I've got moves that Jake in his limited perception can't even conceive."
Thoughtfully, I sit there, thinking of a way to perfectly close this off.
"Jake Jester is someone who hasn't had an original thought in his life. If Jake Jester was in a psychiatric hospital at all, it's because he can't stop confusing fantasy with reality. Fantasy: he's a feared, ominous threat on the horizon of the landscape here in TWF. Reality? He's a bigger joke than I am, and I openly embrace the fact that wearing a silly costume and dancing is goofy. But the problem with Jake Jester isn't JUST that he's boring and sticking to an easy formula with his ripping off the Joker, it's that he's doing it so superficially. Unlike me, who lives inside this green skin and have made it my own, he comes off as just another cliched wrestler trying to sound tough while only throwing in the trappings of joy buzzer handshakes and whoopy cushions and an ugly chick dressed up doing the Harley Quinn ripoff along with him. Besides that, he's nothing special. All there is to Jake Jester is someone who's been exposed to too much TV and too many comic books and someone who's mind is weak enough for him to think imitating that is the best course of action. That to me isn't something he should celebrate and embrace, he should be embarrassed by the fact that he got his attitude out of the back of a comic book. Well, he should have cut out the coupons in the back and mailed them in for X-Ray specs that can see into how to defeat me. He should have mailed from the back of the comic books those little Charles Atlas ads about how to craft a bigger body that can fight against the bullies at the beach. I'm going to enjoy beating something special into Jake Jester. I'm going to enjoy maybe knocking a few of those loose screws out so that he can come to his senses and see how ridiculous he looks. I'm going to call Jake Jester, Little Bunny Foo Foo because hopefully when I bop him over the head it'll smarten him the fuck up!"
Page is getting full so I tear it off and start on the next notepad page.
"For so long, I've dwelt in darkness... but now I feel like I'm coming out into the light. By that, I mean that I've gotten my thrills from safe, comfortable, thrills. But now I find just as much satisfaction in watching men try and figure me out, try and see my true face.
And trust me, you haven't seen it yet."
Alec - What do you mean by that?
Confidently, I write. My green skin is sticking to the underskin and I see the girls at the bottom calling my name as another dubstep beat drops and the crowd goes crazy.
"You'll see, in time. It was fun watching Jake Jester try and guess, but ultimately, he failed. Now comes his punishment, and afterward, I'll be dancing over the grave of his stillborn TWF career. The dawn of a new green age is upon us."
I drop the pen dramatically, hold my arms up to the crowd on the dance floor. I turn my face back to Alec, sitting back in his chair bemused, lifting his gay little drink to his lips. Nobody's seen the truth yet, not even him. But it's right in front of them, about to drop like a sick Skrillex beat on the dance floor of the TWF.