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In the end it was the sitcoms that did it. The neverending syndicated tsunami of catchphrases, contrived situations, and wacky hijinks that gradually wore you down, allowing for a bitter disdain to blossom within you, directed at the people ("More like 'sheeple'", and then "Heh." you think to yourself) who surround you, and torment you, and gaze unthinkingly into the warm glow of the television, their braying laughter betraying their assumed superiority. Born to a world that has no appreciation for the things you find important; honour, duty, respect for your own burgeoning intellectualism; you have decided to exit it in a way that befits a man of your station. Carrying your plan to fruition was hard. It is not often that you have time off from the part time job at K-Mart while your mother has a shift. (In order for her to keep an eye on you, no doubt, as revealed by her almost daily admonishments 'to not screw this up' and 'please Dwayne, I went out on a limb for you by recommending you to my boss'.) But the opportunity has presented itself, and like a cunning serpent you are swift to strike. You are kneeling on the ground. Wallscrolls depicting a superior sort of art and culture have been pinned to the wall in front of you, framing the television. You reach into the folds of your Kimono (in reality your mother's dressing gown, the one with the duckies, however Bushido looks beyond mere petty trappings and straight to the intention of your garb), and draw the tantō that you bought at the local five-and-dime. Your second stands ready, holding aloft the genuine replica Katana that your life's savings have acquired. "Winston-San, are you ready?" "Hai." A click of a controller, and the ancient VCR begins to play. Focussing on the television in front of you will steel your resolve, as image after image of inferior Western culture flashes before your eyes. This is what you are running to escape; a noble goal. The point of the tantō is at your belly, and you grimly push it home. Almost immediately a keening whine halts you in your tracks; it is escaping from your lips as your body betrays you. Half an inch deep the blade stops, as you gasp for air. "W... Winston, maybe this isn't such a good..." But you have chosen your second well. Sensing hesitation he brings the blade down. His first strike is not true; cutting your shoulders to the bone it causes you to slump forward, driving the polished Cutco tantō to the hilt. As the enormity of what is happening strikes him a torrent of vomit waterfalls down Winston-San's Naruto shirt; obscuring blood splatter and bolognaise stains alike. Then as your whine threatens to turn into a scream he strikes again. You slump to the side, unfeeling, as your spinal cord is severed; your eyes now locked to the TV screen. Winston shuffles nervously. "He.. he said I could keep the Katana." He looks at your unmoving form and belches quietly before turning and departing. All that is left now is the flickering of the television. At first this is a punishment. Paralysed, slowly bleeding out, you wither under the stern gaze of Niles, the butler. Newman's sneer seems to direct disdain at you, and six friends frolicking in a fountain or hanging out in a coffee shop seems to mock your life. Six friends; an unattainable goal. But then as your vision grows dimmer you begin to understand. They are not here to chastise or mock you, but to help you on your way. Nanny Fine tucks you in. A flamboyantly gay lawyer smiles down on you and teaches you the meaning of acceptance. And then as your eyes prepare to close for the last time a shock of messy hair slides into view through a suddenly opened door. He's showing you the way, you realise. He's here. For you. Take his hand and beautifully, silently, you will gently Kramer from this world and into the next.
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Jun 28, 2016 23:41
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| # ? May 4, 2024 10:43 |
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I got harakiri confused with harikrishna and was like yeah, their lives seem banal as hell.
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Jun 28, 2016 23:44
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Everything's reducible to chemicals. Makes u think
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Jun 29, 2016 00:02
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Just because it's meaningless doesn't mean it's not fun
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Jun 29, 2016 00:09
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cool!!! 
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Jun 29, 2016 00:21
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Idiot word salad instead of a dignified death poem. Like fart did I come In springtime did I belch forth Come fall to vanish
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Jun 29, 2016 00:23
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Nathilus posted:Idiot word salad instead of a dignified death poem. My blade enters flesh; According to keikaku. Trousers fill with shame.
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Jun 29, 2016 00:46
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Harakiri was a really good movie.
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Jun 29, 2016 00:47
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dude dont read my diary
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Jun 29, 2016 01:38
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Jun 29, 2016 01:54
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Breetai posted:Stuff. Is that you, Gina?
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Jun 29, 2016 20:02
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Nathilus posted:Idiot word salad instead of a dignified death poem. All proper haikus reference the seasons a+
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Jun 29, 2016 20:15
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Jun 29, 2016 20:32
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My friends call me whiskers.
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Jun 30, 2016 16:52
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 Subarashi
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Jun 30, 2016 17:51
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| # ? May 4, 2024 10:43 |
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hakku ichu nippon banzai! *commits ritual suicide*
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Jun 30, 2016 18:27
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