Post by kilroy on May 21, 2023 5:38:45 GMT
Sat in front of the iconic sign representing fame and wealth is a man who represents the very antithesis of such things. He is KILROY, The Terror of Mount Lee, and today, he is sad.
“I could have won. I COULD have won. I could HAVE won! I could have WON!! I COULD HAVE WON!!! Realistically, nobody shooooould have been able to stop me. I can’t be burned-”
Despite the fact he very much can.
“I can’t be thrown over the top rope-”
Despite the fact he very much could be.
“They- I- You- Rrrrrrrrrr-”
KILROY clutches at his head and appears to be on a collision course with a nuclear reactor: HE’S ABOUT TO HAVE A MELTDOWN!!! He stops growling for a moment, drops his arms to his side, looks up to the heavens, and unleashes a scream that could be heard all the way in Inglewood. Scores of birds explode from the field, from the sign. The look on his face is of confusion. Anger. Fear. Anguish. HATRED.
“It’s, it’s all… theeeeir fauuuults!! THEM! The obstacles! They couldn’t leave well enough uh-LONE! They couldn’t stay out of my WAY! Trippin’ me up, stinkin’ up the joint, otherwise conspiiiiirin’. Conspiiiirin’ against me. ME! Denying me my DESSSSSSStiny!”
He pounds with both fists into the ground. Then again. And again and again and again like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He tears chunks out of the ground, throwing them this way and that, even rubbing a clump of dirt in his face, smearing his face paint, now mixed with brown and some blades of grass sticking to it here and there. He frantically pounds at his own skull and emits a high-pitched sound as if he were on the verge of tears. But then he calms down anew, crazed bloodshot eyes darting to the left and to the right.
“There has to be hell to pay. Yes. There has to be. There has to be. There has has HAS to be. It has to happen.”
Then, as if with the flick of a switch, the look of hopelessness is now a look of sinister delight.
“It WILL happen.”
It’s now evening. The inside of a makeshift cave, which seems to have been clawed out of the side of Mount Lee with inhuman hands, is illuminated by a modest campfire. A branch comes into view, a desert spiny lizard skewered through it and almost immediately sizzling over the fire. The camera pans back far enough to reveal that it is unsurprisingly KILROY in what may very well be his humble domicile.
“Junko. Souma.” he begins. “The only reason… The ONLY reason I didn’t walk right onto the Hollywood Freeway at rush hour… is because of youuuuuu. Youuuuuu. YOUUUUUUUU!!! For it was YOU who unceremoniously ejected me from the ring last month.”
He looks out at nothing with a wistful yearning, as if reminiscing of the time Junko tossed him over the top rope which ended with him set ablaze.
“So I thank you: THANK you for doing to me what was meant to be done to you, because it was the right thing… the oooooooooonly thing, to do to me. It’s like I’ve already said, Junko Souma: it’s all about you and KILROY, ♫ and nooooothing else MATTERRRRRRS ♫
‘But KILROY, what does the Big Book of Fate have to say about how this all ends?’
Well, I’m glad you asked me, ME, because it’s quite simple: see, Junko Souma is positively charged; she drifts through life always looking over her shoulder, but never, not once, not a ssssssssSINGLE time wavering. And KILROY? I’m negatively charged, heh heh, well, for obvious reasons, ‘nuff said!
And this is what keeps drawing us to each other! I’m not stalking her! I’M NOT STALKING HER, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE SHE’S STAYING TODAY! No, it’s fate! Fate drew her to me back in the stupid land of beans on toast! Dis-GUSTING!!”
He took a big bite out of the lizard’s side, mostly-cooked offal exposed and dripping into the flames.
“So no, she wasn’t out there to save Anderson Shepley, a voice called out to her. No, not for all to hear, just her! You know how I know? Because that same voice spoke to meeeeee. It told me, yeah, that’s right, it TOLD me to hurt Anderson Shepley! Yeah, see, I didn’t want to, I questioned it, but then I was like, what the hell? Who cares about some tacky chump? So yeah, sure, I did in fact take much enjoyment out of hurting him, but the end game was Junko Souma before any of us KNEW it!”
He blows on the head of the toasted lizard before biting it completely off.
“You might think I’m imagining this here tasty morsel as an even tinier version of Junko Souma, but you’d be wrong!”
He takes a sip from a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon that was still half-full when he fished it out of the ditch. At least it’s hopefully half-full of beer, anyway.
“Actually, you’d be RIGHT! Junko Souma is my LIFE, and as much as I disregard my own life, that ought to tell you something, Junko Souma. That ought to tell you allllllllll you need to know about me, and about you too! You see, you’re good at making enemies you feel you don’t deserve, and you know who’s another? Casanova English. Yes, my close friend and confidant Casanova English approached me not too long after my misfortune in April, saw I was down in the dumps, and said:”
He puts the remains of the barbecued carcass in his pocket, then holds up both hands, each one forming mouths of sorts. The left one begins, “Oh, KILROY, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, why so glum?”
The other hand replies, “Aw shucks, Casanova English, my sweet little baby boy, I wanted so bad to get my hands on Junko Souma, but-”
The Casanova hand says, “I know, sport, I know, but you gotta understand, I can’t show favouritism!”
“The KILROY hand nods solemnly.
“But, uh, tell you what there, champ, what I CAN do, is put you in a one-on-one with Junko at the-”
“Junko SOUMA.” KILROY corrected.
“Of course. Junko Souma at All Hell’s Acoming!”
Both the KILROY hand and KILROY’s mouths go slack in surprise.
“Really?!”
Casanova nodded.
“But can we please give it a gimmick that favours me and just say it doesn’t? Everyone’s just so stupid and gullible around your company; nobody’s gonna question YOU, by dear friend!”
There’s a brief pause before Casanova retorts, “Ya got yaself a got dang deal!”
“Thank you so much, Casanova English! You won’t regret this!”
KILROY then makes both mouths kiss.
It’s now nightfall. The campfire, which mere hours ago was alight and warm, now faintly-glowing embers and occasional ascendings of smoke. KILROY stands just outside it.
“Junko. Souma. What do you calllllll it when you’re aroused but in a non-sexual way? Excited! I’m veeeerrry excited to meet you again. I have a RAGING hunger to quell, and this time… THIS TIME…”
The camera pans down to reveal the madman standing before a table.
“...it’s personal. …Just kidding! It’s ALWAYS been personal! What I meaaaant to say was that this time it’s just you and me, mano a womano! No interruptions, no distractions, NO ESCAPE!!! Oh! And this:”
He takes out lighter fluid and one of those very long-necked lighters, pours some of the combustible fluid onto the table, then some more, then some more, then the can sputters and wheezes until fully empty. He cautiously lights the table on fire, making sure to avoid the explosive manifestation of man’s greatest invention. After the second flick of the lighter, copious flames rise from the wooden structure.
“Junko Souma, do you enjoy barbecue? I enjoy barbecue. YOU JUST SAW ME EAT SOMETHING I’M NOT QUITE SURE ISN’T TOXIC, DIDN’T YOU?! But in Japan, where I’m pretty sure you’re from? They do things all topsy-turvy over there and call it robata! RoBATA?! That doesn’t sound ANYTHING like barbecue! A moot point, I guess, considering the ooooonly one that’s gonna be enjoying barbecue at the end of the month… is ME! KILROY!”
The flames grow larger, the table grows more charred. KILROY looks into the fire.
“What’s that? What’s that?! You’ve seen the future? Huh?! You’re telling me Junko Souma beats me?! But I thought you were on myyyyy siiiiiiide!!”
After a few moments of silence, KILROY nods, “You’re right, of course, fate can’t be denied. Everything is like a television rerun: we’ve seen it all before and know what happens and it can be changed the same way a book’s ending can be changed: IT CAN’T!! Destiny is immutable, but if you think for one hot Californian SECOND that that will stop me, guess! WHAT?”
He waits for a response. He nods again, “That’s right: it won’t. I knowwwww it won’t. And that’s okay! Wanna know why?”
For a third time, he waits for a response, smiling shortly afterwards. “Exactly: because this isn’t about winning and losing, it’s about living and dying! I’ve looked into Death’s maw and said, ‘BOY, do you have some baaaad breath!’ Haven't died since! Sorry to say we don’t know the relationship between Death and Junko Souma, but if she’s seeing footsteps with no owner, well…”
He shrugs. A coyote can be heard a-yippin’ in the distance. KILROY’s ears perk up, wondering how delicious roasted coyote would be.
“Oh, and I’d like to point out that if the referee for this match so much as calls the fight in any way but in my favour, Waco’s gonna experience their first-ever tragedy live on tv!”
As he pauses once more to collect his for lack of a better word, thoughts, his gaze darts towards the fire, wide and full of rage.
“What did you say? WHAT DID YOU SAY?? You’re telling me I’ll be deniiiiiied my justice uh-GAIN?! HOW?! With Casanova English in my back pocket, with the rules in myyyyyy favour and NOT Junko Souma’s, how! HOW can I not win? Not even the MORAL victory? No Junko Souma head for my mantle?! LIFE IS A CRUEL AND DARK PLACE!!!”
His face scrunches up as he begins to emit a whine which would precede crying. He sniffs, wipes his nose on his furry sleeve, then gives his best Kubrick stare.
“But I’m even MORE cruel and MORE dark.”
He then unprovokedly flings himself onto the flaming table with a sickening thud. He groans aloud, but still has the wherewithal to roll off before he too caught too much on fire.
Not that it would do anything to him, right?
“Redwood was a bad idea.” he grunts out as he rolls out any errant flames.
He leaps back up to his feet, rests his hands on his hips, giving the table a stern look that a disappointed parent may give their child.
“I ASKED you when I STOLE you from HD Buttercup if this would be a problem and YOU said WHAT?”
He pauses for a response.
“NO YOU DIDN’T!!!”
He pounces back atop the immobile infernal furniture, this time a definite crack can be heard. Was it the table? Was it KILROY? Either way, KILROY lets out an oof, rolls off the table again, favours his ribs, but refuses to put out the fire that he was officially now on. He takes a few steps back, works the angles out just so, then runs toward the irresistible force, jumps up onto the table, and gives it a flying elbow drop. Unsurprisingly, it still doesn’t break. KILROY lies on the table, trying to suppress his screams all the while holding his elbow.
But then he stops, saying, “Oh right.”
He rolls off the table, rolls on the ground a bit, and remains there.
Looking up to the sky and still smoking, he strains out, “I sure hope you’re just as tough a nut to crack, Junko Souma.”
