The CU:LTendo KILROY Advanced
Jul 28, 2023 2:50:36 GMT
JJ Slayer, DS(Salem/Esme), and 1 more like this
Post by kilroy on Jul 28, 2023 2:50:36 GMT
After a successful match at Bodies in the Bayou, KILROY was on top of the world. He went and did (mostly) everything he set out to do, and all offending parties paid dearly for their respective transgressions.
For you see, when you’re a stylistic nihilistic sadistic ballistic creature given human form, up is down and cats are dogs. Winning means just as much as losing; the end result will always be the same: unending trauma for anyone and anything in the path of The Terror of Mount Lee!
So, our scene today didn’t begin in a bar, or a mound of dirt on the side of a mountain, no, it began in a bustling part of Hollywood (more so than usual). The arrival of the CU:LT of Personability elicited groans, scoffs, and eyerolls to masses of folks who were normally used to ignoring weird and obnoxious presences. But here KILROY was, strolling down the Boulevard, bumping into anyone dumb or slow enough to have remained in his way, occasionally shoving any sass-mouthers or stink-eyers aside for good measure. Just for fun!
“Suddenly… suddenly… the world doesn’t seem sooooo buh-leak! This morning, I woke up, always a goooooood way to start the day, ate a ba-lanced breakfast of Panda Express… ‘s dumpster offerings: breaded shrimp tails and that tangy green rice-”
He grabbed a hold of some rando, “Hey there, nerd, what’s the green rice at Panda Express called?”
The younger gentleman, dressed as a surfer, making the insult as nonsensical as you should have guessed it would be, nervously responded, “Uhhhh, sounds like ya got some gnarly rice!””
KILROY’s grip slowly released and as it did, his eyes did widen. “What?”
“Yeah, dude, rice goes bad muy quickly if it’s not refrigerated.”
At this point, the surfer was able to easily squirm out of the totally loosened grip of the madman. He took this opportunity to run away, shouting, “Get yerself checked out, brah!”
“Rice goes bad?” KILROY pondered to himself. “Huh.”
And after a few moments of existential crisis, a microcosm in time where the world seems quieter, dimmer, a cold wind penetrating the summer heat, KILROY just shrugged, and continued on his way, whistling as he did.
“Yes yes, a nutritional breakfast to usher in a new era in-” KILROY thought for a second, “Coooooool- CU:LT! CU:LT Wrestling! In my special place, with my special friends. Well-”
KILROY stopped, raising a clenched fist up to his mouth, as if about to cry and stifling it with all his might.
“Except for-” his voice cracked before pausing anew. He shut his eyes, breathed deeply inwards, then continued, “Except for Junko. Souma. Da one dat gotta way. My life, my world, my… eeeeee-ver-y-thing! Taken from us alllllllll toooooooo soooooooon. For the longest time, I wondered to myself: what will I, KILROY, be without her? But no I didn’t, because why would I assume Junko. Souma. WOULD THINK TO LEAVE MY MUSKY EMBRACE?! I’M BEST FRIENDS WITH HER BOSS! THE WORLD COULD HAVE BEEN HER OYSTER! But no. Her density was crushed by some anti-Junko Souma PIECE!!! of SHIT!!!”
He slowed down to dry his silly eyes.
“She was so close, Junko Souma was, to putting me out of my misery, and she buh-LEWWWW it!! I mean, how hard can it be to finish ME, KILROY, off?! It can’t be that hard, right?”
He clutched at his head and groaned in frustration. “WHY AM I SO DOWNRIGHT UNSTOPPABLE?!”
He then stomp-shuffled forward, dabbing his darling red and puffy eyes as he did so. But when he stopped, he looked ahead but now his sad visage was replaced with a perplexed one.
“What the hell are you doing here?” KILROY said abruptly.
A camera that had been filming from a side angle panned from the shaved gorilla to whatever caught his eye: the other cameraman.
“I’ve been here this whole time and you’re saying something now?” the nameless cameraman asked.
“YOUU’VE BEEN HEEEEEEEERE THIS WHOLE TIIIIIIIIME?!” KILROY exclaimed, though in a tone that was impossible to decipher if he was being sarcastic or not. Due to his grapefruit seed IQ, the surefire bet’s on the latter. Then he pointed at that cameraman. “You people are obsessed with me.”
He also pointed at the side-view cameraman too, before picking up the pace.
“You CU:LT people - except my best friend Casanova English - are totally insane, you need help, you’re nuts, you’re stalkers, you’re fucked up creeps, AND YOU SOMEHOW KNOW WHERE I AM AT ALL TIMES!!”
He patted himself down, even on his face, as he frantically continued, “What? What’s causing this? Am I covered in 5G microchips? Lizard eye spies? Mongolian Whisper Breaths?! Where aaaaare they?!”
He looked around at all the unfamiliar faces, desperately trying to find a familiar one, some idea, some semblance of sense, anything to right his muddled mind, but no friendly face, no helpful hand, was there for him. Anguish crawled upon the painted face of the madman, and the scene began to spin, sometimes one way, sometimes another.
This effect was revealed to have been created by both cameramen moving around the traumatized beast in opposite directions.
“STOP PLAYING GAMES WITH ME!!” KILROY shrieked as he clutched at his head.
And no sooner than he was done beating those poor two cameramen unmercifully, but it was as if a sign from the Heavens got body-slammed right in front of him:
If people wanted to play games with KILROY, then maybe KILROY would do the same at this fine establishment!
Standing before the world-renowned establishment with his hands on his hips, and looking upon the sign with great optimism, he asked, “I wonder what that siiiiiign says.”
Inside, the noise was out of this world: the bleeps and blips of a vast array of machines of all sizes, shapes, and eras blended discordantly with the squeals and whines of children and the douchebag hoots and hollers of adults. No space of this infernal establishment knows peace. KILROY felt at home here. No one aggravating or loathsome sound could reach his ears. The cacophony was his symphony.
“HeeeeeEEEY, ah, welcome to Dave and Buster’s!” the young host said, first the regular way, then the way one would when within choking distance of a colossal buffoon.
“HeeeeeEEEY yourself, human!” KILROY oddly replied. He then looked around the game centre. “So, uh, what the fuck is this place?”
The young host, both confused but also unwilling to say anything that could incite violence upon his person, patronized the wrestler, “Okay, so, this is Dave and Buster’s like I said-”
“OBviously.” KILROY responded with a condescending tone.
“Ah.” the young host replied, “Obviously. And this is basically a complete entertainment centre!”
“OBVIOUSlyyyy.” KILROY responded, more irritated than condescending that time. Totally destroying the narrative previously stated regarding his newfound serenity.
Thinking quickly, the young host decided to skip to the best part, “So, uh, what do you like playing?”
“I like play-fighting inside a real ring.” KILROY said as he began to wander off.
Losing the absolute last thing they should be losing considering what was just said, the young host tried - without touching or otherwise setting him off - to herd KILROY in a sensible direction.
They eventually come upon a sectioned-off portion of the building, mostly open and strangely enough, devoid of consoles and cabinets. There were, however, several strange contraptions hung up on the wall.
KILROY looked around, confused, as usual. “Sooooo, is, uh, this where we’re having our deeeeeathmaaaaaaatch?”
“What?!” the young host shot back, “Nooooo, no no no, absolutely not. This is where we keep our VR games!”
“Veearr?” KILROY asked.
“Yup!” the young host proudly replied.
“Veearr…” KILROY repeated, enunciating the more than two letters that make up the initialism. He liked the sound of that word. “What’s that?”
“What’s VR?” the young host asked, but then realized that trying to make this guy look dumb(er than he already is) was a poor life choice. So, he immediately followed up, “It stands for Virtual Reality, AND, and, I know what you’re going to ask: what games do we have to choose from?”
This tactic seemed to work on KILROY: without an opportunity to interject, he was left addled and domesticated. “What games dooooo you have to choose from?”
The young host breathed a sigh of relief, then presented the first headset: “Okay, so this is Zombie Rush, which is a survival game with intricate and nuanced tactics in order to-”
“PASS.” KILROY said.
The young host put away the headset and pulled out an identical one. “All right, well, this one’s called Heroes of Boxing! You basically duck and weave against legends like Ali, Tyson, Foreman-”
“Never heard of any of ‘em.” KILROY said with an unimpressed and bored tone. “Besides, everyone knows boxing is fake.”
“Right!” the young host said as he tossed the headset back onto the hook. He spotted the next headset and let out a sigh, “This one might not be up your alley.”
“Who told you I frequent valleys?” KILROY demanded as he got into the face of the young host, “I. ONLY. frequent mountains, YA GOT THAT?!”
“Ye-yessir!” the young host replied, “A-anyway, this game’s Cretaceous Estate, and you hunt down a dinosaur - a Velociraptor, using only your wits and so I think we should move onto the next game, Pink Blasters-”
“Wait.” KILROY says, the entirety of his massive hand encapsulating the entirety of the young host’s face. “Did you say something about dinosaurs?”
“Urrrmmm, yrrrss.” the young host replied. They politely peeled away the beast’s grimy mitt, then added, “You’re supposed to hunt it down and-”
“Kill it?” KILROY asked as he placed the VR set on despite not even five minutes ago looking at it like a caveman did the first wheel.
“Well, not exac-” the young host tried saying, but before they could, the game had been activated.
The world was vast, arboreous, and warm. Everything seemed to be larger than normal. KILROY spotted a dragonfly the size of a crow zip by him. A second one passing by gets clobbered by the lunatic.
KILROY walked up to it and for some time stared at the crushed carapaced corpse of the prehistoric bug. “Wow, that was the easiest punch I ever throwed!”
Off in the distance, a volcano, already with smoke billowing from its hole, burped and groaned, but not much else.
“I don’t remember Mount Lee a-gettin’ a haircut.” KILROY stated as he moved on.
Then suddenly, a rustling in the super-tall grass was observed, within KILROY’s peripherals and a mere few feet away.
“THE VELOCIRAPTOR!” KILROY shouted before clasping both hands to his mouth. Slowly bringing them back down, he shushes himself, then whispers, “The velociraptor!”
He took off his furry trench coat Casanova English was eyeing the other day, then crouched down, slowly, ever so slowly, slinking his way towards the grass, got on all fours, and disappeared into the sea of green. He was in the zone.
“I GOTCHER ASS NNNNOOOOWWWW, MOTHERFUCKER!!!” KILROY bellowed as the sounds of violence became prevalent. Many dinosaurs, herbivore and carnivore alike, burst out of the grasslands, and KILROY stood tall, raising the velociraptor in the air, the poor creature screeching in protest, and then SNAP!!! The ol’ Bane-Batman Special. Easy.
Victorious, KILROY proudly announced, “Ha! Now if THAAAT dinosaurus was so easy to kill, does that mean the REAL one I’m facing in a few days will be just as easy?”
He then whipped the headset off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. Around him no longer was a verdant environment, rather a hellscape of broken bodies and arcade machines. The “velociraptor” was the elderly custodian, Floyd, who was only a day before retirement. He looked around, utterly surprised. People were crying, people were bleeding. The young host, looking roughed up and woozy, wandered into the shot.
KILROY turned to them, “So, what’s Pink Blasters about?”
For you see, when you’re a stylistic nihilistic sadistic ballistic creature given human form, up is down and cats are dogs. Winning means just as much as losing; the end result will always be the same: unending trauma for anyone and anything in the path of The Terror of Mount Lee!
So, our scene today didn’t begin in a bar, or a mound of dirt on the side of a mountain, no, it began in a bustling part of Hollywood (more so than usual). The arrival of the CU:LT of Personability elicited groans, scoffs, and eyerolls to masses of folks who were normally used to ignoring weird and obnoxious presences. But here KILROY was, strolling down the Boulevard, bumping into anyone dumb or slow enough to have remained in his way, occasionally shoving any sass-mouthers or stink-eyers aside for good measure. Just for fun!
“Suddenly… suddenly… the world doesn’t seem sooooo buh-leak! This morning, I woke up, always a goooooood way to start the day, ate a ba-lanced breakfast of Panda Express… ‘s dumpster offerings: breaded shrimp tails and that tangy green rice-”
He grabbed a hold of some rando, “Hey there, nerd, what’s the green rice at Panda Express called?”
The younger gentleman, dressed as a surfer, making the insult as nonsensical as you should have guessed it would be, nervously responded, “Uhhhh, sounds like ya got some gnarly rice!””
KILROY’s grip slowly released and as it did, his eyes did widen. “What?”
“Yeah, dude, rice goes bad muy quickly if it’s not refrigerated.”
At this point, the surfer was able to easily squirm out of the totally loosened grip of the madman. He took this opportunity to run away, shouting, “Get yerself checked out, brah!”
“Rice goes bad?” KILROY pondered to himself. “Huh.”
And after a few moments of existential crisis, a microcosm in time where the world seems quieter, dimmer, a cold wind penetrating the summer heat, KILROY just shrugged, and continued on his way, whistling as he did.
“Yes yes, a nutritional breakfast to usher in a new era in-” KILROY thought for a second, “Coooooool- CU:LT! CU:LT Wrestling! In my special place, with my special friends. Well-”
KILROY stopped, raising a clenched fist up to his mouth, as if about to cry and stifling it with all his might.
“Except for-” his voice cracked before pausing anew. He shut his eyes, breathed deeply inwards, then continued, “Except for Junko. Souma. Da one dat gotta way. My life, my world, my… eeeeee-ver-y-thing! Taken from us alllllllll toooooooo soooooooon. For the longest time, I wondered to myself: what will I, KILROY, be without her? But no I didn’t, because why would I assume Junko. Souma. WOULD THINK TO LEAVE MY MUSKY EMBRACE?! I’M BEST FRIENDS WITH HER BOSS! THE WORLD COULD HAVE BEEN HER OYSTER! But no. Her density was crushed by some anti-Junko Souma PIECE!!! of SHIT!!!”
He slowed down to dry his silly eyes.
“She was so close, Junko Souma was, to putting me out of my misery, and she buh-LEWWWW it!! I mean, how hard can it be to finish ME, KILROY, off?! It can’t be that hard, right?”
He clutched at his head and groaned in frustration. “WHY AM I SO DOWNRIGHT UNSTOPPABLE?!”
He then stomp-shuffled forward, dabbing his darling red and puffy eyes as he did so. But when he stopped, he looked ahead but now his sad visage was replaced with a perplexed one.
“What the hell are you doing here?” KILROY said abruptly.
A camera that had been filming from a side angle panned from the shaved gorilla to whatever caught his eye: the other cameraman.
“I’ve been here this whole time and you’re saying something now?” the nameless cameraman asked.
“YOUU’VE BEEN HEEEEEEEERE THIS WHOLE TIIIIIIIIME?!” KILROY exclaimed, though in a tone that was impossible to decipher if he was being sarcastic or not. Due to his grapefruit seed IQ, the surefire bet’s on the latter. Then he pointed at that cameraman. “You people are obsessed with me.”
He also pointed at the side-view cameraman too, before picking up the pace.
“You CU:LT people - except my best friend Casanova English - are totally insane, you need help, you’re nuts, you’re stalkers, you’re fucked up creeps, AND YOU SOMEHOW KNOW WHERE I AM AT ALL TIMES!!”
He patted himself down, even on his face, as he frantically continued, “What? What’s causing this? Am I covered in 5G microchips? Lizard eye spies? Mongolian Whisper Breaths?! Where aaaaare they?!”
He looked around at all the unfamiliar faces, desperately trying to find a familiar one, some idea, some semblance of sense, anything to right his muddled mind, but no friendly face, no helpful hand, was there for him. Anguish crawled upon the painted face of the madman, and the scene began to spin, sometimes one way, sometimes another.
This effect was revealed to have been created by both cameramen moving around the traumatized beast in opposite directions.
“STOP PLAYING GAMES WITH ME!!” KILROY shrieked as he clutched at his head.
And no sooner than he was done beating those poor two cameramen unmercifully, but it was as if a sign from the Heavens got body-slammed right in front of him:
If people wanted to play games with KILROY, then maybe KILROY would do the same at this fine establishment!
Standing before the world-renowned establishment with his hands on his hips, and looking upon the sign with great optimism, he asked, “I wonder what that siiiiiign says.”
Inside, the noise was out of this world: the bleeps and blips of a vast array of machines of all sizes, shapes, and eras blended discordantly with the squeals and whines of children and the douchebag hoots and hollers of adults. No space of this infernal establishment knows peace. KILROY felt at home here. No one aggravating or loathsome sound could reach his ears. The cacophony was his symphony.
“HeeeeeEEEY, ah, welcome to Dave and Buster’s!” the young host said, first the regular way, then the way one would when within choking distance of a colossal buffoon.
“HeeeeeEEEY yourself, human!” KILROY oddly replied. He then looked around the game centre. “So, uh, what the fuck is this place?”
The young host, both confused but also unwilling to say anything that could incite violence upon his person, patronized the wrestler, “Okay, so, this is Dave and Buster’s like I said-”
“OBviously.” KILROY responded with a condescending tone.
“Ah.” the young host replied, “Obviously. And this is basically a complete entertainment centre!”
“OBVIOUSlyyyy.” KILROY responded, more irritated than condescending that time. Totally destroying the narrative previously stated regarding his newfound serenity.
Thinking quickly, the young host decided to skip to the best part, “So, uh, what do you like playing?”
“I like play-fighting inside a real ring.” KILROY said as he began to wander off.
Losing the absolute last thing they should be losing considering what was just said, the young host tried - without touching or otherwise setting him off - to herd KILROY in a sensible direction.
They eventually come upon a sectioned-off portion of the building, mostly open and strangely enough, devoid of consoles and cabinets. There were, however, several strange contraptions hung up on the wall.
KILROY looked around, confused, as usual. “Sooooo, is, uh, this where we’re having our deeeeeathmaaaaaaatch?”
“What?!” the young host shot back, “Nooooo, no no no, absolutely not. This is where we keep our VR games!”
“Veearr?” KILROY asked.
“Yup!” the young host proudly replied.
“Veearr…” KILROY repeated, enunciating the more than two letters that make up the initialism. He liked the sound of that word. “What’s that?”
“What’s VR?” the young host asked, but then realized that trying to make this guy look dumb(er than he already is) was a poor life choice. So, he immediately followed up, “It stands for Virtual Reality, AND, and, I know what you’re going to ask: what games do we have to choose from?”
This tactic seemed to work on KILROY: without an opportunity to interject, he was left addled and domesticated. “What games dooooo you have to choose from?”
The young host breathed a sigh of relief, then presented the first headset: “Okay, so this is Zombie Rush, which is a survival game with intricate and nuanced tactics in order to-”
“PASS.” KILROY said.
The young host put away the headset and pulled out an identical one. “All right, well, this one’s called Heroes of Boxing! You basically duck and weave against legends like Ali, Tyson, Foreman-”
“Never heard of any of ‘em.” KILROY said with an unimpressed and bored tone. “Besides, everyone knows boxing is fake.”
“Right!” the young host said as he tossed the headset back onto the hook. He spotted the next headset and let out a sigh, “This one might not be up your alley.”
“Who told you I frequent valleys?” KILROY demanded as he got into the face of the young host, “I. ONLY. frequent mountains, YA GOT THAT?!”
“Ye-yessir!” the young host replied, “A-anyway, this game’s Cretaceous Estate, and you hunt down a dinosaur - a Velociraptor, using only your wits and so I think we should move onto the next game, Pink Blasters-”
“Wait.” KILROY says, the entirety of his massive hand encapsulating the entirety of the young host’s face. “Did you say something about dinosaurs?”
“Urrrmmm, yrrrss.” the young host replied. They politely peeled away the beast’s grimy mitt, then added, “You’re supposed to hunt it down and-”
“Kill it?” KILROY asked as he placed the VR set on despite not even five minutes ago looking at it like a caveman did the first wheel.
“Well, not exac-” the young host tried saying, but before they could, the game had been activated.
The world was vast, arboreous, and warm. Everything seemed to be larger than normal. KILROY spotted a dragonfly the size of a crow zip by him. A second one passing by gets clobbered by the lunatic.
KILROY walked up to it and for some time stared at the crushed carapaced corpse of the prehistoric bug. “Wow, that was the easiest punch I ever throwed!”
Off in the distance, a volcano, already with smoke billowing from its hole, burped and groaned, but not much else.
“I don’t remember Mount Lee a-gettin’ a haircut.” KILROY stated as he moved on.
Then suddenly, a rustling in the super-tall grass was observed, within KILROY’s peripherals and a mere few feet away.
“THE VELOCIRAPTOR!” KILROY shouted before clasping both hands to his mouth. Slowly bringing them back down, he shushes himself, then whispers, “The velociraptor!”
He took off his furry trench coat Casanova English was eyeing the other day, then crouched down, slowly, ever so slowly, slinking his way towards the grass, got on all fours, and disappeared into the sea of green. He was in the zone.
“I GOTCHER ASS NNNNOOOOWWWW, MOTHERFUCKER!!!” KILROY bellowed as the sounds of violence became prevalent. Many dinosaurs, herbivore and carnivore alike, burst out of the grasslands, and KILROY stood tall, raising the velociraptor in the air, the poor creature screeching in protest, and then SNAP!!! The ol’ Bane-Batman Special. Easy.
Victorious, KILROY proudly announced, “Ha! Now if THAAAT dinosaurus was so easy to kill, does that mean the REAL one I’m facing in a few days will be just as easy?”
He then whipped the headset off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. Around him no longer was a verdant environment, rather a hellscape of broken bodies and arcade machines. The “velociraptor” was the elderly custodian, Floyd, who was only a day before retirement. He looked around, utterly surprised. People were crying, people were bleeding. The young host, looking roughed up and woozy, wandered into the shot.
KILROY turned to them, “So, what’s Pink Blasters about?”
