Post by kilroy on Sept 24, 2023 3:51:09 GMT
“All right, let’s get the whole family positioned in front of the green screen!”
The photographer enthusiastically ushers the traditional nuclear family of four and extended family of six in various spots in front of what will surely become a nice woodsy background settling.
“Okay! So dad, you’ll stand here with mom, and dad’s dad, you’ll stand right here next to them and dad’s mom on the other side. Aunty and uncle, I’ll need to get you to kneel in front of them, and kids, you’ll just sit - that’s right! Right there in front of your aunt and uncle.”
“Can we switch positions?” the son whispers to his sister.
Seeing he’s seated in front of their uncle, the daughter/sister/whatever scoffs, “No way!”
“And don’t think I forgot about you two!” the photographer says in an obnoxiously playful manner to the wife’s parents. “We’ll get you to sit on these little stools in front of aunty and uncle.”
The aunt is visibly creeped out every time the photog refers to her that way. That was the 23rd time he had done so. Once the other set of grandparents are in position, the photog sizes up the scene, thinks for a bit, sizes it up some more, thinks a bit more, clears his throat, grabs a bottle of water, opens it, takes a sip, closes it again, puts it away, sizes up the scene a third time, and while he looks on at the family, he thinks out loud, “Hmmmmm…”
“Can we get on with it?!” the dad snaps a bit.
“Harold!” his wife exclaims.
“It’s just, we’re missing the Crenshaw Family Reunion Games!!” he almost whines, but as a trad dad, he makes it look cool. In actuality, it was just that nobody bothers to mention when he’s whining because they never want to hear the end of it.
“Ah! Tempers are flaring!” the photographer teases. The dad rolls his eyes. “A-anyway, I think we’re ready!”
He gets behind the camera, turns some dials and positions the camera just so (thankfully not as drawn out as the eyeballing process was). “Okay, everyone! Say ‘Fuzzy Pickle’!”
“FUZZY PICKLE!!” they shout in unison, the dad through gritted teeth.
Then, there’s a flash, followed by the photog checking out the fruits of his labour. He sucks air in through clenched teeth. “Ooh, okay, aunty?”
She flinches in disgust. 24th time.
“Looks like you closed your eyes by accident there; let’s give that one more try!”
“For God’s sake Evelyn!!” the dad growls.
“Harold…” his wife hisses at him.
“Just one more second, dad, I swear!” the photographer assures the unreasonably angry dad. “All right! Is everyone ready, because here we go again! Say ‘Fuzzy Pickle’!”
“FUZZY PICKLE!” they say with noticeably less enthusiasm than the time previous (about 25% less at least).
But no sooner do they say that, the green screen explodes - as best as a green screen can - as a familiar erratic madman bursts through it, barrelling through the family of likely assholes.
“Holy sh-” the photog exclaims, barely catching himself before he said a bad word.
“Is this where the Crenshaw Family Reunion’s taking place?” KILROY asks, oblivious to the fact he’s now surrounded by bodies in varying degrees of hurt thanks to him. And yes, the kids are hurt too, HAHAHA!
“Uh.” the photog says as he grabs a hold of his camera, tripod and all. “It is, are, uh, you, ah, lost?”
“Lost?” KILROY asked, clearly offended at the wild allegations. “Lost? Oh, so like I’m stupid, I can’t read, I’m duuuuuuuuumb as shiiiiiiiiiiit: is that basically the gyste of it?”
“No no! It’s just, I thought everyone was already here, seeing as it’s been going on all day now.” the photographer replies.
KILROY eyeballs the douchebag, slowly sauntering and slinking his way up to the cameraman, who’s getting exponentially concerned the closer this clearly unhinged person gets to him.
“It’s good you didn’t run, it’s real good.” KILROY whispers, “You never ever run from a predator.”
The mostly-conscious family pulls their whining kids closer to them. KILROY turns to look at them, both offended and annoyed.
“ANIMAL predators!” he clarifies.
The family gasps in even more horror for some reason. Without looking at them, KILROY sucks his teeth and looks up to the sky. “Animal predators who hunt other animals!!”
“Ohhhh!” the family says in almost unison, satisfied with the idea this lunatic would be hunting animals. Killing animals RULES!!
Now that everyone’s on the same page, KILROY slowly turns back to the photog, whose smile fades just as slowly, finally ending as the skull-faced entity locks eyes with him anew.
“Now.” KILROY begins. “Whyyyy didja feel the need to correct me?”
The photog raises a concerned eyebrow, “Wha-what? I didn’t!”
KILROY closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Yeah. You did.”
“When?!”
“WHEN!, you said it was pronouns gyste instead of jist.”
“I didn’t! I didn’t even notice, I swear!” the photog shrieked.
KILROY leaned in uncomfortably close, giving the helpless cameraman a long deep sniff from neck to head. He savors the scents on his taste buds, smacking his lips as if sampling a fine wine. “I don’t smell lies on you.”
The photog breathes a sigh of relief. During the peaceful respite, he decides to add, “Oh, but it is pronounced, not pronouns.”
The camera pans closer and closer to KILROY’s face, the violins playing more and more feverishly. The look on his face pained, confused, almost debating what to do next.
Then, the violins stop.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mambo Number 5!” he announces, followed by the absolute severest of shit-kickings to the photographer whose only crime was being cringey. The injured members of the Crenshaw family look on in abject horror, well, except the aunt.
Blood dripping from his fists and breathing heavily, he slowly turns around to observe the family as they were already in the process of getting back up. Seeing the beast eyeing them, they double their efforts. KILROY rises to his full menacing height and shambles towards them. They’re stricken with great fear, their feet immobile cinder blocks. Closer and closer the creature got, until his musk stung their nostrils. This was it. The Rapture wasn’t going to be some serene ascension into God’s warm embrace: it was going to be an agonizing endeavour more reminiscent of Hell.
Then, he embraced as many of them as possible. They were still terrified, but now more confused than ever. Sensing this, KILROY backed up. “Don’t you remember me? It’s me, KILROY Crenshaw!”
The bunched-up family look at each other with turned-up noses and worried albeit less-worried-than-before faces. Turned-up noses due to the stench of clay and salmon.
“Oh-ohhhh!” they say in a sort of jagged unison. Anything to avoid the same fate as the cameraman.
Finally, KILROY lets them go and looks at the family with tremendous pride. “Mama and papa! Bro and sis! And, uhhhh, the rest! The family I never had.”
“This nut isn’t a Crenshaw!” the dad angrily whispers to the mom.
“Ha-ROLD.” she hisses back. “He’s going to hear you.”
“I don’t care, he’s ruining the reunion!”
“Look at the camera guy, look at the camera guy!” she frantically whispers back.
“He was weak!” the dad says in a tone a bit louder than before. “This guy looks like some wrestler and wrestle-ING is fake!”
“Harold, I’m warning you…”
“HEY.”
Dad and mom scream and nearly jump out of their skin. KILROY somehow has appeared behind them!
“Mama, Ah’ve got so so sosososososo much ta tells ya!” KILROY says with such excitement. “Ah’ve made a nayum fer mahself in pro-fesh-ee-oh-nal wrasslin’!”
“O-oh? That’s, that’s good!” she says quite nervously.
“A-yeeup, Ah’m a-goin’ ta wrassle fer CU:LT and beat the SHIT!!! The absolute SHIT!!!!!! Out of five other wrasslers. Wanna know their names?”
“Uh, y-yes.” mom says.
“No!” Dad says, finally having enough, “This is ridiculous! I believe you’re a wrestler - just look at you - but you’re NOT, I repeat NOT a Crenshaw!”
“HAROLD, THAT’S THE LAST STRAW!” mom shrieks.
“It’s okay, mama, it’s okay, we all know how papa gets!” KILROY says as he tries to assure his “mom”.
“YOU are NOT my SON!!!” Dad screams, like, right in KILROY’s face! It’s uncertain why nobody’s scared of this menace, but chalk it up to temporary insanity in this case.
KILROY’s eyes widen, “Youuuu don’t meeeean that.”
“Oh yes I do!” Dad snaps back. “We’ve been having a great time up till YOU showed up! You’re not a member of the family - no, no, Danica, stop, just stop - and your fake wrestling SHIT is literally stinking up the joint!”
KILROY’s arms drop to their side and he begins to slouch. If this were a TV show, the audience might have been prompted to say “Awwwww…”
“I AM a Crenshaw.” KILROY pouted. “But I will say this, papa:”
KILROY gently rests his hands on the dad’s shoulders, and with a look as close to emulating kindness as he could muster, follows this sure to be touching scene by saying, “I’M GONNA RIP BOTH YOUR EARS OFF AND SHOVE THEM INTO YOUR EYE SOCKETS SO YOU CAN HEAR WHEN YOU TEAR!!
I’VE WAITED FOREVER - FOR-EVER!!! - TO MAKE IT TO THE BIG TIME, AND IT’S ALL GONNA GO MY WAY, BECAUSE JUST LIKE GREEN DAY ONCE SAID, WAAAAAAAAAAKE ME UUUUUUP WHEN SEPTEMBER ENDS, WHICH IS WHAT THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE ARE GONNA BE SINGING FROM INTENSIVE CARE WHEN I’M THROUGH WITH ‘EM!”
He pauses, then returns to a regular tone, “For starters, I want those neeeearest and deeeearest to me to KNOW: I did my dang BEST - my BEST!!! - against that got-danged dinosaur, but he was just too much for me! He took advantage of my fresh trauma from being eaten by one of his cronies and won it all! But don’tchu worry none, a-fore I still got THIS! Around my WAIST!”
He then shows off the Bible Belt Championship, which impresses the kids but nobody else.
“But this time, THIS TIME, I’m goin’ in for the KILL, em-FAY-sis on KILL! Ace Sky, he’s one of ‘em, a cute sweet li’l baby boy, a pleasure to make and see cry!
Beaufort, isn’t that a type of cheese? I guess we’ll see how she tastes!”
The grandparents try to cup their grandkids’ ears. KILROY rolls his eyes, “I mean LITERALLY!”
He pauses to recollect his thoughts, “So where was we? The Cheesy Lady? Yum. Anyway, this next fella, Ah heard through the gape-vine that big ol’ hunka hunka burnin’ mama’s boy was a, a, a, a rePLACEMENT! And for WHO, ya might waaaaanna ask me if I wasn’t running out of words? JJ Slayer. Mah barroom buddy! But now he’s JJ SCAREDY-CAT! HAHAHA! But now it’s some, uh, uh, uh, Craig, COGAN?! Psh, they’ll let aaaaanyone inta this sport!
And there’s also someone named Bliss, stupid name, probably not real, gonna stomp her head so hard she’ll, she’ll, she’ll… I GUESS SHE’LL DIE, HUH? I GUESS THAT’S IT, THAT’S ALL YOU WANNA HEAR, SO OKAY, FINE!
And finally, and most un-ah-for-ah-too-a-nat-ah-lee, we’ve got this Lorgan Bailer, and mama and papa, please fergive me, but I dunno who that is! PLEASE! PLEASE! I’M SORRY! But it’ll be okay, because they won’ta be with us much longer.”
After talking a bunch of bullshit, he catches his breath and follows all that up by saying, “I guess Green Day said that a buncha times, if you own the CD or cassette.”
But he is saying this to himself; the family had long since taken the opportunity of the nonsense soliloquy to escape and let everyone else at the reunion know to go into hiding. KILROY looks around to notice this, and looks sincerely perplexed. He rests his hand on his chin, then snaps his fingers.
“Oh, you know what?” KILROY says, laughing as he smacks the side of his head, “Crewnshaw isn’t my last name aaaaafter aaaaall!”
The photographer enthusiastically ushers the traditional nuclear family of four and extended family of six in various spots in front of what will surely become a nice woodsy background settling.
“Okay! So dad, you’ll stand here with mom, and dad’s dad, you’ll stand right here next to them and dad’s mom on the other side. Aunty and uncle, I’ll need to get you to kneel in front of them, and kids, you’ll just sit - that’s right! Right there in front of your aunt and uncle.”
“Can we switch positions?” the son whispers to his sister.
Seeing he’s seated in front of their uncle, the daughter/sister/whatever scoffs, “No way!”
“And don’t think I forgot about you two!” the photographer says in an obnoxiously playful manner to the wife’s parents. “We’ll get you to sit on these little stools in front of aunty and uncle.”
The aunt is visibly creeped out every time the photog refers to her that way. That was the 23rd time he had done so. Once the other set of grandparents are in position, the photog sizes up the scene, thinks for a bit, sizes it up some more, thinks a bit more, clears his throat, grabs a bottle of water, opens it, takes a sip, closes it again, puts it away, sizes up the scene a third time, and while he looks on at the family, he thinks out loud, “Hmmmmm…”
“Can we get on with it?!” the dad snaps a bit.
“Harold!” his wife exclaims.
“It’s just, we’re missing the Crenshaw Family Reunion Games!!” he almost whines, but as a trad dad, he makes it look cool. In actuality, it was just that nobody bothers to mention when he’s whining because they never want to hear the end of it.
“Ah! Tempers are flaring!” the photographer teases. The dad rolls his eyes. “A-anyway, I think we’re ready!”
He gets behind the camera, turns some dials and positions the camera just so (thankfully not as drawn out as the eyeballing process was). “Okay, everyone! Say ‘Fuzzy Pickle’!”
“FUZZY PICKLE!!” they shout in unison, the dad through gritted teeth.
Then, there’s a flash, followed by the photog checking out the fruits of his labour. He sucks air in through clenched teeth. “Ooh, okay, aunty?”
She flinches in disgust. 24th time.
“Looks like you closed your eyes by accident there; let’s give that one more try!”
“For God’s sake Evelyn!!” the dad growls.
“Harold…” his wife hisses at him.
“Just one more second, dad, I swear!” the photographer assures the unreasonably angry dad. “All right! Is everyone ready, because here we go again! Say ‘Fuzzy Pickle’!”
“FUZZY PICKLE!” they say with noticeably less enthusiasm than the time previous (about 25% less at least).
But no sooner do they say that, the green screen explodes - as best as a green screen can - as a familiar erratic madman bursts through it, barrelling through the family of likely assholes.
“Holy sh-” the photog exclaims, barely catching himself before he said a bad word.
“Is this where the Crenshaw Family Reunion’s taking place?” KILROY asks, oblivious to the fact he’s now surrounded by bodies in varying degrees of hurt thanks to him. And yes, the kids are hurt too, HAHAHA!
“Uh.” the photog says as he grabs a hold of his camera, tripod and all. “It is, are, uh, you, ah, lost?”
“Lost?” KILROY asked, clearly offended at the wild allegations. “Lost? Oh, so like I’m stupid, I can’t read, I’m duuuuuuuuumb as shiiiiiiiiiiit: is that basically the gyste of it?”
“No no! It’s just, I thought everyone was already here, seeing as it’s been going on all day now.” the photographer replies.
KILROY eyeballs the douchebag, slowly sauntering and slinking his way up to the cameraman, who’s getting exponentially concerned the closer this clearly unhinged person gets to him.
“It’s good you didn’t run, it’s real good.” KILROY whispers, “You never ever run from a predator.”
The mostly-conscious family pulls their whining kids closer to them. KILROY turns to look at them, both offended and annoyed.
“ANIMAL predators!” he clarifies.
The family gasps in even more horror for some reason. Without looking at them, KILROY sucks his teeth and looks up to the sky. “Animal predators who hunt other animals!!”
“Ohhhh!” the family says in almost unison, satisfied with the idea this lunatic would be hunting animals. Killing animals RULES!!
Now that everyone’s on the same page, KILROY slowly turns back to the photog, whose smile fades just as slowly, finally ending as the skull-faced entity locks eyes with him anew.
“Now.” KILROY begins. “Whyyyy didja feel the need to correct me?”
The photog raises a concerned eyebrow, “Wha-what? I didn’t!”
KILROY closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Yeah. You did.”
“When?!”
“WHEN!, you said it was pronouns gyste instead of jist.”
“I didn’t! I didn’t even notice, I swear!” the photog shrieked.
KILROY leaned in uncomfortably close, giving the helpless cameraman a long deep sniff from neck to head. He savors the scents on his taste buds, smacking his lips as if sampling a fine wine. “I don’t smell lies on you.”
The photog breathes a sigh of relief. During the peaceful respite, he decides to add, “Oh, but it is pronounced, not pronouns.”
The camera pans closer and closer to KILROY’s face, the violins playing more and more feverishly. The look on his face pained, confused, almost debating what to do next.
Then, the violins stop.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mambo Number 5!” he announces, followed by the absolute severest of shit-kickings to the photographer whose only crime was being cringey. The injured members of the Crenshaw family look on in abject horror, well, except the aunt.
Blood dripping from his fists and breathing heavily, he slowly turns around to observe the family as they were already in the process of getting back up. Seeing the beast eyeing them, they double their efforts. KILROY rises to his full menacing height and shambles towards them. They’re stricken with great fear, their feet immobile cinder blocks. Closer and closer the creature got, until his musk stung their nostrils. This was it. The Rapture wasn’t going to be some serene ascension into God’s warm embrace: it was going to be an agonizing endeavour more reminiscent of Hell.
Then, he embraced as many of them as possible. They were still terrified, but now more confused than ever. Sensing this, KILROY backed up. “Don’t you remember me? It’s me, KILROY Crenshaw!”
The bunched-up family look at each other with turned-up noses and worried albeit less-worried-than-before faces. Turned-up noses due to the stench of clay and salmon.
“Oh-ohhhh!” they say in a sort of jagged unison. Anything to avoid the same fate as the cameraman.
Finally, KILROY lets them go and looks at the family with tremendous pride. “Mama and papa! Bro and sis! And, uhhhh, the rest! The family I never had.”
“This nut isn’t a Crenshaw!” the dad angrily whispers to the mom.
“Ha-ROLD.” she hisses back. “He’s going to hear you.”
“I don’t care, he’s ruining the reunion!”
“Look at the camera guy, look at the camera guy!” she frantically whispers back.
“He was weak!” the dad says in a tone a bit louder than before. “This guy looks like some wrestler and wrestle-ING is fake!”
“Harold, I’m warning you…”
“HEY.”
Dad and mom scream and nearly jump out of their skin. KILROY somehow has appeared behind them!
“Mama, Ah’ve got so so sosososososo much ta tells ya!” KILROY says with such excitement. “Ah’ve made a nayum fer mahself in pro-fesh-ee-oh-nal wrasslin’!”
“O-oh? That’s, that’s good!” she says quite nervously.
“A-yeeup, Ah’m a-goin’ ta wrassle fer CU:LT and beat the SHIT!!! The absolute SHIT!!!!!! Out of five other wrasslers. Wanna know their names?”
“Uh, y-yes.” mom says.
“No!” Dad says, finally having enough, “This is ridiculous! I believe you’re a wrestler - just look at you - but you’re NOT, I repeat NOT a Crenshaw!”
“HAROLD, THAT’S THE LAST STRAW!” mom shrieks.
“It’s okay, mama, it’s okay, we all know how papa gets!” KILROY says as he tries to assure his “mom”.
“YOU are NOT my SON!!!” Dad screams, like, right in KILROY’s face! It’s uncertain why nobody’s scared of this menace, but chalk it up to temporary insanity in this case.
KILROY’s eyes widen, “Youuuu don’t meeeean that.”
“Oh yes I do!” Dad snaps back. “We’ve been having a great time up till YOU showed up! You’re not a member of the family - no, no, Danica, stop, just stop - and your fake wrestling SHIT is literally stinking up the joint!”
KILROY’s arms drop to their side and he begins to slouch. If this were a TV show, the audience might have been prompted to say “Awwwww…”
“I AM a Crenshaw.” KILROY pouted. “But I will say this, papa:”
KILROY gently rests his hands on the dad’s shoulders, and with a look as close to emulating kindness as he could muster, follows this sure to be touching scene by saying, “I’M GONNA RIP BOTH YOUR EARS OFF AND SHOVE THEM INTO YOUR EYE SOCKETS SO YOU CAN HEAR WHEN YOU TEAR!!
I’VE WAITED FOREVER - FOR-EVER!!! - TO MAKE IT TO THE BIG TIME, AND IT’S ALL GONNA GO MY WAY, BECAUSE JUST LIKE GREEN DAY ONCE SAID, WAAAAAAAAAAKE ME UUUUUUP WHEN SEPTEMBER ENDS, WHICH IS WHAT THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE ARE GONNA BE SINGING FROM INTENSIVE CARE WHEN I’M THROUGH WITH ‘EM!”
He pauses, then returns to a regular tone, “For starters, I want those neeeearest and deeeearest to me to KNOW: I did my dang BEST - my BEST!!! - against that got-danged dinosaur, but he was just too much for me! He took advantage of my fresh trauma from being eaten by one of his cronies and won it all! But don’tchu worry none, a-fore I still got THIS! Around my WAIST!”
He then shows off the Bible Belt Championship, which impresses the kids but nobody else.
“But this time, THIS TIME, I’m goin’ in for the KILL, em-FAY-sis on KILL! Ace Sky, he’s one of ‘em, a cute sweet li’l baby boy, a pleasure to make and see cry!
Beaufort, isn’t that a type of cheese? I guess we’ll see how she tastes!”
The grandparents try to cup their grandkids’ ears. KILROY rolls his eyes, “I mean LITERALLY!”
He pauses to recollect his thoughts, “So where was we? The Cheesy Lady? Yum. Anyway, this next fella, Ah heard through the gape-vine that big ol’ hunka hunka burnin’ mama’s boy was a, a, a, a rePLACEMENT! And for WHO, ya might waaaaanna ask me if I wasn’t running out of words? JJ Slayer. Mah barroom buddy! But now he’s JJ SCAREDY-CAT! HAHAHA! But now it’s some, uh, uh, uh, Craig, COGAN?! Psh, they’ll let aaaaanyone inta this sport!
And there’s also someone named Bliss, stupid name, probably not real, gonna stomp her head so hard she’ll, she’ll, she’ll… I GUESS SHE’LL DIE, HUH? I GUESS THAT’S IT, THAT’S ALL YOU WANNA HEAR, SO OKAY, FINE!
And finally, and most un-ah-for-ah-too-a-nat-ah-lee, we’ve got this Lorgan Bailer, and mama and papa, please fergive me, but I dunno who that is! PLEASE! PLEASE! I’M SORRY! But it’ll be okay, because they won’ta be with us much longer.”
After talking a bunch of bullshit, he catches his breath and follows all that up by saying, “I guess Green Day said that a buncha times, if you own the CD or cassette.”
But he is saying this to himself; the family had long since taken the opportunity of the nonsense soliloquy to escape and let everyone else at the reunion know to go into hiding. KILROY looks around to notice this, and looks sincerely perplexed. He rests his hand on his chin, then snaps his fingers.
“Oh, you know what?” KILROY says, laughing as he smacks the side of his head, “Crewnshaw isn’t my last name aaaaafter aaaaall!”
