|p a r t o n e
||[Jan. 14th, 2008|12:45 am]
|||||Led Zeppelin- No Quarter||]|
HEAP You know him as KWD, but to the rest of the country it's Scott Pool.
A POIGNANT SATIRE
BY MAX E.
P A R T O N E
As a obligitory exposition to the reader, we shall provide a background of this young man.
Scott Pool was born to Anglo-Saxon parents in upstate New York. His early life was uneventful and quite possibly filled with self-contentment. The arrival of puberty found Scott drifiting into the lower stratas of the socially crippled half of society. Scott often sought the ideal-but not the utopian, and never from himself. Scott had no talents, no ambitions, no sense of dignity, self-respect, or the expectations of society. He was so miserably worthless as to render even the most upright and self-righteous activist able to reconsider mercy killing.
He also had an anime girlfriend.
And in spite of all this, Scott was discontent with his lot in life. He decided to unleash his creative energy on what would no doubt be a swashbuckling sci/fi work of adventure-fiction soon to be transfered into a multimillion dollar motion picture screenplay and a television spin-off series renewed for several seasons in quick succession.
Seeing as any substantial lack of talent had never stood in his way of self-fulfillment before (due to a horrible defecit of Darwinian oversight-but that's a satire for a different day), Scott Pool began to write.
It should be noted that the sum of Mr Pool's perceptual experiences up to this point can be categorized as forced participation in an otherwise sedentary lifestyle. Owing to this, Mr Pool became enamored of a modern-day cultural phenomenon of Japanese animation. His encounters with literature-the term is used quite loosely in this context-were therefore limited in serialized comic strips. It is unclear whether the Japanese made Scott into the monstrosity of aesthetics he came to be or if Scott was merely the next logical step in the bottom-of-the-barrel sociophobic petty bourgeois lifestyle.
And so the potential creative output of Scott was the hypersexualized and hackeneyed bullshit he poured over every night in his parents' apartment by flashlight.
In reference to this experience, Scott began to write. As had been said before, Mr Pool was an idealist. To begin his fictitious memoirs, he must first establish the ideal.
To Mr Pool, as it is with all postpubescent outcasts unable to find a reliable sperm bank to releive themselves within, the ideal was feminine. Now Scott had to establish himself as being ambitious. The world liked ambitious people, especially if they wrote ambitious things and worded them well. Scott wanted to be liked, and so he feigned ambition and eloquence. He thought of several words that may or may not be profound in any given context and threw them around in his head until they formed a somewhat believeable sentence.
yet slightly seductive
acro s s the r o o m
Mr Pool indulged himself in a sigh of relief. The exposition was complete. He glaced over his work so far, and, upon deep reflection, came to the conclusion that it more than captured the attention of the reader. A smile eased itself into the centre of Scott's acne-covered face. And now, for the plot.
This proved to be problematic. Scott racked his brain for a good while. Plots had characters.
Scott thought of anime.
Characters have big eyes big tits effeminate hair m u s c l e s selfconfidence and NAMES THAT END IN VOWELS TWO OR MORE IS BETTER THAN ONE
Scott had found his muse. Without much further hesitation, he concocted the protagonists, antagonists, and stock characters. He assigned them names that sounded like they could belong to a guy with a sword who walks around the countryside in a sort of cape that is opened ever so slightly to reveal the pectoral muscles hidden inside that made every ovulating ingenue from miles around masturbate with a fishing pole. Or perhaps a naive young girl who walked around the countryside in a short plaid skirt and huge tits huge tits tits that bulged out from the half buttoned polo shirt that had been neatly placed onto her pertrubing chest.
But Scott paused. Something was missing. a spiritual element is missing
The first sentence had to have meaning. Not just the profound, but the logical. His story needed progression. It needed events that occured in a linear fashion.
and so scott pool continued to write i am sorry folks it is late