Post by hachiman0 on Oct 19, 2021 17:34:15 GMT -6
Waters surge a ghastly spume against his weak vessel, but even a monstrous tide cannot shirk Hachiman from reaching shore. Sore, defeated and surging in the wrong direction… the one man that could foresee it all was in danger of completely floating into a caustic wind. He sailed either way in the hopes of some vain surface to claim as his own. Dig gold from an empty earth like the oro-eyed gringos that settled Jamestown. Whom, judging solely by the random pilgrim he’d encountered on a trip to Providence as a teen—one marked by tourist traps and s bottle of Malibu smuggled into his duffle bag, were under the same strains of cosmic optimism.
He remarked at the marvelous sky when the horizons looked too treacherous to survive inside a simple raft. Adele energies raging as open ocean threatened with its deepest and darkest depths. The Captain Blood adventure a soul deserves once per lifetime. Peril that only a fool would embrace with an open chest with the gallantry of Columbus’s fleet arriving at their grand discovery. Whatever made the Caribbean glow. Gave terrible life to the Gulf Coast only survived by the eyes of a child that once gasped at its worldwide spread.
“What might,” he remarked. Lonesome skies agreed. “People addicted to the mothlike glow of our overwatch… I suspect they expect me to dance more often. Abridge onto sight, wherein my little sun shall cure this egotistical blight. My need to defeat Lazaro and enter random scuffles has rendered me but a chitinous shell of my once golden aspirations. Perhaps I was the verdigris.”
“Maybe,” says the chalkboard scratching cackle of a bull shark, leaving over his raft. “But you’re not any more of less the man you can here to be.”
“You’re right,” Hachiman says. His eyes then grow five sizes. “Shark!”
“You seem more out of place on familiar ground than at home.”
“Explain—always, why are you talking?”
“Because you’re too afraid to admit you’re scared. Instead of dealing with your fear, Hachiman, you’ve created me to trivialize your own shortcomings.”
“I’m not afraid.”
The imposing shark leans onto the edge of his raft like a bar counter.
“Stop that!” he says. “You’re going to tip me overboard!”
“If ever,” it says with a bellyaching laugh. “I merely wanted you to taste death. Because that’s what awaits you at landfall.”
“Explain.”
“Pray tell by the charm of my cold, bloodthirsty heart… and swim bladder… I wanted to see if you could handle underserved pressure. Something to rattle your cage. To see if the little bugs in my jar would fight.”
Hachiman looks dismayed by that.
“I promise you that your return to Black Pyramid Wrestling beckons all manner of deceit. You walk in a school of murderers, warlords and budding dictators—all of them rolled tighter than a rubber band ball.”
“How do you, some random shark, know about the problems of land dwellers. Let alone something so random as office supplies and our volatile politics? Are there like fish elections to worry about?”
The shark laughs again.
“Come on, you have to admit this is weird as fu—”
“It’s not a trick, if that’s what you mean,” it responds. “Not a murmuring ruse to lull you into a trusting distance—where I could just snap off a rib or two. Maybe get a bit of that delicate, fatty liver.”
Hachiman covers his body in a vain, coquettish spirit.
“Don’t be flattered. That was not a compliment either,” it says. “You were seeking wisdom—so here it comes. When you beckon fates… don’t be surprised when all comes at wrong.”
“Then what is my future.”
“I’m not a forecaster. I’m a predator!” it erupts with its torpedo head raised high. “My observation of you from the surrounding sea told me everything I need to know about you, Hachiman. You’re obstinate, refusing results as if one modicum of truth would kill your image. You’re already pudgy in room of chiseled athletes.”
“Well, I’m not vying for fandom from my sex appeal.”
“That’s it really,” the shark tells him. “You feel that your place is just good enough. Why else would you conjure things to berate you? These rows of teeth were given to me through evolution with the intent of rending flesh from bone in seconds. They’re not simply for a cartoonish grin.”
He gets closer.
“No need to approach me,” it says. “Only listen to my tale.”
Hachiman nods.
“Good,” the shark says, clearing its throat of its last meal. “If you want to succeed in Black Pyramid Wrestling, then stop looking for cosmic knowledge for what your evolutionary track already predestined. You have a chance to be the biggest star this company has ever seen. But you need to shut up and listen.”
“I am listening.”
“Then you already lost the game.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you to be yourself and not seek cosmic knowledge,” it says. “But instead, you engaged a bull shark as an interlocutor and not as just a sea creature.”
Moments later, with its blood mouth gumming at him, Hachiman reached forward and punches it square in its olfactory sensory bundle. That sudden blast is enough to free his raft from sinking.
“I see you now, Mundo. You are the greatest challenge the mystic pyramid has placed before me. Odds do not favor a ghost of a hero, but I am aware that you are nearly unblemished. Nor will I bat a cutey eyelash because I want to be an outsider so bad I forgo life expectancies like taxes, marriage and a three-meal daily horarium.
I’m evolving by the minute—oh fuck!”
He dropkicks the shark as it tries to flop onto his boat again. It retreats once more to the briny deep.
“When I see these seas, I see your heart Mundo. I see someone with a sea of opportunity and the callous needs of a bull shark. You always attack from where the enemy never suspects. You cripple yet never kill. That’s what drew me to our challenge this week.
You are merciful in that you seem unwilling, undisciplined, and lacking in overall upper body strength to gut a man from the front of his gills. No… you have mongoose swiftness. Snapdragon tumbling into view. But are you so immune to a suplex or overthrown lariat like mongooses shrugging off cobra venom.
Well this week, I dine on the heart of snake then drink the pissy liquor pickling its pliable layers some maniac bottled for consumption. You strike me as that kind of obscure spirit. Or maybe the starchy process of kayak wood oil smattered livingly into a chic perfume. The mystery of the bottle is that what makes you stronger is truly a tasteless iocaine deceptively place in both our drinks—pretty sneaky, sis!
But we’re merely children of this terracotta army. But more Mongols, Viet Cong and nameless Nike makers to the fools unfit for civilized modernity. We are the next generation of wreslting whether they, or victim artists like Lazaro Vincente, want to believe.
This week you look the end of days in the face and experience my many plagues. My subsistence of pure and petty discourse—all coupled behind the fury of someone crazy enough to journey walk the Atacama at day and wear bear pelts across the tundra nights of the Klondike territories. You cannot unthink what is not even playing the same game as you. Connect four—now king me, you beautiful baby!”
Hachiman laughs, rowing towards what appears to be an oil tanker in the distance. When the shark appears towards the screen.
“Now you see it… the true heart of a warrior is in winds of his sails.”
He remarked at the marvelous sky when the horizons looked too treacherous to survive inside a simple raft. Adele energies raging as open ocean threatened with its deepest and darkest depths. The Captain Blood adventure a soul deserves once per lifetime. Peril that only a fool would embrace with an open chest with the gallantry of Columbus’s fleet arriving at their grand discovery. Whatever made the Caribbean glow. Gave terrible life to the Gulf Coast only survived by the eyes of a child that once gasped at its worldwide spread.
“What might,” he remarked. Lonesome skies agreed. “People addicted to the mothlike glow of our overwatch… I suspect they expect me to dance more often. Abridge onto sight, wherein my little sun shall cure this egotistical blight. My need to defeat Lazaro and enter random scuffles has rendered me but a chitinous shell of my once golden aspirations. Perhaps I was the verdigris.”
“Maybe,” says the chalkboard scratching cackle of a bull shark, leaving over his raft. “But you’re not any more of less the man you can here to be.”
“You’re right,” Hachiman says. His eyes then grow five sizes. “Shark!”
“You seem more out of place on familiar ground than at home.”
“Explain—always, why are you talking?”
“Because you’re too afraid to admit you’re scared. Instead of dealing with your fear, Hachiman, you’ve created me to trivialize your own shortcomings.”
“I’m not afraid.”
The imposing shark leans onto the edge of his raft like a bar counter.
“Stop that!” he says. “You’re going to tip me overboard!”
“If ever,” it says with a bellyaching laugh. “I merely wanted you to taste death. Because that’s what awaits you at landfall.”
“Explain.”
“Pray tell by the charm of my cold, bloodthirsty heart… and swim bladder… I wanted to see if you could handle underserved pressure. Something to rattle your cage. To see if the little bugs in my jar would fight.”
Hachiman looks dismayed by that.
“I promise you that your return to Black Pyramid Wrestling beckons all manner of deceit. You walk in a school of murderers, warlords and budding dictators—all of them rolled tighter than a rubber band ball.”
“How do you, some random shark, know about the problems of land dwellers. Let alone something so random as office supplies and our volatile politics? Are there like fish elections to worry about?”
The shark laughs again.
“Come on, you have to admit this is weird as fu—”
“It’s not a trick, if that’s what you mean,” it responds. “Not a murmuring ruse to lull you into a trusting distance—where I could just snap off a rib or two. Maybe get a bit of that delicate, fatty liver.”
Hachiman covers his body in a vain, coquettish spirit.
“Don’t be flattered. That was not a compliment either,” it says. “You were seeking wisdom—so here it comes. When you beckon fates… don’t be surprised when all comes at wrong.”
“Then what is my future.”
“I’m not a forecaster. I’m a predator!” it erupts with its torpedo head raised high. “My observation of you from the surrounding sea told me everything I need to know about you, Hachiman. You’re obstinate, refusing results as if one modicum of truth would kill your image. You’re already pudgy in room of chiseled athletes.”
“Well, I’m not vying for fandom from my sex appeal.”
“That’s it really,” the shark tells him. “You feel that your place is just good enough. Why else would you conjure things to berate you? These rows of teeth were given to me through evolution with the intent of rending flesh from bone in seconds. They’re not simply for a cartoonish grin.”
He gets closer.
“No need to approach me,” it says. “Only listen to my tale.”
Hachiman nods.
“Good,” the shark says, clearing its throat of its last meal. “If you want to succeed in Black Pyramid Wrestling, then stop looking for cosmic knowledge for what your evolutionary track already predestined. You have a chance to be the biggest star this company has ever seen. But you need to shut up and listen.”
“I am listening.”
“Then you already lost the game.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you to be yourself and not seek cosmic knowledge,” it says. “But instead, you engaged a bull shark as an interlocutor and not as just a sea creature.”
Moments later, with its blood mouth gumming at him, Hachiman reached forward and punches it square in its olfactory sensory bundle. That sudden blast is enough to free his raft from sinking.
“I see you now, Mundo. You are the greatest challenge the mystic pyramid has placed before me. Odds do not favor a ghost of a hero, but I am aware that you are nearly unblemished. Nor will I bat a cutey eyelash because I want to be an outsider so bad I forgo life expectancies like taxes, marriage and a three-meal daily horarium.
I’m evolving by the minute—oh fuck!”
He dropkicks the shark as it tries to flop onto his boat again. It retreats once more to the briny deep.
“When I see these seas, I see your heart Mundo. I see someone with a sea of opportunity and the callous needs of a bull shark. You always attack from where the enemy never suspects. You cripple yet never kill. That’s what drew me to our challenge this week.
You are merciful in that you seem unwilling, undisciplined, and lacking in overall upper body strength to gut a man from the front of his gills. No… you have mongoose swiftness. Snapdragon tumbling into view. But are you so immune to a suplex or overthrown lariat like mongooses shrugging off cobra venom.
Well this week, I dine on the heart of snake then drink the pissy liquor pickling its pliable layers some maniac bottled for consumption. You strike me as that kind of obscure spirit. Or maybe the starchy process of kayak wood oil smattered livingly into a chic perfume. The mystery of the bottle is that what makes you stronger is truly a tasteless iocaine deceptively place in both our drinks—pretty sneaky, sis!
But we’re merely children of this terracotta army. But more Mongols, Viet Cong and nameless Nike makers to the fools unfit for civilized modernity. We are the next generation of wreslting whether they, or victim artists like Lazaro Vincente, want to believe.
This week you look the end of days in the face and experience my many plagues. My subsistence of pure and petty discourse—all coupled behind the fury of someone crazy enough to journey walk the Atacama at day and wear bear pelts across the tundra nights of the Klondike territories. You cannot unthink what is not even playing the same game as you. Connect four—now king me, you beautiful baby!”
Hachiman laughs, rowing towards what appears to be an oil tanker in the distance. When the shark appears towards the screen.
“Now you see it… the true heart of a warrior is in winds of his sails.”
