S incerely
C reatively
R ealistically
E motionally
A t-the-end-of-tetherly
M ost-assuredly do I scream, as loud as Munch's fiber-glass figure on some fucked up bridge going nowhere.
"It's getting to me", he says softly, exhausted by the effort of screaming at the top of his lungs, "Fuck y'all, I'm outie".
"Gee bro, that's some unexpected outburst", she says in a consoling and understanding tone, "if you're out of scream I can find you some more in a micro-second, that shit ain't going nowhere!"
The front door bangs open and a yellow-clad figure appears, official label and badge clearly visible, finger on trigger and broad grin on face.
"You! Yes you laddie, get your hands up and let's see what your guts look like when drenched in chronic meme-juice". Yellow fella steps closer, grin copy-pasted onto 5 more yellow-clad hooligans of the State who now come into view. Turning to his underlings he barks an order and they start proceedings.
"Told ya din't I bro?" she says to him, "not even a micro-second!"
He looks at her, then at the six yellow pieces of shit.
"Can you?" he asks her.
She chuckles softly, "Of course, but so can you!".
The six figures approach menacingly, weapons hip-high, grins synchronised.
He looks at them, then at her, then straight ahead at nothing at all.
Then he moves swiftly, powerfully, as the matrix-drained energy returns to his being.
Figure 1, the leader, is blasted back out of the door - which now slams behind him - and finds himself in a vast sceptic tank under the City of London surrounded by the parliamentarian servants of SAGE and up to his neck in the kind of excrement secreted at least since the Spring of 2020 but in reality for much longer than that.
Figures 2-6, utterly terrified by the overturning of what was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill bully-fun operation of enforcing lockdown rules and kicking a 'denier's' anti-establishment head in, now pooping in their yellow smocks, smilies out of synch and upside down, turn towards the door and run.
"Told ya you could do it", she says smilingly.
"Not done yet I ain't" he says lifting up his right hand to grab hold of Santa Klaus of the WEF and detonating a stink bomb in the heart of the NWO. Next he gets hold of 13 'families' and flicks a switch. Pooooof!
"Yoohoo" says she, tail wagging furiously.
Having cut off the head, he now tackles the rest of the body.
Institutional slave-drivers, war-mongering media-merchants, wannabe arseholes - vast armies of somnambulant totalitarian implementers - stopped dead in their tracks, frozen in crystals of self-serving left-brainisms.
"Steady on bro, ain't almost nobody left!"
He breathes, takes a step back, feeling the sensible breeze of a waggy tail.
"No more retribution and tit-for-tat, let's just get on with it".
And with that, man and dog leave the premises and step out into the sunshine of a planet that has just been reborn.
