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I’m melting, MEEELTING!!!

February 4th, 2004

Kevin the Pyromaniac

(The scene opens to a small, badly lit room. Posters of rock groups proclaiming superior hardcoreness plaster the walls whilst clothes, garbage, left over food and small animals litter what should be the floor. Sitting at a desk on a creaky, wooden chair is a familiar 13 year old. As the camera pans over his lime coloured hair we see various, seemingly random, objects beneath a dusty lamp.)

Kevin: Oh man, you don’t stand a chance in hell!

(A slow stream of black, putrid smoke rises from the desk along with the stench of burning plastic.)

Kevin: DIE plastic spoon!

(The dining utensil falls into two pieces, the disfigured handle alone remaining in the grinning teenagers skinny fist.)

Kevin: Mwahahaha, hardcore!

(The cameraman steps back, holding his head as the noxious fumes that swirl through the room get to him.)

Kevin: Hey, you’re here to show how hardcore I am!

(The camera leans to one side as the operator props himself against a cupboard. Kevin gets to work on a cell phone.)

Kevin: Telephone call, it’s PYROMANIA~!1!!2 brutha.

(Kevin reaches for another match, his hand not able to grasp very well as his eyesight goes in and out of focus. He finally snatches one and gets to work, pressing play on his low quality, but LOUD, CD player. After only a few senselessly over the top chords the door to his room swings open and an 18 year old girl wearing a white towell around her storms in.)

Kevin’s Sister: Turn that music down, they can hear it all over Parts Unknown!

Kevin: WTF?!

Sister: Stop saying those three letters!

Kevin: Dubya… tee… eff!!!

(Kevin’s sister looks at the cameraman who has turned a pale shade of green.)

Sister: Who’s he?

Kevin: He’s a cameraman from BOB, he’s here to show all my adoring fans how hardcore I am!

Sister: You’re not melting crap again are you?

Kevin: Hell yeah! I’m hardcore dammit!

Sister: Hey, that’s my cell phone!

(She snatches the half melted phone from Kevin’s Pyromania desk of doom.)

Sister: You dickweed!

Kevin: Bitch!

Sister: Douchebag!

Kevin: Whore!

Sister: Shut up! Just turn your crappy music down NOW… oh, and mom said you have to get on with your homework or you won’t get anything to eat.

Kevin: Pfft, all mom’s cooking tastes like crap… if it ain’t hospital food it ain’t right!

Sister: You are a retard.

(Kevin topples backwards as the fumes overtake his brain.)

Sister: Ugh.

(She storms back out, slamming the door as she goes back to her shower. The cameraman stumbles forward slowly, sliding the volume control down towards 0 on the CD player, before collapsing onto a pile of baggy t-shirts with burn holes through them.)

Kevin: WTFMF!?!1 You’re here to film me and get me over with the fans, not fall unconcious!

(Kevin grabs the camera and points it at himself.)

Kevin: Guess I’ll have to do it myself. Fans of BOB, listen to ME! I’ve been complaining, taking my ridilin and saying my swears… and I have just one question to ask you BOB fans. Whatcha gonna do?!?! Whatcha gonna do BOB when PYROMANIA~!!1! runs wild on YOOOOOUUUUU?!!?!

(Kevin tries to rip his Vietallica t-shirt from his chest, but the black smog knocks him out cold and the camera cracks upon hitting the floor, giving us static.)

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  1. February 4th, 2004 at 15:02 | #1

    |static… static… fuzzing into focus… it’s getting there… getting there… OH MY GOD, THEY’VE FIXED THE CAMERA!|

    Stan: You b@stards!!!

    |We fade into an, of course, black-and-white shot of the still vacant BoB arena, where the only three men stupid enough to be inside, because they LIVE inside, are Hack, Slash, and Reeve, collectively known as the s… W… o. Slash is manning the ‘corder, focused on the stage, as Reeve must be backstage, what else, sleeping. God, he’s just like his mother. Lazy bum…|

    |”s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-” begins to blare over the speakers, while ACDC’s “Back in Black” begins to play alongside this annoying repetition, as well as a few voices shouting such things as, “WE ARE IN CONTROL!!!”, “THE GREATEST ICON IN WRESTLING!!!”, and, “NOW, GIVE ME SOME CANDAAAAY!!!”. Black and white spotlights flash across the arena, and another clip of “Boooring, boooring, boooring” is added to the audio track. Odd choice of crowd chants….|

    |And wouldn’t ya know, from the curtains, weighing in at an imeasurable amount of poundage, from Palm Springs, Arkansas, he’s the former twenty-two time Dubbya Cee Dubbya champeen o’ da worl’, ladies and gents, please make it to your feet (eh) for the one, the only, the Immoral… Barelygood, Hack, HOOOOOOOOOKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNN!!!!|

    Pre-recorded Crowd: Can-a-da! Can-a-da!

    |He walks out through the entry-way, clad in the garb of yesterday’s warriors… That didn’t even make any sense… Hack is dressed from head to toe in black and white, from white boots, to black pants, to white belt, to black shirt, to white moo-stachio, to black bandanna. Oh, and he has a white cane, that helps both in combat, and in… well, walking. What did ya think? Doy… And of course, the black and white boa. How he keeps that thing from biting off his head, I’ll neva’ know…|

    |And… he grabs a mic.|

    |But before he can saying anything, the crowd is chanting! Just listen to that chant!|

    Pre-recorded crowd: Leg of toad and eye of rat, eat the shroom and taste the fat!

    |Yup, they’re… chanting, that’s for sure… Did I mention we’re LIVE from Massachussetes? Guess which city…|

    |Hokin does the cupping of the ear, the pointing of the finger, the flexing of the muscles, the slowing down for breath, all the classics, and then, after one last ear-cupping, he grabs ahold of his shirt, and- RIP! It’s… it’s… RIP! It’s… Seems like the old timer is havin’ a bit of trouble… and… he collapses to the floor from exhsaustion…|


    |Static to darkness|

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