THE Rock
“You know that rock mentioned on IRC, well it's MY literary device now!!!”
The Rock: An idea is born
"THE Rock" or "The Artist Formerly Known as The Rock" is a spontaneous superhero that only "Toaster" and the other two dead Illogicopedian Theorists know of. It's said a higher being (I've heard he's actually quite short) managed to somehow combust his brain and blow it out through his earhole to the surprised amusement of onlookers. Not affecting him in the slightest he continued to live and breathe and think vegitate. However after a few minutes his self labotomy became rather apparent; whether it was the blank expression on his pale groaning face or the brain in the corner attempting to escape out the window, people started to smell a rat. The verminy musk perplexed them so much that they turned to Jesus contemplation for the answers. Whilst the men in the room reached into their hand-bags for their thinking caps, and the women pondered the issue through stroking their beards they happend to look into the corner, and see THE Rock.
OMFG THE ROCK!!!
With utter disregard for their own safety the ladies and gentlemen quickly skidded along the floor towards the rock at a FANTASTIC SPEED!! (Cushioning the blow with their best trousers/thongs.) Of course, travelling at that speed meant that they rather overshot the mark rock. The Rock remained completely calm and showed no signs of life panic. I don't know what brilliant concepts raced through that noble stone's mind as it awaited the eventual advances of the audience; most likely it was thinking of whacking out it's best autographing pen, or maybe it was just wondering how best to dispatch the oncoming crowd.
As the men and women slowly clawed their way towards the rock (all normal methods
of pedestrafarian locomotion had been outlawed 2 seconds previously) the rock finished calculating it's decision and used it's blue-ray vision to become almost indistinguishable from the multitude of rocks behind it. Remaining completely still, the rock eluded capture. It spited the many dedicated search parties after it's sediment blood by slowly eroding over time so that anyone who tried to pick it up would yelp in pain because of the slightly sharper corners. Eventually the growing pile of crying people writhing in pain around the rock caught the attention of the chief searcher. Instead of doing a "Rolling Stone" and escape in a roly-poly fashion, the rock decided to let the situation play out a little longer and made no sudden movements, not that it could anyway.
An Inspector Calls, and then dies
The Rock watched in anticipation as the old walrus-human crossbreed reached slowly towards it. Just as a slippery webbed hand reached in towards the tough stony exterior, the walruman stopped in his tracks, and keeled over dead. I think it was his left hand, Wikipedia said so but they've began feeding me questionable information ever since I got drunk and puked on their logo. I'm not sure why he died, I even asked the knife in his back why he died; the knife seemed too overcome with grief to answer. *sheds a tear* - Rock on Ye Noble Walrus*
“I AM THE WALRUS!!”
The Rock thought not of escaping and rolled tediously down a slight decline, which coincedentally the slain Walran was at the bottom of rushed to the aid of the dearly departed. I don't care what they say about not getting blood from a stone - that stone wept. And bled.
To catalyse the plot kill some time, the Rock stabbed a clock travelatered to his best friend's upstreet Chelsea appartment. He arrived there only to find his amigo pinned up against the wall by a seedy mobster known only as 'The Narrator'. The narrator, yours truly, couldn't find a way of killing the guy without writing it down in this story and therefore looking like a heartless bastard. So to avoid life imprisonmment prison or the dreaded 3 day ban from illogicopedia, I made the Rock decide if his best friend should live or if he should die. His best friend is a talking pie.
Enter the Second Protragonist: Testicle's is getting desperate now
As I fingered the trigger of my hand polished harpoon the Rock made his choice. Of course I'm no geologist, so I didn't understand the response coming from the Stone. I mean, it sounded a bit like "Keel Hymn!! Keel!! Merduhr lhe bassterd!!!" but the pie quickly explained that the Rock was speaking Geologinese. The Pie swiftly elaborated and said that "Keel Hymn" roughly translates to "Spare his life, he's hugely sexy and not at all edible". To save face I put down my sea-gun and left.
The Pie, or Pieforth as he's better known in pharmaceutical baking circles, released a tasty raspberry scent in gratitude (I think). The Rock, always the gentleman, tried to vigorously shake Pieforth's handcrust with a knife until both were lying exhausted in a sticky red mess. Pieforth went a little red and mumbled how he appreciated the gesture but didn't want to be hurt with gratitude, because he had contracted Food Poisoning since their last visit.
I attempt to inject some life into the article, but just make it into an even longer drawn out form of literary torture
They set off together in search of the sunset, so they could walk into it and help me end this article because of a rumour the Pie had heard from his exploits as a handicapped beggar. He had kept up his prestigous handicap for years but one day being the world's best golfing dessert didn't seem to matter anymore.
"Hey Rocky, you know back when I used to kill people who didn't give me their spare change using only expertly hit golf balls? Well, I heard one of the tightwads that I'd hit muttering about his wife as he lay dying in the sand trap on the fourth green. I wasn't quite up to eating him because I'd just had a baby burger, so I reached into his pocket and extracted some tic tacs. Anyway, these were no ordinary hum-drum tic tacs, they were magic pills. They took me out of this world to a wonderful universe where colours and people blurred into one and the same. A cayote became my spiritual guide, and after climbing a huge pyramid I discovered something was missing from my life. I needed to find my soul mate. Upon realisation of my epiphany I was transported back to this world, I awoke staring straight into the sun. At first I thought it was just a dream, I mean the pyramidal golf shop would explain the Pyramid and the talking dog would explain the Cayote. As I was explaining how golf works to the dog I realised that golf shops weren't pyramid shaped. How blind had I been, I mean yeah the shop was kinda pyramid shaped but it wasn't really a perfect pyramid. Well ok it was a perfect pramid, the talking dog even said so - every angle and every side matched perfectly in an orgasm of symetry. I was pretty pissed off and repeatedly bit the peak until it was more of a truncated pyramid. Bastard pyramid. Full of awe I was awestruck with awe. Bastard awe, why did he strike me. Anyways, the dog carried me in it's mouth to a computer dating agency called ChanServ. I clicked the random page button on his soul-mate wiki until my finger snapped from overusage. I eagerly anticipated what would show up on my screen when the computer finished loading. Maybe it was that blue loading bar at the bottom of the screen. But then again I was never really a blueberry pie and I never had a thing for slowly filling up white rectangles. Man this soul friend finding is hard! Just as the page finished loading a cloud shifted it's lazy precipitation and let the sun through. The luscious gold rays burned love into my retinas, and thats when I knew that I'd found my soulmate"
The Rock, clearly astounded at these revelations, remained completely silent, except maybe for a slight murderous cry. This clearly meant that the Rock actually hated the pie and wanted him dead, or eaten would loyaly remain by his friend's side as they searched for the pie's soulmate. And as we all know, walking into the sunset was voted by Cosmopolitan readers as being the best method of getting frazzled reaching the fiery orb without becoming dead. (Going at sunset means you can still see the sun and have the added advantage of it being night so that you won't get burned.)
After much pain the article kicks the bucket, breaking it's toe in the process
Having been watching over the progress of our heroes from above, (in a flying tree) I felt compelled to share their story with the world. I turned to my laptop and pointed out the subterfuge of my Rocky hero to TEH on IRC. TEH made haste and reached out my PC screen with a very extended metaphor. A barbed vowel latched onto the rock and he reeled it in with good prose. He labeled it "Not an egg" and made out off with it. Oh well, there goes my article; I never liked it much anyway.
“I can't bear "The Rock", it bring back bad memories. When I accidentally flick over to WWF I'll see him, and it's all horrifying and rocky: it's like some kind of "Rocky Horror Show!"”
You know what? Screw you guys! Maybe I will finish this article properly!! I just need a l'il alcamahol :P
- *Has a tiny sip of beer, Gropes your sister, pukes all over the floor and collapses*
Okay, without any inspiration this is going to be hard. I know! I'll just have to fall back on some tried and tested literary techniques! Ok, here goes:
...
Dammit! Erm, maybe I should quote André Breton?
“Quoting me doesn't make this article any better”