Post by 'The Shine' Brent Alpine on Sept 11, 2022 14:00:38 GMT -5
JULY 2022: STEP 1
My name is Dallas... and I'm an addict.
Hi Dallas.
A dreary, well rehearsed response from a room of mostly creepy looking men but one that provides some unexpected comfort. You're not alone anymore, Dallas.
It has taken over my life. Destroyed relationships. Obliterated my career. I don't even know who I am anymore. I can't even think about anything else... just IT. I see it every waking moment, even if it isn't around. I dream about it endlessly. Its smell... oh wow that scent... intoxicating. I want it all over me, consuming me as I consume it. I long for it in my mouth, breathing it in, pirouetting on my tongue. Sucking it, tasting, devouring.. I gaze. Desire. Want. MORE MORE MORE.
The group leader, a bloated, unwashed toad by the name of Wayne, harkens with lascivious earnestness to Dallas' dulcet Aussie tones.
Name it. Own it. Admit to your vice. WHAT RULES YOU, DALLAS?
Dallas gazes down in shame, exposing hair roots that the peroxide hasn't blemished.
... The female foot.
We pan out to reveal a banner hanging above the circle. It reads "FOOT FETISH SUPPORT GROUP". Despite his feeling of belonging, Wayne is the only captive audience Dallas 'enjoys'. The others are fixated on the objectively revolting trotters of the sole (sorry) female of the group. Even the lady herself can't take her eyes off them.
Can you point to what triggered your love for feet?
Dallas falls into a trance like state, eyes elevating, reminiscing a time of innocence.
My Mum's friend Wendy came round one evening for a barbie'. I musta been like 5 years old. A little skinny worm. Barely ate a thing, needed some timber desperately before I wasted away. Anyways, Wendy and Mum were joking how I was the only kid in the neighbourhood who didn't go gaga for those little ring doughnuts the local store baked. So Wendy thought she'd be funny and wrap one around her big toe and wiggle it in my face.
Suddenly everyone in the circle is all ears. Or all feet. Or something.
Well, it worked. I munched the whole bloody thing off her tootsie. She ended up feeding me the whole pack off each little piggy. Hated the bloody doughnuts when they weren't on her feet though. Mum would pay Wendy to come round near enough every day because I had been on the fifth percentile for weight and the docs got my folks all shit scared. By the end of the year, I was a bloody porker, mate.
What happened to Wendy?
There was an accident. I don't wanna talk about it. But the surgeon managed to reattach it so don't judge me, OK?
There's no judgement here, Dallas. None at all. In fact, this is beautiful. Feet caused you to grow, literally.
Yeah but they also ruined my life.
How so? What changed your perspective on feet?
Well, like Wendy, I had an accident too. And my love for feet was again the cause. This woke me up. I realised I couldn't go on like this. Feet are destroying my life. I realised I need help. PLEASE... HELP ME!
He begins weeping as others in the group chuckle like hyenas.
Why would we want to do that?
I need my life back. I need to be normal.
I think there's been a misunderstanding. This is a foot fetish SUPPORT group. We are here to celebrate our love for feet, not supress or deny it.
Dallas sighs and the crushing weight of his hopelessness causes him to slump off his chair. He regains footing, does a heel turn (literally and figuratively, in the group's eyes at least) and departs to drown in his sorrows. He would go on to spectacularly fall off the wagon that evening, slurping Mai Tai off a Latvian escort's arches.
SEPTEMBER 2022
Ding dong, the Queen is dead. Long live the King! I'M BACK, BLOODY MONGREL COBBERS! I LOVE YA, YA' FLAMIN' GALAHS! Did you really think I'd leave my throne forever?
Brent Alpine gesticulates bombastically on the top turnbuckle of a half assembled Action Wrestling ring smack bang in the heart of the Kraft Mayo Arena in Sayre, Alabama, site of this week's Monday Night Clash. The building is deserted, save for three dweebs on the ring crew. Rapturous applause and "ALPINE" chants are piped in from somewhere and each seat is occupied by a crash test dummies with a low quality prints of a JPEG of Lissie Hope's face stuck on them.
G'day Action Wrestling. We haven't yet been acquainted. Some of you will know me from the ill fated WCF. I will be able to tell which ones of you have seen me before - the ugly, holistically malnourished losers among you who boo or don't react for me. Everyone else will radiate the joy that emanated from you ever since my presence changed your life. Ever since I showed you that there is truly love and hope in this bloody world. My fans will be gorgeous and happy; cheering, celebrating, worshiping.
More artificial cheering blares through the PA.
Yeah like that, mates. Bonza. For those unfamiliar... strangers, if you will... think electricity. You don't see it but it powers your little lives. Think the sun. You can't touch it but you can't help but to feel it's SHINE.
Drongos, you've been enjoying the benefits without the responsibilities for too long. My effervescent is a free commodity. I can't help but to radiate goodness. But now your obliviousness has no excuse! You can no longer hide from loving me. I'M HERE, CHILDREN, I'M HERE. Aw mate, can you feel it?
Ancient tribes would sacrifice their finest livestock, and maybe even the odd virgin daughter or two, to their gods. What do bloody Action Wrestling plan to sacrifice to The Shine? One bloody Holden Ross. That's who. Holden. Ross. Ross Holden? Crikey blokes, what a pathetic offering.
Fake boos.
I know, I know. But it's food and Brent Alpine's ravenous mate. Human beings are deeply flawed and, although my vibrancy has resonated and echoed throughout this solar system, you have been living in The Gloomy Epoch. A tragic expanse of time where divinity was forgotten by the one incarnational being who possessed it. My light still shone abundantly but I was not able to harness and direct it. The Gloomy Epoch spelt the end for WCF. Once they had tasted my glory, it was impossible for them to sustain the thrills and highs and celestial abundances of the Alpine era once I... fell asleep.
Thankfully for AW, my hibernation is over and The Gloomy Epoch has made way for The Aeon of Luminosity! YOU WILL SURVIVE. AND YOU WILL THRIVE. You're welcome!
Just like 'The Bastard' Holden Ross, you drongos have been living under a Matriarchy. Weakness, gossip, a predilection towards offence and victimhood. Don't they say 'happy wife, happy life'? Well, contrary to Beyoncé ditties and girl power balderdash, the bitch only wags her tail when the big dog is in the yard. Yin needs a lot of gin to keep going without YANG and these measly excuses for Action Wrestling 'superstars' haven't given her the proper TLC. Well guess what, ya bloody mongrels? DADDY'S HOME!
Cheers and dog barks from the A.I. crowd.
Speaking of dysfunctional families, I'm going to introduce you to a man that's either my Step Brother or Cousin. Or both, if you believe the rumours. 'The Vulture' Dallas Culture is no doubt the runt of the litter but he provides a valuable service.
The truth is that I know all there is to know about Holden Ross but, honestly, my mind and being is occupied with loftier pursuits, such as battling the world's bitter murkiness with the generous rays of my brilliance. Dallas likes to store useless crap in his mind. I will give him the opportunity to dump that garbage.
Dallas, come hither mate!
AUGUST 2022: STEP 2
Can you hear me? Are you out there?
Culture is on his knees in the darkness of his apartment. He prays fervently at the side of his bed.
I know this is nonsense. Why should I have faith? There's no proof! I am doomed. DOOMED. Face it, I have sold my sole... I mean soul at the altar of feet and they are treading all over me. My life is over.
Silence.
I knew it. A Higher Power is bullshit. I was ready to put all my trust into the first thing that I encountered. But you won't even send me a sign so why both...
He is interrupted by a rock smashing through his window. He falls into tears of unbridled relief.
Ah ballbag! Sorry Dallas mate. I tried to get your attention but your bloody glass is too brittle or whatever.
WHO ARE YOU?
It's Brent, mate. Your cousin... step bro... whatever.
Dallas jubilantly rushes downstairs, opens the door and sees a dishevelled and obviously drunk Alpine crouching at his door step.
IT'S YOU!!!
Got a beer mate? The Sunflower Tavern just kicked me out, the cucks.
Culture rushes towards his relative and falls at his feet. Ironic, hey? That feet would save Dallas from his love of feet? Never mind...
Hey mate, what's this?
A blood soaked razor blade falls from Culture's palm.
Aw shit.
SEPTEMBER 2022
So mate. What's your diagnosis of Mr. Holden?
King Baby.
What does that mean?
King Baby. It's a term we use in addiction circles to describe the egotistical, narcissistic desire to destroy in the name of asserting power; even if that destruction ultimately corrodes the things one wants.
Like Holden's doing with Serenity?
Yeah, like he's doing with everything. He's a dinosaur. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. He
... incomplete (deadline over)
I admit that I am powerless - that my life has become unmanageable
My name is Dallas... and I'm an addict.
Hi Dallas.
A dreary, well rehearsed response from a room of mostly creepy looking men but one that provides some unexpected comfort. You're not alone anymore, Dallas.
It has taken over my life. Destroyed relationships. Obliterated my career. I don't even know who I am anymore. I can't even think about anything else... just IT. I see it every waking moment, even if it isn't around. I dream about it endlessly. Its smell... oh wow that scent... intoxicating. I want it all over me, consuming me as I consume it. I long for it in my mouth, breathing it in, pirouetting on my tongue. Sucking it, tasting, devouring.. I gaze. Desire. Want. MORE MORE MORE.
The group leader, a bloated, unwashed toad by the name of Wayne, harkens with lascivious earnestness to Dallas' dulcet Aussie tones.
Name it. Own it. Admit to your vice. WHAT RULES YOU, DALLAS?
Dallas gazes down in shame, exposing hair roots that the peroxide hasn't blemished.
... The female foot.
We pan out to reveal a banner hanging above the circle. It reads "FOOT FETISH SUPPORT GROUP". Despite his feeling of belonging, Wayne is the only captive audience Dallas 'enjoys'. The others are fixated on the objectively revolting trotters of the sole (sorry) female of the group. Even the lady herself can't take her eyes off them.
Can you point to what triggered your love for feet?
Dallas falls into a trance like state, eyes elevating, reminiscing a time of innocence.
My Mum's friend Wendy came round one evening for a barbie'. I musta been like 5 years old. A little skinny worm. Barely ate a thing, needed some timber desperately before I wasted away. Anyways, Wendy and Mum were joking how I was the only kid in the neighbourhood who didn't go gaga for those little ring doughnuts the local store baked. So Wendy thought she'd be funny and wrap one around her big toe and wiggle it in my face.
Suddenly everyone in the circle is all ears. Or all feet. Or something.
Well, it worked. I munched the whole bloody thing off her tootsie. She ended up feeding me the whole pack off each little piggy. Hated the bloody doughnuts when they weren't on her feet though. Mum would pay Wendy to come round near enough every day because I had been on the fifth percentile for weight and the docs got my folks all shit scared. By the end of the year, I was a bloody porker, mate.
What happened to Wendy?
There was an accident. I don't wanna talk about it. But the surgeon managed to reattach it so don't judge me, OK?
There's no judgement here, Dallas. None at all. In fact, this is beautiful. Feet caused you to grow, literally.
Yeah but they also ruined my life.
How so? What changed your perspective on feet?
Well, like Wendy, I had an accident too. And my love for feet was again the cause. This woke me up. I realised I couldn't go on like this. Feet are destroying my life. I realised I need help. PLEASE... HELP ME!
He begins weeping as others in the group chuckle like hyenas.
Why would we want to do that?
I need my life back. I need to be normal.
I think there's been a misunderstanding. This is a foot fetish SUPPORT group. We are here to celebrate our love for feet, not supress or deny it.
Dallas sighs and the crushing weight of his hopelessness causes him to slump off his chair. He regains footing, does a heel turn (literally and figuratively, in the group's eyes at least) and departs to drown in his sorrows. He would go on to spectacularly fall off the wagon that evening, slurping Mai Tai off a Latvian escort's arches.
SEPTEMBER 2022
Ding dong, the Queen is dead. Long live the King! I'M BACK, BLOODY MONGREL COBBERS! I LOVE YA, YA' FLAMIN' GALAHS! Did you really think I'd leave my throne forever?
Brent Alpine gesticulates bombastically on the top turnbuckle of a half assembled Action Wrestling ring smack bang in the heart of the Kraft Mayo Arena in Sayre, Alabama, site of this week's Monday Night Clash. The building is deserted, save for three dweebs on the ring crew. Rapturous applause and "ALPINE" chants are piped in from somewhere and each seat is occupied by a crash test dummies with a low quality prints of a JPEG of Lissie Hope's face stuck on them.
G'day Action Wrestling. We haven't yet been acquainted. Some of you will know me from the ill fated WCF. I will be able to tell which ones of you have seen me before - the ugly, holistically malnourished losers among you who boo or don't react for me. Everyone else will radiate the joy that emanated from you ever since my presence changed your life. Ever since I showed you that there is truly love and hope in this bloody world. My fans will be gorgeous and happy; cheering, celebrating, worshiping.
More artificial cheering blares through the PA.
Yeah like that, mates. Bonza. For those unfamiliar... strangers, if you will... think electricity. You don't see it but it powers your little lives. Think the sun. You can't touch it but you can't help but to feel it's SHINE.
Drongos, you've been enjoying the benefits without the responsibilities for too long. My effervescent is a free commodity. I can't help but to radiate goodness. But now your obliviousness has no excuse! You can no longer hide from loving me. I'M HERE, CHILDREN, I'M HERE. Aw mate, can you feel it?
Ancient tribes would sacrifice their finest livestock, and maybe even the odd virgin daughter or two, to their gods. What do bloody Action Wrestling plan to sacrifice to The Shine? One bloody Holden Ross. That's who. Holden. Ross. Ross Holden? Crikey blokes, what a pathetic offering.
Fake boos.
I know, I know. But it's food and Brent Alpine's ravenous mate. Human beings are deeply flawed and, although my vibrancy has resonated and echoed throughout this solar system, you have been living in The Gloomy Epoch. A tragic expanse of time where divinity was forgotten by the one incarnational being who possessed it. My light still shone abundantly but I was not able to harness and direct it. The Gloomy Epoch spelt the end for WCF. Once they had tasted my glory, it was impossible for them to sustain the thrills and highs and celestial abundances of the Alpine era once I... fell asleep.
Thankfully for AW, my hibernation is over and The Gloomy Epoch has made way for The Aeon of Luminosity! YOU WILL SURVIVE. AND YOU WILL THRIVE. You're welcome!
Just like 'The Bastard' Holden Ross, you drongos have been living under a Matriarchy. Weakness, gossip, a predilection towards offence and victimhood. Don't they say 'happy wife, happy life'? Well, contrary to Beyoncé ditties and girl power balderdash, the bitch only wags her tail when the big dog is in the yard. Yin needs a lot of gin to keep going without YANG and these measly excuses for Action Wrestling 'superstars' haven't given her the proper TLC. Well guess what, ya bloody mongrels? DADDY'S HOME!
Cheers and dog barks from the A.I. crowd.
Speaking of dysfunctional families, I'm going to introduce you to a man that's either my Step Brother or Cousin. Or both, if you believe the rumours. 'The Vulture' Dallas Culture is no doubt the runt of the litter but he provides a valuable service.
The truth is that I know all there is to know about Holden Ross but, honestly, my mind and being is occupied with loftier pursuits, such as battling the world's bitter murkiness with the generous rays of my brilliance. Dallas likes to store useless crap in his mind. I will give him the opportunity to dump that garbage.
Dallas, come hither mate!
AUGUST 2022: STEP 2
I come to believe that a Higher Being than myself can restore me
Can you hear me? Are you out there?
Culture is on his knees in the darkness of his apartment. He prays fervently at the side of his bed.
I know this is nonsense. Why should I have faith? There's no proof! I am doomed. DOOMED. Face it, I have sold my sole... I mean soul at the altar of feet and they are treading all over me. My life is over.
Silence.
I knew it. A Higher Power is bullshit. I was ready to put all my trust into the first thing that I encountered. But you won't even send me a sign so why both...
He is interrupted by a rock smashing through his window. He falls into tears of unbridled relief.
Ah ballbag! Sorry Dallas mate. I tried to get your attention but your bloody glass is too brittle or whatever.
WHO ARE YOU?
It's Brent, mate. Your cousin... step bro... whatever.
Dallas jubilantly rushes downstairs, opens the door and sees a dishevelled and obviously drunk Alpine crouching at his door step.
IT'S YOU!!!
Got a beer mate? The Sunflower Tavern just kicked me out, the cucks.
Culture rushes towards his relative and falls at his feet. Ironic, hey? That feet would save Dallas from his love of feet? Never mind...
Hey mate, what's this?
A blood soaked razor blade falls from Culture's palm.
Aw shit.
SEPTEMBER 2022
So mate. What's your diagnosis of Mr. Holden?
King Baby.
What does that mean?
King Baby. It's a term we use in addiction circles to describe the egotistical, narcissistic desire to destroy in the name of asserting power; even if that destruction ultimately corrodes the things one wants.
Like Holden's doing with Serenity?
Yeah, like he's doing with everything. He's a dinosaur. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. He
... incomplete (deadline over)
