Post by Odin Balfore on Oct 29, 2022 20:31:27 GMT -5
Haddonfield, CT.
The Hyde Park section of Haddonfield was busy with laughter and merriment at the Family-Fun night; a more welcoming and wholesome festivity that the neighborhood takes part in. Music, games, food, non-alcoholic drink and of course, TREATING. No tricks. Only treats. The ingenious brain child of the head of the Hyde Park neighborhood committee: Mr. Vincent Buddy Roman. At the Valdiva-Roman compound, the former home of the Shapes dearly departed best friend, mentor and ex- head of the committee, Mr. Valdiva, the Shape sits on the front porch in his button up shirt and nice read tie and blazer. He sits with a big bowl of candy in his lap. Orange in color. Decorated with pumpkins, ghouls and all manner of classic Halloween depictions. Children would approach, giggle, laugh, hold out their bags for candy and candy they would receive. When the children asked The Shape what he was supposed to be he would always reply:
“A proud father.” With a kind and affirming voice. Each and every time. “Proud father.”
Witches, ghosts, Little Red Riding Hoods, Cowboys, Thomas The Tank Engines – all manner of costume and dress came through. Each with their little hands and each clutching a little bag. Each time the proud father smiled and ever-so-gently placed a piece of candy in their bags. They could come up as many times as they wanted. It wasn’t Halloween. It wasn’t the Devils Night. Not yet. Not until dark and as the sun sets faster and faster each year, earlier and earlier, devils night got darker and DARKER. Hence the family fun night of course.
The precursor to the malcontent. To the malignant massacre. Something Wicked, this way, it already came. It was just – in mourning. In mourning for the Sons that he had lost, Mourning for the sons that he had found and mourning for the one singular Son that seems to reject him.
The name stomped on his proud, proud heart like the foot steps of the children that stomped up his steps and stressed the inner valves like the outstretched hands of those very same children and yet Anthony Savage would not outstretch his hands to his proud father. A proud father that only wants whats best for his son.
The night got cooler. It got darker, and the shape just continued to his with that bowl of candy, awaiting the one son that may never come. That is, to say, until, the Shape started to speak all the things that a proud father can think.
“ My son, Anthony Edwardo Savangski. My Baptized son in Christ. Perpetrator emulating a perpetrator how you make the patron saint of frauds proud that you too, are in fact, indeed and exactly that – a fraud. It breaks my heart, the proud father of such a boy and to have such a boy spit in my face. You get on the Bastard box known as Al Gores internet and you tell the world that you do not like tag team wrestling as if you do not need to be carried now as I once carried you from your mothers arms to the nurse. Or from your mothers arms to the car. Or from your mothers arms to school. To be Savagely carried, that is what you are, in fact and in fact, the facts are on my side. Fortuitously, I am not your Lord and Savior who would unceremoniously abandon you in this time of need. Leave you to rot in a tag team with your brother, who very much looks up to you, by the way. No, my son. I am a proud father and as all proud fathers, do, I lift my children up and bare them the false witness that they need in order to witness the falsehoods in their lives. I want you to look your brother in the eyes and tell him that you are proud of him. As I am proud of you. I want you to tell your brother that you love him as I love you. I want you to look your brother in the eye and tell him that you will not ABANDON him as your Lord Christ has abandoned you.
All that you are doing, my son is showing the world that you being a Television Champion back in April was a fluke. It was a lie. No man rises from the grave in three days and no Savage begets a championship – either. Sadley, the only person you hurt in your selfishness aside from your prud Abba, your proud father is Alister. Poor Alister, just like Simon – the other one, he cannot catch a break. See, Tony, it is your ultimate cowardice that will be the downfall of you and oyur brothers. Alister will be persecuted and hunted to the ends of the Earth and you will be slithering under a rock somewhere waiting for it to be safe again, just as you did before. That IS what happened before. You won a title, lost a title, and disappeared. Just like your Lord.
Now we’re coming up on Halloween. A time of spiritual renewal. A time when in theory, you should be closer to your God and yet, Ol Dirty Balfore will bring you closer to your God, just not in the way that you hope. You’re gonna get battered and paraded around that ring praying to your heathen Lord. Blood and sweat streaming down your fce. Tears streaming down my face as I watch Old Dirty Balfore literally kill you in that ring.
Ultimately though, he will make you a Fraud, as HE up there made you a Fraud. More over, if you still insist on being quote, the man, unquote. If you still insist on being the one to end Ol’ Dirty, to bring the pain – I want to lay out some simple facts.
The Yiddish Truth if you will.
I have seen Gods. I have seen monsters. I have seen, God and Jesus and Satan and all the generals of Hell. And, my son, I have looked upon you. You want to bring the pain.
Well, my son. Here. Comes. The. Pain.
Monday night. You will Orphan your beliefs. You will Orphan your resolve. You will Orphan your brother Alister. You will Orphan your Proud Father but at least you stuck to your guns and your hatred of Tag Team wrestling. When the Ol' Dirty, soon to be US Champion and the ex-ex-ex Former ACTION WRESTLING SAM MY SON KIDSGROVE, bring you from first on the card to first on the list because my Son, my client, the Ol' Dirty is not yet done making you famous.
Abashed you will stand in the overflowing shallowness of your convictions…
And in the words of another one of my sons.
L.O.L …
I cannot bring myself to say the rest for they are vile and nasty words and I am not a Vile and Nasty man."
The Shape fans his sweaty palm to his fat, wrinkling head as though he had a case of theVAPOURS
What you forget is that we are coming up on Devils night and trust me when I say that I know devils. From blue eyed Devils, to the Yellow eyes of the Evil Incarnate Himself. I look around and I see all these children and all I do is wish that these children were you – I cannot bring myself to hate you. I only know deep in my heart that the Ol Dirty will bring you to heel and perhaps then, son, you will come home to your proud Abba.
The Shape fans his sweaty palm to his fat, wrinkling head as though he had a case of the
What you forget is that we are coming up on Devils night and trust me when I say that I know devils. From blue eyed Devils, to the Yellow eyes of the Evil Incarnate Himself. I look around and I see all these children and all I do is wish that these children were you – I cannot bring myself to hate you. I only know deep in my heart that the Ol Dirty will bring you to heel and perhaps then, son, you will come home to your proud Abba.
But if you want to overcome the hate, Then I want you to place your hand over your heart and with a loud clear voice proclaim..”
There is a loud shriek coming from a few houses down. Then audible thuds followed by more screams. Then panic as parents, mothers and fathers, flock to their children.
The Shape Smiles.
“I miss you. My sons. I love you. My sons.
I’ll see you boys real soon. “
The Shape puts his hand over his heart as we begin to hear sirens in the background.
Conquer. The. Hate
