33 1/3...
Bright pastels, but tasteful, mixed with earth tones.
An announcer you couldn’t see, but you could imagine him somehow all round with an unfaltering smile and a voice that was excited, yet somehow low and soothing.
A nice stately man, with an earnest face and a little age just beginning to show.
A young woman, built like a doll and with similar colors.
These two would never insult you, would never say anything remotely off color that would make you feel icky or think about things that aren’t nice; things that would really just ruin your whole day.
They were sharing a joke these two, a nice and carefully crafted joke, as pleasant as cheddar cheese. They were sharing a laugh that was not too loud, but would go really well with a nice cup of tea.
They began talking to a screen that showed the immaculate face of a handsome young man that was currently drawing a large amount of people to spend a large amount of money funding film production companies.
The three of them spoke of some deed the handsome young man had performed. Apparently it was something to be celebrated, emulated, something that he should perhaps be canonized for.
Bryan was smiling. He wasn’t necessarily watching, but was attempting to peel away at the corners.
He could see the glint of sexual depravity in the eyes of the older, stately man. He could see the look that spoke of dark and sweaty fantasies of sodomizing his co-host while strangling her with one of his wives handkerchiefs.
He could see the sneer that lay trembling just below the dollish woman’s vacuous smile. A sneer that spoke volumes about rending the flesh of every underling near this stage with her own teeth if they dared even look at her, of vomiting that flesh up – both to keep up her socially perfect waistline and as further insult to those mewling minions.
He could hear between the lines of the actor’s well prepared interview: how well he was able to spout his public relations person’s words, how he didn’t give a fuck for the poor people he had helped and did it as it was good for his reputation, how he had no personality and was forced into an endless hell of reading other people’s words to make him seem like someone, like anyone, how if he didn’t believe his own hype, he would end up swallowing a gun.
He could hear the shrewish laughter of the studio audience, and could almost make out the desperate screams somewhere in there.
Bryan laughed.
An announcer you couldn’t see, but you could imagine him somehow all round with an unfaltering smile and a voice that was excited, yet somehow low and soothing.
A nice stately man, with an earnest face and a little age just beginning to show.
A young woman, built like a doll and with similar colors.
These two would never insult you, would never say anything remotely off color that would make you feel icky or think about things that aren’t nice; things that would really just ruin your whole day.
They were sharing a joke these two, a nice and carefully crafted joke, as pleasant as cheddar cheese. They were sharing a laugh that was not too loud, but would go really well with a nice cup of tea.
They began talking to a screen that showed the immaculate face of a handsome young man that was currently drawing a large amount of people to spend a large amount of money funding film production companies.
The three of them spoke of some deed the handsome young man had performed. Apparently it was something to be celebrated, emulated, something that he should perhaps be canonized for.
Bryan was smiling. He wasn’t necessarily watching, but was attempting to peel away at the corners.
He could see the glint of sexual depravity in the eyes of the older, stately man. He could see the look that spoke of dark and sweaty fantasies of sodomizing his co-host while strangling her with one of his wives handkerchiefs.
He could see the sneer that lay trembling just below the dollish woman’s vacuous smile. A sneer that spoke volumes about rending the flesh of every underling near this stage with her own teeth if they dared even look at her, of vomiting that flesh up – both to keep up her socially perfect waistline and as further insult to those mewling minions.
He could hear between the lines of the actor’s well prepared interview: how well he was able to spout his public relations person’s words, how he didn’t give a fuck for the poor people he had helped and did it as it was good for his reputation, how he had no personality and was forced into an endless hell of reading other people’s words to make him seem like someone, like anyone, how if he didn’t believe his own hype, he would end up swallowing a gun.
He could hear the shrewish laughter of the studio audience, and could almost make out the desperate screams somewhere in there.
Bryan laughed.
posted by P. B. Nomer | 5:04 PM
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