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The Bard's Journey: Quest Prologue
Once there was a great and powerful man. Some people called him a god, others a demon. He was neither. He wanted to be neither. Godhood seemed to him a tedious and droll eternity. Who wanted to spend an eternity listening to mortals whine and performing simple tasks to be called miracles? Not him! He wanted adventure and excitement. Instead of becoming a god, he became a bard. Bards always found adventure, and if they penned a good tale, well, they could be practically immortal. That was what heard.
So our bard set out to find his great adventure. He wanted a great tale. He looked until could see no further, walked until he couldn’t take another step. Just as he had given up, just as he sat down to rest for the journey home, his adventure trudged over the horizon.
Like every great tale, this one has a humble beginning . . . walking sixteen blocks for a jar of pickles for his pregnant wife through the heavy smog streets of New York. The city bus drives by, hitting the biggest sewer puddle and he winds up soaking wet smelling like a wet dog. He stops to check to see if the jar of pickles is okay in the paper bag. As he looks in the bag, he sees something else instead of his wife’s pickles. What is it?
No wonder why there is a smell of wet dog. Inside the bag contains a chihuahua, or rather was since its carcass is rotting for a least a while. The bard feels partially responsible for this, even though all of his actions was that he found it in a bag. He pondered to find some way to deal with this sewer-filled crisis in a brown bag, which was originally white. Suddenly, he thought, “what would Orpah Winfred do?” Of course, he can proceed to the library and located holy museum of Orpah’s Book Club. Quite possibly, Chicken Soup for the Soul may be the answer to this. Skimming what could have been knowledge for all humanity, the concern bard has found a page containing an incantation for canine resurrection. Strangely enough to find it as if Orpah knows about this, and even stranger is the fact that it was written in screams and shrieks.
Despite it, he conjures the spell to revive the poor chihuahua. As if a miracle happens in real time, all of the wounds were healed and the dog jumps back to life as if joy emits from the pain of death. The bard has done the impossible, or at least done something not many has ever accomplished! Both of the focus characters are filled with joy, as if nothing can go wrong . . . that is until the revived dog ran onto a street and soon become roadkill by an unexpected blur of a vehicle. This is not possible! All of the effort placing for the revival of a dead chihuahua was all for naught?! Actually, it was useless for the bard, and very useful for the large, brown saint, who is now more of a demon than a saint. The incantation may as well be a death sentence for the fame impaired, because he sold his soul to the giver of Book Club. So clever that Oprah is!
Instantly, the shocked bard was teleported into the lair of the false saint Oprah Winfred, a damp and unforgiving cavernous world where the scent is best described as the wet dog smell from the sewers covered in flowers. As a reward for selecting a book with her approval, he was condemned under slavery and has to use a pickaxe to locate more of her inspiration for her show. Digging out of a wall what appears to be brain matter, inspirations launch out. Some of them are about self-help, while others are about celebrities, hope, and other bull that goes well with the false saint’s devious plan to become immortal. Then, the enslaved bard turned to his right. Is it another prisoner of Oprah’s whim? Unfortunately, it is the now enslaved Steadman. Seeing the poor sir digging and in tears wonders the bard about the existence of role models. There he thinks of a woman that touch hearts and gains trust to further continue an empire of arrogance. He may not continue on, even after seeing the worms devouring the eyes of Steadman!
The vengeful bard chucks his pickaxe out in the open, bursting out every piece scenery as if it was made of painted glass. Revealing the shards of glass, it is . . . the city of New York? It may be similar in appearance, but in a close inspection, the city was littered with Oprah propaganda. Surrounding him, there is a bus with Oprah advertisement, Oprah balloons, Oprah billboards, Oprah blimps, an anime advertisement starring Oprah, Oprah, bobbing heads, and Oprah hand soap. As if he thought he was the only one living inthis abandon nightmare, there appears the false saint in a bleak robe full of expensive glitter and all that jazz, or maybe there is a jazz musician on her robe. The bard finally confronts with a living deleter of non-believers of her goal. What worse than facing with a soon-to-be arrogant god? Why, it is the rain, but not water and microbes, but with chibi Paris Hilton and Brittany Spears raining out of a cloud that is actually Barbara Streinsand.
An experience in dueling an emotionally famous icon of tomorrow’s future? The bard is stuck in a rut when it comes for his freedom from the clutch of the attention hungry. But so be it! The first strike from the tyrant saint belches out an air burp that contains her past and her eternal struggle just to become the top, as if she was enticing the bard to have mercy. Is there any relevance to the bard? This is not the time to cave in and become an object! Struggling to find a weapon of Winfred destruction, he spotted something so familiar to him. It’s that dead dog he had revived! Too bad it was not something he was look for, but then he thought of something serious, but not so serious. What would Jesus do? Out of nowhere, there are two pieces of birch wood. Therefore, he hammers them into a shape of a crucifix by using a hammer and nails that magically appears, or at least I was lazy to explain how did the bard obtain the hammer and nails. As a last resort, he did what he can do and nails the deceased chihuahua on the holy cross. Proudly, he presented the crucified dog to the demonic leader of the good people of the Earth of Planet. Unfortunately, she keeps on burping her past. What relevance is there to a celebrity’s past and the entire world? Is it necessary for a sacrifice to win a war of truth and trust? And where are the pickles?! ARGGG!! Writer’s block!
. . .
I thought of something, so do not worry.
This is rather useless to win a fight of the false saint with just a dead dog on a cross! So, the struggling bard toss the holy but unholy object across the street of Nowhere and Neverhavebeen, shattering the scenery just like before. Amidst the chaos lies another nightmare, an empty and bleak space covered in smoke. This must be the plight of a visionary, a preacher, or at least an adventurous bard willing to become somebody he believes he is not to everybody. He tries to remember back why others believe that he can be a god, and why he refuses. And more importantly, where is the jar of pickles promised his lovely wife to bring?
Why can the bard never find the jar of pickles? Everybody knows that pickles do not exist anymore! For that journey, the pickles mean nothing to him, nor it did to anyone. If pickles were meant to be on hamburgers, it is rather a silly tactic because the burger will have nothing on it. In fact, everybody knows burgers should have caviar, lobster, or a hundred-dollar bill on it. He was fighting a personal war that means absolutely nothing to anyone. He should have learned the truth about reality better, if there is such a thing as a universal truth.
Therefore, our bard wanders off into the unknown with his new quest, searching for a path to return home. Will his adventurous and powerful spirit continue his goal to exit this nightmare and return home for the greatest tall tell ever told?
Meanwhile in the world we know, every person living yield his or her mundane activities just to perform an unnecessary but necessary task for the future of humankind. Surrounding the donut of New Yorkers lies the center of tastelessly deliciousness. It was orange feline licking itself. Somehow, everyone in the area started to pay close attention to that damn cat! When bad turns to worse, it became viral and started to outbreak into the Internet, where tons of people became infected with curiosity. Afterwards, it invaded television sets, electronic billboards, PDAs, video games, mobile phones, and other digital objects. All of the sudden, every being in the world we know has finally become hooked on the short but epic video. Scientist working on a cure for cancer drops every chemical, farmers turn off their tractors, and news writers stop recording in the latest important discovery.
As all of the people watch the cat licking itself, no one witnesses a catastrophe in action. There it is high into space, a bullet-shape comet is thrusting into the York of New. This comet was imagined to be as large as the smallest island in Mars. Heading towards the earth on Planet Earth, it douses itself in flames as if it is ready for reformation. On its side, there is some sort of graffiti not painted by hand but stamped by a giant’s ink stamp. Imagine what is the message of the comet’s graffiti . . .
. . . “U.S. Property”.
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