A Perpetual Mystery, Lavished in Enigma...

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A flash fills the screen as we are drawn to the cacophony of what we can only deduce to be lightning. We begin to see the visage of the room as it begins to manifest itself in the tenebrous aura, reminiscent of an NFDD going off in your face. As the "sensory" of the camera -- which is actually just a matter of special affect and nothing to do with your retina -- we see an anachronistic display of... wait a tick.

It's the classic trailer of Universal Studio's Frankenstein.

MILLION HAVE BEEN THRILLED.

MILLION ARE WAITING TO BE THRILLED.

BY THE GREATEST FUROR THE SCREEN HAS EVER KNOWN!

Dr. Frankenstein: "It's alive! It's alive! It's alive, it's alive! It's alive!"

But just then... the mood was killed by "The Bird and the Worm" by The Used cutting into the dramatic undertones of the trailer and Ripplemagne standing straight up with his arms crossed and a smug smirk on his face...

.:RIPPLEMAGNE:.

The music calmed once again as it returned to the normal flow of the trailer as it shows Dr. Frankenstein grasping his creation, but it's clear that the scene is reenacted as it's Ripplemagne laying on the bench. Just then, he raises his delicate, feminine hand up...

When this unwed hand moves...

The funster created by a span they called monad...

...Is turned loose... to strike terror into the hearts of men...

The scene shows highlights of Ripplemagne in his match with Enigma as well as various footage of him doing well in the Battle Royale. There are even a few of him berating his opponents in the ring...

...To shock women into uncontrolled hysteria...

The scene shifts to several females holding up provocative signs for Ripplemagne and screaming in a lustful, uncontrollable frenzy of hormonal delight...

To prey upon the innocence of childr--

The scene is then cut off by Ripplemagne who stands with his back turned to a large lagoon and his finger pointed at the camera...

Ripplemagne:
"Hold it right there, Skippy. The Ripplemagne may be a lot of things, but he is not a pedophile. Gawsh..."

It's just part of the script...

Ripplemagne:
"Does your script involve us all zipping off to Never, Never Land?! Damn it all! The pedophilia has even gotten as far as Hollywood... well... England, but what's the difference? Next thing you know, Michael Jackson is going to appear in one of these vignettes, performing 'Beat It'."

You seem to be awfully defensive about this part of the broadcast. Have something to hide?

Ripplemagne:
"What?! How dare you accuse the magnificent Ripplemagne of--"

I was searching under your bed...

An audible gasp is heard from Ripplemagne as he points his finger at the camera with great exacerbation, though it's obvious that it's done in jest by the vivacious mannerisms and bombastic, overexaggerated shock in his tone.

Before anything can be said, the scene changes frame to Michael Jackson on stage, singing 'Beat It', but only for two lines before shifting once again...

* * *

And now, for your feature presentation...

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Ripplemagne:
"It is treason!"

The scene resurfaced with Ripplemagne's face right into the grill of the camera. Yes, he was grilling the cameraman. From his posture, we can tell that his arm is extended high in the air, likely his finger pointing straight upward as that seems to be a common pose of his when he goes into these bombastic fits...

Ripplemagne:
"The Ripplemagne has been bamboozled!"

There is a pause as Ripplemagne snarls in a rather cute, non-threatening manner; his blue-green eyes glimmering in the light above him.

Ripplemagne:
"He has been swindled! Duped! Shammed! Hoodwinked, even!"

There's another pause as the camera begins to drift backwards, granting full view of Ripplemagne's visage in a rather "behold" esque manner. Today, he lacks his trench coat as he's wearing a rather baggy white dress shirt tailing down over his shoulder and hanging about a foot below his waist line. The rest of his attire seems fairly up to standard as a black tie is thrown over his neck, but it's not done... neat. In fact, the neck band is opened so wide that he could probably fit about four of his own neck in it.

It seems that he's rather distraught about the loss in the Battle Royale, but he dusts off and shrugs, demonstrating that it was merely a ploy to open the segment. Or something to that effect. Who can really keep up with this wacky... whack ball? Er... insert something witty, insulting and full of lulz to describe Ripplemagne here.

...Yeah.

Ripplemagne:
"C'est la vie. As you can see, the Ripplemagne is fancifully dressed up for a special occasion today. For today, he has decided to pay a visit to Chris 'The Tang' Williams. Cheers!

...In the Hospital. Sad emoticon."

Williams? *Facepalm.* Ignoring the utterly bizarre failure of Ripplemagne to get anyone's name right and how he can so easily shift cheers and an optimistic smile to a faux frown, we observe as he steps between a table stacked with various magazines passed a few other people in the Waiting Room and approaches a woman behind a counter.

Brown curly hair and a Nurse jacket on, she looks up with blue eyes and pale skin as he steps forward, cutting her off before she can even say anything...

Ripplemagne:
"Brace yourself, bonny. I know it's not often that you're approached by a creature as gorgeous as myself -- then again, who really is? But it's strictly business, so please -- even though I know this statement is rhetorical and won't change your reaction to my splendor and magnificence -- do not indulge yourself in meaningless things such as clocking three hours writing about my every trait in your diary and diddling your pudendum with the grace and fervor that only comes at witnessing the sheer bliss that is the Ripplemagne..."

Nurse:
"Um... I'll try to contain myself. Can I help you with anything?"

Ripplemagne:
"Easy, now, tiger. We've just met! Just think of what your parents will-- Oh, no. Let me stop myself there. I shutter to think of what eerie images your mother will stir up in her convoluted cranium. Wait... what was I saying?"

Nurse:
"...Do you need something, sir?"

Ripplemagne:
"You see?! You just can't contain yourself! It's like a wild fire of lustful ambitions and unscrupulous desire. We will never get anywhere if you keep this up! Don't you understand?! It will never work between you and I. I'm a Libra and you're a wee bra."

Upon hearing the comment about what she can only presume to be a jibe at her endowment, she snaps at him...

Nurse:
"Excuse me?!"

Ripplemagne:
"Don't get your knickers in a pinch. You must be one of those politically correct dames, who gets up in arms over anything remotely racial or nationalistic. Well, I don't apologize for the Engrish jibe. If they can't pronounce a bloody letter right, they deserve to get chaffed!"

Nurse:
"Why are you here?!"

Ripplemagne:
"See, now, we're getting somewhere. I'm here to visit Chris Williams. The other night, he got his ass handed to him by the psychotic, sadistic alter-ego of a demented clown gone renegade."

Nurse:
"There is no such person. We do, however, have a Chris Winters who checked in on Sunday."

Ripplemagne:
"Right, what did I say?"

Nurse:
"Chris Will-- URGH! Sir, do even know the patient?"

Ripplemagne:
"Oh, sure! We go way back! Right back to the days when I was just a little Ripplemagne and he was just a baby orange juice box."

Nurse:
"Room Eleven, alright? And please be careful around him. He's suffered serious injuries."

Ripplemagne:
"Thank ya', muchly, bella. See, if you had just been this serious from the beginning and not wasted time trying to get into the Ripplemagne's 1969, boot cut jeans, this conversation would be over already. Though, I don't blame you. I am, afterall, gorgeous..."

There was a pause as Ripplemagne walked passed her as she stood there in absolute shock, but she couldn't help but snicker and blush to herself. Somehow, even though he pissed her off and drove her crazy, he warmed her day up...

Nurse:
"He must have escaped the psycho ward or something."

She laughed to herself as the screen blacked out and reopened to Chris 'The Tang' Winters laying in a bed, incapacitated, and Ripplemagne standing in front of him. It was a fairly generic hospital bed room as the Tang's entire body was covered in bandages and his heart monitor was one of the few sounds in the room...

Ripplemagne:
"Well, this is just boring. The Ripplemagne came all the way here and you're asleep? That's no fun. Lets try to wake him up, shall we?"

There's a brief pause as Ripplemagne fiddles around with The Tang before, finally... removing his bed pan and showing The Tang's fecal matter to the camera with a hearty laugh. What a jerk.

But it doesn't seem to end there as he takes one of those Popsicle stick-looking things that doctor's use to check your throat and dips it in the feces and... holds it under The Tang's nose... but there's no reaction.

Ripplemagne:
"What?! How is he not waking up?! That is pure, 100%, bona fide poo!"

Flustered by this unfortunate event, Ripplemagne tosses the bed pan onto the floor, leaving a very brown mess on the floor before tossing the stick at the cameraman, who spazzes out as it gets on his pants...

Ripplemagne:
"Oh, stop being a baby."

With that, the stick flies back at Ripplemagne, narrowly missing his hair before smearing onto the nearby window and sticking there. At this point, Ripplemagne throws a hissy fit...

Ripplemagne:
"Are you crazy!? You cannot throw dung at a pretty person! What are we?! Barbarians or something!? You ape!"

The cameraman is heard laughing hysterically as Ripplemagne shakes his head in disapproval, though it's obvious he finds humor in it. He's a fairly good, rather entertaining actor, it seems.

Ripplemagne:
"Well, now that we're here, this is a grandeur time to address the rather disparaging remarks made by our good, Armenian friend, Rury."

Cameraman:
"Isn't he Yugoslavian?"

Ripplemagne:
"What? No, you go slav!"

Cameraman:
"No, no. It's a country."

Ripplemagne:
"...I knew that. Are you sure he's not Polish or Bulgarian? Maybe Albanian?"

Cameraman:
"Actually, I think he might be Ukraine, though my sources are sometimes incorrect."

Ripplemagne:
"Your sources are always incorrect. That's why I'm a star and you film me. Blaghablaghabluh! As I was saying, this is the ideal spot to respond to the war-mongering remarks made by our good, Slavic friend, Rury...

...That work?"

Cameraman:
"Rolling."

Ripplemagne seemed to do the robot for a moment shifting into a more serious stance before viewing the camera with a coy grin. It seemed as though his entire demeanor changed to a more... elegant, sophisticated one...

Ripplemagne:
"Bravo, Rury. Another miraculous cry-on-check broadcast, reciting and rehashing the same meaningless banter that you've continually brought up. Since this Reunion has begun, you've dropped the name 'Synkipped' -- by my count -- a grand total of nine times. In fact, I believe you've made reference to him at least once in every AWL Reunion broadcast you've made thus far. Forgive me if I'm not well acquainted with the history between you two, but you seem to have a fixation with a man not even on the current roster. Could he have burned you so badly that you feel the need to redeem yourself through slandering his name after he has long departed?"

Oh, the hilarity of the fourth wall...

Ripplemagne:
"Why are you so defensive, Rury? You seem to delude yourself into believing that I, through a vindictive, scurrilous beleaguer, wish to damage your pride. You make the frail mistake of identifying any opposition as a blood thirsty enemy. Unfortunately, the world does not work in such a black and white bent. Perhaps your ardor for aggression is your way of maintaining that image of universal iconoclasm that you so adamantly cling to?"

It would seem that Ripplemagne is not as much of an imbecile as his eclectic persona would attest too. It would seem that he was quite well read and fancied psychology quite on the level of Krychek...

Ripplemagne:
"As most of your points revolve around logical fallacies in the form of ad hominem arguments, the Ripplemagne shan't go through a point-by-point analysis of your broadcast, but every word you speak validates my psychoanalysis of you as though it were fated. Attempting to justify your callous response to a mere aimless jibe by marring the innocence of it proves that you're a lamb, sweet pea. If you were as cold and ruthless as you claim -- or aspire -- to be, then one off remark by some peasant, 'beneath Charles Octavian' -- would hold no bearing on you. But you seek validation more than you're willing to admit, so you seek to deride any who shatter your microcosm."

It seems that Ripplemagne is rather soft spoken and harmonious with his words now, flowing them like a constant stream of intellect as every word hits as hard as an anvil to the face. By the way, it was Ripplemagne who eliminated Charles Octavian from the Battle Royale. Oh yeah!

Ripplemagne:
"But the Ripplemagne is quite pleased that you view him as 'an annoying' -- at least you come to terms with the fact that I can affect your day if I so wish it. It means that you are the Ripplemagne's puppet, so to speak; you dance when he says so and you will continue to perform this fanciful ballet of zeal, apostasy and omni-vehement proselytism. At least, until you cease this perpetual facade -- id est, gimmick -- that you embody.

You have still yet to elaborate upon where you deduced that there was any implication, whatsoever, that the wimmenz were not worth Ripplemagne's time. It's amusing that you pride yourself on being of such psychoanalytical wit, yet your only deduction of my person is one based on a red herring. Quaint, isn't it? Perhaps observation is your forte, but it seems that you are unable to string together anything beyond ad hominem, whilst simultaneously stone walling inquiry directed back to you. Why is this?"

At only eighteen, there was no way he could have a degree in psychology, but the way he spoke gave reassurance. At least, when he was speaking seriously. It seemed that his charisma was enough to lead an entire country into war with him...

Ripplemagne:
"Thus far, all you've done is claim to grasp the Ripplemagne's deepest, darkest mental recesses and understand him oh-so well. But... you have yet to offer any rationalization to affirm such. Any pseudo-intellectual crack pot can claim to know a great deal about someone and not explain such, but a virtuoso of the mind could go into a void of depth about the topic. Something you have yet to even begin.

So, maybe the Ripplemagne is a fairy -- perhaps he does hide magnificent, glistening butterfly wings behind his clothing and flies off into the sky, using the sky as his canvas to illustrate the rainbows and seagulls in the sky. But you still have to explain where you arrived at that conclusion, so, in that regard, it can all be attributed to the gamble of a dice -- luck. You guessed."

The thought of Ripplemagne with butterfly wings crept into your head. Don't try to deny it. And if it didn't, it is now. There's no avoiding it. You are now a visualizer of fairies! Wahahahaha!

Before Ripplemagne can get another word in, the doctor storms in as he jumps up to see the irritated doctor staring at him...

Doctor:
"What are you doing in here?!"

Ripplemagne:
"There was nothing good on television. Wanted to see if there was something better on at the hospital."

The doctor is thrown off guard by that response and is speechless as Ripplemagne picks up a remote and clicks a button, aiming it at the television... but it's the wrong remote! The Tang's bed begins to bend in half as the doctor goes spastic and grabs the remote, setting it back to normal quickly...

Doctor:
"Who are you?!"

Ripplemagne:
"Your best nightmare!"

Doctor: "
Security!"

Ripplemagne:
"Abort mission! Back to the ship!"

And with that, the zany Ripplemagne jets off as the screen fades to black...

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