Flavored With Indecency
* * *
The grandfather clock oscillates as we open up to Miss Sarah curled up in the corner of the sofa under a blanket. We can't see much of her as her shoulders are brought up to her chin and her wavy auburn hair encompasses most of her face, but she seems very relaxed. We can faintly hear the DVD player spinning the track as Disney's The Lion King is playing on the television before her, but her eyes are glued to a book of some sort. In the background, we can hear "Oh, I just can't wait to be king!"
Before we can get any clue as to what the book is, the door rears open, creaking slightly as we see one half of Matinée ex Machina step out; the magnificent Ripplemagne, clad in a pair of black jeans, somewhat tighter than his usual garb, and a pink "Moar Liek Critical AccLAME" t-shirt. Around his neck is a glistening silver cornuto complimenting his awe-inspiring blue-green eyes and perfect mane. Standing upright like the king of the jungle, Ripplemagne theatrically wafts himself over to Miss Sarah and effeminately places himself before her, elbow pressed into the seat cushion beside her and hand slammed into the back rest, so that he could stare her in the eyes...
We can see her eyes glance up at him as his perfectly groomed eyebrows flash up; a large grin on his face...
Ripplemagne:
"Hey, there, baby. You come here often?"
Miss Sarah:
"...Being that I live here -- with you, I might add -- I'd say so."
Ripplemagne:
"Lets not continue this charade anymore. We've been dancing all night and I'm tired of dancing. The Ripplemagne, humbly, requests that you bare yourself to his majesty..."
Miss Sarah:
"Yes, well... you tell the Ripplemagne that Sarah is not in a cheeky mood. She is sad and sulky and needs a hug..."
Ripplemagne:
"...Hey, Ripplemagne!"
There's a puzzled look on Miss Sarah's face as Ripplemagne runs off into the next room...
Ripplemagne:
"Sarah said that she's not in a cheeky mood!"
There's a pause as Miss Sarah is seen shaking her head with her hand buried in her palm...
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"All the Ripplemagne has ever wanted is sharks with frikkin' laser beams attached to their frikkin' heads!"
As the White Mage brings the camera into focus, we are treated to the blue-green ponds shrouded in glistening amber that are the enigmatic Ripplemagne's entrancing eyes. Though they swell with emotion and passion, there is control and jovial exclamation plastered on his porcelain face encapsulated by his high cheek bones and haughty smirk. Long brown eyelashes dash over his eyes, complimented by his perfectly molded eyebrows. In contrast to his usual flowing locks, we see his golden locks clipped back over the top of his head, topped off with what seems to be a black yarmulke.
As we pan out from the stagnant, happy-go-lucky professional wrestler, his attire is entirely composed of his black trench coat buttoned up from neck to knees. At least, that's all we can see from our angle...
Ripplemagne:
"In an effort to better acclimate ourselves to the customs and traditions of Global Extreme Wrestling, we, at Your Feature Presentation, have decided to assimilate into the most obvious outlet at our disposal. As such, we are conducting this edition of Your Feature Presentation from the local synagogue."
With that, we pan our some more to show golden-brown walls complimented by glimmering overhead lights. Over the shoulder of our protagonist, we can identify what seems to be a Menorah. From this view, we can identify Ripplemagne's 1969 jeans protruding from the coat tails of his black jacket in addition to his white linen gloved hands. One of which seems to be holding a strip of some sort...
Ripplemagne:
"Do you know how difficult it is to find a synagogue in Australia? And what with all of the Jewing last week, it made it that much more of an endeavor for the ever open minded Ripplemagne! According to wikipedia, less than 6% of Australia identifies as a Religion outside of Christianity. And even then, runner up is Buddhism? Who, seriously, follows Buddhism, anyway? Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow, indeed.
Followed by Hinduism? If anyone out there has any idea what these Skull and Bones Society-esque dot heads believe in, the Ripplemagne would love to be enlightened. Do they even believe anything or do they just like to draw on their faces? Reminds the Ripplemagne of Zell Dincht. Confound it! The Ripplemagne just got a flash back of that irritating mamaluke.
And what is that followed by?! Isla--"
The White Mage:
"Monsieur Ripplemagne... Miss Sarah has ordered me to cut the feed if you mention ninjas, Islam, Muslims or anything pertaining to them being a detriment to society."
Ripplemagne:
"Aha! And so it begins! Already, the Ripplemagne is being censored ala Jyllands-Posten!"
The White Mage:
"I believe the primary concern is our safety."
Ripplemagne:
"So you admit that they are vile purveyors of uniformity and oppression! Aha! The Ripplemagne is victorious."
An audible sigh is heard from The White Mage behind the camera as Ripplemagne raises his hands and tears a piece of the strip from its tip with his teeth before chewing and swallowing it...
Ripplemagne:
"Anyway, the Patriarch of Pretty went on quite the excursion to wind up here. And truth be told, he does not feel very welcome. For some reason, the judens seem very unpleasant here. As though they are hating on the Ripplemagne's magnificent gluteus maximus."
The camera bridges sideways across the wooden stands and steeples to show a few very irritated Jewish people eyeballing the young, fresh superstar.
The White Mage:
"That might have to do with the fact that you're eating bacon in their place of worship..."
Ripplemagne:
"Haters of bacon!? Blasphemy! It is true! The judens are evil doers! They seek to abolish the grandeur that is bacony goodness!"
The White Mage:
"No, no. You don't under--"
Ripplemagne:
"They are in cahoots with the Repo Men and Loki, the magnificent one's immortal enemy! This is war! They allowed the Ripplemagne into their midst as a trap! That... or non-existence in this backwater country encourage evangelism. But it's time to d-d-d-d-d-d-d-duel!"
As Ripplemagne skips across the stands, running a muck and terrorizing the moque-goers, it's clear that this is the most action the synagogue has had in quite some time...
5 Minutes Later...
Ripplemagne:
"Gah~!"
All we can see is Ripplemagne being launched out the door by a few burly men as he collides with the ground, though somewhat theatrically which raises the possibility that he may not have put up a fight. Nevertheless, the vivacious young lad springs to his feet and zips around as his yarmulke falls from his head onto the pavement. Pointing his finger toward the doors, he violently screams at the people inside...
Ripplemagne:
"You will be hearing from the local congressman! In fact, the Ripplemagne will report this to the U.N. and Australia will so, totally, be bombed to Kingdom Fuck! No, no! When the Ripplemagne rules the world... he will create a gigantic catapult and you will be the first placed atop to be launched directly into the sun!
...Blasted yarmulke wearing Australians."
Dusting himself off, Ripplemagne pulls another strip of bacon from his trench coat pocket and gnaws on it before shrugging his shoulders and turning to the camera...
Ripplemagne:
"As was predicted by all parties involved, Matinée ex Machina preceded their marvelous spokesmanship for the Vagina Toaster and our very sexy Critical AccLame t-shirts -- not available for the obese or the especially ugly -- with the highlight of the night... the light bright of Chaos... the white mare of professional wrestling..."
The White Mage:
"I think we get it..."
Ripplemagne:
"What amuses the Ripplemagne, though, is the inane attitude toward the match. It would seem that some believe that it 'was not fair' that the Ripplemagne and The Tang were the only tag team competitors in the match."
The White Mage:
"So?"
Ripplemagne:
"Well, these accusations have caused much universe-enveloping brain storming on the part of the magnificent one -- and not that wacko fairy tale known as bubble nucleation. If singles competitors competing in a tag team match is unfair, then wouldn't the inverse be true as well? Aha! Loop hole! Victory for the Patriarch of Pretty!
Now, the Ripplemagne is going to find a duffel bag to conceal himself into as an angry mob of judens, ninjas, dot heads and crocodile hunters form to witch hunt candor..."
As Ripplemagne tilts his head to look into the distance, shock appears on his face as he bolts off camera. It's clear that there is no one there as the camera turns to show a plastic bag blowing in the wind, but nevertheless, we fade out...
* * *
The grandfather clock oscillates as we open up to Miss Sarah curled up in the corner of the sofa under a blanket. We can't see much of her as her shoulders are brought up to her chin and her wavy auburn hair encompasses most of her face, but she seems very relaxed. We can faintly hear the DVD player spinning the track as Disney's The Lion King is playing on the television before her, but her eyes are glued to a book of some sort. In the background, we can hear "Oh, I just can't wait to be king!"
Before we can get any clue as to what the book is, the door rears open, creaking slightly as we see one half of Matinée ex Machina step out; the magnificent Ripplemagne, clad in a pair of black jeans, somewhat tighter than his usual garb, and a pink "Moar Liek Critical AccLAME" t-shirt. Around his neck is a glistening silver cornuto complimenting his awe-inspiring blue-green eyes and perfect mane. Standing upright like the king of the jungle, Ripplemagne theatrically wafts himself over to Miss Sarah and effeminately places himself before her, elbow pressed into the seat cushion beside her and hand slammed into the back rest, so that he could stare her in the eyes...
We can see her eyes glance up at him as his perfectly groomed eyebrows flash up; a large grin on his face...
Ripplemagne:
"Hey, there, baby. You come here often?"
Miss Sarah:
"...Being that I live here -- with you, I might add -- I'd say so."
Ripplemagne:
"Lets not continue this charade anymore. We've been dancing all night and I'm tired of dancing. The Ripplemagne, humbly, requests that you bare yourself to his majesty..."
Miss Sarah:
"Yes, well... you tell the Ripplemagne that Sarah is not in a cheeky mood. She is sad and sulky and needs a hug..."
Ripplemagne:
"...Hey, Ripplemagne!"
There's a puzzled look on Miss Sarah's face as Ripplemagne runs off into the next room...
Ripplemagne:
"Sarah said that she's not in a cheeky mood!"
There's a pause as Miss Sarah is seen shaking her head with her hand buried in her palm...
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"All the Ripplemagne has ever wanted is sharks with frikkin' laser beams attached to their frikkin' heads!"
As the White Mage brings the camera into focus, we are treated to the blue-green ponds shrouded in glistening amber that are the enigmatic Ripplemagne's entrancing eyes. Though they swell with emotion and passion, there is control and jovial exclamation plastered on his porcelain face encapsulated by his high cheek bones and haughty smirk. Long brown eyelashes dash over his eyes, complimented by his perfectly molded eyebrows. In contrast to his usual flowing locks, we see his golden locks clipped back over the top of his head, topped off with what seems to be a black yarmulke.
As we pan out from the stagnant, happy-go-lucky professional wrestler, his attire is entirely composed of his black trench coat buttoned up from neck to knees. At least, that's all we can see from our angle...
Ripplemagne:
"In an effort to better acclimate ourselves to the customs and traditions of Global Extreme Wrestling, we, at Your Feature Presentation, have decided to assimilate into the most obvious outlet at our disposal. As such, we are conducting this edition of Your Feature Presentation from the local synagogue."
With that, we pan our some more to show golden-brown walls complimented by glimmering overhead lights. Over the shoulder of our protagonist, we can identify what seems to be a Menorah. From this view, we can identify Ripplemagne's 1969 jeans protruding from the coat tails of his black jacket in addition to his white linen gloved hands. One of which seems to be holding a strip of some sort...
Ripplemagne:
"Do you know how difficult it is to find a synagogue in Australia? And what with all of the Jewing last week, it made it that much more of an endeavor for the ever open minded Ripplemagne! According to wikipedia, less than 6% of Australia identifies as a Religion outside of Christianity. And even then, runner up is Buddhism? Who, seriously, follows Buddhism, anyway? Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow, indeed.
Followed by Hinduism? If anyone out there has any idea what these Skull and Bones Society-esque dot heads believe in, the Ripplemagne would love to be enlightened. Do they even believe anything or do they just like to draw on their faces? Reminds the Ripplemagne of Zell Dincht. Confound it! The Ripplemagne just got a flash back of that irritating mamaluke.
And what is that followed by?! Isla--"
The White Mage:
"Monsieur Ripplemagne... Miss Sarah has ordered me to cut the feed if you mention ninjas, Islam, Muslims or anything pertaining to them being a detriment to society."
Ripplemagne:
"Aha! And so it begins! Already, the Ripplemagne is being censored ala Jyllands-Posten!"
The White Mage:
"I believe the primary concern is our safety."
Ripplemagne:
"So you admit that they are vile purveyors of uniformity and oppression! Aha! The Ripplemagne is victorious."
An audible sigh is heard from The White Mage behind the camera as Ripplemagne raises his hands and tears a piece of the strip from its tip with his teeth before chewing and swallowing it...
Ripplemagne:
"Anyway, the Patriarch of Pretty went on quite the excursion to wind up here. And truth be told, he does not feel very welcome. For some reason, the judens seem very unpleasant here. As though they are hating on the Ripplemagne's magnificent gluteus maximus."
The camera bridges sideways across the wooden stands and steeples to show a few very irritated Jewish people eyeballing the young, fresh superstar.
The White Mage:
"That might have to do with the fact that you're eating bacon in their place of worship..."
Ripplemagne:
"Haters of bacon!? Blasphemy! It is true! The judens are evil doers! They seek to abolish the grandeur that is bacony goodness!"
The White Mage:
"No, no. You don't under--"
Ripplemagne:
"They are in cahoots with the Repo Men and Loki, the magnificent one's immortal enemy! This is war! They allowed the Ripplemagne into their midst as a trap! That... or non-existence in this backwater country encourage evangelism. But it's time to d-d-d-d-d-d-d-duel!"
As Ripplemagne skips across the stands, running a muck and terrorizing the moque-goers, it's clear that this is the most action the synagogue has had in quite some time...
5 Minutes Later...
Ripplemagne:
"Gah~!"
All we can see is Ripplemagne being launched out the door by a few burly men as he collides with the ground, though somewhat theatrically which raises the possibility that he may not have put up a fight. Nevertheless, the vivacious young lad springs to his feet and zips around as his yarmulke falls from his head onto the pavement. Pointing his finger toward the doors, he violently screams at the people inside...
Ripplemagne:
"You will be hearing from the local congressman! In fact, the Ripplemagne will report this to the U.N. and Australia will so, totally, be bombed to Kingdom Fuck! No, no! When the Ripplemagne rules the world... he will create a gigantic catapult and you will be the first placed atop to be launched directly into the sun!
...Blasted yarmulke wearing Australians."
Dusting himself off, Ripplemagne pulls another strip of bacon from his trench coat pocket and gnaws on it before shrugging his shoulders and turning to the camera...
Ripplemagne:
"As was predicted by all parties involved, Matinée ex Machina preceded their marvelous spokesmanship for the Vagina Toaster and our very sexy Critical AccLame t-shirts -- not available for the obese or the especially ugly -- with the highlight of the night... the light bright of Chaos... the white mare of professional wrestling..."
The White Mage:
"I think we get it..."
Ripplemagne:
"What amuses the Ripplemagne, though, is the inane attitude toward the match. It would seem that some believe that it 'was not fair' that the Ripplemagne and The Tang were the only tag team competitors in the match."
The White Mage:
"So?"
Ripplemagne:
"Well, these accusations have caused much universe-enveloping brain storming on the part of the magnificent one -- and not that wacko fairy tale known as bubble nucleation. If singles competitors competing in a tag team match is unfair, then wouldn't the inverse be true as well? Aha! Loop hole! Victory for the Patriarch of Pretty!
Now, the Ripplemagne is going to find a duffel bag to conceal himself into as an angry mob of judens, ninjas, dot heads and crocodile hunters form to witch hunt candor..."
As Ripplemagne tilts his head to look into the distance, shock appears on his face as he bolts off camera. It's clear that there is no one there as the camera turns to show a plastic bag blowing in the wind, but nevertheless, we fade out...
* * *
