::begin::
As long as
hucksters have been selling
snake oil to townies, there has been some organization like unto the soap mafia...Probably before that, too, but my history's not great today. And as long as there has been some soap mafia analogue, there has been a
fight club analogue. of this i am certain.
Don't be fooled by the Hollywood disguise; don't start to think that just because it's in a movie, this crap doesn't happpen in real life. It's happening right now, in some little shithole town in Iowa. Three drunkards and an irritated DJ in a hotel room after a long day spent selling soap to people who don't care. Before sunup, one of these drunks has been fired after losing an ear in a fight he started in the room. Not my problem, I tell myself; 'lalalalalala', i put my hands over my ears and try to drown it all out.
But the DJ in question is one of my boys. It is my problem, whether i want to get dragged into it or not, because I can't help but worry; I can't help but care. I've got a boy in the field, losing the last of his innocence, and his ability to feel horror and revulsion. Everything's becoming too easy to justify; I can hear it in his voice on the other end of the phone. It isn't fair; his tattered innocence was my prize! It was mine to do with as I chose, and I had wanted to unwrap him from it slowly, and to relish the slivers of ice cold fear that would come with every shred I peeled away. But now it would be lifted off in huge smouldering swaths by the minions and peons of the soap rackets. Every night another star falls from the sky, and I can hear him screaming in his dreams. Fucking barbarians don't even have the wit to savour the pain...
::end::