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DR. WILLIAM POWER
The comments are disabled and from here on in, must be pushed around in wheelchairs. But real chairs, none of those fake phoney chairs that collapse like an exhausted musician that's had one too many sleeping pills to keep away those creepy ills. Where the hell is Dr. William Power when you need him? Nowhere in sight, probably feeding Michael Jackson his breakfast. Too many fake doctors around these days, what happened to those good old-fashioned sadistic matrons that knew what was best for you? Where the hell is your best mate Ron when you need him? Why has everybody disappeared like some scripted 90s horror movie? Why is the author of this blog posing so many questions? I'll tell you why, curiosity is the spice of life. Existence is a puzzle, none can make wind of it, except people who fart. Our father who art in heaven, then starred in Seven, then presented Brad Pitt with a head in, a box. Better than a Jack in the Box. Brad needs to let his hair down, go through the grieving process, play some golf - change his name to Brad Putt. Talking of golf, how many Tiger Woods games can EA knock out without making any changes at all? Fucking millions by the looks of it. If you haven't played Tiger Woods 14, boy, are you missing out!! And that's just it, you're not missing out, and the disc wont be found if you whiz it out the window on the way to the REAL driving range. Play some actual physical golf, rather than figurative golf. Is playing a Wii game any more debasing or different from having a blow-up doll as a girlfriend? Believing in an imaginary God? Or talking to yourself? Talking to yourself is fantastic, I highly recommend it, as even though you are always speaking, you're always listening too. Its fun being a loner like Leon who only has Pin for company and stares out the window all day long shouting 'GET OUT!' in a really raspy frustrated voice. I blame Terry O'Quinn the ventriloquist. You see, if Leon had a Dad like John Locke, his life would have been full of adventure. Maybe he wouldn't have been obsessed with Pin, maybe he'd be spending every waking moment trying to get to the damn island! "Each one of us was brought here for a reason!" Yeah, you were, you were brought there to film a superb television show in order to entertain the masses. But just think of poor Leon, stuck up at that bloody window, staring out into space, hell, probably with a tonne of valium and xanax overflowing his pockets. C'mon, it gets boring up there, Leon must have been high off his tits! Rolling around in that wheelchair doing a bit of mechanical break dancing, while occasionally taking a break and prancing around in a Pin business suit looking more like Eminem by the second, while his sister sporadically visited in order to wind up his music box.
Talking of people going missing in action (like Chuck Norris). VicariousE has now taken a vacation, he left a note which read, 'gone away for a little while.. have something that I urgently nee...' And the ellipsis at the end of the note weren't dots, they were three small kidney stones. I named them Mick Jagged, Runny Blood and Keith Prickhard. I kicked those Stones until they started Rolling. Rolling across the floor like giant boulders in an Indiana Jones film. VicariousE had disappeared over the horizon, in order to have a head-on confrontation against those Administrators to administer punishment against those traitors. VicariousE has not been seen since the dish ran away with the spoon, which happened only this morning. They had sex in the spoons position, then later on met up with the fish and the moon, who were also getting down and dirty. What is with everybody running away lately? Even the CyberDevil has gone to the Northern Norths to fight Nords and snort cocaine somewhere in the Fjords. While my other pal, his focus is in waiting for his new Ford Focus car. Jack has disappeared and hasn't been heard from since the beginning of time. Nearly everyone has left the building, the office is empty and there is nobody left to brew up the Hemp Tea. I feel alone and the height of the Knuzden bridge looks tempting. Kevan gone. There is only Eric and myself holding the fort. But we cannot keep the enemies from storming our castle forever. Or maybe we can, by playing a little game called Thunderstick, firing a Hundred sticks at the same time and watch as they land in eye after eye. A battlefield of blindness. Now we are more feared than Vlad the Impaler. We are the last two remaining survivors of this Reality TV show called Last Man Standing. We couldn't fight each other. Never. What? Pillow fight? Okay you're on. And there we were, in a pit surrounded by bloodthirsty lumberjacks wielding melee weapons. We were right in the middle, holding soft velvet pillows. Death by pillow, the slowest death imaginable. What sick bastard could concoct such a scheme? I will tell you who. All the people that have been going missing over the weeks! That's where they were, out planning mine and Eric's brutal fight to the death with fluffy cushions. There they were, the lumberjacks, all our former friends. Now they were chanting, cheering. KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! Maybe that was just pillow talk to create bellowing smoke. We both lunged forward, swinging and slashing our pillows at each other, fucking feathers flying in every direction. Blinding us, choking us. The crowd roaring louder and louder. Then the lights went out, everything dissolved into a pitch black silence. A door opened and a light was switched on.
It was Eric's parents,
Dad: "What the hell is going on here!"
Eric: "Oh Dad. We were just playing a game."
Dad: "We leave you lot alone for five minutes and this happens!"
Eric: "I'm sorry."
Dad: "Don't sorry me. That's it. Get out! All of you, get out!"
Just as they started to all walk past. Eric's Dad pulled out an air guitar.
Dad: "I'm just kiddin' y'all! Let's rockkkkk thisssss joinntttt!"