Down With the "King"

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Jeff Hardy

Down With the "King"

Post by Jeff Hardy »

He was so fucking sick of this bullshit. He could feel the sweat piling up on the side of his temple. He smirked, though. He knew that this 'historical figure' was nothing more than a chimera. Nothing more than an illusion. He shat just like the rest of us. Probably paid a few people to write him up his ass. Definitely just whined his way to his little title. And, to be honest: even if he did win... Even if he did make his way all the way to the top: who gives a fuck? Every single time you step onto the battle field -- every single time.. He couldn't keep all of these angry thoughts in his mind too much longer. He had to let it out. But he also knew that his fellow classmates viewed him as someone who wouldn't let something so obvious...

Something so boiling... Something so sensitive.. Something so over-the-top out... Even if he knew that he needed to let it out. Even if he knew that he needed to confront these demons right upon their head. But, for some reason -- he couldn't stop comparing it to something that had made him feel alive recently. Something that had finally knocked him out of his stale, simplistic stupor. Something that made him feel less like a simple cog in a system -- and more like a human being. Something that made him feel like he was who he was -- and that there wasn't anything to be sorry about.

And to be honest, he couldn't be more upset that people were expecting exactly what happened before to happen again. He was upset. He was pissed. He couldn't believe that everyone had turned their back on everything that they had loved dearly -- that everyone had sided with the foe... With the enemy. That a simple word -- a simple arrogant attitude could make everyone think that being a little 'different' is too much of a risk... Too much of a gamble. Too much of a problem. He smirked, again. Knowing that this whole 'kingly' bullshit was a trap. A scam. A cage. A need to get attention. A need to be remembered.

A need to have a name. A name that wasn't your's. A nae that wasn't true to who you were. A name that wasn't exactly --


JERMASTY
Sorry, Mr. Graham, but I can't sit back and -- I can't just sit here... It's just not healthy for me... I mean, isn't this a fuckin' LEARNING environment? -- I have something to say and... I know you have your little LESSON PLANS and all of... FUCK YOU, okay!? I have something to say!I can express myself, too! How can you be a fucking SOCIAL STUDIES teacher -- a goddamn sattelite... A fucking... I don't know -- and, excuse me for just... I know, kind of getting off topic, but there's a lot to unpack here, because -- well, you know... I never say shit to any of you guys... And, well, I mean: who in their right mind would? All of the kids HATE you fucking guys -- you know, the teachers -- and, well, some how they manage to 'successfully pretend' -- sorry, I haven't said this much in a while, hard to string together words here -- to be your BEST FRIEND so that you grade them well and will give them college recommendation letters -- while like... I mean, the teachers just keep their heads so far up their ass that they forget just how much THEY hated showing up fucking 'class meetings' -- but they forget that... You see, they forget that: it's just so much about THEIR version of the class -- like, it's THEIR unique creation or whatever-the-fuck... But, anyway, what was my point?

He scratched his chin and began to hear the adrenaline-inducing beats of his favorite wrestler. He could see him hitting high flying moves. He could even see him wearing the very arm-dressings that he had on right now. Everyone knew it. He was the weird kid. He was the strange guy. The guy everyone knew they couldn't be. But knew that, deep down, they shared some commonality to him. But, they wouldn't dare be so blatant about it. He was the guy who would. Who would just say it right out loud. Who would be so bold as to shout his dorky fancies to any passerby. The person who would wear his heart on his shoulder. The person who would express exactly what his heart desired. A person who would make art out of life. A person who wouldn't stop themselves from expressing themselves. Even in spite of everything that decided it would suppress you. Teachers. Politicians. Prejudice. Everything that tried to hold you down. He could feel his foot tap to the exact percussive beat of his favorite wrestler's theme song. He could almost feel his arm stand strong in the air. His head bob. His fist curl into a 'rock on' symbol. He wanted to let his tongue hang out. He wanted to burn a book. To flip all of the desks. To spray paint over the white board. To moon the teacher. To strip her naked -- just to fuck with her head a little. To stand on top of the desk and do 'The Monkey.' He felt so alive. All of this shit was just flying out of his mouth. Just like his favorite wrestler. He could feel his biceps tighten around his arm-dressings. Many other classmates rolled their eyes at his tirade: they knew he was a fan, and that was great, but there was a test tomorrow... They began to doodle, though, knowing they could use a break...

JERMASTY
Oh, yeah! That this whole 'let's all get together and pretend like everything is okay' bullshit is -- well, NOT okay! Who gives a fuck about this king! Fuck this guy! Big fucking deal he was 'chilvarous.' He was goddamn 'respectful to his elders' and -- I don't know... He fucking held the door open for his date... Like WHO GIVES A SHIT! Like, nobody gives a shit about your fucking HONOR -- your fucking TITLE -- what people really care about... I mean, come on... They care about how you... Well, I don't have to say it do I? I mean, come on, guys -- this fucking guy was KILLED in an alleyway by peasants. He must've been SO fucking GREAT, right? I highly fucking doubt it! Even WE wanted to fuck that ass hole up once we could! Once that 'King' had all of his defenses down -- once he didn't have any more of his goddamn BODYGUARDS around him anymore, he gets FUCKED UP by the first couple of mother fuckers that he comes across while trying to flee... Well, I mean, you just taught this lesson, so who the hell knows... Wherever the fuck he was trying to get to... But, I KNOW he got killed in an alleyway by a bunch of peasants... And, I know you can say like -- oh, the peasants were just JEALOUS -- so they can FUCK OFF, but I'm sure there have been some GOOD kings throughout the -- YEAH, there HAVE been! We've been studying them AAAAAALLL fucking year -- and, guess what?! We're going to have study them AAAAALLL month next month in order to graduate! And, we can PRETEND like it's some fucking saving grace -- some fuckin' high way to heaven, some fucking... I don't know... HOLY GRAIL, but ... WE ALL KNOW THAT IT'S NOT!

He stamped his fists on his desks with fury. His black eyes filled with rage. Even though they were totally eye contact lenses, you could still see the flames rendering up with gargantuan horror and making themselves recognized as ablaze and worthy of fear. The entire room trembled. They could feel his rage. They could feel the self-expression. They could feel the complete and total rage coming out of his body. They could tell that something had happened to him recently. Something had touched his heart. They had no idea. They had no clue. They didn't know that all of this bullshit that was spewing out of his system came from some silly T.V. show. Some silly fighting competition. Some silly -- well, you know what? Who the fuck cares what they thought? He was pissed. He could feel his arm-dressings pulsate against his skin. His muscles tightened with anger. With vicious destruction. He wanted to bang his fist on the table. but he couldn't. He knew that the anger that he was feeling could easily make the dainty wood of the desk split right in half. It would make his anger a liability. Something to pay for in the future. Something that reminded him of the pretend holier-than-thou stature of those who entitled themselves 'the King.' The 'messiah.' The 'better than everyone because they won one competition.'

He smirked again. His legs stiffed. His face stoned in on his evil and mischievous glare. The fire in his eyes began to broaden. He could feel the rush of blood in his entire body. It almost felt like he was in the ring competing. Like he was a high flyer. Like he would be facing Xavier Woods next week. He couldn't help but imagine that the fire in his eyes roasted that stinking fucking crown off of his head. He couldn't help but imagine that the supposed 'king' they were talking about in his History class was 'one and the same' as that fuckin' jerk... But, he couldn't quite find the lines of his anger... Was he really mad at Xavier? Was he mad at this particular arrogant king? Or was he mad at the world? Was he having an 'existential' crisis? Was he confronting something that we all need to confront? Was he saying it out loud? Were you not supposed to do that? Was he expressing himself? Was he being creative? Was he making his voice heard? Was he being the 'black sheep' and relishing in every minute of it? You bet your ass he was. In his mind, every word that came out of his mouth was equivalent to raising his fist into the air and rocking his head -- his tongue flinging out of his mouth, his body rocking and ranting and raving to the sick beats of the drums -- to the absolute mind-boggling beats of the drums... He could feel a bomb coming... A twist of fate... A coup... A total de-crowning... A usurping... He could tell that everyone in his History class could see that the king was absolutely fucking naked. That there wasn't a single fucking thing that made him 'better' in any way.


JERMASTY
He's a piece of shit -- and, I'm sure if we were all peasants during that age, we would've KILLED that fucker, too! Let's burn his crown! Let's light it on fire and dance around it! Let's rock out! Let's scream our frustrations out at he world! Let's stop sitting in these fucking classrooms pretending like everything's okay -- when every single one of us go home and SCREAM in our heads how totally FUCKED and SCREWED UP THE FUCKING ASS this shit hole of a place we call home is... I mean, for the love of God -- this whole 'Kumbaya' bullshit... All this toxic positivity... This dated idea that we can trust ONE person to be 'the King' and we should all bow down to him... You know what? FUCK THE KING! He wanted to cut all of OUR dicks off? Why don't we cut HIS fucking dick off for a change! Like.. what was the name of that stuff you taught us at the beginning of the semester? Prima nocta? Sorry -- I forget.. That isn't on the fuckin' quiz this week... But, that's besides the point: these supposed goddamn 'Kings' think that they're so great... This fuckin' guy better look back at history... Didn't his father get KILLED?! Your little title... Your supposed 'superiority' -- you're gonna die like the rest of us, ass hole -- isn't ANYTHING in the grand scheme of anything!

He could feel his arms tense up again against his arm-dressings. The veins in his neck and in his forehead nearly popped right out of his skull. He knew that these little titles were dumb. These little names weren't important. The way that these "Kings" thought they were better than everyone else. How these supposed titles made these high-falutin guys made themselves feel like they were eternal. He knew deep down, even if nobody else recognized it, that this wasn't true. He knew that these guys were just mere cogs in the system. Even though they wanted to make everyone else feel like this -- even though they wanted to categorize the world in such a way that it works in their every effort to their every whim and to every little systematic manipulation that they implement... He knew that they were really only shining so that the rest of us could enjoy the light. He knew that this arrogant peacocking... This overly ridiculous showcasing of being 'better' and carrying a superior title... And pretending like one simple win suddenly makes you better than everyone else... He could feel the fury in his heart come back up. He could feel his throat tighten. But, still, his heart beat. He knew that "kings" were mere words. Mere arrogance. Mere hot air. Mere lies. Mere selfish jerks. Mere idiots with shiny hats on. He knew that what really mattered was being true to yourself. Being who you needed to be. Who you were MEANT to be. Who you SHOULD be: YOURSELF. He felt proud for saying what everyone else was thinking. He felt proud to be on the side of the artists. Of the outcasts. Of the beatniks. Specifically against those who swore up and down that the word was merely a system. A mere maze of 'black and white.' That there wasn't room for the weirdos. The strange people. Some color. Some individuality. He knew he could splash a few different hues onto the canvas. He knew that the golden, pearly walls of the supposed "kingdom" could use a makeover.

JERMASTY
We're all here. We're all in this fucking thing. We're all going to breathe. We're all going to eat. You're not... Fuck you, man! It just -- it makes me so fucking mad! It reminds me of when... Well, I know you guys are going to laugh, because -- oh, it's Jermasty, he's going to make it about wrestling... Because he ALWAYS makes it about wrestling. Or whatever the fuck... But, guess what? I'm not always thinking about wrestling! In this case, though, YES! Like... Come on, FUCK YOU, King Booker! Your wife isn't even that hot! And that fuckin' crown looks like a relic. Like a goddamn museum piece. Something we can take away in a second. Something that was created. An art work. An art work that nobody believes in. Something that was CREATED -- by someone with a HEART... Someone who doesn't betray themselves for a title... A fuckin' name. A goddamn collection of four letters. Someone who's there for the fans. Someone who doesn't need a crown... A word... A title... Applause. Someone who's GENUINELY a good guy. Someone who'll be there for you if you needed him. Someone who EXPRESSES himself -- and inspires everyone else to do the same... Someone who isn't full of SHIT! Someone who... I don't know, man... Just, get rid of your whole fuckin' arrogant bullshit. Get rid of your crown. NOBODY CARES. Just bring your A-game. And be a good person for Christ's sake. Get your head out of your ass... You're not better than anyone else, "King." A coup can always be right around the corner... -- And, I guess, as I close up here -- because, I mean, I guess the bell is probably about to ring, amiright? -- not to quote any movies that we all know, because that would be totally corny... Like a totally bad way to end this whole tirade, right? Like... Well, I guess, I can't help but do it now: like, why ... WHY DON'T WE ALL JUST KILL CAESAR!?