A little known quiet and cunning man, not so recently wheelchair ridden and really getting on in years and looking the worse for wear - especially since death of his wife - sat quietly in an abandoned bell tower on the outskirts of RODEO. The steeple was all that was left of the once magnificent edifice that stood deep enough in the East Concavity to not warrant the scrutiny of the Hengemen but still afforded a straight-on clear view of the misanthropic activities about to take place. He watched through high-powered binoculars with disgust, and an always growing contempt, at the pre-gladitorial gathering. It had been a long time since he had any sense of obeisance toward the rules of ‘conventional’ society, such as it was. Even a couple of years before Le Jeu du Prochain Train, he had pretty much given up trying to find compassion or any genuine sense of fairness in the statutes written by the monkeys who were allowed, by the few corporatists who really ran things, to write them in a country that supposedly ran by the ‘rule of law.’ Despite the decrees’ varnished and sophisticated appearance to the untrained eye, upon closer inspection, most, if not all, all seemed petty, self-centered centric and in no way representative of anything good for the populace at large. Short-lived ease and an insecure sociopathic need to have power and rule over others had trumped that long before recorded history began and was a severe impediment toward anything called real evolution. Sure, its immediacy is alluring but the long-term consequences are rarely good and even less thoroughly thought through.
———-
50 contestants of every despicable kind were led in chains through a reinforced opening and into the arena by a contingent of 10 Hengemen. 40 of those were here in an attempt prematurely abnegate their life sentences; three clinically depressed citizens, deep in the grip of anhedonia, in a desperate attempt to reverse the obsidian hole of the long-standing cathexis of non-feeling, needing so bad to feel at least something for once; and seven steroidal maniacs with tiny brains and huge egos who were here for sport. The Hengemen cleared out of the game area and one of them pressed a red button that released the shackles. The 40 rubbed their now unrestricted wrists, all at the same time and in the same manner and sighed, breathing in deep that first feeling of freedom in what felt like forever. The seven immediately dropped their drawers and started masturbating because they wanted to and the three were apathetic about it.
The lights at the RODEO go dark and all the individual actions stop and become silent and focused. After a few moments, a single spotlight illuminates a mid-air stage platform and the president steps on to the stage, his pancake make up lit up and glowing luxuriantly.
‘Welcome fellow ONANITES -‘. Thunderous applause and cheers from the crowd drown out the POONAN and he waits for the commotion to die down and basks in the glory of his own, self-proclaimed magnificence.
‘THANK YOU!! It’s good to be here! Welcome! Fellow ONANITES! To the first annual Recusant ONAN Dissenter Enfant-terrible Opera! The first of what I’m sure will be many more! And the beginning of what I’m sure will become a great ONAN tradition. Let me assure you that the rumors of my disappearance have been greatly exaggerated but the ones about total clemency for tonight’s winners are not. I will be on hand tonight waiting to sign your pardons myself. Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is both my honor and pleasure to open tonight’s historic activities with a little number you MAY have heard, so without further ado, ONANs - OUR! National Anthem:
ONAN the terrible
ONAN the great
ONAN to save us from our doomed fate
What once was splintered
Is now reconciled
It’s under ONAN’s banner
That goodness has congealed
Striking down all enemies in her way
If you’re not already lucky enough to be a citizen
Join ONAN today
Join ONAN today
Live a better life
Free from slavery
Angst and Strife
ONAN’s work is never done
’Til the world becomes one
You’ll accept our gracious gifts
Whether they turn your once pristine country to thrifts
Let’s pull together to repair the rifts
All praise hail subsidized time
The earth is no one’s
‘Cept hers, his and mine
detractors and dissidents beware
We’ll sell it to you until you believe
There is no such thing as corporate crime
Get on ONAN’s wave
So you can get paid
Join ONAN today
Join ONAN today!’
Gentle’s croon keeps rising so that by the end of the anthem it’s a crescendo. As he finishes the second ‘today’ things slow down He closes his eyes, bows his head and raises his hands in the air. The applause roars from all sides. Nervous anticipation, adulation and adrenaline of the crowd crests at an apogee that can only be exceeded by what is sure to be the most vicious, violent, vitriolic show that this civilization has known to date.
The president is supposed to say, ‘let’s start the RODEO.’ But it doesn’t happen that way…He gets out ‘Let’s start,’ before a loud squeak is heard through the microphone, like the feedback you sometimes receive when things got too close in an old school, pre-digital electronic instrument setup, then a 12.7 x 108 mm bullet from an Accuracy International AW50 hits him squarely in the middle of his large, washboard forehead and blows the top half of his head off and the back of his skull out.
The applause quickly turns to feigned horror and disgust as Gentle’s body falls from the platform and lands in a heap on the unseen dirt floor below. Dust rises and coats the now lifeless body. The lights come blazing on moments later and the chaos of a crowd scared ensues until another shot rings out. This one hits the sturdy lock on the feral babies’ enclosure, splintering it into useless pieces that scatter and fall away. Everyone F stops. No one can tell where the bullet hits but their already trained mind can infer.
Panicked shrieks turned to frozen stares of shock and silent inquisitiveness as the crowd inventories their own maps for new and unexpected holes, finding none they search around, hoping to catch a glimpse what they have good reason to suspect is the latest half-torn off head. It’s all surreal to them. They are a part of the audience and apart from the show. What happens in the arena is seen through a screen and has no direct affect on them. Even the Hengemen are caught off guard and take a minute or two to regain their bearings.
_____________
Except for me. I was in and out and all over. No notion or expectation of anything, just dealing with and recording events as they happen. Bouncing and bounding from one vantage point to another, I am barely even noticed. Getting close ups of the mutated, pathetic beasts I was an emissary, nay, that is much too grandiose. More like an interested but not allowed to intervene observer, as always fretting eternally over what is important to write down and what was just everyday cliche; just fortunate enough to be assigned by the boss to do what I love in whatever way I see fit. I’m not quite at liberty to discuss who my boss is but you will see future exploitations of me in future blogging excellence. But moron that later…
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