Shotgun was there in the locker room. He saw firsthand the awesome sadness of the Mystic Man. He saw the tears gather, saw them tremble, saw them fall to the ground. Shotgun saw TTB cry many tears, so many they smudged his facepaint and made him look more terrifying than he could ever have hoped for. But Shotgun did not fear TTB's mystic sprinkler. He had business to take care of. He wanted revenge. He wanted TTB underground.
You say you were once earth TTB? Return to it now. You are no mystic man.
There is only one man on this prairie and he does not sit around crying for people and stuff. This man knows when there's work to be done. He carries his shotgun easily. He tills the fields, logs the timber, and fishes the rivers. Because he knows in his heart what his opponent, in all his mysticness, has failed to recognize: the land belongs to those who work it.
This is the fatal error of Two Tears Boye, Native American Superstar.
TTB does not care to create. He picks flowers that wilt in hands. The fruits of TTB's labor are elusive, ephemeral, and more easily lost than a polluted estuary.
TTB's work is pine to The Man's oak, soapstone to The Man's granite.
TTB's work erodes, while The Man's endures.
The Man believes in good honest work, work that lasts.
He believes in blistered hands and early starts to the day.
He believes in the warm ache a shoulder feels from hand splitting
two cords of wood. By lunch. In June.
TTB, you know nothing of these things. You float around on your cloud with your tears and your mouthpiece that says "intensity" when you smile and your shitty wireless connection and you think that you are the mystic shit. You are mistaken. You are a fleeting ghost not long for this America. I will render your teachings obsolete and leave your followers by the roadside.
When the bell sounds in that ring, Sam "The Man" Shotgun will leave quietly. He will not dance because that's not his style. He will leave TTB's prone figure face-down on the mat. The Rock Bottom may be a lame move but it's fucking devastating. Once again there will be no mystic dance of victory.
TTB will not tell Shotgun why his heart burns.
He will not yell "T-T-B, 1-2-3!"
When The Man exits it will be to "Taking Care of Business" because he works overtime. He will mop the floor with TTB and then he will go, shoulders rolled, back to work.
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3 comments:
Sam "The Man",
TTB fears not you or your wonderous machines that shot large objects into the heart of my buffalo.
TTB does not understand your anger and malice.
You claim that you are a man who goes around and cuts down trees and works the land and plants plants to watch them grow then to eat them and feed your family.
I do not doubt your love for this land Man.
I do not doubt it at all.
It is, after all, what scares me most.
You love this land.
I do not claim to be the owner of this land. Only its guardian.
I fear it is men like you who see the land only for its potentail to make your life easier (i.e houses, fuels, foods). That sickens TTB. TTB cries for that. TTB cries for people like you Shotgun you come over here on a mother fucking boat and just because my land is pretty you feel it is your place to make it grow the way you want it?
Who made you the Man anyways?
No one.
The land is the most important thing.
Your name merely speaks of arrogance when it comes to nature.
You place yourself first before so many other things.
You want to use the land.
You want to run its rivers dry.
You will bring more of your ilk.
You will build more buildings.
Bring more cars.
And the city will take over.
You are one of many men, Man, who will come to destroy this world because you think of what it can give you instead of seeing its true beauty.
You are worthless.
you suck.
the asian mia farrow
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