My Kingdom Will Always Be At War- Chapter 3: The Free Spirit (A Dream of An Actual Memory) Turkeyface attended Hampshire, a small, private college in Western Massachusetts, for a little less than a semester before he dropped out. He was a C student and had absolutely no extracurricular activities to enhance his candidacy, but the admissions counselor who championed him was a borderline psychotic flake. It impressed her the that he wrote a portion of his entrance essay in his own blood. The essay was a screed against Tab Flanagan and Capitalism. The blood was in actuality...mainly Taco Bell hot sauce squirted out of packets mixed with very few driplets of real blood. The flake admissions counselor wrote him back a gushing admittance letter calling him a true “mystic warrior.” Hampshire College fired her two months before Turkeyface even stepped foot on the campus. Looking at the brochures and promotional materials for the school, Turkeyface sensed it wasn't cool to make fun of nerds at this cool, experimental college. Hampshire awarded him a full scholarship. He was determined to actualize himself there within a progressive learning environment. He gloated over the fact that his nemesis, Tab Flanagan, wasn't attending a cool, progressive college like him. Tab would be attending the University of Louisiana-Lafayette. “Tee hee! Not even LSU. Just a drab nobody in a drab herd of mediocrity. I'm sure it steams him that I am attending Hampshire College...while he is practically a commuter student!,” Turkeyface thought to himself. Tab Flanagan switched to the Catholic high school in 9th Grade. Turkeyface saw Tab at the Mall food court from time to time. He learned that Tab was the salutatorian at his high school and attending ULL on scholarship in the town newspaper. “2nd place..heh heh...,” Turkeyface chortled to himself at the time. Turkeyface vowed to reinvent himself at Hampshire as a fun-loving, chill freak. He stitched himself together a tie-dyed reggae tam-o-shanter out of a beret for a Ken doll. The hat actually resembled a jester's coxcomb more than a rasta jah tam, but Turkeyface was proud of his creation. He also attempted to dread the feeble sprig of 8 brittle, thin pubic-like strands of hair sprouting off his snood. Some college hippy girls noticed his tam as he shuffled across the main quad. They giggled and beckoned him over. “Cool tam, man.” One of the girls introduced herself as Kali. She was somewhat bovine and fleshy, but attractive. Turkeyface remembered her from his 3-day Orientation course. He recalled that just a few months earlier, she introduced herself as Jen from Rhode Island. The other hippy girl did not hold any allure for Turkeyface. She had a plain, butterfat face. She was the definite beta-friend in the relationship. The hippy girls bantered some small talk with Turkeyface. He bemoaned the fact that he couldn't establish meaningful rapport with them. His stale conversation paled in comparison to his daydream phantasies of talking to ladybabes...seducing them with his wit and elan vital. Despite the obvious lack of verbal chemistry, the two hippy girls invited Turkeyface up to their dorm room. He wore the tam the first time that day and felt self-conscious, but delighted that the hippies considered him a kindred being. The girls started hacking a hacky sack in their dorm room in a hack circle to the instrumental reggae of Augustus Pablo. Turkeyface proved a terrible hacker as he had poor hand-eye coordination and slow-twitch muscle neurons. The girls were much better than him. This one townie guy by the name of Gator joined them with a foreign-student ladybabe clinging to him like a vine on an old fence post. Gator came to cold chill with the hippy girls and sell them drugs. He entered the hack circle. Gator was an excellent hacker. Gator boasted of half-Mescalero Apache blood and he was of a swart complexion with lustrous enough black hair to verify his ancestral claims. He was a lithe ecto-mesomorph. Every casual move he made...like a cobra‘s strike. He wore a dirty, denim vest over his otherwise bare torso and sported poorly executed tattoos of wolves all over his chest and arms. Many of the drug-using college girls slept with Gator despite the fact he was 53 years old. One of the hippy girls, took a water bong down from her tapestried loft. She lit up the bong and started passing it around. Bob Marley came on the stereo and Turkeyface was anxious to fit in, but he didn’t want to smoke. He’d never done any drugs. He was relieved that some reggae he recognized came on the stereo. Before he knew it Turkeyface jabbered, “Bob Marley had all the answers. Start a revolution.” Gator passed Turkeyface the water bong, “You speak truth, little brother. Take a hit.” The bong trembled in Turkeyface’s hands. It looked stupid like a tawdry adult novelty. He meekly passed the bong without toking. None of the girls would have noticed, but Gator caught Turkeyface passing the pipe. Gator got all sinister and up in Turkeyface’s zone. “You a narc? Talking all this Marley and you reject my hospitality!” Gator stared at Turkeyface for a couple of tough guy seconds. Turkeyface tried to stare him back down, but broke first. He tried to explain that he only wanted peace and all of a sudden….Gator finger-flicked Turkeyface’s wattle. Hard and savage pain penetration up into the pink and wrinkled raw tissue flesh fibers. Turkeyface tried to fight back the tears and couldn’t. The foreign girl laughed at him. She was a gamy, hot ELS student from Romania. She had yellow tartar, nicotine-stained teeth, but was otherwise super kicking sexy. Turkeyface observed that her laugh sounded evil and seductive like one of Count Drakul’s concubines. He could tell that Gator’s assertion of dominance boiled up her juices. Turkeyface tried to save face and he hung around the dorm room another 15 minutes or so. He played with one of Jester’s rainsticks and acted like he had copped a goofy, whimsical high from the second-hand ganja smoke. Gator began to grope with the Romanian on a beanie bag chair. Turkeyface slipped out of the hippy girls’ dorm room unnoticed. As he ran back to his dorm room he tripped over a tree root in the quad. He fell to the ground and grand mal seizured. His wattle burned with pain. He lost consciousness. He woke up with the moon full and shining down upon him. His fuzzy vision centered upon a lone crow perched upon a barren branch. The sight of the crow briefly lifted his spirits. He mused to himself, “Perhaps this crow is my shamanic animal totem.” All of a sudden, the crow swooped down and drilled one sharp, precise spearpeck between Turkeyface's eyes. It then snatched the tiny tam-o-shanter reggae cap off his head. The crow flew high up back to its nest. Turkeyface couldn't see the crow, but he heard it shrieking in triumph, “Ka kaw! Ka kaw!” Turkeyface thrashed at the moonlit air and screamed with rage.
Yo Pride..bruh brah binks! Is that robot image a meme? If so..cool. Meme. Memetics. Imitation. You like robots..OG Pride? I do too. I make robots in my garage. None of them work. But one day breaux. I'll make a robot that projects boring meme holographs..in cool forums like this. I'll win a Nobel Prize and write a long speech..like longer then a fortune cookie message long..so long brudah mang Pride..my wodie. You'll be in the audience cheering me on as my Meme droid drops dope Meme holographs over all those scientists and smart types. I'll start to launch into a long speech I have meticulously prepared..but as I'm about to begin..I take a look at you..and your cute little infant face..cute as a hamster fart..with that cute simple infant brain up in that so wee and tiny skull..and I'll catch you smirking. I'll smirk back..and rip my speech up into shreds..I'll then just say one thing into the microphone.. "TLDR y'all!" I'll then take my Nobel Prize money and hop into my Rolls Ghost with the waterbed seats. I'll get paid and get laid as my robot drops meme holograph wisdom all over Generation Beta. Word 2 Pimp.