All-Stars II: Leonard Pierce vs. Yellow

[Viola Moonlight]

Deadline - 11:59pm, 9th of August (Central Time)​

 

[Kermit]

Yellow
by Kermit​

One day under the rainy sky
There stands a man opposed to my eye.
I find it queer; he paces to and fro
The man on the side of the street of Mary Lou Road.

I approach, but he doesn't flinch
He has a pattern, he dares not move an inch,
I speak, "Sir, are okay?"
Quietly dismissed, I move out of his way.

"Do you fancy an eat or drink?"
No words, his brain must think.
"Care for some crumpets or tea?"
He most not like those, because he does not answer me.

"Please, come recieve a blanket and sit infront of the television."
"We can watch some news or manly compeition?"
He stops; he is interested, I discerne.
Manly competition? He wants to learn.

"Two fighters" I say, "duke it out."
"A special event is coming, the news is out."
"They've got them all, all the stars."
"The Green Genius from Mexico, and Krypto from Mars!"

He gestures for me to explain more
"Lots more," I say, "and girls dressed like ****es!"
He shouts in-between the drops and his tone is fierce.
"Tell me! Will there be a man named Leonard Pierce?!"

I nod in awe of his god-like voice
He bows to take his leave, that is his choice.
A popping pop ignites his black umbrella
He begins to float and I give a parting wave to the fella.

Often I think of the man in the yellow rain coat
He eats at my mind like an old grey goat.
The image of him walking to and fro
The image of him on the side of Mary Lou Road.

 

[JGlass]

“If they could read, do you think cats would be insulted by Garfield?”

“What?”

“If cats could read, had a basic level of reading comprehension, and had some knowledge of their general perception in society, do you think they’d be insulted by Garfield?”

Leonard Pierce and his companion share this back and forth in a booth at Fran’s, a crumby little diner that seats no more than fifty customers at a time, but is lucky to see that many patrons in an entire day.

“You have too much time to think about this kind of stuff, Leonard.”

Leonard looks across the table at his friend and shrugs his shoulders. The two share a brief chuckle over the exchange before they go back to their meals. They both ordered the same thing: two eggs (over easy), toast (wheat), sausage (turkey), and home fries (lightly peppered, heavily ketchuped). A fairly normal breakfast, sure, but what sets these gentlemen apart from the rest is that instead of coffee they wash their meal down with Cherry Coke.

The two eat their breakfast quietly for a while before Leonard remembers a piece of news that he is eager to share.

“Oh! I need to show you this! You know how I’m always talking about the prime reality?”

“No, it’s not like you talk about it all the time or anything.”

“Sarcasm, funny. Seriously though, I thought of a little experiment for me involving professional wrestling.”

Leonard’s friend tries to hold back a laugh but winds up spitting pieces of chewed sausage into his hand as he covers his mouth, trying to hide his emotions.

“Professional wrestling Leonard? Really? You know it’s fake, right? You think your prime reality lies in the world of men in spandex fighting over big shiny belts?”

“No, not necessarily, but the whole concept of an objective reality is that what is real may be what eludes all of us. Like… let’s say that this turkey sausage is really made out of pigeons.”

Leonard picks up a sausage link on his fork and holds it for examination as his friend’s face sours at the idea of eating pigeon.

“And all our lives we’ve been eating turkey products that are really composed out of pigeon. It tastes fine, there’s no bad effects or terrible secrets other than that turkey meat is really pigeon. In our view of reality, turkey comes from this big, plump bird that is grown on farms for the specific purpose of being fed to humans. But in the objective reality, turkey is made out of pigeons that are captured in major US cities, brought to a factory, and killed to produce a meat product called ‘turkey.’ So we’re all living a lie. A harmless lie, but a lie nonetheless. You get it?”

Leonard’s friend reaches over and picks the link off of Leonard’s fork before popping it in his mouth.

“I get it, but I don’t see what the big deal is. Whether it’s turkey or pigeon, it doesn’t hurt anyone and it’s still tasty. So what if it is pigeon?”

“That’s what I’m saying! We can go on living ignorant to reality, content to be sated by the lie we are being fed. Or we can seek out the truth and seek out the reality that lies underneath the façade!”

“You want a refill, sugar?”

The trancelike state Leonard was nearing is broken by Fran, the duo’s waitress and the diner’s namesake.

“Huh? Oh, yes please.” Leonard clumsily answers.

Fran smiles as she picks up Leonard’s cup and slowly makes her way towards the kitchen. She isn’t exactly what she used to be at 67 years old, but she still has a certain charm about her. It was probably this indescribable allure that led the head chef (and her husband) to name the restaurant after the pretty young waitress all those years ago. He would probably regret naming the restaurant after his blushing bride as she used the diner’s name to gain control of the company after their divorce.

Fran returns with Leonard’s Cherry Coke within seconds, and as she walks away Leonard feels comfortable to restart his conversation with his friend.

“See, most people are happy to remain blissfully ignorant to the truth, but not me. I want to break through the programming and find out what is real and what isn’t.”

Leonard’s friend rolls his eyes but seems to have made peace with Leonard’s way of thinking. “Fair enough, but what does professional wrestling have to do with an objective reality?”

“I figure what better way to test the idea of a radically different objective reality than to emerge myself in a radically different reality? Think about it, these professional wrestlers live in a world where it’s normal to dress up in tights and beat the crap out of other people. There’s this S.H.I.T. guy…”

“What a goofy name. What’s his deal?”

“He thinks he’s a robot. He dresses up in two cardboard boxes and wrestles.”

“Yikes. Is that who you’re wrestling?”

“No, that guy is big time. I’m fighting some guy named Yellow.”

“Let me guess, he paints himself Yellow?” Leonard’s friend chuckles to himself.

“No, he just wears a raincoat everywhere. That’s really all it says on the information that WZCW sent to me. They sent a few waivers, some legal documents, and a dossier on my opponent… and all it says is ‘Wears yellow raincoat everywhere. Paces back and forth on the side of Mary Lou Road during rainstorms.’”

“Where’s Mary Lou Road?”

“I dunno. But I doubt it’ll help me much. What’s important is that these are the types of characters that I’ll be interacting with at All-Stars! Maybe Saboteur and Saxton will be there and I can ask them about their wild journeys. Maybe Chris K.O. will be there and I can talk to him about what it’s like to be the protégé of a mad man. Maybe Barbosa will be there and I can pick his mind about his multiple personality disorder.”

“And you really think that this is going to help you find an objective reality? You think the world of professional wrestling is the objective reality?”

“No, I don’t think wrestling is the objective reality… but immersing myself into kayfabe certainly prepares me for my continuous journey to find an objective reality.”

Leonard Pierce and his friend share a nod as Fran checks up on the table. The duo’s plates are empty and their appetites are sated.

“You want anything else sugar?” Fran asks Leonard.

“Just the check please.”

Fran takes her pad out of her apron, rips off the check, and slides it towards Leonard.

Leonard picks up the check and examines it with a puzzled look on his face. “Huh, that’s strange, they only charged us for one meal.” Leonard looks towards his companion for an answer.

“Maybe it’s some sort of special deal. Or maybe it’s just a mistake. Better not to correct it, the food was barely worth it. We’ll just leave Fran a big tip to make up for it.”

Leonard smiles and nods his head in agreement. He takes a wad of cash from his wallet and throws it on the table, after which he and his companion head out the door of the diner.

Fran walks over the table and picks up her tip. The busboy hasn’t come yet, Fran suspects he’s smoking in the freezer again, so she busses the table herself. She picks up one plate, one cup, and heads towards the kitchen.