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Raven's Log | Whatever the fuck today is
I've got nothing for the opening coda.
After exhausting myself typing the last entry and reducing my hand to a near arthritic state, I've chosen to allow envy, unbeknownst to her, to give this month's sermon. On a side note, once again, merchandise is delayed, but it will be going out presently. Take it away, envy:
ms. raven effect 2005... the call back
the pageantry... the splendor...
by envy
with contributions by Coribella, Hendrix, KittyKatt, nashfan,
Ravenz_Gyrl & shegoesgothica.
Mine was a window seat. I would have 12 wretched hours on this train to aimlessly stare at the netherworld of vacant farmland as my mind wandered off into the classic rock fog that would be tunneling into my brain from my trusty cd player... were it not for Ryan Adams, I would have never bothered to learn how to burn cds; man, what a saint, and yes, “I still love
you, New York...”
I was on my way to Tarkio, Missouri, of all places. Why Tarkio? Yes, I had wondered that myself, and then, well, I had bothered to look it up on mapquest. Tarkio was approximately in the center of the United States; at least on the map that I had looked at... or maybe it had something to do with Brewer and Shipley? You know, the folk duo that penned and recorded “One Toke Over the Line” — their only hit, which just happened to have
been released on an album called “Tarkio”. They say that Tarkio is a Native American word meaning “walnut”. Uhmn, yeah...
Anyway, I was riding the Amtrak enroute to the Big T Motel (Junction
Highway 136, Tarkio, MO, 64491, 1-660-736-4174) for the Ms. Raven Effect
2005 Pageant.
To answer the question you just posed: no, I’m not fucking kidding
you.
The postcard had arrived in the mail a week ago. Mine was all bent
up, and well, lying on the table under the fifteenth Spring Planting 2005
catalog that Dutch Gardens has sent me in the past month... crimony, I already
ordered fifty some-odd dollars worth of stuff from them... Yeah, so
anyway, there was the postcard on the bottom of the endless gardening catalog
pile. It was a classic VMO production. You know, that 1980’s punk graphic
black and white iconography juxtaposed with Old English imitation font which
is kind of hard to read. Of course, it was regarding my submission to the
Ms. Raven Effect 2005 Beauty Contest. All applicants were invited to (at
their own expense) come to the Big T Motel in Tarkio, Missouri, for a more
formal and conclusive beauty pageant.
At first I chuckled at the idea as I flipped through my new Dutch
Gardens catalog, wondering if the only thing that was different about this
catalog was indeed the graphic on the cover... Picasso calla lilies this time
in place of Manhattan poppies... but then I thought to myself, there was
that commercial on the USA network about X percentage of American workers
piddling away their lives at work and never taking vacations (for
Universal Studios, isn’t it? hmmn...) And I thought, hey, fuck the man—I went to
art school—why let my dead end job kill my sense of—fucktheman... I know
I’m not going to win, but, man, fuck the man... crap, I’m going to have to get
someone to feed the fish while I’m gone...
So, I left a fluorescent pink post-it note with “FEED CYRUS! once
daily” on the fish bowl with the jar of fish food — that has now outlasted two
fish (R.I.P. Zeke & Azrael) and is currently on it’s third — sitting front
and center, packed my bag, and here I am... on the train... to Tarkio...
I can feel the cold of the 25˚ weather coming off the window of the
train... the expected high is 40˚. Man, Tarkio is one cold-ass place
to be having a beauty pageant. I guess the nipple action should be
pretty damned good.
The train stops, somewhere, I have no fucking idea where I am (I
believe I am in Lincoln, Nebraska), just that I have to get a rental car. It’s a
good thing that I turned 25 last year and finally bothered to get a credit
card or this would be fucking impossible... so, I need to get on I-29 going
South... and then take the US-136 exit NO. 110 toward Rock Port and
Phelps City... going west...
Yeah, wow, do the radio stations suck out here... fuck... it’s a good
thing I have a lot of batteries... Holy Shit! They have a Pamida! Oh my
fucking god... they have a Pamida... I wonder if it is as low-rent as the one
in my home town... okay, so the Big T Motel... oh lord, it’s an extended
ranch-style one story dealio with bright phosphorescent green siding...
holy crapcakes, batman. I’ve got to get a picture of this...
The motel room was standard fare... do I really need to describe what
a rundown motel room in an economically depressed area looks like? C’mon,
you can look up the census info... Tarkio is a farm-hick whitebread town
with a median income under $30,000.00 a year... this is not the Chateau
Marmot... Belushi would not have been caught fishing in this town, let alone
dead...
As per the handwritten instructions on the follow-up postcard, I
awaited the 7:40 am knock at the door. Sure enough, at 8:03 am there was a
knock at the door.
“Whew, thank god this is the last one,” the Disco Inferno muttered as
I opened the door. “envy!” he announced enthusiastically as he read my
forum screen name off of a 3 X 5 note card.
“Uhmn, yeah,” said I. I could feel the blush rising to my cheeks.
Goddamn psychosomatic involuntary reflexes... “I was wondering...” I said in a
slow drawl as I fingered the lens cap of my camera. Disco gave me a weird
look. “...if I could get you to pose for a photo.”
“Uh... sure,” Disco shrugged.
“Great, I just need to get something... by the way, you do have some
car keys on you, right?”
“Yeah, how the hell do you think we’re going to get to the secluded
barn on the outskirts of town?”
“Good,” I said, grabbing the articles necessary for the shoot.
“What exactly is it that—” Disco began to ask.
“I need you to stick the car keys halfway in your pocket... Good.
Now, with you right hand — the other right hand — hold this issue of
Cosmopolitan magazine... and take this frappacino with your left...”
“It’s flat.” The Disco Inferno pointed out.
“That’s because I bought it in Lincoln, Nebraska... oddly enough there
isn’t a Starbucks out here in Tarkio, Missouri...” I explained as I checked
the shutter speed and flash test on the camera.
“Oh... At least it’s mocha...”
“Okay, now I just need you to turn towards the car and fumble for the
keys in your pocket... yeah, keep holding the magazine and the drink...” I
instructed as I made sure everything was in focus.
“Like this?”
“Perfect... just hold that like that for another couple of seconds...”
(click...jjjurvk... click... jjjurvk.) “Just one more...” (click...jjjurvk). “Great, thanks... and as a token of my appreciation—” I handed the Disco Inferno a congratulatory 3-pack of Otis Spunkmeyer blueberry cheesecake muffins and a bottle of Corona...
Once in the car it was awkward post-paparazzi-bliss conversation
time...
“So, Raven tells me that you enjoyed ‘Disgraceland’?”
“Uhmn, yeah... well, the theme music actually... and well, the idea...
not so much the actual wrestling... but the sentiment of the
performance...” I muttered half-coherently as I gazed dreamily at the Disco Inferno’s
profile as he stared ahead at the road, his eyes darting from side to side,
presumably to check for deer...
“What the hell took you so long?” A backlit figure called from the
opening in the barn door as we pulled up in Disco’s 2002 hunter green Ford
Taurus rental. Disco simply laughed as he got out of the car.
“She got you to take the damned picture, didn’t she?” Raven mused in
mock anger as he glanced at his wrist as if to indicate an imposition of
time.
Disco shrugged, handing Raven the 3X5 note card with my name on it,
and then wandered into the barn with his plunder.
“envy,” said Raven having read the note card, giving me the once over
and letting out facetious maniacal laughter, “so, where the hell was my
showering of love and patronizing praise in Belleville? Cori and Tiesha managed to show up in New York to bask in my eternal glory and manliness — to shower me with love and affection and otherwise stroke my enormous ego, where the hell were you, slacker?”
“I’m shy... it’s part of my charm,” I said, knowing full well that I
had considered saying seventeen other things back when I had been thinking
about the fact that this face to face moment was going to occur... but that
had been on my drive to the hotel, and well, I have no nerve or ability to
stick to the script.
Raven rolled his eyes, shook his head, and shut the barn door behind
me.
I was handed one of those “hello, my name is” stickers. “ee cummings
that, would you,” said I to the guy dressed in the druid costume with the
sharpie marker. The Druid cocked his head. “All lower-case letters... e - n -
v - y.” Apparently no one else ever came across ee cummings and his
experiments in typography, syntax, and punctuation in the twelfth grade... or
bothered to remember it...
“Raven is allergic to shellfish, pass it on.” The Druid whispered to
me as he applied the name tag to my left breast, copping a feel as he did so.
That Druid sounded an awful lot like Erik Watts...
The Druid then pointed off into the distance at a bale of hay on which
a cluster of girls were gathered. Hendrix, Smaddy and Ravenz_Gyrl were
the only ones I actually recognized (and only on the basis of recently
posted photos and avatars...). Upon closer inspection I discovered Coribella,
TIESHA, nashfan, KittyKatt, edgecrusher, ravens_shadow, and shegoesgothica,
along with a bunch of other stripper-looking chicks whose names I did not
recognize.
“Wow, I thought this was beneath you,” I mentioned as I sat down next
to the flaxen-haired Ravenz_Gyrl.
“That was just a clever ploy on my part. Had you all known I was
entering — none of you would have bothered to send in your photos.” she laughed as
she played with a strand of her blonde hair which dazzled in an arrant ray
of light.
And on some level, I’m sure I knew she was right. She was one fucking
hot
looking chick. It’s not fair, I tell you; I cry fowl... damned Dutch
ancestors... and their bastard genes for baby-fine curly hair... which
doesn’t sparkle and glisten in the sun...
“These are all strippers, huh?” was my retort which came an eternity
later.
“Ah, some of them are rats.” the Gyrl sneered.
“Are there really still rats? I mean it doesn’t seem like there are
any
actual territories left?” Hey, I was trying to make conversation, work
with
me.
“Yes, those are definitely rats... rats rats rats!” Interjected
Coribella
as she and TIESHA made some less than flattering facials at all these
chicks
I didn’t recognize.
“Uhmn, yeah...” I muttered quite softly to myself as I felt a wave of
pre-headache dizziness hit me... either that or some tick with Lyme
disease
had bitten my sitting-on-a-clump-of-hay ass and it was starting to kick
in.
Cori, nashfan, and TIESHA began chattering, and I kind of drifted off
into
the mental fog of why-the-fuck-did-I-come-here? Seriously, what the
hell was
I thinking? I could be at home right now painting or watching some god
awful
movie on cable that I’ve seen four hundred and three times... What the
hell
is it that propelled me to get on a train and ride some quantity of
space
across the country to come to some low rent motel in
podunk-the-middle-of-nowhere-ville? What the hell was I thinking?
Seriously?
And why does anyone think anyone else wants to sit on hay or straw or
whatever the hell this is? Something keeps poking me...
Obviously my Disco Inferno photo-op high had dissipated.
An eternity later the proceedings began.
“Ladies, ladies — girls. Hey, no cat-fighting, save that for later in
the
talent show... or make sure that you’re in range of Sapolsky’s camera
flunkies.” Said Raven from his position in the center of a banquet
table,
laughing at his own banter. “Now, everyone line up for your turn at the
changing area... and no, even though we should have rigged it up, there
are
no cameras in the stalls. So, you will not be filmed as you strip to
all of
your naked glory to put on swim wear for my entertainment... although
you
should have been... also for my entertainment...”
The swimsuit competition was to be first. Each of us had been
instructed
to bring a swimsuit and a robe of some sort; presumably so that this
could
be kind of like one of those awful WWE swimsuit competitions.
I was starting to feel nauseous. Why had I come here? Seriously, what
the
hell was I thinking? Why did I enter this contest? Are they putting LSD
in
my water?
I owned neither a swimsuit or a robe, so, of course, I had to go out
and
buy this shit... and there’s nothing like shopping for a swimsuit at
the end
of February... people look at you like you’re bat-shit insane. The
swimsuit
had been the most annoying acquisition conceptually. I don’t swim...
ergo I
don’t own a swimsuit... and then I actually took the time to think
about how
absurd I wanted this to be... and then I had to make that relevant to
my
figure... let’s face it, I’m not anorexic. In the vain of I think the
historical notion of Syd Barrett having been so gorged out of his mind
on
psychedelics that during a performance in concert he detuned his guitar
on
stage is a hysterically amusing notion — I had considered wearing
something
silly and just walking out there with a bathing suit on a hanger. I
mean,
hell, I have no designs as far as winning by conventional means is
concerned, let alone at winning...
So, there we sat all covered up in various styles of robes, again on
the
prickliest and most uncomfortable bales of hay as the competition was
to
begin...
The setup was then unveiled: the contestant was to walk across a
stretch of
barn that had been done up like the floor of a stage, climb the steps
of one
of those kiddie playground ladders and then plunge into one of those
clear-plastic see-thru carnie-style dunk tanks, which was about half
full
with water, and set up awful damned close to the judging table. In
spite of
my why-the-fuck-am-I-doing-this feelings of awful, I believe I was the
only
one who sincerely giggled when this contraption was unveiled.
“Okay ladies,” Raven cackled over the intercom, “when I call your
name, you
come up to the X on the floor over there. When the music hits, you
disrobe
and walk, sashay, saunter -- whatever -- over to the slide, climb up
and
jump in the pool. Disco will be waiting with a towel... or do the rest
of
the thing wet...”
And so, the pageantry began. The first girl up was some stripper that
I
was too busy giggling over the introduction of to catch her name. She
looked reminiscent of one of those chicks from the phone sex lines that
are
advertised relentlessly in the middle of the night. Anyway, hers was a
shiny gold brazilian cut bikini, which we all discovered as Eddie
Money’s
“Walk on Water” blared over the loud speaker and she disrobed... so
cheesy,
so late eighties / early nineties pop rock... just like a stripper
anthem...
dear god... anyway, she danced her way over to the slide and well, I
think
you get the gist...
Raven sat approvingly at the table with a pile of note cards and a pen
before him... surely there was some sort of ratings system.
So, there were a lot of stripper looking chicks... you know, somebody
made
themselves a little ditty out of bottle caps and dental floss, there
was a
menagerie of JC Penney looking fare, from fluorescent pink spaghetti
straps
to Hawaiian print, to print on the front and black in the back
numbers...
Coribella wore one of those 1920’s-ish looking numbers, full-on black
and
white stripes and all... Hendrix went for the understated simplicity of
a
black one-piece with a photograph of Martha Stewart affixed to the
front
with a safety pin. Before sliding into the pool she carefully folded
the
Martha Stewart pic into an airplane and sailed it off in Raven’s
general
direction... KittyKatt was more daring with her skin-baring thong
bikini,
which, of course, was well received by our judge... nashfan was
slightly
more conservative with her iridescent purple Brazilian cut bikini, but
likewise well received, and the body glitter was an added bonus...
Ravenz_Gyrl went for a black one-piece, which had “Golden Palace.com”
written on the back (which was later explained to me as being an homage
to
the women of Carmen Electra’s Naked Women’s Wrestling League), and, of
course, was likewise well received... shegoesgothica would have stolen
my
thunder, had I not caved in to the whim of actually acquiring a bathing
suit, as she went out wearing a little black dress with silver
accessories
and displayed a distinct lack of conformity by refusing to slide into
the
pool... she did climb the steps of the ladder, only to climb back down,
bow,
and walk off...
I was last, I’m always last, so, this wasn’t really a huge surprise or
hulkering disappointment... but I was distinctly beginning to wane on
the
idea of hearing Eddie Money one more time... it was one of those things
that
had been funny the first 10 or 12 times, but now 20 times later was
seeming
like overkill... or like Celine Dion... whichever...
“envy.”
My name crackled over the loud speaker, and I could feel the fear and
anxiety tightening in the back of my neck and shoulders as a cold rush
hit
my head. I was wishing, somehow, that I would just faint and wake up
in the
hospital or some skeezy motel room or in the woods or something three
days
later... but no such luck... I’ve never been able to faint on cue, let
alone
faint...
One last sigh and roll of the eyes as I stepped on the X and Eddie
Money
came blaring over the speakers with “Walk on Water”. Okay, one more
sigh...
fortunately, there was a light behind Raven, so, his face was obscured
in a
blinding silhouette.
My post-Valentine’s day clearance rack $4.00 red and black lacy robe
slid
neatly off my shoulders and fell to the floor. It clashed very nicely
with
my periwinkle colored throwback swimsuit. It was one of those retro
kind of
dealios, with the horizontal layering on the delineated bust and flat
fabric
everywhere else, spaghetti straps and all... it looked like it stepped
right
out of some awful 1950’s beach movie... I shrugged, sneered, sighed one
more
time, and proceeded to the slide... Jesus Christ, I haven’t been on a
slide
since I was 12... man, that was 13 years ago... Atop the slide I paused
for
a moment and considered the absurdity of the moment, bad strip-club pop
rock, stripper looking girls, not-so stripper looking girls, fat girls,
skinny girls, pretty girls... and me, and this dirty water... this
dirty
water... let’s just say it wasn’t exactly clear, with body glitter
floating
in it... sequins sunk to the bottom...
I sighed, and surely rolled my eyes one last time... here goes
nothing...
...and cold... oh my teeth-chattering-jesus-mother-fucker cold...
“O-o-oh m-my f-f-fucking god-d-d, I’m-m g-g-going to freez-z-ze to
d-d-death...” my teeth chattered as the Disco Inferno handed me a large
white towel monogramed with the Radison logo...
“I’m almost surprised,” said Ravenz_Gyrl as I shivered in the line for
the
changing stall (which was a bed sheet strung up on wire).
“A-about what?” I stammered through chattering teeth.
“I thought you’d do something weird... I don’t know like a plastic bag
or
something made out of seaweed and fishing net... we actually had
bets... the
over-under was leaning towards a sea theme... I just lost three
dollars.”
“Sorry.”
Ten minutes later it was time for the talent competition. As the
Disco
Inferno explained (this was read from a series of 3X5 note cards which
he
tossed over his shoulder ala David Letterman with the Top Ten cards) we
had
been divided into groups on the basis of our talents... or, in other
words,
all the people using the stripper poll would be going first, and then
the
stage would be cleared for the rest of us.
So, everyone was re-situated as it related to their talents... and I
had a
feeling I was last, again. Those using the stripper poll went first.
There
was some Whitesnake, there was some Warrant, there was some bad techno
music, there were nipple tassels, there were school girl outfits, there
were
riding crops and S & M costumes... and there was KittyKatt, who showed
off
her skills as a trained dancer, stripping to Faith No More’s “Epic”.
Her
imitation of a fish out of water was both priceless and quite erotic.
Next was all other dancing not involving a pole or stripping. To the
credit of multiculturalism, there was actually a Hawaiian chick who
showed
up who did some hula dancing. Some other girl showed off her
break-dancing
skills, and there was an aerobics instructor who got the Disco Inferno
to
come up on the stage and do a step routine with her to the tune of an
Olivia
Newton John song... nashfan did a bang up job with her flaming baton
routine... I was impressed, I’m telling you, I have never actually seen
a
flaming baton routine before...
Next up were people with musical talents. I believe we Ms. Raven
Effect
contestants put the casting specials of American Idol to shame. Oh my
god
was some of that singing bad... that was bottom of the barrel rancid
shit-sacking, baby! I’m glad I didn’t know any of those girls... oh my
god,
I’m going to have that fucking Britney Spears song stuck in my head
now...
Anyway, shegoesgothica, still dressed in her little black dress from
earlier played the guitar, and damn, she was good. Like Charo-good,
but not
playing flamenco music... I wish I could read notes... but I’d also
like to
win the lotto... I’ve got to work on parring down my list of
unrealistic
goals... as Pink Floyd says: “envy is the bond between the hopeful and
the
damned”...
Then it was time for what was kindly termed “performance art”. I shit
you
not, there was actually a mime... damn I wish I’d thought of that!
Hendrix,
damn her creative mind! For Hendrix an easy-bake® oven on a roller cart
was
wheeled out, and she proceeded to dance and sing along with the
“Macarana”
as she baked cookies. Motherfucker! I have no chance! How can I compete
with
baked goods and singing and dancing? Damn it all...
Coribella then screwed me... well, that’s being ridiculously and
ricoculously harsh, but, when we get to my “talent”, you’ll see why I
felt
so jaded and plundered... Hey, I’m egotistical and self-centered damn
it...
Anyway, Coribella was old school all the way... so far back, in fact,
that
this could have possibly been construed as feminism if it wasn’t such a
wink-wink bit of naughty fun... Coribella (damn her thunder-stealing
ass...
I mean that lovingly, of course) did her impersonation of Andy Kaufman
reading The Great Gatsby.
Nothing could have crushed my bleak dark horse hope of winning more
than
having the essence of my “talent” already done... motherfucker will I
come
across as a retread...
Anyway, I had some time to chill the fuck out and forget about my
gaping
inevitable loss as Ravenz_Gyrl was next up. Ravenz_Gyrl walked up to
the
house mic, she had one hand behind her back, and in a stunning display
of
acting (timid, that is) she grabbed the mic and let it screech with
feed
back. She cleared her throat and announced that she was straight edge,
which meant that she was better than everyone else. That she does not
believe in promiscuous sex. She then removed her hand from behind her
back,
and the spotlight shone so glaringly on the cucumber that she held in
her
hand. “This is a brand new, fresh from the produce section of the local
Tarkio Missouri Hy-Vee cucumber...” she then proceeded to give the
cucumber
head. After 5 seconds of this she stopped and announced that: “I would
use
a condom, but I know where my cucumber has been, and it is my best
friend.”
She then deep-throated the cucumber.
OhMyFuckingGod! That was fucking brilliant, god damn it, it’s not
fair... I
have to follow that?
And, yes, I had to follow that...
“envy.”
So, most of the eyes in the room were on me, it’s not exactly like you
can
get girls to stop being catty and force them to focus or something.
It’s a third of the way over... at least that’s what I told myself as
I
walked on the stage, carrying a single sheet of square white paper over
to
the microphone.
“If I explained my talent... well, that would ruin it. You know, like
how
a joke isn’t funny anymore if you have to explain the punch line... so,
you
either get it, or you don’t...”
I then stood on stage and recited Don McLean’s “American Pie” from
memory
as I folded an origami crane from memory...
I was quite proud of my ability to confuse and diffuse the excitement
of
the room.
Next up was the “short dissertation on what you would do with the
title of
Ms. Raven Effect 2005” portion of the contest.
There were, of course, the usual responses: world peace, betterment of
the
community, save animals, save the environment, save the planet, inspire
little girls... The hula dancer promised to spread her native
culture... The
aerobics instructor pledged to make us all more fit... so, anyway, the
honor
roll:
nashfan asserted some mixed feelings. She was torn between “using it
to
inspire other dorks from high school to show up all the cheerleader
bitches.” Or possibly applying it in some meaningful way as far as
animal
welfare was concerned — particularly getting stray animals in shelters
adopted and publicly promoting that people spay and neuter their
pets... and
perhaps the title could help land her in one of those tv spots with Bob
Barker...
shegoesgothica had a more universal approach akin to the superlative
aspects of feminism. She declared that she would share the title with
all
her fellow tre.com forum females (sorry guys), and “relinquish all
bragging
rights.” shegoesgothica was modest enough to suggest that it would be
questionable if she was awarded the title, I believe she said it was an
“unfathomable” act, but that she would be honored nonetheless.
Hendrix was more vague about what she would actually do with the title
as
it’s holder, but pledged to auction off the “glorious” prizes on ebay,
giving all of the proceeds to animal-related charities.
KittyKatt was a charmer with her dissertation. She offered to sleep
with
the title... and you know what she meant... “But really,” she said with
with
light laughter and a wink, “I’d plaster my pic all over the net with a
sign
saying ‘He likes me! He really really likes me!’”...
Coribella was her usual snarky self, and, hallelujah!—she didn’t steal
my
thunder this time... Anyway, petty cattiness aside (it’s all in good
fun),
Coribella promised that, “What I would really like to do to help the
world,
is to make sure that every child, in every third world country, has an
unlimited supply of automatic weaponry. Thank you.” She smiled, nodded,
and
waved to the crowd...
Ravenz_Gyrl: “As Ms. Raven Effect 2005 I'd promise to be Raven's
ultimate
ring rat. I'd do things to him that he's never had in the 17 years of
ring
rats that have been handed down to him through generation to
generation. I'd
promise to only use my tongue ring on Raven's body and no other and
also
live in his backyard in a dog house and do house cleaning while he's
gone. I
also wish for world peace and wish the other ring rats the best while
they
are bouncing to hotels and purchasing gifts for their favorite wrestler
at
Linen's and Things to only have it returned days later...” (Evidently
this
last comment was an inside thing in that “some ring rats would
constantly
bitch about buying stuff for Stevie Richards and he'd return them to
get the
money”, at least that’s what Ravenz_Gyrl said.) When she was finished
she
erotically touched her breasts, licked her lips, winked, and blew Raven
a
kiss...
And then, it was my turn... the end of the line...
“envy.”
This doesn’t get any easier, does it? Not even after my third call to
the
stage did my feelings of fear, anxiety, and apprehension subside...
crimony.
“What would I do with the title of Ms. Raven Effect 2005?” I sighed,
and
attempted to act relaxed. “Well... nothing. I mean, honestly, in the
highly
unlikely chance that I won it, well, I would assume that it would show
up
for some duration of time as my custom title or rank on the forum. I
would
still have no avatar, so, unless you’re going to post the pictures that
I
sent you -- then, only the people in this room will have any clue...
so,
yeah, I’m sure for like 3 days, if I won, the girls on the forum that
didn’t
come here would pepper me with fake congratulations which would
eventually
dissipate into petty jealously... but really, that’s it... well, and
then
the guys that post way too much -- like James Fiend, jesus christ have
you
created a monster, would pretend to act like I was hot or something...
but
really, when it comes down to it, it’s just a title, which is actually
just
an afterthought or rather excuse for you to either get a better idea of
what
all us girls look like, or to jack-off to the photos we sent you, so,
it’s
not really perfunctory, it’s just a nicety... so, I guess, if I
won—what you
thought I was done talking?—if I won, I’d be happy, I think, or tickled
or
touched, or something like that... not really proud, but like
fulfilled...”
That’s it...
---
ms. raven effect 2005... the call back
the pageantry... the splendor...
the soundtrack:
“New York, New York” — Ryan Adams
from Gold, Lost Highway, © 2001.
“One Toke Over the Line” — Brewer & Shipley
from Tarkio, Kama Sutra Records, © 1970.
“Down by the Water” — PJ Harvey
from To Bring You My Love, Island Records, © 1995.
“Photographs and Memories” — Jim Croce
from You Don’t Mess Around With Jim, ABC Records, © 1972.
“Walk on Water” — Eddie Money
from Nothing to Lose, Sony, © 1990.
“Epic” — Faith No More
from The Real Thing, Warner Brothers, © 1989.
“Green is the Colour” — Pink Floyd
from More, Capitol, © 1969.
“American Pie” — Don McLean
from American Pie, Capitol Records, © 1971.
“Miss World” — Hole
from Live Through This, Geffon Records, © 1994.
“Celebration Day” — Led Zeppelin
from Led Zeppelin III, Atlantic, © 1970.
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Still nothing for the closing coda either.
P.S. Still taking last minute entries, the more exotic, interesting and nude the better.
Raven would like to note that the preceeding account of the Ms. Raven Effect Pageant was a work of fiction. It didn't actually go down like that. Seriously.
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