Ladies, gentlemen, transvestites, CIS sisters, pedophiles, cw_ and Attention Whore. Welcome to my extraordinary, imposing, MONUMENTAL wall, which will be replete with a driving brilliance compelling you all to keep gawking at it Me? I build greater walls than China. Walls are great because they keep the neighbors blind to my odd daily routines that would make them all feel so inferior that they couldn't even look me in the eyes as we passed each other because they'd all know how super awesome I am and reflect on the major choices they made to be and live like they do if they could all really see me. I've caught peepers through my bedroom window(s) on my best wall. Second best wall, it'll be. My wall is being festooned with ornate treasures that cannot be forgotten, and all always be jealous of, I say. Neighbors, said the reverend, he couldn't stay out of these here hell, hell, hellholes right here in Nacogdoches. I said to him, said: You goin to take the son of God in there with ye? And he said: Oh no. No I ain't. And I said: Dont you know that he said I will foller ye always even unto the end of the road? Well, he said, I ain't askin nobody to go nowheres. And I said: Neighbor, you dont need to ask. He's a goin to be there with ye ever step of the way whether ye ask it or ye dont. I said: Neighbor, you caint get shed of him. Now. Are you going to drag him, him, into that hellhole yonder? You ever see such a place for rain? The kid had been watching the reverend. He turned to the man who spoke. He wore long moustaches after the fashion of teamsters and he wore a widebrim hat with a low round crown. He was slightly walleyed and he was watching the kid earnestly as if he'd know his opinion about the rain. I just got here, said the kid. Well it beats all I ever seen. The kid nodded. An enormous man dressed in an oilcloth slicker had entered the tent and removed his hat. He was bald as a stone and he had no trace of beard and he had no brows to his eyes nor lashes to them. He was close on to seven feet in height and he stood smoking a cigar even in this nomadic house of God and he seemed to have removed his hat only to chase the rain from it for now he put it on again. The reverend had stopped his sermon altogether. There was no sound in the tent. All watched the man. He adjusted the hat and then pushed his way forward as far as the crateboard pulpit where the reverend stood and there he turned to address the reverend's congregation. His face was serene and strangely childlike. His hands were small. He held them out. Ladies and gentlemen I feel it my duty to inform you that the man holding this revival is an imposter. He holds no papers of divinity from any institution recognized or improvised. He is altogether devoid of the least qualification to the office he has usurped and has only committed to memory a few passages from the good book for the purpose of lending to his fraudulent sermons some faint flavor of the piety he despises. In truth, the gentleman standing here before you posing as a minister of the Lord is not only totally illiterate but is also wanted by the law in the states of Tennessee, Kentucky, Mississippi, and Arkansas. Oh God, cried the reverend. Lies, lies! He began reading feverishly from his opened bible. On a variety of charges the most recent of which involved a girl of eleven years, I said eleven who had come to him in trust and whom he was surprised in the act of violating while actually clothed in the livery of his God. A moan swept through the crowd. A lady sank to her knees. This is him, cried the reverend, sobbing. This is him. The devil. Here he stands. Let's hang the turd, called an ugly thug from the gallery to the rear. Not three weeks before this he was run out of Fort Smith Arkansas for having congress with a goat. Yes lady, that is what I said. Goat. Why damn my eyes if I won't shoot the son of a bitch, said a man rising at the far side of the tent, and drawing a pistol from his boot he leveled it and fired. The young teamster instantly produced a knife from his clothing and unseamed the tent and stepped outside into the rain. The kid followed. They ducked low and ran across the mud toward the hotel. Already gunfire was general within the tent and a dozen exits had been hacked through the canvas walls and people were pouring out, women screaming, folk stumbling, folk trampled underfoot in the mud. The kid and his friend reached the hotel gallery and wiped the water from their eyes and turned to watch. As they did so the tent began to sway and buckle and like a huge and wounded medusa it slowly settled to the ground trailing tattered canvas walls and ratty guyropes over the ground. The baldheaded man was already at the bar when they entered. On the polished wood before him were two hats and a double handful of coins. He raised his glass but not to them. They stood up to the bar and ordered whiskeys and the kid laid his money down but the barman pushed it back with his thumb and nodded. These here is on the judge, he said. They drank. The teamster set his glass down and looked at the kid or he seemed to, you couldn't be sure of his gaze. The kid looked down the bar to where the judge stood. The bar was that tall not every man could even get his elbows up on it but it came just to the judge's waist and he stood with his hands placed flatwise on the wood, leaning slightly, as if about to give another address. By now men were piling through the doorway, bleeding, covered in mud, cursing. They gathered about the judge. A posse was being drawn to pursue the preacher. Judge, how did you come to have the goods on that no-account? Goods? said the judge. When was you in Fort Smith? Fort Smith? Where did you know him to know all that stuff on him? You mean the Reverend Green? Yessir. I reckon you was in Fort Smith fore ye come out here. I was never in Fort Smith in my life. Doubt that he was. They looked from one to the other. Well where was it you run up on him? I never laid eyes on the man before today. Never even heard of him. He raised his glass and drank. There was a strange silence in the room. The men looked like mud effigies. Finally someone began to laugh. Then another. Soon they were all laughing together. Someone bought the judge a drink. And I sure as shit would too. Walls of a tent can easily be cut through and ruined, unlike the drapes that adorn my majestic wall. The beautiful frames walling in the priceless pictures inside are of a glossy black lucre to offset all of the gold everywhere, like the walls at WestPoint. I'm not easily swayed and certainly do not extend my courtesies to everyone. But what could be more gorgeous that a wall made of 24k gold and smooth black lucre. Nature was the first artist, now that power passes to me, I say. It makes no difference what men think of war. War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone. War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner. That is the way it was and will be. That way and not some other way. And that is why my wall is gold and black - the Army football team's well-chosen, exquisite colors. Only the Nazi's had sharper uniforms when worn, but too grim when you paint a wall the same grey and black. Where's all the gaudy gold, I ask? While his father, Lord Roose Bolton, is in southern Westeros during the War of the Five Kings, Ramsay begins to amass troops at the Dreadfort. When he receives news that the neighboring lands of House Hornwood have lost both Lord Halys and his heir Daryn, Ramsay attacks, taking the Hornwood keep and forcing the widowed Lady Donella Hornwood to marry him.[10] He rapes her, forces her to sign a document proclaiming him Lord of the Hornwood, then locks her in a tower without food, where she starves to death after eating some of her fingers. The infamous Ramsay practices rape, murder, and other crimes around the lands adjacent to the Dreadfort. Ser Rodrik Cassel attempts to put an end to his atrocities after Ramsay forced himself upon Lady Hornwood. Rodrik's party comes across Ramsay shortly after he raped and killed a peasant girl and his companion Reek raped the corpse. And now my wall is as angelic as the other three which form a perfect box, envied by all, I say...
SSS
- that's a wall, you parking lot speed bump engineer; C/P your story together to see what you built
