[Season One Champs] Week 34 - Week 37 Memento

Discussion in 'RSTL Archives' started by Tacky Jones, Jan 11, 2011.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. Tacky Jones

    Tacky Jones www.TaCsmassivecock.gov

    Feb 25, 2008
    Week 34 vs -Atreyu-
    He's more deranged than the man with a hook for a hand

    Explored every nook and cranny, never took for granted
    The brand he established with pictures in the Book of Chan
    But he forsook the land, he took a stand and rooked his clan
    It was a crooked plan, he sealed the deal with a look, but man
    How such an evil grin didn't reveal his sin evokes feelings
    Sensitivity about the wills of demons, their whole schemas
    Emptiness: It seeps in the tilled precints of soul deceivers
    And readily creeps upon the bill of reason to goad the heathen
    On a road to meaning there's no hope, no growth but dreaming
    Life comes to being; into fruition with an instantaneous vision
    Out of the dust, from the very dirt of the ground that we walk on
    Like a snapshot we lock on to whichever 'reality' we stop on
    This is the downfall of the human race, when we assume our grace
    Leaving a putrid taste so strong the universe must fumigate
    We're grooming waste as the new estate of a superfluous space

    Captured images of his men after he injured them with intent
    A sinner could repent, but this man's visage was too intense
    So proud of himself for concocting his own creed of cruelty
    His body bleeds his eulogy, now dead set between soil and seeds
    In scenes of toil he fiends for focus, see his clan fought back
    With a boiling sheen of hocus pocus, but if you want raw facts
    You'll have to retrieve the photos from between weeds and lotuses


    Memento wins 2-1
  2. Tacky Jones

    Tacky Jones www.TaCsmassivecock.gov

    Feb 25, 2008
    Week 35 vs iCon

    A dullen corpse at the feet of a gutless
    Cold machine; bludgeoned...
    And beaten, dust distorts the
    Scene - Who runs this retreat?
    This has to be the old factory, which
    Made ornaments to catch dreams with
    Wish... to hear nothing; a calm air
    Of deciet, no plugging my ears to cover
    The screams... pulling at my senses
    To explain this innate wickedness
    Indicative of intrinsic moral risk
    A coral mist dispenses, boisterous
    In its appeal to the human senses
    Clipping away at my nostrils, incentive
    To light incense and... rid the stench
    Who owns up to the sins committed?
    I see visions of tilted windows
    Crooked minds are guilty within this
    Worldview... building a burden of pain
    To hurt you... loss of life and sanctity
    Lying dormant, dead and still, rancidly
    Dressed scantily... in her own death
    She was never admitted her soul to rest
    But she was cold and stressed
    Her body often sold for sex
    When I was given the go I pressed
    A button that took her mortal breath
    It wasn't easy, still... a fulfilling offer
    I go a long way for a million dollars
    Made a rich man's dreams come true
    It doesn't matter what it means to you
    I've had my heart and soul ripped out
    This girl left me with nothing but doubts
    I pulled a switch, made something of her
    As her blood dripped between gears
    Her bones twisted, and screams pierced
    After beating her body breathless, my client
    Reamed her fiercely
    In the midst of her silence
    Handed me a briefcase and a business card
    Our next appointment's in his yard

    If you hit the button, one random person dies, and you receive a million dollars.​

    Memento wins by no show
  3. Tacky Jones

    Tacky Jones www.TaCsmassivecock.gov

    Feb 25, 2008
    Week 36 vs Got Life?


    He carries a solid block of cement rock,
    On a silent eve; a child of God!
    Stripped from the waist up, semi-odd in his stance
    He embarks… on a spiritual walk
    A modern dance; thrusting dust across his pants
    To show his dedication to the heavenly spirit of creation
    He suffers torment as time goes on, losing coordination

    Vision blurs
    Such a crude evaluation, from which this mission was spurred
    Dripping sweat, he rests upon the rock that rips his flesh
    Looks for God in the sky, while he tries to catch his breath

    Tears roll off his face
    But moisture clings… to his skin
    He imagines the residues of sin
    Blood-soaked angel’s wings…
    Man’s soul’s mangled whims…
    The tangled limbs of a mutilated tree of life

    His destination rests in the distance of his sight,
    Hopeless to motivate him; as it confirms his plight
    All his days and his nights have been long forgotten
    But the struggles of the moment proceed to haunt him
    Experiences come together in a blending design
    Where time is at a standstill, each minute reclined
    The night breeze sends chills to his spine
    Towing Mother Nature’s line…
    As winds grow… stronger, his limbs slow
    Eyes brimmed with angst, lacking strength in his slim form
    But having this hope, and this belief to trigger, he grips more
    Time and energy
    A vibe that readily
    Strikes a steady stream of courage, so he mentally diverges…
    Mentally, his person has been physically converted
    Spiritually he’s nervous, the tips of his fingers sweat
    The grip of his trigger gets… tighter… his goal: picturesque,
    As he visualizes the accomplishment
    He can do it, he knows it; He’s supposed to go through it
    His doubts face his admonishment
    Longing this victory in self-discipline, confidence melts into him
    This child looks to the Heavens and listens in
    Hears time ticking, then… winces in pain, but ditches it
    He staggers, dragging the slag of rock with him
    With a miraculous tug of oxygen, he hoists the slate atop his head
    And marches on…

    Reaches a tiding river, where his reflection’s revealed
    He drops the block from the docks with a reckoning shrill
    The water splashes high into the air, crashing over him
    It refreshes the soul within this kid who knows his sin
    He prays to the Father, asking him to clean his slate
    It drifts to the bottom of the lake
    But he has faith

    Memento wins 3-0
  4. Tacky Jones

    Tacky Jones www.TaCsmassivecock.gov

    Feb 25, 2008
    Week 37 vs Redeemed

    Just another page... in my black book

    (Me and Charlie)

    It was “…always a smash!” said Charlie from class
    He had an eye for danger, never far from a blast
    Homemade bombs and firecrack'ers
    Any destructive devices his mind could fathom
    If it blew up… you would likely cry in laughter
    At Charlie’s expressions of designed disaster
    It was an art which no one could take from him
    He was king of the field, no one was ace but him
    Between me and him, we held a grave mistrust
    A mischievous bellow often sprang from his gut
    Always looking to damage a lot of stuff,
    He manufactured a lot of fluff…
    Clouds of smoke he found his soul shrouded by
    He hoped to spread confusion around the globe
    I watched the finest fabric as it burned, burned, burned…
    I saw ashes swarm with the wind as it breezed
    Frequent melees between conflicting creeds
    My system to be… coy… but his was to destroy
    Leaving a leak of oils steaming underneath coils
    But Charlie taught me how I could live fearlessly
    I surveyed his perilously planned manner warily,
    In fairness… he was never one afraid of perishing
    He carelessly instructed me to flaunt tastelessly
    Hastily, such a disgraceful way they buried him
    Get it done with, don’t bother to say anything
    I remember the day that everything went to Hell,
    The day the devil cast a spell; a stemming smell
    But Charlie taught me well, I bought his words
    When he said that nothing could ever be worse
    Than the sight of a body burnt inside a hearse,
    The casket open showing a fine fabric of clothing
    But a face as black as the dust, just a sadist’s lust
    I waded through the mush of a small marsh,
    Until I made it to the field we called ‘the park’
    Dug for Charlie’s heart, a pulsating clock alarmed
    Twenty minutes later its hands cocked its arms
    I unrolled a sling, where Charlie had clothespins
    Hung the clock on the line, grabbed more bits
    Charlie’s obituary sucked, it wasn’t roguish
    Charlie would have wanted something more sick
    Tick… tick… tick… tick…. BOOM!
    The clock exploded into flames and it eroded
    I sat there morbid, it burned and did not salvage,
    The picture of me and Charlie, it was so nostalgic
    And watching it deteriorate into nothingness,
    I wondered if anyone would give a fucking shit
    As the flames grew in size and ate up the line
    And my mother was forced to pay a fine…
    And she brought me to a new place to talk at
    But Mr. Ramsey was a person I would gawk at
    I went there every couple of weeks for medicines
    To help me catch a grin, and he’d end sessions
    By flipping pages in that little black book of his
    He told me I would never get to have a look at it
    But I knew Charlie saw what it was that’s written
    His ashy face crammed inside Mr. Ramsey’s eyes
    The king his majesty had become so clandestine
    He handed me a note, he wants to see Ramsey bleed

    Redeemed wins 3 to -2
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.

Share This Page

Users Viewing Thread (Users: 0, Guests: 0)