Disclaimer: Trigger warning for slightly offensive jokes. This fiction is written based on Sargon's perspective of the world. Also contains alot of sarcasm.
It was that short summer period of the year, senior year students would go swimming with their friends, they'd skip classes to feel the warm sun beat down on their skin, and the steamy infatuation from teenage love, making them lust for the replenishing sea.
Carl wasn't one of those students. His trust issues led him to not having any close friends. He would often play sports and hang out with his team mates, they didn't think ill of him, but his introversion and issues would create rustyness inside him and he'd leave.
Carl sits in his room, studying late. The light of his laptop illuminated his face, the room was dark blue due to the milky moonlight that scattered across from his window. He had a deep fascination for conspiracy theories and learning about his conservatism. "Conservatism" he thought. It was the same reason he was picked on in middle school. Youngsters could not comprehend his facts and truths. To his luck his parents moved out of the city to a quieter town and sent him to a decent school. He thought himself to be the most skeptical and analytical children of this new generation.
That belief was fueled to him by his conservative parents in the jesus fandom, who trusted the traditional family values as much as they loathed homosexuals and hippies. Unfortunately, He was an athiest.
"In a word where no one likes scientific facts and proof, and they simply believe and support the popular, I have biological reasons why women don't make good leaders, not religious becuase I am smart..." he typed on his blog smirking, as if he placed a powerful yu-gi-oh card faced down. He had quiet a large following.
He paused to take a bite into the last piece of pepperoni pizza. He heard a group of teenagers laughing as they passed by his house, Their laughs echoed in the tired neighbourhood. As he chewed, he thought of his trust issues, and how he acts impenetrable infront of his classmates to give them the impression that he had no vulnerable side. He remembered Paul, an equal of his, someone who he could consider a friend. They thought the same and laughed at the same things. Paul was a very bubbly person around his friends, the little spoon, and Carl stood up for him when ever he was attacked. Regardless he was a happy child who was afraid of confrontation, and was the only one other than his family to have the permission to call him by his nick name, "Sargon".
The last time he saw him was in the autumn of middle school, Paul being an emotional feminine boy, waved him bye from the side walk with his eyes shimmering in tears. The car Carl was in drove away slowly, the orange pastel colored leaves matching the colors of a dream. The image was burned into Carl's mind. The only tender memories left of their friendship were Kodak photos stuck to an album, and shitty OCs they drew using MS Paint that was stored on a floppy disk. Carl snapped out of his deep thinking state. He blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. He knew he really wanted to emotionally connect with someone, but he shrugged it off as if it was no big deal. He switched off the computer and went to bed.
One of the rich guys from his school decided to hold this event in his Mansion, and he's invited everyone in their senior year of highschool. He quoted he wanted them to have the best party before they graduated. Carl didn't want to go, but his team mates insisited. He didn't waste time in such petty short lived enjoyment. He avoided watching television for fears the illuminatis and Marxists would brainwash him like they'd brainwash little girls. He didn't want to raise suspicions about his conservative beliefs. He only cared about politics and changing the world, he acknowledged his maturity and intelligence being a 17 year old.
The summer night was slightly humid, with loud music travelling down the quaint street, coming from the large mansion. As he got closer, he recognized the music.
It was the dreadful freemason madonna.
Students were sipping coke or beer outside in the open front garden, laughing and flirting with the opposite sex. Carl finds his clique and proceeds to waste time with them. I could have been at hme instead of shitty Madonna being shot into my ears.
A short while later, his interest in them declined. He stood there with them while looking around and observing everyone-- "Paul?" he muttered. His clique looked at him. Carl was surprised. "Paul?" one of them asked and turned to the direction he was looking at. A suave young man in denim jeans and a black biker jacket. He was leaning onto a wall, smoking, flirting with girls who had lots of clips in thier hair. They were visibly drunken, not by alcohol, but by Paul's good looks and masculinity. "Oh, I heard he was here to meet a friend, I guess he knows the rich guy".
Paul seemed so different. He used to be an emotional soyboy but not he's a high grade pick up artist. Carl left this group and went over to him. "Paul?" he asked, he got Watson's attention, "Is that really you?". Watson was really happy, but he's now a cool, masculine alpha male. He can't express too much emotion. "Alright ladies, I have business to attend. Mind leaving us alone?", his voice was deep and enchanting, and the girls obeyed his orders. Paul walked up to him and they gave each other a hug with a heavy pat on the back, "Hey buddy! Long time".
"Two more days, but were are going swimming on the last day. There's a good place to swim just a bit far away from here. You coming, Sargon? It's more fun when your parents don't know" Paul smirked. Carl had never been asked to do such a thing. He didn't turn down the offer. He noticed that Paul hasn't changed at all. He has become more confident and independent, but he's still bubbly inside. He was talkative. His eyes looked puffy and blue, and much much more attracti-- err, traditional male.
THE TRUTH ABOUT PAUL'S MASCULINITY
Paul stood in front of the school gate expecting Carl, wearing shades, his friends were inside a pickup behind him. He saw a cackle of pretty girls surround him. Carl was envious of his friend. He wanted to sway women like that. If he could intoxicate girls like Paul, he would seduce all those commulist women into burning their manifestos.
As he stepped out of the shade of the building, Paul could see him clearly now. He waved, pointing at the pickup, signalling him to get in the vehicle.
The stifling heat, the sand tickling in between his toes, his pale skin turning no colour other than blistering red under then sun's intense rays. Watson didn't seem to mind to mind the firey sun, but Sargon could not, he stared at the sea, not in the mood to swim. He was embarrassed as he was wearing beach shorts. He didn't like wearing revealing clothes as he had only one testicle just like hitler did.
"Hewoo..." a girl said from behind. Her name was Janet, he knew her from kindergarten. She was one of the four passengers in the vehicle, and the driver of the pickup, something Carl disliked because women can't drive. He felt very unsafe when she made sharp turns that made him scream internally like an autistic suffragette. "What's your name again?... Sar...dines?"
He realised she was going to call him Sargon, but only Paul had permission to do that.
She doesn't remember him, Good, he thought, else she'd remember his factually accurate beliefs about rape statistics and take away his freedom of speech.
"Carl..." she smiled, her brown hair getting caught in her mouth due to the breeze, "do you want me to show you how to swim?"
"Come ooonnn!!!" she whined
"YEA SARGON GGEEEETTTTTTT DUNKEDDDD" Paul screamed as he hurdled his way towards his pal and they both fell crashing into the salty water of the shore. The waves pushed Sargon to a sitting position. He could hear Paul laughing and gagging when the waves pushed water down his throat. He coughed it out and lay on his side, his laugh was playful, he looked like a flawless beautifully crafted greek sculpture, one could simply place his caucasian looks in an art museum and it would save western civilisation and modern popular culture forever.
Jeffman, the fourth passenger, ran a few steps into the cool water and dove into it, it splashed on everyone, water rained down on Watson's estrogen free skin, the droplets on his masculine body looked like exotic pearls, and at that moment Sargon knew, Paul does not eat soy beans.
The ocean is cool and refreshing, much like the same ocean of Santa Monica when the Arctic current of California's shore actually feels heavenly in the peak of summer. Paul glides underwater as if he belongs here as much as the waves pushing the opposite direction to him, And there's Jeffman relaxing in a swim ring, limbs sprawled over the float to dangle in the water as the current bobs him gently up and down, head leaned back in relaxed bliss.
Sargon tries to compete with Paul like men should, to prove their masculinity to Janet as she cheered for them. Little did they know they were actually just proving their insecurities to each other.
The sun was almost disappearing below the horizon. Everyone got out of the water. In the faint red light, the laughter and excited chatter that floated back to Carl comforted him. He'd fallen behind to have a bit of privacy. He couldn't be more happy with how this day had turned out; he had been put into a wonderful mood, he felt more connected than ever to people, and Paul had blissfully stopped his squabbling about his truths.
Janet and Jeffman agreed to start a fire, they went looking for wood. Leaving the bffs alone. They sat on the dry sand watching the sunset, the sky slowly turning dark. They spoke about life and what they've missed in each other's lives. Paul rambled about how a picture of a poster girl's bare ass is considered art, but a giant ass that was nominated for a prize cannot be considered art. Although he was unaware of his logical fallacy, Sargon just leaned in an listened, memorizing every word like he was studying a romantic language.
"You used to be shy around girls" Carl laughed feeling the nostalgia.
"Well... yes. It took me a while to figure out that women truly want to be protected and dominated by men, not play chess"
"How do you balance your life out? You get good grades, spend alot of time goofing around with your friends, and make girls drool over you"
Paul looked away, feeling uneasy, Sargon begun to notice.
Paul was hiding something.
"What's the matter?" Sargon asked.
A brief sigh followed, Paul spoke in a breathy, husky tone, "The truth about my masculinity is..." he paused, then looked at hs friend in all seriousness, "Sargon. I want to keep no secrets from you..." he stared at his feet.
"Follow me" he got up, Carl followed.
"What's this?" Carl asked, his eyebrows lifted. THey were standing at the door of the pickup, where Paul's bag was zipped open.
"It's a supplement...."
"What does it do?"
Paul felt uncomfortable, heat rising to the back of his neck. "It's a rare drug that makes your IQ level higher"
Carl stared at him questioningly. He realised Paul was not an Alpha male. He took brainforce for many years that he appeared smart and confident, able to think rationally. But if he didn't take the pills every morning, he would go back to being an emotional train wreck and easily dominated by women. Paul thought Sargon would be disappointed, but instead he patted his shoulder.
"This is our last day together. I don't care what pills you take, you are always going to be the same Paul to me. Forever. Why not make today it a pleasant one?" Carl smiled warmly.
Paul's eyes begun brimming with tears, thankful to the universe to have such a great friend. He fell into Sargon's arms, getting a manly hug.
"Let's go back, I think they've started a fire" Carl says.
Paul looks into Sargon's eyes submissively. "Yea, after all that salt is swallowed I need burned marshmellows" he said softly. The sun had set, and Carl felt that all that glitters were is best friend's breath-taking blue eyes.
x x x
A blonde, well groomed, woman walks in the hallway of her villa. Her high heels making heavy sounds that echoed her presence. She reaches her spacious living room. The walls had paintings with pictures of Allister Crowley, famous jews and other freemasonic legends. The floor was like a chessboard, leading to a throne made of black and gold, it's handles looked like the head of a goat. Above the throne was a painting of the all seeing eye along with the masonic compass. She bathed in it's beauty.
Three of her servants were in the room, waiting for her to sit. Each were holding a staff and wearing a cloak. She sat on her throne and felt like a god, she faced an image of Karl Marx.
"How's my new single going?" She asked.
"It's doing well..." one of the servants said, "kids are dancing to this type of rhythm. But our message is clear. Only the most intelligent of men and freemasons can decode your message, Miss. Madonna" the servant bowed.
"And have you seen any effects it had on young kids?"
"Yes of course. Teens have begun to experience homosexual tendencies after listening to them, and the more they dance to it, the more corrupt they become. Men shall soon become feminine and irrational, while women do the opposite"
"mmhhmmm. And what about the soy products? have they discovered anything"
"They are selling well, no one suspects a thing"
"Excellent" Madonna said, resting in content, "Soon western civilisation will c o l l a p s e with my very own hands".
"But... we have one problem miss"
Madonna looked without turning her head, as if they disturbed a sleeping demon.
"What?" her voice sounded threatening.
The servant stammered, "uh... there's this new drug on the market called brainforce... It's gaining momentum..."
Madonna knew what was brainforce, that supplement... reduces the effects of cultural marxism...
"Should I release fake news that these supplements are deadly?" asked another servant.
"No" madonna ordered, "Track down where it's being produced and convince them to add soy into the pills".
"Yes, Miss, Madonna. But I'm afraid it'll take a few days to convince them. They keep soy products away from their employees for unknown reasons."
"It's alright. Take the soyboy with you... I've already called him"
"Pardon?" the servant asked, she heard footsteps approaching and immediatly realised who she was talking about.
The servants felt both fear and respect to this person's authority and mind.
He had blonde hair and blue eyes, and smile on his face at all times. He stopped a few feet away from Madonna's throne.
The beta, the cuck,
the ever lasting fuck,
the ultimate soyboy,
the masterful deploy.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I rush anywhere my help is needed. I am from Cultural Marxist Union, H.bomberguy at your service" he bowed. His manners were sterling.
Madonna smirked. He was their greatest creation and a powerful weapon. She felt like a god. Untouchable and all powerful.