Official Everybody Edits Forums

It’s been almost ten months since my dear brother, Bill Jarvis, departed for Rio de Janeiro, never to be seen again.

My half-aunt was at a pilates lesson when her phone rang. I know this because I was the one who called her. I said, “My dear half-aunt, where is Bill?”

She replied, “I do not know, Kent. I do not know.”

I begged, “But half-aunt, my resting heart rate has been incrementing since the day he left! Why has Bill not phoned yet?”

She resulted, “I do not know, Kent. Perhaps he is dead.”

It was at this point I threw the telephone straight at the wall. I then picked up the little bits of metal and threw them individually. This action was to show how mad I was.

I packed everything I owned (shirt, pants, water, ball) and left a note for my half-aunt. If no one cared enough to find my brother, then I will.

---

Six days later, I arrived in Brazil, weak, thirsty, hungry, and impotent. The turbulence absolutely racked my libido. However, I was relieved to be closer to Bill than ever before. The next step is knowing where to find him.

I sauntered around and pointed at things, but soon realized the pointing gesture in Brazil meant, “Punch me in the throat”. After waving away a few attacks, I began pointing with two fingers. Unfortunately, this meant,  “Punch me in the throat as hard as you physically can”. At this moment, two large, burly men advanced towards me and lunged towards my esophagus. I screamed for my brother and half-aunt, calling for their spirits to aid me in peril. Yet what happened next was a complete statistical oddity. During the scuffle, I managed to poke out their eyes, which in consequence allowed me to madly dash towards the nearest abode.

From there I met a man named “Darkstar”, who was the municipal shaman. I queried him, asking about Bill and his whereabouts. He then started screaming at the top of his lungs. By Jove, it was a scream like no other! But from this scream he produced a poem:

Two men, and a pyre
Locked in, no surrender
One die, and so the other
All die, **** you.

He punched me in the balls and I blacked out.

---

You know when you’re just wandering about and then you get this feeling of complete, utter, despair? That’s how I felt moments before the shaman sacked me in the wizard’s sleeve. If only I had some sort of superhuman ability, one that would allow me to notice things before they happened…

The shaman congratulated me for surviving his first trial. I said, “First trial? You mean there are more?” He screamed, “YES” and said he could grant me a wish. Obviously, I wished for something useful. I wished I could foresee when I was gonna get punched in the balls. The shaman shouted, “OK” and tossed a bit of glitter at my face.

In an instant, I grabbed a skull that was lying on a nearby shelf and held it over my crotch. In another instant, I felt the shaman’s hand shatter square on the cranium. Then, something absolutely magnificent happened: the shaman smiled. He whimpered, “you have passed...the trial…” and died.

I stroked my neckbeard and exited the abode. Beyond the dirty streets, I noticed an enormous, black mountain of undetermined material. At first I thought it was oil, but then realized liquids typically do not manifest as a physical construct. Then I thought it was oil, but soon realized I’ve already thought of the same thing. The next thing I thought about was why I had no control over my bladder. Perhaps the shaman broke something.

I found myself walking towards the mountain, pants dripping in liquid sunshine. I suppose I had nothing else to do. Within fifty minutes I had reached the summit of a hill that was a few miles away from the mountain. Within two hours I had reached the hill that was a few paces away from the mountain. Within six hours and twenty minutes I had forgotten I was going to the mountain in the first place, and had walked a solid eighty minutes away from my destination. And so I had to turn back.

The mountain itself was absolutely horrendous. It was a mass of combustible dust reaching towards the sky. “This is a mass of combustible dust reaching towards the sky,” one fellow told me. I was unsure whether or not I should scale it. The fellow then pointed at the peak. “You see those two men up there?” he shouted in my ear, “They’ve been fighting for ages.”

I could barely make out a pair of idiots slapboxing each other at the summit. “Who are they?” I asked the fellow.

“I have no idea. Actually, I’m not quite sure. Perhaps I know who they are. I probably know their name. Oh, I can definitely recognize those men. One is Bill, and the other is Kent. They are brothers. The legend states Bill went to Brazil to escape his delusional brother Kent under the guise of exploring, but Kent figures it out. Kent finds Bill and Bill escapes to the Pyre Mountain, which is a mass of combustible dust reaching towards the sky. Kent and Bill clamber over to the summit, and they’ve been slapboxing for ages. I just made that up.”

“So…” I replied, “What’s the real story then?”

“So the tale goes: Bill went to Brazil because he found his calling as an explorer from misadventures in Tbilisi. Kent, who expected a call once Bill had arrived there, began to worry after the phone had not rang for several days. Unbeknownst to Kent, he accidentally severed the cord after livestreaming his weekly show, “Let’s Cut Wires in my Aunt’s House”. He then began to make up conversations with his aunt on the phone, because he was also delusional. Stricken with fear, he flew to Rio de Janeiro and began searching for his brother. He finds him on top of a black mountain, locked in battle with a copy of himself. He then becomes self-aware of his delusions, and unable to cope with the fact his entire memory may have been fabricated, gives all his belongings to a man that has been wasting his time with fake stories.”

“In that case…” I gritted, “What TRULY happened? Why is my brother Bill fighting myself on top of a gigantic pyre? Please, tell me!”

The fellow responds, “Alright, but you asked for it. Are you ready for the truth?”

“Please,” I told him, “Tell me the truth!”

“Certainly. The truth is, those two men are neither you or your brother. It is much too far to judge appearance from this distance; I was just busting your balls. One of the men up there is a construction worker who refuses to work, and the other is his overseer. They’ve only been fighting for six minutes before you got here. Also, your brother, Bill, is probably dead. Rio de Janeiro is a dangerous place, and he is stupid for visiting this city. Unfortunately, you packed your belongings and left the comfort of your home in search of nothing. You should probably go back to the airport and hop onto the earliest flight. Go back to your half-aunt and take care of her. Make funeral arrangements if you need to. An empty coffin is better than no coffin.”

“You’re telling me, I made it all the way here for nothing? But how can this be? I was so certain of my destiny I went out of my way to follow it. If God is kind, why am I destined to fail?”

“God is not kind. God does not meddle with good or evil. He merely is. But fate is a strange thing; you can still control it through actions. No one know who they are destined for anyway, so why don’t you manipulate destiny for your own liking?”

“I do not understand what you mean.”

“What I mean is this: it is impossible for us to determine our destinies until we are too close to change it. You are young. You are still far from the end of the tunnel. If you do not know your destiny, how could you follow it? Choose what you want to believe. If Bill is alive, then he is alive. If you are delusional, then you are delusional. If my stories are real, then you take them as truth. That is all I will say.”

The fellow danced away. As I watched him gallop down the grimy avenues of Rio de Janeiro, I began to think.

I Have Two Knees and I'm Naked Under My Clothes

What are ya gonna do about it? Huh? My neighbor did something about it and I handcuffed him to himself.
I roll two dice. One shows up six. This six represents the number of time you have left to live. WHat are you gonna do about it?

I bet you're naked under your clothes too, you ****. I bet you're naked in the tub. I bet you wish you were alive. I know I am. What are you gonna do about it?

Einstein once said, "Hoo!" And guess what happened? He Hoo'd his way into a relative grave. Machiavelli once said, "Perche la vita e brieve e molte son le pene che vivendo e stentando ognun sostiene; dietro alle nostre voglie, andiam passando e consumando gli anni, che chi il placer si toglie per viver con angosce e con affanni, non conosce gli inganni del mondo; o da quai mali e da che strani casi oppressi quasi sian tutti i mortali."

Hell's bells, what are we gonna do about it?

A wise old man climbs 1000 steps to the top of a Bangladeshi summit. His organs, stricken with coronary heart disease, fail immediately. By divine fortune, a young boy of the age of 20 steps from the shadows and approaches him with three gifts. "Choose four," she whispers. The old man glares at the object and smiles. He slouches deeper into the recliner and watches the news.

There is nothing you can do about it. All is chaos. All is woe. When we try to make sense of the things that don't, it recedes into further confusion. So don't try.

Just accept it.