The Brutal Lifestyle

When life gives you lemons, do you fantasize about lemonade or rip them apart and shove them into the eyes of life until it screams for mercy? To get what you want in life, take brutal to the extreme!

The flash of light births the chariots. Low rumbles and snapping whips drive it onward. Stallions of steel, with eyes of bloody radiance, split the air. And women with succulent breasts enthrone the pilot. Muscles rip apart his Judas Priest shirt, and untamed hair flies in the wind. Comfortable, with the whip in one hand and an alternating woman in the other, the figure rides onward.

As the clouds clear away, a mountain grows visible in the distance. Slowly it awakes from the horizon, growing more massive by the second. Finally, it erupts, and a whip cracks in response to the airborne rocks. Left, the chariot swerves, narrowly avoiding the rock, but losing the outermost goddess in the process. "Call me!" she cries, in a dramatic echo. The man only responds with a quick grunt, and returns focus to the waking mountain. As he circles it, the mountain rises, revealing a head and arms, as it balances on four hind legs. The glow of lava can be seen through the nostrils, and steam visible through the now topless mountain.

The chariot circles to the front, and the man pulls a sword of polished steel from the hind of the chariot. With a final crack of the whip, he leaps head on towards the beast, and the chariot turns immediately away, taking the last of the woman back to safety. The man and the beast begin to scream synchronously as the sweet melody of Beast and the Harlot accompanies them. Both maintaining the note, the man slams the sword directly into the forehead of the beast, screeching as it rips in half the face of mighty beast. "Julian!" the screech exclaims for an extended few syllables on the last vowel, "Turn of that racket!"

Julian Campbell slowly opened his eyes to the blinking digits of his alarm exclaiming that it was two PM. He slammed it multiple times, arms jiggling with each swipe, until his music finally ceased. He attempted to hide again beneath the covers, but the shades his mother had opened had already plagued his eyes with cruel sunlight. An attempt at sleep was now futile. Instead, he grumbled and stood up. His pale body reflected the sun, save for the sweat stained underwear that covered the important bits. He quickly searched his desk for his glasses, confusing them once for a pair of old forks. Looking down immediately, he picked up the first t-shirt he could find, this one bearing the label of Tenacious D. He slipped it on, and it managed to cover just enough belly when he slouched over again to not be considered too small by his mother. Next, he picked up a wrinkled pair of jeans with as many homemade holes as it had factory-built ones. He walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and with a short stare at the shower, he decided against it; he showered yesterday morning and didn't feel too smelly. Instead, he washed his face, tied his long hair back, and applied his acne cream.

Julian trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he spied his breakfast. Two eggs, sunny side up, with a bacon smile, and a number of sliced tomato halves forming a nose. "Mom! you know I hate tomatoes!" he exclaims as he begins to devour the eggs.

"Honey, they're good for you. And you know you have to start eating healthier. Doctors orders!" she chimes.

"And this is fakon bacon! You know this crap just tastes awful." Julian continues, yet failing to stop his nibbling on the strip.

"Julian Maxwell Campbell! You know we do not swear in this house! I don't care if you're twenty two years old, not in this house."

"Yes mother." he concedes. As he finishes the agonizing final slices of tomato, Julian slips on the socks his mother laid out for him, and grabs his keys.

"Don't forget to pick up your little brother before you go to work sweetheart."

"Yes mother." Julian sighs, as he fastens his sandals and leaves. As he started the minivan, he heard the musically tasteless rhymes of some fast talking rap group he identified as being 50 Cent. That is, he identifies all rap groups as being 50 Cent. He immediately changed it from the radio to his CD collection. "Ah, Dethklock. At least I can understand what these guys are saying."

He stopped his car in front of a group of kids surrounding his little brother. He could always find him, he just looked for the kids who looked like they would wedgie him if given the opportunity. He rolled down the window, and gave a quick shout "Get in here squirt!" This was followed by avoided eye contact and a few taunts. At least they aren't making fun of me this time, thought Julian. The door slammed, and the car rolled away.

"Yo bro, I told you to park over there from now on. I'll come to you when I'm done. You always make me look like a fool to my homeboys. Also what is this s**t, it sounds like someone recording their starving belly." said the boy changing the song back to 50 Cent. Except this time 50 Cent had a girls voice.

"Hey Mike, you know you're not supposed to swear. Mom hates it, even when she's not around to hear it."

"F**k her, she's always cramping my style. Anyways, I only gotta deal with her for another year and a half. By the way, drop me off at the skate shop. I gotta meet up with my bros. I've got a party tonight, and I'd shoot myself before showing up in this junk-tank."

"Fine, but I'm not giving you a ride home"

"Deal. And if mom asks, I'm studying over Dilan's."

Julian sighed and dropped his brother off at the shop. It was closer to his work anyways. He parked behind the video game store and began his day at work.

Author's Note

Actual plot to be appended later. For now, tell me if you like where this is going.