I should begin, I suppose, by admitting a degree of culpability in this very serious matter. I haven't, of late, been the best of role-models, being something of an absentee fatherly influence to that fully poseable action figure we know and tolerate as Idoleyes. Hey, I've got responsibilities. Shit needs doing and it doesn't get done itself. Get off my back, you murmuring mob of mauve motherfuckers. I'd taken a special interest in the forumular development of Idol quite a whiles back and I'm willing to concede some areas of neglect in that benevolent undertaking.
When first he camest here, this veritable Caliban, subject like all to the initial pinioning and summary humiliation, I grew to glean in him a crooked, dormant potential. This kid could be great, I thought. Given the benefit of my circumnavigations of the block, why, he could be something the likes of which we're yet to experience. I took him under my bingo-wing from afar, and probed and pushed his progress like a phantasmagorical Magwitch to his burgeoning Pip. I generously demonstrated my best chicken-chasing techniques seeking only future glory for him and a vicarious, profound thrill for myself reserved only for the top tennis coaches and Floyd Mayweather Snr.
Alas, a crack has fissured the marble. Something unearthly and untoward has infected my protege, and he's not the champion I blueprinted. I'm attributing this to the Don King types who stalk these waters, stick and carroting my boy with delusions of humanity. Namely, manker the anchor. His maternal magnificence pervades every crevice of this board and his influence is overwhelming, such is his relentless prolificness. He's watering down my fighter with his logic and reason. I honed a Tyson, not a Eubank.
Give me back my killer. Court is now in session.
Bookmarks