The Plight of Sir Theodore Ruxbin

since September 2004, I have had one job... That is to say, I have had many jobs, but one occupation. I have lived to be the shining armor clad knight that draws his sword and sacrifices his own life for the sake of those he loves. My battle with the great demons and creatures, dragons and harpies, Gods and armies of the underworld is never ceasing. My kingdom is expanding, and all is well, but I am constantly fighting all of the dark forces of evil to keep it so. At home, I must remain the strong tower that all crowd around for protection and provision. When I can strip off of the helmet, cuirass, pauldrons, grieves, Gauntlets, boots, chain mail, crucifix, and belt with my bastard sword, I still have to pour out my blood upon the altar of the kingdom's prosperity, I still martyr myself in the name of honor, chivalry, valor, ethics, and family. I cannot be a man who rests, but instead be the comfort of all in the province of my service. I protect queen and country. after I strip down the armor, I remain a feral animal. A pelt stuffed with cotton and given marbles in his eye sockets, stitches instead of a mouth, no fingers, no toes, and a posterior that always flat, so that the stubby appendages always open ready to comfort the poor defended royalty in the tower. When I speak, I say only the things the tape dictates. "Everything is well. We'll be fine." And then pop! the tape is done, the princess pulls the cassette from where my manhood should be and plays it over again until, finally satisfied with her level of comfort, she sleeps and so must I now place the facade of the warrior on my shoulders, dawn my helmet, cuirass, pauldrons, grieves, Gauntlets, boots, chain mail, crucifix, and belt with my bastard sword and gallop off to fight the powers of darkness. I watch the sun rise, for I watched it set and failed to rest, and so such beauty is truly hideous in the eyes of those who wished that they be unconscious before this event occurs. I get sloppy in my battles with this darkness and it's minions and now I lie here, tired, vomiting blood and magnetic tape that has jammed in the heads and is spilling from my body like the intestines of the second best samurai in a duel. The cascade of cassette tape is almost perfuse and caught on thorns and demon claws. the cassette doesn't get flipped. No beep to tell me to change the page, no proceed to side b, "Everything is F... sf...sf...sf...sf..Ie..Ie..Ie" Grinding and mashing ensues and then... hiss, the tape is no more.

Perhaps it is all for the best... Maybe the princess might have to face the demons alone, instead of waiting for her talking teddy to strap on his glinting armaments and go gallivanting off into the night... Perhaps the sleeping beauty should get up off of her deathbed, strap on her own armor, and strike the heart of the black with her loyal bruin soldier, cut the darkness with him instead of waiting for him to cut both of their paths. There is no more time to let Snow White apple shop. Now is not the time to wonder what karat of gold that straw gets spun into before that short freaky bastard whose skin is old and still takes your child... now is not the time to tell the poor prince that you must look for Altoids before he gets his green exchanged for a body again. Finally now is not the time to wait for prince charming to wake you up... chances are, prince charming is dead, lying in a puddle of bile and jammed cassette. Too late for the poor bastard. He's getting eaten by the demons and the dragons, as well as the ravens and the vultures. The least you could do is die next to your plush hero while you both don't have a chance.

What's worse, sometimes, carrying his magnetic guts in his arms, the all singing and dancing bear crawls in. He lands on his butt, unable to see, speak or be dexterous, for he was mutilated long before the demons came, for the push bear never had fingers, toes, eyes, or a mouth. He just lies there. The Princess pushes play, and only the sound of gears grinding speakers hissing, and the crackle of tape getting jammed and spewed out of the body greets her needy ears. She tells the bear that he speaks the evil tongue of the monsters, that all she needs is a good word, that it will all be alright, it will be fine,
"...and you can't even help me here. Won't anyone help me!?! You can't, no one can... I hate you and your marble eyes, your stitched mouth, your fingerless paws and toeless legs. I hate your overalls. I hate your hat. I hate the way you never fight for me, and all you want is to be petted, when something so simple as telling me "it is okay" is all I want. Every night that is all I want. And for you to do it until it is so. that is all I want."

The princess then leaves the teddy bear's sword on the table as she runs defenseless into her tower, braids her hair, and waits for the witch to request to hang from the braids to gain access to the princess's heart, right in sword range. Now is not the time to braid, but to take the sword that the bear has left, give herself a makeover, and remove the rope that the evil monsters need to get to her... and for god sake mourn the evisceration of your once mighty knight and best friend in trouble. Or did she not see the brown strips hanging out of the armor? Did you not see the fur ragged out of the helmet? Did you not see the marbles roll down the cuirass and on to the floor. His mouth is open, but cotton and blood, not comfort and words leave his newly opened face. He dies on the floor, in the castle, the only place where he was safe. He died, princess. Wake up yourself... No one else can... then fight! Stop crying! There will be time to cry after the demons are slain! There is too much to do to for anyone to feel sorry about herself. There is too much to rampart without you worrying about fitting it all in... THERE IS TOO MUCH TO DO TO ALLOW FOR WORRY ABOUT WHAT TO DO. The bear longs to speak, but all he can say is what the tape does, and the tape is jammed, stretched out and broken, tangled in the demon's claws and carrion bird beaks. He tried to say it would be okay, but the tape is jammed, falling out of his body. All he could do was be shunned for all that he was... sired in September 2004, the defender of queen and kingdom, the comforter of the needy, the killer of evil, and now, a broken toy lying on the ground... Now is not the time

Um...

Well, I've been a while posting and a long time coming. I think I have been to busy for this stuff recently but now I have a couple of seconds to spare before dinner. I currently received a raise at my crappy little retail chain job and it seems that everything is just peachy. 8.50 seems to be a reasonable wage for unloading a truck at 6 am, but sometimes I wonder just how much longer I can take this crap. Some people make their first million by the time they are 23 and I simply don't make ends meet daily. It's just nice to know that I am a 23 year old loser with a wife and kid living at my parents place and that some other chode is out there on a yacht sucking jello shots out of their paid for escort girlfriend's naval. He will never know sacrifice just because his dad knew a guy who knew a guy who killed this other guy to give this guy's guy's kid a job in some place that pays him a salary to babysit pencil sharpeners and spreadsheets for 4 hours a day.

I'm tired. Let me rephrase that. I am a male and therefore immune to the rigors of childbirth, labor, and pregnancy and so I am, but have no right to be, tired. I don't know what it is about a guy who wants a nap that drives women to disregard any anguish that any man endures. Let me be frank! I am not a sexist by any means, but please realize that men have to work for a living. The next time any woman wants to whine at me because I have a higher wage in the workplace, she should first realize that I work in retail, so every grunt is treated equal with wages in the tower of retail. Second, when was the last time that any of you whiners moved over 100 pounds of brick for some dumb chick who thinks she needs 20 bricks to frame a bunch of flowers that her husband works so hard keep alive. Let's not forget that the men are the babies of you women that when a megalomaniac president can find just cause to send to a sandy crap hole covered with oil, they could be forced to pick up a gun and a tee shirt with a bulls eye and go kill some charlie or towel heads, or whoever we deem is the damned threat to the world. Women don't register with SS on their eighteenth birthday. You scream for equality when all you really want is the perks with none of the side effects. Many of you are no better than slave owners 400 years ago, who wanted plantations but no toil in the field. Take it or leave it that is just my opinion of convenience feminists. But I digress.

I am tired, but I am disallowed to rest. The guilt pushed on myself is too much to let myself stop, and at the same time too tired to be an effective worker, father or husband. So, what to do... rest? Seems easy enough. But I have to be the one to stand strong, to be emotionless and a steady rock in which the world anchors itself. In the words of Jack "I'm the warm center that the world gravitates to. I am Zen" Zen is work. Zen is turbulent. Zen is not Zen. Now what? I shall remain stoic.