Family Circus

REPO Posters

H.A.M.

G-Lazy

Whornelling

Exaggeration, the M.A.S.K.

The Self Realized Through Exaggeration

I walked outside. The air was so cold I coughed with the first breath drawn. I was walking somewhere, somewhere unknown. The cold, crunchy ground beneath me, the large figure in front, so large I become swallowed in the great shadow and left for dead if not for my own will and strength. I followed with an unknown destination. We arrive at a large structure, wood boards shingles furniture objects people. The warm air of the inside hits my body and rolls over me, converting every frozen nerve into a lively dance on my skin. I feared my body would succumb to the freezing night and my organs would slowly harden, causing my body to turn to stone. The smells waft past, different smokes, sweat, drinks, fire. In an instant reality is brought from a still peaceful darkness to a bright crowded excited frenzy. I stop following. I am now on my own. An individual in this sea of individuals. I look for somewhere to stop, somewhere to rest my body and sink into my surroundings. I am weak from the trip and I must find somewhere to sit before my poor leg bones pop right out of their sockets and land on the floor, leaving my torso stranded in mid air. As I move from room to room in this enclosure faces turn to see the slight change in light, smell, sounds. Hundreds, no, thousands of aluminum cans, glass bottles, cardboard boxes fill the rooms, one after another. The general soft words spoken grow louder as more and more is consumed. Mouths flapping open and closed, exchanging mixtures of saliva and tobacco with each exclamation. Suddenly I’m surrounded by skin. All the men in the room have taken approximately half of their clothing off, each pushing out his chest more then the boy before. Waves of pink flesh, dark hair, warm moist sweat rising from the figures and settling in a fine mist all around us. The chanting starts up next, almost intentionally. Call and response phrases at first, building to an ear splitting roar from one boy to the other. The shrieks bounce from room to room, resonating in each audience member. In another room emanates the sweet sticky smell drawing in the increasingly famished for a late night treat. The consumption of beverages continues and drags long into the event. Cans, bottles, flasks, sacks, mugs, jars, pouches, shots, jugs. All pouring freely, bubbling and flowing and occupying every inch of free space in the room. The once pink skin now turns pale with a cucumber tint. The weaker willed of the group turn to the sides as the once joyous liquids force their way back into the festivities. Heaves followed by splashes surround the area, the sounds mixing together to create a melody of infirmary. Waves of vomit and bile splash against ankles and furniture legs. Those not afflicted grow wide eyed and begin to cackle. Tongues hanging out, drool dripping down to the ground in long never ending strands. Heads shaking back and fourth, bright red and steaming. I turn to my reflection in a foggy mirror behind a hoard of savages, for I must make sure that I am not also afflicted with whatever has infected my peers.