Showing posts with label Rocky Balboa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rocky Balboa. Show all posts

Friday, 22 February 2019

Dark Babylonian Aspect







Angelus,
The Other Angel :
Hey Dawn — Yeah, it’s Me.
Is Your Sister Home...?
She is...?

The Angelus hangs up the phone, scowling with irritability

It’s The Other One .....







Hail, Lord Someone Else !!!

All Hail The Dark Overlords of The Universe !!!













WESLEY
A lot's happened. Not just Angelus. 


I've been—I've changed. 

I've seen a Darkness in Myself. 

I'm not sure you'd even begin to understand —

WILLOW
I Flayed a Guy Alive 

and 

Tried to Destroy The World.

[ Who Hasn’t? ]


WESLEY
Oh. So... 

(stands, doesn't make eye-contact

WILLOW
Darkness
Been There.

WESLEY
Yeah. Well, I never flayed... 
(seems sickened)  

I had a woman chained in a closet.

Dude?!? Seriously...?

NOT-Cool...

I Bet You Didn’t Even Think to Put a Bucket in There with Her....

Sunday, 28 October 2018

The Seven Ages of Rocky Balboa










All the world's a boxing ring,
And his whole life was a million to one shot
He has his exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. 



At first the Loser and a Bum,
Mewling and puking in some Plain Jane’s arms

And then the Cinderella kid, with track suit
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to the junkyard. 

And then The Champ,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad of The Tale of Clubber Lange,
Made to his mistress' eyebrow,
As Another One Bites The Dust

Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the ICBM silo’s mouth. 

And then the Mentor
In fair round belly with bad brain damage,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. 

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd Patriarchal robes,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. 

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second fatherhood, Lukemia, Unk and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.