UWA Olympus, Kalinda RP 1/1: Darko's Self-Loathing On a Forklift Match

The Raeth Report
By Ron Raeth

Leading into Olympus the UWA's two day fan festival was quite a success, though there were some interesting highlights, or lowlights if you will.

The last signing of the first day featuring Kalinda Kriegsdottir, Angelica Jones, and P. Clarence Whitman was marred by the notably sensitive British gentleman making his way to the tables first, and shortly thereafter being introduced to Kalinda.

Apparently having repressed the memories of the horrible horrible Kalinda/Hush/Whitman vs. Leviticus/Fitzgerald/Stumpy Rodriguez feud in IWC, a feat that I'm sure many IWC fans would like to be able to replicate (I know I would), Mr. Whitman took one look at the towering form of the Azure Nightmare and promptly passed out.

Every time he would reawaken he would look around with his usual look of befuddlement at the world around him, catch sight of the Big Blue Beastie, and then return to the great state of unconsciousness.

About halfway through the signing Kalinda got up to her usual mischievous tricks and in between signing autographs spent several minutes of the signing using her marker to inscribe devil horns on Whitman's temples, Frankenstein-esque stitching on his neck and wrists, and for the magnum opus added what appeared to be KISS inspired facial designs.

Mr. Whitman can only hope that the marker manages to wash off before his debut match with Lilith Evans later tonight.

ULW's Fucked Up Friday VII, 2/13/15, Kalinda RP 1 of 1

Picture, if you will, the concessions deck of a goodly sized arena. Maybe a bit more specific, let's make it Albany, New York's Times Union Center, the soon to be scene of ULW's seventh outing of Fuck'd Up Friday. If you're having trouble visualizing, they've got a virtual tour thingamabob on their website that can help you with your lacking imagination. If your brain is broke, go give it a whirl.

Go ahead.

I'll pause the narrative, it's not like you're holding up big, important things by having a brain made of discarded anuses. The whole world sits, waiting for you to visualize this scene in perfect detail. Yeah, 7 billion people are waiting on you to get the job done and you're failing them all, you fucker.

Got that image now? Good. Took you long enough.

Now take that long, curving concessions concourse area and pack it wall to wall with Bobs. You know Bobs. Portly fellows with strange dress sense and an odd way of speaking. So you're going to hear the occasional outburst of "Mnoose!" or a sweeping wall to wall utterance of "Mmm, ham!"

This is difficult, I know. Maybe get some ice for the overheated noggin of yours, but you're going to have to imagine that someone, namely me, has awarded a goodly portion of the gathered Bobs official-looking police caps of various sorts and some gold colored plastic badges that are probably going to go brittle and frail and shatter on your like your favorite old Transformers from when you were a kid eventually.

And in the middle of all this flabby carnage is none other than myself, Kalinda Kriegsdottir, set up at a table that I pilfered from somewhere else in the arena. On one side of me my muse, Spark, is set up with a tiny computer that would probably qualify as a rather large phone to someone not the size of a small cat.

Spark is in charge of the list of interviewees past and present. For the most part we've been winnowing down the herd of Bobs down to those who will be effective for general employment, with a handful for specific key positions within our newly created organization.

What organization? I'll get to that in a minute. Hold your horses, you're having enough trouble visualizing the Bob swarm for pity's sake. I don't want your head to explode. Well, maybe I do if you're some kind of stupendously cavernous asshole. Like a Tea Party senator, or one of those doxxing, rape threat sending Men's Rights cock-knockers. Or if you've ever unironically worn a piece of Alexander Fayt merchandise. Because fuck you, you don't need to be in the gene pool any longer.