Deathless Pose - Local Color
Oct. 15th, 2006 07:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doc_destructoYet another story/character sketch for the deathless_pose community. Yee-haw.
Yes. This was me "phoning it in" this week.
deathless_pose community. Yee-haw.Local Color
Some people, no one I know, mind, but some people believe that the character of a town is well and truly defined by the craziest son of a bitch living there. Now, one might be of an inclination to judge such an individual on their appearance, their manners, or the way they wrestle with the pit bulls for scraps.
And such judgmental pricks would actually be right about Baron Von Baron.
The Baron, as he liked to call himself, was often prone to delusions -- not of grandeur, per se, since the poor bastard thought he was Kaiser Wilhelm IV reborn. Nothing too grand about that, let me tell ya. Regardless, the Baron didn't look too different from the average citizen of Helzodderhoal. Except for the pointy helmet, really, Baron Von Baron resembled nothing so much as your typical soccer dad. Sorry, football dad. I know some people get touchy about that.
The Baron was an attraction of sort, you could say. He could be found amongst the normal and mundane, motoring from the Sav-A-Lot and the K-Mart in his small Volkswagon. The man had an affinity for the small, minimalist automobile. When Sandy McCall actually thought to ask the insane man about it, the Baron merely replied that he could understand the plight of miniature vehicle. And how it was instrumental in crushing the French. There was more, had Sandy been possessed of the patience to endure it, but the girl had never held much of an attention span and even a notable nutso like the Baron couldn't compete with a scrap of tin foil in the breeze.
That's not to say that the Baron wasn't treated like a second (or perhaps third) class celebrity in his own right. The man, with his comb-over and ridiculous handle-bar mustache could always be seen presiding over the Veteran's Day Parade (symbolic, the vets called it, though damned if anyone knew what they meant by it). The elementary school teachers even found a use for him a couple times a year when slogging through the yearly drudgery of World War I (the less flamboyant and sensational of the World Wars).
So perhaps it's not so surprising, then, that the younger generation took a shine to the deranged gentleman and venerated him to the status of myth and legend. Or old guy to watch and laugh at, if you prefer. This could be why Helzodderhoal produced, per capita, the highest ratio of megalomaniacs in the nation.
Some people, no one I know, mind, but some people believe that the character of a town is well and truly defined by the craziest son of a bitch living there. Now, one might be of an inclination to judge such an individual on their appearance, their manners, or the way they wrestle with the pit bulls for scraps.
And such judgmental pricks would actually be right about Baron Von Baron.
The Baron, as he liked to call himself, was often prone to delusions -- not of grandeur, per se, since the poor bastard thought he was Kaiser Wilhelm IV reborn. Nothing too grand about that, let me tell ya. Regardless, the Baron didn't look too different from the average citizen of Helzodderhoal. Except for the pointy helmet, really, Baron Von Baron resembled nothing so much as your typical soccer dad. Sorry, football dad. I know some people get touchy about that.
The Baron was an attraction of sort, you could say. He could be found amongst the normal and mundane, motoring from the Sav-A-Lot and the K-Mart in his small Volkswagon. The man had an affinity for the small, minimalist automobile. When Sandy McCall actually thought to ask the insane man about it, the Baron merely replied that he could understand the plight of miniature vehicle. And how it was instrumental in crushing the French. There was more, had Sandy been possessed of the patience to endure it, but the girl had never held much of an attention span and even a notable nutso like the Baron couldn't compete with a scrap of tin foil in the breeze.
That's not to say that the Baron wasn't treated like a second (or perhaps third) class celebrity in his own right. The man, with his comb-over and ridiculous handle-bar mustache could always be seen presiding over the Veteran's Day Parade (symbolic, the vets called it, though damned if anyone knew what they meant by it). The elementary school teachers even found a use for him a couple times a year when slogging through the yearly drudgery of World War I (the less flamboyant and sensational of the World Wars).
So perhaps it's not so surprising, then, that the younger generation took a shine to the deranged gentleman and venerated him to the status of myth and legend. Or old guy to watch and laugh at, if you prefer. This could be why Helzodderhoal produced, per capita, the highest ratio of megalomaniacs in the nation.
Yes. This was me "phoning it in" this week.
