Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Puppet Master

I live in a world ruled by one. The dictator rules with a monkey’s fist dangling from the side of his throne.  Nudged along by the breath of his ancestors, he skillfully guides his realm. In his ears he hears soft whispers coming from his mistress as she constantly lingers beneath.

Born with two Y chromosomes and enough testosterone to power a continent, he is the Alpha dog, the Top Dog.  Barking and snarling, scratching and biting at the inner being of his minions with verbal abuse and worthlessness, he gets them to obey his every command. 

Called by many names, the one he holds most dear is Skipper or just Skip. He sees himself as the puppet master controlling everyone in his realm, pulling their strings by his constant shouting, cursing and howling.  For no one he fears, except the puppets at the bow, for they have too many strings and a good helping of copper balls.  So he gets louder, foaming at the mouth, barking, snarling and hoping his drool will whack them in the head, getting them to jump and gibe.

His motto is no questions, no back chat, have your beer, do your job and shut up.  All you ever get in return are 


I am the Skipper.  I am the puppet master.

in response to Sailing Anarchy writing project

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