Let me tell you the story of the Lord Supreme Idiot.



It was a late night, and the Idiot was restless and malcontent. He had adventure set in his heart, but no beasts in mind to slay and no dungeons through which to crawl. Instead, he set his sights on the grand not-quite obelisk he'd seen many times when traveling to the city, a standing guard, a cyclops, the vigilant gate guard affixing its grim gaze on all who had the misguided intent of entering that sad urban sprawl to which it assigned the noun "home".

The idiot paid no heed to its authority.

Innocent and childish in his play, the idiot danced along the train tracks, gripping hold of steel engines of engineering marvel and riding them casually hung off the side. In the dark, beyond the haphazard sight of inattentive onlookers, he abandoned the friendly steel beast on whose back he rode, at the feet of the obelisk, tall and domineering - and beckoning for closer, more intimate inspection.

Pesky fences, barb-laden iron webs of annoyance and passive authority, stood as the first obstacle, the first trial, first rite of passage demanded by the old tower. The Idiot, brazen and thick skulled, made quick work of its impendence to his ultimate aim. Bypassed, a gaping, man-shaped hole where there formerly was none, he made his way to the second rite demanded by the tower - the chained and locked gateway to a rooftop off limits to all but the most adamant and auspicious of audiences. The locks were a test of mettle, of persistence, of observation - a chain binding the gate to nothing, a lock clasping closed no loop. So the Idiot passed through yet another challenge.

He stood at the foot of the great tower.

It stood so tall, so weathered, so numb to the rampant change of the world around it. The Idiot took pity on the tower's misfortune, to be a sole standing icon of an age past, unloved, unable to adapt. To give the tower a long overdue showing of affection, the Idiot took it upon himself to climb the beastly monument.

But the tower, so long unloved, so numbed by time and battered by nature and her constant badgering winds and rains, did not take well to such affection.

Like an abused dog, a domesticated animal raised to know pain, anger and suffering from birth, the tower growled in the heavy winds, shaking, slamming, all but throwing itself to the ground in protest of the Idiot's fervent climb to the top. Jagged, sharp steel rafters and wall paneling came crashing down upon the determined Idiot as he climbed in endless trial the rungs of the ladders leading to the crest of the beast. Unable to travel further by ladder, the Idiot turned to wobbly iron stairs quietly creaking in the bowels of the tower. He stepped toward them, assured that his continued passion displayed for the tower would somehow assure it of his benevolent intentions and dissuade it from protesting his trespass.

The tower defied his bull headed persistence by bringing down the very stairs he sought to climb.

Defeated, the Idiot descended from his perch halfway up the obelisk. The tower would have nothing to do with him or his selfish craving for adventure and reckless abandon of all instincts of self-preservation. Quietly, solemnly, the Idiot returned to the tracks, riding the friendly trains home, and bidding the weathered beacon of reserved hatred for the world farewell.



At least until the winds died down... then he fucking climbed that bitch.