Recently, I had the good fortune (or so I thought) to go to New York City. After a little sight seeing, I decided to do something socially conscious for the first time in my life. This southern hayseed was going to the Occupy Wall Street rally and pitch in. I didn't think much of my attire, but I it played a major part of why things went so wrong for me that tragic day. I was wearing a Penny Arcade t-shirt and I put exactly zero thought into the idea that this would come back to haunt me. I'd worn it dozens of times before and was no worse for the wear.
Everything was going so well at first. I was fighting for social change with other poor people and just generally busting The Man's chops. I'd waited my whole life for this moment, but the exuberance of the day was to be taken from me. I went on a Quicky Mart run to secure some tasty beverages and I cut through an alley to save some time. That's when my lights were turned out and this time it wasn't MLG&W. Someone hit me in the head with what I presume was a club and I don't know how long I was out, but it seemed like days had passed. Everything was dark and I couldn't move.
Eventually, there was a bit of light and it was apparent that I was tied to a chair. Panic set in and my mind wandered to the feel good comedy series Saw. I struggled, but to little avail. Bonds don't break like they do in the movies. Soon after, the lights started strobing and an electronically distorted voice began to speak to me. "Why were you wearing a Penny Arcade t-shirt?', the voice demanded. "What lead you to purchase it?" "Would you purchase again from the site?" It went on like this for a long time, just a litany of bizarre web comic related marketing questions.
Swamp Thing Theme on constant repeat. If that wasn't weird enough, I had to view random punchline panels from the web strip Let's Be Friends Again. I can only assume they are funny if the previous panels are included. After several minutes of this torture I was a broken man left in a delirious fugue state.
I don't know how, but at some point I got loose. I felt my way around until I found a door knob and made my way up some very steep stairs. At the top was a door that turned out to be a fake bookcase on the other side. In the next room I heard voices that I presumed belonged to my captors. I cautiously made my way to get a look at them and to try to hear what they were talking about.
"Look Chris, you know how Michael Johnson had those bad ass gold colored sneakers? I got a closet full of actual fucking gold sneakers, yo. Thank you, Haliburton Stock!"
"That's cool, Curt. I really dig hanging out here in the Bro-Mansion drawing the strip, but could we make a Jack Pirtle's's run?"
"Has it already been ten hours since your last break? I suppose so, bring the Bentley around."
I was held hostage by a billionaire playboy/web strip entrepreneur and his much poorer protege. Tortured for knowledge I might have freely given them, but I suppose this is what the super wealthy do when they want something. They just take it. That's why I say when we are done "Occupying Wall Street" we take down Mr. Fahrenheit and The Enthusiast with extreme prejudice. And before you support this uber-wealthy zealot's web strip, look into your heart.