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worldsover · 4 years ago

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Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

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Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts.

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

#kpop smut #aespa smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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mcmansionhell · 6 years ago

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50 States of McMansion Hell: Top 10 Waukesha County, Wisconsin McMansions

Howdy Folks! We’re continuing our out-of-order-for-dramatic-effect tour of the 50 States of McMansion Hell today with perhaps one of the most underrated McMansion counties in the country: Waukesha County, Wisconsin. These houses were so bizarre it was hard to choose just one to do a takedown of. So, without further ado...

#10: Doom McGloom

This 2002 estate, thanks to the clever machinations of whoever took these photographs, looks less like an enticing investment property and more like a prime candidate for the Chernobyl ripoff set in America that has 2 stars and is only available on Amazon Prime.

#9: Headquarters of Tree-Haters Anonymous

This 2004 manse is $1.4 million dollars and yet its creators couldn’t afford more than a single (invasive!) tree. I don’t know what kind of sociopath wakes up in the morning and actively hates everything taller than a malnourished shrub. Whoever they are, this is certainly the house for them.

#8: Roofer’s Paradise

A post-recession 2011 McMansion, this house clearly didn’t learn anything from the recent past. With many McMansions, I can conceive of ways to improve them to make them better. With this house, I simply do not know how to rectify its main problem: it’s, like, 90% roof. In my head I refer to houses like this as “turtle houses” but frankly this does a disservice to the noble turtle.

#7: Haunted Geometry

This house was built in 2014, a time when people should definitely have known better. Its inclusion in this list is solely due to the absolutely bizarre geometry of its roof, a kind of geometry formerly unknown to mathematics until this time. Bonus points for the continued animosity to trees found in the wealthy populous of this county.

#6: McEscher

Nothing about this house makes sense. I’m serious. I’ve looked at it from several different angles and have yet to perceive any coherent spatial logic to how it comes together. This is house is an SCP. It’s an X-Files case. House of Leaves was actually based on this house. It’s an Escherian nightmare. 0/10 would not go inside even if you paid me.

#5: Obligatory Beigehaus

You know when a bad stand up comedian tells a joke that just keeps going way too long? The audience is like, okay, we get it, you need therapy, but he (and it’s always a he) just keeps going on and on. Well, this is the house equivalent of that.

#4: House of Lumps

Whoever built this house was utterly incapable of picturing in their minds eye what a house should look like. The very conception of a house is foreign to them. They have never seen a children’s book with houses in it. They probably didn’t even have a childhood.

#3: Play-doh Playhouse

This house made it so far in the countdown because it is, frankly, weird. I don’t know why it is painted the color of jaundice, or why they have transformed every gable into a hollow cavity longing for death. Lots of things are happening here, though none of them could appropriately be called “architecture.”

#2: Farmhouse Freak

Let your eyes glaze over as you look at this “farmhouse” - the more you look at it the less sense it makes. What are they farming, you ask? Why, turf grass of course! Bonus points for this image in which the house appears through a haze of ozone or something.

And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for...

#1: Corinthian Catastrophe

It’s one thing to have oversized Corinthian columns on your absurd McManse, but it’s a whole new level of extra to spray paint the capitals gold. This house takes all the elements found in the other houses (treeless sociopathy, turret lust, garish mismatched windows, foam) and ramps it up to 11, which is why it earns the number one slot in the county. Also, as a bonus, I find it incredibly funny that they embossed the letter “C” everywhere. I guess whoever buys it either has to have a name starting with C or has their work cut out for them. The C represents the grade they got in home design class.

Anyways, that’s it for Wisconsin, folks! Stay tuned for a special essay on whether or not brutalism is good, as well as the next installment of the 50 States: Wyoming. Have a great weekend.

If you like this post, and want to see more like it, consider supporting me on Patreon!

There is a whole new slate of Patreon rewards, including Good House of the Week, Crowdcast streaming, and bonus essays!

Not into recurring donations or bonus content? Consider the tip jar! Or,Check out the McMansion Hell Store ! 100% of the proceeds from the McMansion Hell store go to charity!

Copyright Disclaimer: All photographs are used in this post under fair use for the purposes of education, satire, and parody, consistent with 17 USC §107. Manipulated photos are considered derivative work and are Copyright © 2019 McMansion Hell. Please email [email protected] before using these images on another site. (am v chill about this)

#architecture #design #mcmansions #mcmansion #hell #american architecture #suburbs #urbanism #wisconsin #ugly houses #bad architecture

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beardycarrot · 5 years ago

Text

Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn is an... interesting, game. As the name implies, it’s a reboot, and has nothing to do with the original game. In the original Shaq Fu, Shaq is in Tokyo, for some reason, and finds an old Chinese kung fu master, for some reason, and is transported to another world... for some reason. I mean, it’s a SNES fighting game starring an NBA star and sponsored by Pepsi, so there’s really no point in criticizing the story.

Anyway, Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn takes a different approach. Rather than the Shaquille O’Neal we know, this game features a Shaq who washes up in China as a baby with a lotus flower birthmark on his neck, and is trained by a kung fu master because he’s the chosen one or something. Instead of a fighting game, this one is a brawler, with you doing the typical “walk the streets, beat guys up, pick up objects to use as improvised weapons” thing. It does still have product placement, though. What could be more fitting than...

...No, actually, I guess Shaq’s soda line was already dead and gone by the time this game was made. The product placement in this game is A LOT more stupid:

Yyyyep, you occasionally come across containers of Icy Hot, which fully restore your health. There’s also a joke about Gold Bond at one point, but they didn’t license its likeness for the game, so I’m not sure whether it’s actually product placement or just one of the game’s many smirk-but-no-laugh jokes.

Most of the humor just falls flat completely, and I don’t even get a lot of the jokes. Like, the second level features a whole lot of grape soda, and the boss is a character called Baby Face... who I *think* is supposed to be Justin Bieber (the bosses are all parodies of celebrities), but his method of attack is a gun that shoots chickens. What, uh... what’s the joke, here?

Anyway, the gameplay is... eh? You mash the Y button to attack, which after a few hits lets you press A to unleash a giant foot attack (the game constantly reminding you that Shaq wears a size 22 shoe). You have an AOE ground-punching move that you have to fill a meter to use, and there’s some kind of dash attack that you can use if you’ve collected enough blue balls... though I’m not sure if that attack actually does anything, as it’s only ever gotten me hurt. The game is pretty bad at conveying things, and doesn’t really give you invulnerability frames when using moves like that. There are also potions that transform you, though are only used in scripted segments in the game. Still, it’s a nice change of pace, and the only part I would describe as actually kinda fun. Well, aside from the end of the Shaqtus section in the fifth level, where untelegraphed mines are falling from the sky and getting hit by them twice in a row took out my entire health bar.

Unfortunately, the control overall feels pretty clunky, and you’re just fighting through waves and waves and ambush after ambush of bad guys, almost none of which pose any kind of threat... and even when they do, you just start over from the last checkpoint with full health, full meters, and no consequences other than losing any money you collected when you die. Not a huge loss, considering the money doesn’t count towards your end-of-level score, and there isn’t anything to spend it on. At first I was sure there would be a shop, or maybe a Luigi’s Mansion-style reward at the end of the game depending on how much you collected... but nope, when viewing the coins in the game’s encyclopedia thing, it’s revealed that they do literally nothing. This would probably be funny in some contexts... but this game has so many stupid pointless things already.

The game is pretty short, especially considering it got a physical release. I mean, it’s a budget release at twenty USD... but it absolutely should’ve been a five dollar digital download. I paid five dollars for it, knowing it would be bad and getting it just to point and laugh, and even I feel like I should’ve gotten a better deal on it. There are only six fairly short levels, with the last one being an invaded-by-demons reskin of the first (even shorter) tutorial level.

At some point, I think at the end of the fourth level, the plot point of Shaq’s real mother is introduced... by which I mean, he says “I wonder who my real mother is” out of nowhere, for no reason, before Miley Cyrus crashes her jetpack into the wall he’s sitting on. Yeah man I dunno the game is weird. As you might expect, at the end of the game it’s revealed that Yen-Lo-Wang, the evil demon overlord, is actually Shaq’s mother... and uh, is also Madonna. I mean, her name in the game is Destiny, but it’s supposed to be Madonna. Oh, and she’s also not his real mother because she adopted him... look, the game is dumb.

In the end, Shaq defeats his Momdonna and... I guess destroys an obelisk that can be used to summon demons from hell (he destroys one at the end of every stage, but it’s never explained what they are or why he’s doing it before this point), and then he and his mentor decide to go kill Kanye West. Roll credits.

There’s a lot of stuff in this game that falls into the category of "random pop culture reference”, and a lot of jokes that don’t connect at all. Like, Shaq says that he knew Diamond (a parody of Paris Hilton) was a demon because of the way her eyes glowed in a “low-budget film”, referring to the night vision in the Paris Hilton sex tape. At the end of the game, Shaq befriends a whale named Seymour Prophet, who I’m pretty sure is designed to look like Michael Moore.

The fifth level, Fiji, has you fighting against... militaristic nazi Scotsmen. Why? Brexit, apparently. The boss of that area is Benedict Fender, a Mel Gibson parody in his Braveheart costume, because... anti-semitic Scotsman, I guess. Now that I think about it, they must’ve decided to use Mel Gibson first, then went with a costume people would recognize him in, and then based the rest of the enemies in the area on that. Why they went with Fiji for the setting, I couldn’t tell you. Maybe they just wanted variety after two levels based on Los Angeles.

edit: I looked it up, and apparently Mel Gibson owns a fifteen million dollar private island in Fiji. So uh, guess that’s why. Like I said, this game’s references are a lot of deeps cuts that very few people will get.

There are a lot of other weird minor things. Halfway through the game, Shaq goes from pronouncing his master’s name as “Yee-Yee” to “Yay-Yay”. Aside from bosses, most of the male enemies are just normal location-appropriate guys (nazi Scotsmen in Fiji aside), but every single female enemy in the game is a brightly-colored demon with big horns... I’m guessing Shaq didn’t want to be depicted hitting women. At one point Shaq complains about the endless waves of enemies to the game’s programmer, who agrees to give him something fresh... but then it’s just another Shaqtus section, followed immediately by another wave of enemies identical to the one he’d been complaining about.

The weirdest inconsistency is regarding the Kanye West joke at the end. In that, despite his name being Matisse, it couldn’t be more clear that it’s meant to be Kanye... but then, when you start Barack Fu, they’ve completely changed him. Oh, did I not mention Barack Fu?

Yeah, it’s a short two-level epilogue in which you play as Barack Obama. In it, Matisse is now referring to as Con-Ye, and while he’s still recognizable as Kanye West, he doesn’t resemble the version from the ending at all. This little bonus game is... okay. It feels a bit less responsive than the normal game, since Barack still controls just like Shaq, but isn’t a huge lumbering guy so he comes across as a lot more sluggish. The game starts in France (so, naturally, the standard enemies are guys in black and white striped shirts wearing red berets and using baguettes as weapons), and ends on a space station in which every enemy is some kind of a Con-Ye clone. It’s a bit less of a mess than the normal game... but only because the cutscenes have a guy doing a pretty good Obama impression and delivering cool lines. It’s a shame they decided to end it on a Michelle Obama anal sex joke.

#shaq fu

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adland · 5 years ago

Link

Lately, I’ve been fascinated by these commercials for Rosland Capital, starring journeyman actor William Devane who you might know from 24, The Grinder, or if you’re in your senior years, the early 1980’s soap opera Knot’s Landing. My guess is this audience these commercials are intended for know him best for the latter.

Rosland Capital is one of those companies that tend to appeal to listeners of talk radio, preppers, survivalists, tin-foil hat wearers and senior citizens who are always worried that their hard-earned money might one day vanish overnight because some foreign regime or shadowy cabal has taken it.

Like other companies of this nature or commercials by ambulance-chasing lawyers), they exploit fear by promising security in an insecure world. Unlike other companies, however, the production value of these is higher.

Watching Rosland Capital commercials are as oddly soothing, mildly patriotic and hypnotic as they are laced with barely concealed paranoia. The premise is always the same. William Devane on location. Never the same place twice. He introduces himself, explains why he’s in that particular location, and references some timely topic in a generalized way. And then there’s a slow wind up that leads to why he buys gold from Rosland Capital, making sure the emphasis is on the word “gold.”

He relaxes at home. He’s flying a plane. He’s doing yard work. He’s standing in front of what could be the White House. He’s on a battleship. Yeah. A freaking battleship.

I started wondering where else William Devane could be, just to mix it up and keep it fresh. And I hereby give Rosland Capital permission to use these premises.

“Hi, I’m William Devane. Like you, I worry about chemtrails. They contain lead, arsenic and other heavy metals. Until QAnon infiltrates the CIA and puts a stop to their nefarious plans once and for all, I’ll stay the fuck indoors and order precious metals from Rosland Capital.”

“Hi, I’m William Devane, laying down some bass in Steve Albini’s studio. With the exception of math rock, the only thing I’m more obsessed with is the sound math that'll make my retirement goals a reality. That's where Rosland Capital’s gold comes in.”

“Hi, I’m William Devane, here at the farmer’s market. They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Know what’ll keeps you from having to eat cat food in your golden years? Gold. I buy mine from Rosland Capital.”

“Hi, I’m William Devane. If you’re like me, you are utterly convinced we’re living in a computer simulation, like unwitting characters in an absurd video game. I don’t know about you, but the only way to win is to play for keeps. That’s why I do two things: Play dirty. And level-up my gold and silver with Rosland Capital.”

“Hi, I’m William Devane. See that tree over there? I can make it move by telekinesis. What I can’t do on my own though, is protect my retirement funds. That’s why I always buy gold and silver from Rosland Capital.”

“Hi, I’m William Devane, getting some dental work done. Even though we still call it novocaine, most dentists have replaced it in favor of newer numbing agents like Lidocaine because it’s faster-acting. In all honesty though, there’s no better tingling sensation than knowing all that money you worked for is safe because you invested in gold through Rosland Capital.

“Hi, I’m William Devane. Did you ever turn your back for five seconds on a perfectly ripe avocado only to discover it turned brown? I don’t know what’s up with that, but I do know if you buy gold from Rosland Capital, your financial future won’t spoil.”

“Hi, I’m William Devane. And I’m on the phone talking to my agent. Because if I’m going to do another year of these Rosland Capital commercials, they’re going to pay through the nose. In gold.”

“Hi, I’m William Devane, on the set of a pornographic film. I was blessed with three things: A birth name that sounds lewd. Natural stamina. And the ability to plan my future wisely. That’s why I buy gold from Rosland Capital.”

*Record Scratch.*

*Freeze Frame.*

“Yup, that's me, William Devane. You're probably wondering how I ended up in this situation. Stuck in Suvarnabhumi airport customs. Sweating bullets. Yuri said this would be the last time. He always says that. “Just one more job, boychik.” If I put my foot down, he shows me those photos again. Threatens to tell the police. "You can do almost anything in Thailand, but not that. What will the authorities think? You'll spend the rest of your days in a Bangkok prison, boychik." Just how valuable can peacock feathers and python venom be? Lord knows what he does with them, or who he sells them to. If there's a lesson to be learned from this, it's that you should never trust a Ukrainian with a glass eye. Well that, and keep your money secure from a volatile stock market through the purchase of sound financial investments like gold and silver from Rosland Capital.”

In addition to being a freelance CD CW (ask for the password to my portfolio) I’m also an author.

United States

advertising jokes

celebrity

parody

-- via Adland

#updated https://adland.tv/updated

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

Text

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets?

Encinitas Skate Plaza looks like a parody of Southern California. It's the kind of place where a boombox is always playing early 2000s Offspring singles, where shirtless dads are forever weaving through crowds of shirtless teens, and where, at any given moment, a helmeted eight-year-old stands on the brink and prepares, for the first time, to drop herself down the cement walls of a never-functional pool that's twice as deep as she is tall.

Poods, as locals refer to the park, is a 13,000-square-foot slab of grey and orange concrete planes and waves and ledges, pierced by flatbars and stairways to nowhere, and surrounded by a parking lot, a soccer field, and a few palm trees that don't provide any shade. Show up most days around noon and there's a decent chance you'll notice one skateboarder, Jagger Eaton, standing out slightly from the rest. It's not that he's doing bigger tricks, necessarily, nor anything especially complicated. And it's not that he literally stands out—he just hit 5'7''.

There's just something almost effortless about the way he cruises around the park. There's an ease in the way he pops his board out of a ramp, the smile as he bails, the pat on the back he gives to check on the well-being of whoever he just slammed into at the bottom of an eight-stair rail. When Jagger does a run of tricks through the park, other skaters stop whatever they're doing, watch, and ask their friends if they saw that.

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Though he still has to, as he puts it, "finesse" his way into R-rated movies, Jagger has already taken the top spot at many of the major contests open to amateur skateboarders; this year alone he's won the Phx Am and two gold medals at the X Games, in Amateur Street and Amateur Park. But as the website Quartersnacks often notes, we're in the "everyone is good" era of skateboarding: "Anyone (well, anyone who's good) can nollie flip a fourteen-stair nowadays or switch crook a gnarly rail, but it will be the behind the scenes videos that help us decide where our allegiances with various athletes stand." Jagger might have more contest wins, but there are dozens of other kids who are just as eager to make a name for themselves, who can do (most of) the same tricks and who would like to go pro in his place. For now what really separates Jagger from other 16-year-old skate phenoms—and, presumably, the reason VICE Sports sent me to San Diego to talk to him—is that he is also a TV star.

Jagger Eaton's Mega Life was a Rob Dyrdek-produced reality show that premiered on Nickelodeon late last year. During the show's 20 episodes, Jagger, family, and friends travel around the country partaking in "mega" adventures—outdoor activities like shark diving, jousting, heli-boarding, and playing beach volleyball with the U.S. women's beach volleyball team. The show gets its name from the mega ramp (also the subject of episode 17), an approximately 60-foot skate jump that Jagger has been riding since he was a child. It was on this ramp, when he was 11, that he captured his first major headlines by becoming the youngest-ever X Games competitor. While even Jagger will admit that there are times when he cringes to hear his younger voice—"I'm like, how do people even watch these videos?"—the show is more entertaining than you'd expect a Nickelodeon reality show to be. He possesses a boundless enthusiasm—evident in the way he uses G-rated swears like "gosh" and "heck" to intensify the "unreal"-ness of an activity—that makes me wish I could recapture that pre-cynical YA worldview wherein it's possible to be passionate about things like ziplining.

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Since Mega Life ended, Jagger and his brother Jett, 18, have moved from their hometown of Mesa, Arizona, to Encinitas, a suburb in the North County section of San Diego that's been an epicenter of the skateboarding world since the '80s. When I met him at Poods, he was setting up a new board (he goes through one every three or four days, about the same rate as shoes) and eating a plastic cup of Fruity Pebbles. With his sunspots and striped Stussy shirt, he looked like a quintessential California teen—Zonie or not.

"I wouldn't say my life is the typical 16-year-old life," Jagger admits. "I mean I'm living out in Cali by myself. I took my GED so I basically dropped out and graduated. I'm stoked where I'm at." There was a time when having a TV show meant someone was definitely a celebrity, but, thanks to the internet's destruction of what was left of the monoculture, it's easier than ever to be huge in some circles and totally unknown in others. When I ask Jagger if he feels like he's famous, he seems to have a pretty accurate gauge on things. "I get recognized at skateparks and sometimes at, like, grocery stores, but mostly I just focus on what I need to do. I never think of myself like I'm some sort of celebrity. [Having the show] was super cool and I'm stoked to have a following off it, but I don't think I'm famous at all. I hang out with my family and my friends."

When I follow up with a similar, slightly more pointed question—"You're a 16-year-old living a state away from your parents, with 163,000 Instagram followers, many of whom are girls posting emojis about how cute they think you are. You never get into trouble?"—Jagger tells me that, "Me and my brother both have career goals that we want to accomplish. We're not playing heehaw with the fuck-around gang." And, partially because skateboarding has been his entire life since he was five and partially because he tells me he says he spends time listening to self-help audiobooks like Rich Dad, Poor Dad, I believe him. Though, when pressed, he admits to sending the occasional DM. "It's always important to make new friends," he laughs, but adds, "I don't ever let it get to my head. I'm just stoked to have some fans and some people who like me."

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Jagger has more contest wins and TV appearances than the average 16-year-old skater, and he's sponsored by core brands like Plan B, Independent, and Bones. But, even among skaters, he's not a household name. To change this, he's spent the last few months filming a video part—basically a highlight reel of a skater's most impressive tricks, set to music (Jagger is hoping that the licensing fee for Parliament's "Flashlight" isn't too expensive)—which he believes will show people that his skating stands on its own. "I have about two minutes of footage right now, I just need to film another minute and a half." He says he plans to submit it to Thrasher, the magazine-turned-website so influential it's known as the "skate bible." He feels confident they'll accept it. (Thrasher owner Tony Vitello told me that they've expressed interest in distributing a video part but nothing is set in stone. "He's obviously a good skater," he says, but their involvement "would most likely start towards the end of the project.")

"Me and my brother both have career goals that we want to accomplish. We're not playing heehaw with the fuck-around gang."

Most days, he and his friends skate at Poods for a few hours, break for lunch, then head out to spots around town filming tricks. This goes on until it gets dark, unless they're filming with lights, in which case they can stay out all night. (High-level skateboarders spend an inordinate amount of time on schoolyards and grocery store loading docks.), His crew can fluctuate, from his brother Jett and other locals to fellow Plan B riders like Chris Joslin and Trevor McCLung, and SK8 Mafia's Wes Kremer. San Diego is something of a skate mecca, so he's managed to make a big impression on legends like Danny Way, who says, "Jagger has one of the most diverse skill sets and is one of the future legends of this next generation of young rippers."

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

There's a foundational paradox in skate culture: It's an industry that runs on advertising—the major websites and magazines are basically trade publications, and anything critical about brands is extremely rare—while priding itself on being anti-establishment. Jagger has the commercial side down, but, with his Nickelodeon show, he's anything but counter-culture. Jagger has heard his share of criticism, but says he doesn't care. "[Jagger Eaton's Mega Life] was one of the coolest experiences of my life and I don't really give a shit what anybody says about it. I would never want to take it back. I had so much fun doing it. I got to meet so many cool people. It was just completely worth it." Despite its underdog mentality, skateboarding has long been a dominant force in pop culture. It shapes everything from entertainment (Tony Hawk's Pro Skater, Rob Dyrdek's empire, the stylings of Spike Jonze and Harmony Korine) to fashion (skateboarders, once responsible for the tight jeans resurgence, are to blame for the half-decade-long high-waters with Vans Old Skools trend). It would almost be weirder if a super-talented 16-year-old skater didn't have his own Nickelodeon show.

One might think Jagger's contest wins would silence the commenters, but skateboarders are probably even more suspicious of the X Games than of Nickelodeon. Traditional sports (and some purists even bristle at the thought of skating as a "sport") revolve around winning, but success in skateboarding has largely been about getting enough children to buy shoes with your name on them. Being cool is more important than being the best—among skaters, the word style is as common as it is vague—which is part of why so many look down on contests. Jagger knows he has to prove he's more than just a good contest skater, because skating in a contest is fundamentally different from skating in the street, and street skating is what dominates coverage on the skateboarding internet. Contests require an automaton-like ability to manage a series of tricks in a row without falling, so skaters default to things they know they can do. On the street, a skater has infinite chances, not ninety-second runs; it's about pushing yourself rather than beating others. This is why Jagger feels like he has to show his worth with a video.

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Watching him tell our photographer which lens and angle will work best for a given shot, it's clear Jagger possesses a level of professionalism unknown to most teens, let alone teen skaters. He has a pretty solid idea of how to bring his plans to fruition, which is good, because he has a lot of plans. Right now, these include filming a street part with skateboarding's foremost cinematographer Ty Evans, turning pro before he's 18, and, most pressingly, getting his driver's license. Three years from now, skateboarding will make its Olympic debut. When I asked Jagger what he thinks of the possibility of skating in the Olympics, he tells me that "I would love to compete for my country." It's true that the name "Jagger Eaton" seems almost designed to appear on a chyron, but he'll be competing against dozens of the world's best skateboarders for just a handful of slots on Team USA. Plus, even the qualifying events for the games are years away. When you're 16, anything seems possible and everything can change in just a few months. Right now, he says, "I just have to prove I can hang in the streets."

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets? published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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amtushinfosolutionspage · 7 years ago

Text

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets?

Encinitas Skate Plaza looks like a parody of Southern California. It’s the kind of place where a boombox is always playing early 2000s Offspring singles, where shirtless dads are forever weaving through crowds of shirtless teens, and where, at any given moment, a helmeted eight-year-old stands on the brink and prepares, for the first time, to drop herself down the cement walls of a never-functional pool that’s twice as deep as she is tall.

Poods, as locals refer to the park, is a 13,000-square-foot slab of grey and orange concrete planes and waves and ledges, pierced by flatbars and stairways to nowhere, and surrounded by a parking lot, a soccer field, and a few palm trees that don’t provide any shade. Show up most days around noon and there’s a decent chance you’ll notice one skateboarder, Jagger Eaton, standing out slightly from the rest. It’s not that he’s doing bigger tricks, necessarily, nor anything especially complicated. And it’s not that he literally stands out—he just hit 5’7”.

There’s just something almost effortless about the way he cruises around the park. There’s an ease in the way he pops his board out of a ramp, the smile as he bails, the pat on the back he gives to check on the well-being of whoever he just slammed into at the bottom of an eight-stair rail. When Jagger does a run of tricks through the park, other skaters stop whatever they’re doing, watch, and ask their friends if they saw that.

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Though he still has to, as he puts it, “finesse” his way into R-rated movies, Jagger has already taken the top spot at many of the major contests open to amateur skateboarders; this year alone he’s won the Phx Am and two gold medals at the X Games, in Amateur Street and Amateur Park. But as the website Quartersnacks often notes, we’re in the “everyone is good” era of skateboarding: “Anyone (well, anyone who’s good) can nollie flip a fourteen-stair nowadays or switch crook a gnarly rail, but it will be the behind the scenes videos that help us decide where our allegiances with various athletes stand.” Jagger might have more contest wins, but there are dozens of other kids who are just as eager to make a name for themselves, who can do (most of) the same tricks and who would like to go pro in his place. For now what really separates Jagger from other 16-year-old skate phenoms—and, presumably, the reason VICE Sports sent me to San Diego to talk to him—is that he is also a TV star.

Jagger Eaton’s Mega Life was a Rob Dyrdek-produced reality show that premiered on Nickelodeon late last year. During the show’s 20 episodes, Jagger, family, and friends travel around the country partaking in “mega” adventures—outdoor activities like shark diving, jousting, heli-boarding, and playing beach volleyball with the U.S. women’s beach volleyball team. The show gets its name from the mega ramp (also the subject of episode 17), an approximately 60-foot skate jump that Jagger has been riding since he was a child. It was on this ramp, when he was 11, that he captured his first major headlines by becoming the youngest-ever X Games competitor. While even Jagger will admit that there are times when he cringes to hear his younger voice—”I’m like, how do people even watch these videos?”—the show is more entertaining than you’d expect a Nickelodeon reality show to be. He possesses a boundless enthusiasm—evident in the way he uses G-rated swears like “gosh” and “heck” to intensify the “unreal”-ness of an activity—that makes me wish I could recapture that pre-cynical YA worldview wherein it’s possible to be passionate about things like ziplining.

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Since Mega Life ended, Jagger and his brother Jett, 18, have moved from their hometown of Mesa, Arizona, to Encinitas, a suburb in the North County section of San Diego that’s been an epicenter of the skateboarding world since the ’80s. When I met him at Poods, he was setting up a new board (he goes through one every three or four days, about the same rate as shoes) and eating a plastic cup of Fruity Pebbles. With his sunspots and striped Stussy shirt, he looked like a quintessential California teen—Zonie or not.

“I wouldn’t say my life is the typical 16-year-old life,” Jagger admits. “I mean I’m living out in Cali by myself. I took my GED so I basically dropped out and graduated. I’m stoked where I’m at.” There was a time when having a TV show meant someone was definitely a celebrity, but, thanks to the internet’s destruction of what was left of the monoculture, it’s easier than ever to be huge in some circles and totally unknown in others. When I ask Jagger if he feels like he’s famous, he seems to have a pretty accurate gauge on things. “I get recognized at skateparks and sometimes at, like, grocery stores, but mostly I just focus on what I need to do. I never think of myself like I’m some sort of celebrity. [Having the show] was super cool and I’m stoked to have a following off it, but I don’t think I’m famous at all. I hang out with my family and my friends.”

When I follow up with a similar, slightly more pointed question—”You’re a 16-year-old living a state away from your parents, with 163,000 Instagram followers, many of whom are girls posting emojis about how cute they think you are. You never get into trouble?”—Jagger tells me that, “Me and my brother both have career goals that we want to accomplish. We’re not playing heehaw with the fuck-around gang.” And, partially because skateboarding has been his entire life since he was five and partially because he tells me he says he spends time listening to self-help audiobooks like Rich Dad, Poor Dad, I believe him. Though, when pressed, he admits to sending the occasional DM. “It’s always important to make new friends,” he laughs, but adds, “I don’t ever let it get to my head. I’m just stoked to have some fans and some people who like me.”

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Jagger has more contest wins and TV appearances than the average 16-year-old skater, and he’s sponsored by core brands like Plan B, Independent, and Bones. But, even among skaters, he’s not a household name. To change this, he’s spent the last few months filming a video part—basically a highlight reel of a skater’s most impressive tricks, set to music (Jagger is hoping that the licensing fee for Parliament’s “Flashlight” isn’t too expensive)—which he believes will show people that his skating stands on its own. “I have about two minutes of footage right now, I just need to film another minute and a half.” He says he plans to submit it to Thrasher, the magazine-turned-website so influential it’s known as the “skate bible.” He feels confident they’ll accept it. (Thrasher owner Tony Vitello told me that they’ve expressed interest in distributing a video part but nothing is set in stone. “He’s obviously a good skater,” he says, but their involvement “would most likely start towards the end of the project.”)

“Me and my brother both have career goals that we want to accomplish. We’re not playing heehaw with the fuck-around gang.”

Most days, he and his friends skate at Poods for a few hours, break for lunch, then head out to spots around town filming tricks. This goes on until it gets dark, unless they’re filming with lights, in which case they can stay out all night. (High-level skateboarders spend an inordinate amount of time on schoolyards and grocery store loading docks.), His crew can fluctuate, from his brother Jett and other locals to fellow Plan B riders like Chris Joslin and Trevor McCLung, and SK8 Mafia’s Wes Kremer. San Diego is something of a skate mecca, so he’s managed to make a big impression on legends like Danny Way, who says, “Jagger has one of the most diverse skill sets and is one of the future legends of this next generation of young rippers.”

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

There’s a foundational paradox in skate culture: It’s an industry that runs on advertising—the major websites and magazines are basically trade publications, and anything critical about brands is extremely rare—while priding itself on being anti-establishment. Jagger has the commercial side down, but, with his Nickelodeon show, he’s anything but counter-culture. Jagger has heard his share of criticism, but says he doesn’t care. “[Jagger Eaton’s Mega Life] was one of the coolest experiences of my life and I don’t really give a shit what anybody says about it. I would never want to take it back. I had so much fun doing it. I got to meet so many cool people. It was just completely worth it.” Despite its underdog mentality, skateboarding has long been a dominant force in pop culture. It shapes everything from entertainment (Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater, Rob Dyrdek’s empire, the stylings of Spike Jonze and Harmony Korine) to fashion (skateboarders, once responsible for the tight jeans resurgence, are to blame for the half-decade-long high-waters with Vans Old Skools trend). It would almost be weirder if a super-talented 16-year-old skater didn’t have his own Nickelodeon show.

One might think Jagger’s contest wins would silence the commenters, but skateboarders are probably even more suspicious of the X Games than of Nickelodeon. Traditional sports (and some purists even bristle at the thought of skating as a “sport”) revolve around winning, but success in skateboarding has largely been about getting enough children to buy shoes with your name on them. Being cool is more important than being the best—among skaters, the word style is as common as it is vague—which is part of why so many look down on contests. Jagger knows he has to prove he’s more than just a good contest skater, because skating in a contest is fundamentally different from skating in the street, and street skating is what dominates coverage on the skateboarding internet. Contests require an automaton-like ability to manage a series of tricks in a row without falling, so skaters default to things they know they can do. On the street, a skater has infinite chances, not ninety-second runs; it’s about pushing yourself rather than beating others. This is why Jagger feels like he has to show his worth with a video.

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Watching him tell our photographer which lens and angle will work best for a given shot, it’s clear Jagger possesses a level of professionalism unknown to most teens, let alone teen skaters. He has a pretty solid idea of how to bring his plans to fruition, which is good, because he has a lot of plans. Right now, these include filming a street part with skateboarding’s foremost cinematographer Ty Evans, turning pro before he’s 18, and, most pressingly, getting his driver’s license. Three years from now, skateboarding will make its Olympic debut. When I asked Jagger what he thinks of the possibility of skating in the Olympics, he tells me that “I would love to compete for my country.” It’s true that the name “Jagger Eaton” seems almost designed to appear on a chyron, but he’ll be competing against dozens of the world’s best skateboarders for just a handful of slots on Team USA. Plus, even the qualifying events for the games are years away. When you’re 16, anything seems possible and everything can change in just a few months. Right now, he says, “I just have to prove I can hang in the streets.”

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets? syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

Text

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets?

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

"Me and my brother both have career goals that we want to accomplish. We're not playing heehaw with the fuck-around gang."

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets? published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes

flauntpage · 7 years ago

Text

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets?

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

"Me and my brother both have career goals that we want to accomplish. We're not playing heehaw with the fuck-around gang."

Demian Becerra/Holy Mountain

Skater Jagger Eaton is Already a Star, But Can He Hang in the Streets? published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes