LOS ANGELES – Amidst the Field of Trials located deeply within the Destiny Shroud, 4,000 trumpets sounded as rapper and alt-hip hop star Tyler the Creator emerged from the foggy deeps to fight his adversary, Tyler, the Destroyer.
“Yea, though the 24 signs of the end-times have been proclaimed by the dark scholars and though the heavens have opened, spewing forth the sky-fires, our salvation may yet be at hand if this moderately popular entertainer can vanquish his foe,” screamed Virgil, the mad prophet.
Lo, it then occurred that the Foul One, Tyler, the Destroyer, burst forth from his Spawning Pod carrying the mythic flaming scythe of legend. Standing 400 feet tall, he carved a path of ruin and fire towards Sony Music Entertainment where the foretold battle of the eons was to take place. A battle of wills, and fists, and claws, and rap, and a brief foot race, and terror. The victor would shape the world into his own image, sentencing his enemies to the pits of Shoggoth. The loser would be forever banished to the Otherworld and occasional appearances as a presenter at the People’s Choice Awards.
It was at this time that the author of this piece looked up in bewilderment, asking himself what brought him to this point. You’ve got a journalism degree from Princeton for God’s sake. You studied under Bob Woodward. And now you’re writing satire about a mid-2010’s rap icon being the savior of the apocalypse? And not even good satire at that.
“Are you proud of what you just wrote? Did it make you laugh? Have you improved the world with your brilliance? You make me sick,” the author said morosely to his own reflection visible in his laptop screen, “Weren’t you going to travel to Somalia 20 years ago and cover the situation there? How far you’ve fallen.”
Sources confirmed that the author continued to question his life choices and the sequence of events which brought him to the point that he thought an article on Tyler, the Creator could be sustained for longer than two paragraphs. Despite this period of self-doubt, he nevertheless soldiered on with paragraph after middling paragraph describing the epic battle between good and evil, throwing in what few references he knew about hip-hop collective Odd Future for added flavour.
Wait! What about a joke about another neutral being called Tyler, the Redeemer. Does that fix it? Does that fix this pit stop on the way to mediocrity that you’ve created? Sadly, typing out that idea did nothing to improve the article’s prospects.
“Let’s cut the shit already,” his conscience yelled in desperation, “you know this is trash and yet you continue to do it. Just close down the computer, grab a suitcase and leave. Leave forever!”
At press time, the author put down his bag in resignation as he returned to his computer to bang out a proposed headline about Tom Hiddleston winning a chili cook-off or some similar such trash.