Josh Pointing at You

If you look closely, that bracelet reads, "Pointstrong."

Having exhausted all the targets of opportunity around him, Josh now turns his attention out, beyond the fourth wall, directly at you. As you can see, it enrages him to have to attempt this. He feels there should be more fodder for his newfound weapon there, in the corporeal world he inhabits. But no, he must reach beyond time and space, and point directly into your face.

"Oh god... I knew it would end this way..."

Even as his only friend quivers in fear and terrified laughter, it only serves to fuel the seething darkness that grows within him. The camera itself is now having difficulty capturing the true horror of what is happening before it. The fragile lens creaks and bends as it attempts, futilely, to turn away it's unblinking eye.



Here, a passing Korean is ensnared and forced to engage in his sick ritual. Watch as his eyes roll back in his head and his tongue swells, watch as Josh refuses to release him, choking him into submission that he might be among the first to see his rise, to watch him ascend his ebony throne and preside over all who seek direction.

Bow, mortals, before Joshua, the Pointy.

I AM YOUR POWERS COMBINED...

His newfound ability seems to have reached its zenith and, unsatisfied with his mortal form's capability to properly point at us from beyond physical and familiar dimensions, the hideous force that seems to drive his pointing is now physically dragging his body behind it, his pathetic, human body serving only now as a superfluous vessel for a budding evil to incubate within. He looks like the eldritch powers within him will soon quit his infirm flesh and be loosed upon the Earth.


On the other hand, sometimes he looks like a frightened baby fawn that has been caught in the headlights of a fucking Sherman tank. One or the other, really.

Hipster Groucho Marx looks on with incredulousness.

Oh shit. He's either opened a wormhole or collapsed that tiny circus tent.

His options exhausted, he has followed the path of so many lost souls before him, such as Gallagher and Carrot Top. He has fallen into the unfeeling pit of "prop comedy," from which few return. He attempts to point at us with a golf ball. A sphere. Possibly the only shape in existance that does not, and I stress does not, have a point. Anything would have been better. Literally anything. A flat line, almost, would have been better, as at least he could claim he was pointing at us with some kind of perpendicular, imaginary angle.

Side note: In the picture above, the image of Josh's head, the red bucket, and the yellow bench actually spell out a very rude sentence in Egyptian hieroglyphs. And yes it involves pointing.