The Taste Of Victory, Part 1

The proceedings that proceeded after were but a whizz and a blur of many fast, many frantic happenings that were a continuous, unending chain of events too paradoxically infinite to even having a semblance of keeping count.

My elbow joints on both sides throb incessantly with the phantom sensations of many, many pairs of hands as a result of being continuously tossed, hauled, flung, unwittingly and unwillingly, from one end of an area to the other. 

I have heard many blood-curdling tales shared in whispers in many online taverns called forums about the utter hell that was being the focal point of a rabid, uncontrollable concert mosh pit.

Well, now I've my own tale to tell… one so dreadfully horrific, it'll put Stephen King out of business.