Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 103
April 13, 2016
Laugh Like You're Dumb
The raven stared down upon the two hillbilly gangsters like a judge in his bench giving a lengthy prison sentence. The wasteland was the perfect place to dispose of a dead body since nobody came out here and the heat would cause the corpse to decompose faster. The only witnesses to this crime were the stoic raven and the leafless tree it stood upon. The two rednecks used shovels to dig a shallow grave for their fallen victim: a beautiful young girl in a bloodstained white dress. Even in death, she still had ropes bound around her body and duct tape over her mouth, the latter of which prompted one of the murderers to tell a joke.
“Hey, Billy-Bob, how do you start a conversation about rape? Peel the tape off of the victim’s mouth!” The sociopaths weren’t the only ones who got a good chuckle out of it. A college student named Daniel Jason let out an uncomfortably long hyena howl to where his ribs and back were both aching. And then everything went black and a pause symbol manifested itself on the screen.
The classroom lights went up and Daniel was slowly coming down from his laughter spell. The entire class, including the elderly teacher Jonathan McAvoy, stared at him with fire in their eyes and downward eyebrows. As the final few chuckles departed from Daniel’s belly, the blond-haired frat boy looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “What? What’s everyone looking at me for?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Jason, why is everybody looking at you?” asked the white-haired and fuzzy-bearded Mr. McAvoy rhetorically. “Would somebody like to explain to him why we’re all staring at him in disbelief? Oh, Miss Miller, how about you?”
“Sure, I’d love to,” said the short pink haired Christie Miller. She cleared her throat and said, “You know, Daniel, the reason we’re all staring holes into you right now is because you laughed at something nobody ever should. There’s nothing funny about rape or murder. It’s demoralizing, it’s traumatizing, and it’s the most violent thing you could do to another human being.”
“Give me a break, lady!” said Daniel while throwing his hands up defensively. “Why do you feminists have to ruin everything for the rest of us? We can’t laugh at anything anymore because it might be offensive to someone else. What happened to us? What the hell’s going on here?!”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” said Mr. McAvoy as he walked up to Daniel’s desk and placed his palms on the surface while glaring at his student. “This isn’t about political correctness or artistic license. Over the years, some of us, not you included, have learned a simple philosophy that everyone should adopt: basic human decency. In other words, we’re supposed to treat each other like we ourselves want to be treated. Suppose a real life rape victim heard you laughing at that joke. Then what? Are they just supposed to ‘cowboy up’ and take it?”
“Yes! You’re damn right they should!” shouted Daniel back at his teacher, who then backed up a few steps. “I don’t have to dumb down my sense of humor just because there are pussies and wusses in this room! Nobody tells me what I can and can’t laugh at!”
Christie shot up from her seat and retorted, “Fine! Then you don’t get to tell the rest of us what to laugh at either! That means if you slip on a banana peel and smash your head open on the floor, the entire class is allowed to laugh at you because that would pretty much be the same thing as America’s Funniest Home Videos!”
Daniel chuckled sarcastically and said, “Please. You’re missing the whole point of America’s Funniest Home Videos, Crusty. They’re funny because they’re happening to somebody else. Of course it wouldn’t be funny if it happened to me.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Jason, you’ve proven to everyone in this class that you’re not capable of having empathy for others,” said the film studies teacher as he folded his arms. “You know who else doesn’t have empathy for others? Bullies, serial killers, rapists, animal abusers, basically the entire sewage system of our society. You wouldn’t happen to be one of those people, would you, Mr. Jason?”
Daniel scrunched his face and shrugged his shoulders in confusion while saying, “What the hell are you talking about?! Laughing about rape isn’t the same as condoning it! I don’t go around raping random women because I want a good laugh!”
“I’d really like to believe that, Daniel,” said Christie in a low, but tense voice. “I’d like to believe that you’re just a good person with a twisted sense of humor. Those people do exist. But then I go back to the other things you’ve said today, about how feminists are ruining everything and victims of abuse should just toughen up. How are any of us supposed to trust you knowing what kind of stances you take?”
“And just so you know, Daniel,” said Mr. McAvoy. “Feminists aren’t ruining anything in this country. If it wasn’t for them, women wouldn’t have the right to vote, they wouldn’t have the right to divorce their husbands, they wouldn’t have the right to embark on their own careers, basically, they’d still be second class citizens. In some ways, they still are and it’s all because of people like you who perpetuate that ignorant attitude we’re supposed to be fighting.”
During the last few seconds where he was being berated, Daniel sat at his desk looking down at his shoes while his anger boiled over in the form of shaking and heavy nose breathing. He finally pounded the desk with open palms and shouted, “That’s it! I’ve had just about all I can take of you stupid bastards! I’m leaving! If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to the cafeteria to cool down! I’m going to eat a ham sandwich and watch Anthony fucking Jeselnik on my iPhone! And if none of you like that, you can all go straight to hell! Fuck you guys, I’m out of here!”
Daniel shoved his desk to the ground and flipped the entire class the double birds before picking up his backpack and stomping out of the classroom. “Don’t plan on coming back!” yelled Mr. McAvoy before he received an extra middle finger from the hissy-fit-throwing frat boy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m really sorry about Mr. Jason’s behavior,” said Mr. McAvoy. “I’ll make sure he’s never allowed to set foot on this campus ever again. We don’t need that kind of ignorance in a place that’s supposed to be about education.”
“No!” yelled Christie while holding up a flat palm. After a brief moment of silence, she said, “Don’t expel him just yet. He may be a sexist pig, but he’s not completely without empathy. If you’ll all excuse me…I’m going to go give him some!”
It had been a whole half hour since Daniel Jason stormed out of Jonathan McAvoy’s film studies class. The frat boy sat at a table in the cafeteria by himself munching on a ham sandwich and watching dark comedian Anthony Jeselnik on his iPhone, just like he said he would. Every demented joke to come out of Anthony’s mouth made Daniel chuckle with delight and forget about the humiliation he suffered in the classroom.
And then the familiar throat-clearing sound got his attention. He looked up from his iPhone and saw Christie Miller standing across the table from him and smiling while waving. “Jesus H. Christ, Christie, what do you want? Are you here to tell me that I just offended a bunch of Christians by saying Jesus H. Christ? Those religious assholes say it all the time and nobody gives them shit about it.”
Still with a roguish smile on her face, Christie brushed her dyed pink hair back and said, “Relax, big boy, I’m not here to chastise you. I just wanted you to meet my new best friend. He’s into the same things you are and you two would really hit it off. Maybe you could let him into your little fraternity.”
Daniel suddenly felt a hard slap on his broad right shoulder as a muscular black arm was wrapped around him in an affectionate way. Daniel gulped a huge wad of saliva and shook nervously as he saw the big black football player standing over him with a seductive grin on his face. “Now hold on there, partner!” said the black dude. “Your ass is about to get some sweet Texas loving!”
The frat boy stared into his offender’s eyes with horror on his face and a quivering lip. He could barely get out a frail, “Uh-oh” before he shot up from his seat and tried to bolt out of the cafeteria in one piece. He didn’t get too far. He banged his knee on one of the tables and collapsed to the ground holding his knee, prompting everybody in the cafeteria, Christie and her “new friend” included, to laugh until their ribs ached.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” yelled Daniel as he rolled around on the ground clutching his knee. They didn’t shut up. They grew louder in their donkey laughs, causing him to have a tear roll down his cheek.
As soon as Christie and her new friend got their back-splitting laughter out of their systems, the pink-haired student pulled out her wallet and handed the football stud a wad of twenty dollar bills. “Keep your money, baby,” he said. “That kid’s sweet little ass is payment enough!”
“Hey, Billy-Bob, how do you start a conversation about rape? Peel the tape off of the victim’s mouth!” The sociopaths weren’t the only ones who got a good chuckle out of it. A college student named Daniel Jason let out an uncomfortably long hyena howl to where his ribs and back were both aching. And then everything went black and a pause symbol manifested itself on the screen.
The classroom lights went up and Daniel was slowly coming down from his laughter spell. The entire class, including the elderly teacher Jonathan McAvoy, stared at him with fire in their eyes and downward eyebrows. As the final few chuckles departed from Daniel’s belly, the blond-haired frat boy looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “What? What’s everyone looking at me for?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Jason, why is everybody looking at you?” asked the white-haired and fuzzy-bearded Mr. McAvoy rhetorically. “Would somebody like to explain to him why we’re all staring at him in disbelief? Oh, Miss Miller, how about you?”
“Sure, I’d love to,” said the short pink haired Christie Miller. She cleared her throat and said, “You know, Daniel, the reason we’re all staring holes into you right now is because you laughed at something nobody ever should. There’s nothing funny about rape or murder. It’s demoralizing, it’s traumatizing, and it’s the most violent thing you could do to another human being.”
“Give me a break, lady!” said Daniel while throwing his hands up defensively. “Why do you feminists have to ruin everything for the rest of us? We can’t laugh at anything anymore because it might be offensive to someone else. What happened to us? What the hell’s going on here?!”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” said Mr. McAvoy as he walked up to Daniel’s desk and placed his palms on the surface while glaring at his student. “This isn’t about political correctness or artistic license. Over the years, some of us, not you included, have learned a simple philosophy that everyone should adopt: basic human decency. In other words, we’re supposed to treat each other like we ourselves want to be treated. Suppose a real life rape victim heard you laughing at that joke. Then what? Are they just supposed to ‘cowboy up’ and take it?”
“Yes! You’re damn right they should!” shouted Daniel back at his teacher, who then backed up a few steps. “I don’t have to dumb down my sense of humor just because there are pussies and wusses in this room! Nobody tells me what I can and can’t laugh at!”
Christie shot up from her seat and retorted, “Fine! Then you don’t get to tell the rest of us what to laugh at either! That means if you slip on a banana peel and smash your head open on the floor, the entire class is allowed to laugh at you because that would pretty much be the same thing as America’s Funniest Home Videos!”
Daniel chuckled sarcastically and said, “Please. You’re missing the whole point of America’s Funniest Home Videos, Crusty. They’re funny because they’re happening to somebody else. Of course it wouldn’t be funny if it happened to me.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Jason, you’ve proven to everyone in this class that you’re not capable of having empathy for others,” said the film studies teacher as he folded his arms. “You know who else doesn’t have empathy for others? Bullies, serial killers, rapists, animal abusers, basically the entire sewage system of our society. You wouldn’t happen to be one of those people, would you, Mr. Jason?”
Daniel scrunched his face and shrugged his shoulders in confusion while saying, “What the hell are you talking about?! Laughing about rape isn’t the same as condoning it! I don’t go around raping random women because I want a good laugh!”
“I’d really like to believe that, Daniel,” said Christie in a low, but tense voice. “I’d like to believe that you’re just a good person with a twisted sense of humor. Those people do exist. But then I go back to the other things you’ve said today, about how feminists are ruining everything and victims of abuse should just toughen up. How are any of us supposed to trust you knowing what kind of stances you take?”
“And just so you know, Daniel,” said Mr. McAvoy. “Feminists aren’t ruining anything in this country. If it wasn’t for them, women wouldn’t have the right to vote, they wouldn’t have the right to divorce their husbands, they wouldn’t have the right to embark on their own careers, basically, they’d still be second class citizens. In some ways, they still are and it’s all because of people like you who perpetuate that ignorant attitude we’re supposed to be fighting.”
During the last few seconds where he was being berated, Daniel sat at his desk looking down at his shoes while his anger boiled over in the form of shaking and heavy nose breathing. He finally pounded the desk with open palms and shouted, “That’s it! I’ve had just about all I can take of you stupid bastards! I’m leaving! If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to the cafeteria to cool down! I’m going to eat a ham sandwich and watch Anthony fucking Jeselnik on my iPhone! And if none of you like that, you can all go straight to hell! Fuck you guys, I’m out of here!”
Daniel shoved his desk to the ground and flipped the entire class the double birds before picking up his backpack and stomping out of the classroom. “Don’t plan on coming back!” yelled Mr. McAvoy before he received an extra middle finger from the hissy-fit-throwing frat boy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m really sorry about Mr. Jason’s behavior,” said Mr. McAvoy. “I’ll make sure he’s never allowed to set foot on this campus ever again. We don’t need that kind of ignorance in a place that’s supposed to be about education.”
“No!” yelled Christie while holding up a flat palm. After a brief moment of silence, she said, “Don’t expel him just yet. He may be a sexist pig, but he’s not completely without empathy. If you’ll all excuse me…I’m going to go give him some!”
It had been a whole half hour since Daniel Jason stormed out of Jonathan McAvoy’s film studies class. The frat boy sat at a table in the cafeteria by himself munching on a ham sandwich and watching dark comedian Anthony Jeselnik on his iPhone, just like he said he would. Every demented joke to come out of Anthony’s mouth made Daniel chuckle with delight and forget about the humiliation he suffered in the classroom.
And then the familiar throat-clearing sound got his attention. He looked up from his iPhone and saw Christie Miller standing across the table from him and smiling while waving. “Jesus H. Christ, Christie, what do you want? Are you here to tell me that I just offended a bunch of Christians by saying Jesus H. Christ? Those religious assholes say it all the time and nobody gives them shit about it.”
Still with a roguish smile on her face, Christie brushed her dyed pink hair back and said, “Relax, big boy, I’m not here to chastise you. I just wanted you to meet my new best friend. He’s into the same things you are and you two would really hit it off. Maybe you could let him into your little fraternity.”
Daniel suddenly felt a hard slap on his broad right shoulder as a muscular black arm was wrapped around him in an affectionate way. Daniel gulped a huge wad of saliva and shook nervously as he saw the big black football player standing over him with a seductive grin on his face. “Now hold on there, partner!” said the black dude. “Your ass is about to get some sweet Texas loving!”
The frat boy stared into his offender’s eyes with horror on his face and a quivering lip. He could barely get out a frail, “Uh-oh” before he shot up from his seat and tried to bolt out of the cafeteria in one piece. He didn’t get too far. He banged his knee on one of the tables and collapsed to the ground holding his knee, prompting everybody in the cafeteria, Christie and her “new friend” included, to laugh until their ribs ached.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” yelled Daniel as he rolled around on the ground clutching his knee. They didn’t shut up. They grew louder in their donkey laughs, causing him to have a tear roll down his cheek.
As soon as Christie and her new friend got their back-splitting laughter out of their systems, the pink-haired student pulled out her wallet and handed the football stud a wad of twenty dollar bills. “Keep your money, baby,” he said. “That kid’s sweet little ass is payment enough!”
April 9, 2016
Zootopia
MOVIE TITLE: Zootopia
DIRECTORS: Byron Howard and Rich Moore
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Children’s Animation
RATING: PG for comic mischief
GRADE: Extra Credit
In a world where anthropomorphic animals reign, little bunny Judy Hops dreamed of being a Zootopia police officer and making a difference ever since she was a little kid. Everyone from her carrot farming parents to a wise cracking fox named Nick told her that her dreams were worthless and settling for less was the only way to live. Even as a meter maid, Judy is determined to prove that no dream is too far out of reach and any case is solvable. She even decides to go rogue and solve a case involving fourteen missing predators without help from her fellow police cohorts. It starts out as simple lead following (and conning Nick) and evolves into a conspiracy that affects the entire animal kingdom.
When giving this movie high praise, one must point out the elephant in the room. No, not the one with the trunk and tusks. I’m talking about the themes of prejudice and police corruption. In the real world, it means non-white criminals will be given stiffer penalties than white ones despite the severity and circumstances of the crime. In the world of Zootopia, it’s the same racial clash, but with predators and prey. Predators are labeled as savages and criminals while the preys are labeled as automatically innocent and sweet. The makers of this movie were obviously trying to teach younger viewers a lesson in loving and accepting each other despite our differences. It’s an admirable lesson and an important one in today’s modern age with the Ferguson, Missouri and NYPD cases serving as black eyes to American society. Using cute and cuddly animals helps ease the pain enough for small children to digest the message without being disturbed.
The other message of the movie is to never give up on your hopes and dreams no matter how tough things get. As someone who aspires to be a professional author in a tightly competitive market, I always love it when this message is sent loud and clear. Judy Hops appreciated it too since overcoming obstacles is her strongest feature. She’s a teeny-tiny bunny rabbit in a world of hulking buffalos and rhinos. If she can make it in Zootopia, she can make it anywhere. Settling for less seems like a good survival strategy, but surviving isn’t the same as actually living. Walking about like a zombie to a stressful job isn’t healthy and shouldn’t be encouraged by any authority figure.
I mentioned that the animals were cute and cuddly, right? Well, it’s not just a great way to attack the theme of prejudice, but it’s also a good for getting those cutesy-wutesy emotions out in the open. I have tons of cats and two lovable dogs living with me, so I know how important it is to show them love and affection. One of my favorite things to call an animal is a “pie”. Sometimes I’ll attach it on the end of my pets’ names. My Springer Spaniel Bassett Hound mix is called Maggie-Pie. My little Schipperke is called Willem-Pie. The elderly brown kitty that’s currently sleeping on my bed with new age music in the background is called Smokey-Pie. Yes, I know animals aren’t actually dessert pastries, but they don’t seem to mind the affection. In fact, they welcome it. So would it be too out of line if I called the characters Judy-Pie and Nicky-Pie? They’d probably take it as species profiling, but they’ll come around once they get their belly rubs.
Despite the fact that this is a PG-rated Disney movie, it’s one all age groups should see. There are so many reasons to love it, including ones I haven’t outlined in this review. I don’t want to outline too much, because that would lead to spoilers and spoilers take the motivation away. Go buy a ticket and see this wonderful movie in the theaters. If not, you could wait for it to come out on Blu-Ray, DVD, and digital format. If you’re not smiling and giddy by the time this movie is over, check your pulse. Five stars for a movie that was more than just a lovey-dovey parading of animals. It’s a movie that keeps hope alive even after crushing politics leave us all desolate and depressed.
DIRECTORS: Byron Howard and Rich Moore
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Children’s Animation
RATING: PG for comic mischief
GRADE: Extra Credit
In a world where anthropomorphic animals reign, little bunny Judy Hops dreamed of being a Zootopia police officer and making a difference ever since she was a little kid. Everyone from her carrot farming parents to a wise cracking fox named Nick told her that her dreams were worthless and settling for less was the only way to live. Even as a meter maid, Judy is determined to prove that no dream is too far out of reach and any case is solvable. She even decides to go rogue and solve a case involving fourteen missing predators without help from her fellow police cohorts. It starts out as simple lead following (and conning Nick) and evolves into a conspiracy that affects the entire animal kingdom.
When giving this movie high praise, one must point out the elephant in the room. No, not the one with the trunk and tusks. I’m talking about the themes of prejudice and police corruption. In the real world, it means non-white criminals will be given stiffer penalties than white ones despite the severity and circumstances of the crime. In the world of Zootopia, it’s the same racial clash, but with predators and prey. Predators are labeled as savages and criminals while the preys are labeled as automatically innocent and sweet. The makers of this movie were obviously trying to teach younger viewers a lesson in loving and accepting each other despite our differences. It’s an admirable lesson and an important one in today’s modern age with the Ferguson, Missouri and NYPD cases serving as black eyes to American society. Using cute and cuddly animals helps ease the pain enough for small children to digest the message without being disturbed.
The other message of the movie is to never give up on your hopes and dreams no matter how tough things get. As someone who aspires to be a professional author in a tightly competitive market, I always love it when this message is sent loud and clear. Judy Hops appreciated it too since overcoming obstacles is her strongest feature. She’s a teeny-tiny bunny rabbit in a world of hulking buffalos and rhinos. If she can make it in Zootopia, she can make it anywhere. Settling for less seems like a good survival strategy, but surviving isn’t the same as actually living. Walking about like a zombie to a stressful job isn’t healthy and shouldn’t be encouraged by any authority figure.
I mentioned that the animals were cute and cuddly, right? Well, it’s not just a great way to attack the theme of prejudice, but it’s also a good for getting those cutesy-wutesy emotions out in the open. I have tons of cats and two lovable dogs living with me, so I know how important it is to show them love and affection. One of my favorite things to call an animal is a “pie”. Sometimes I’ll attach it on the end of my pets’ names. My Springer Spaniel Bassett Hound mix is called Maggie-Pie. My little Schipperke is called Willem-Pie. The elderly brown kitty that’s currently sleeping on my bed with new age music in the background is called Smokey-Pie. Yes, I know animals aren’t actually dessert pastries, but they don’t seem to mind the affection. In fact, they welcome it. So would it be too out of line if I called the characters Judy-Pie and Nicky-Pie? They’d probably take it as species profiling, but they’ll come around once they get their belly rubs.
Despite the fact that this is a PG-rated Disney movie, it’s one all age groups should see. There are so many reasons to love it, including ones I haven’t outlined in this review. I don’t want to outline too much, because that would lead to spoilers and spoilers take the motivation away. Go buy a ticket and see this wonderful movie in the theaters. If not, you could wait for it to come out on Blu-Ray, DVD, and digital format. If you’re not smiling and giddy by the time this movie is over, check your pulse. Five stars for a movie that was more than just a lovey-dovey parading of animals. It’s a movie that keeps hope alive even after crushing politics leave us all desolate and depressed.
April 7, 2016
King Blizzard
Jason Clark was getting sick of waiting around. He aggressively rocked in his wooden chair on the front porch while stoically chewing a piece of wheat. The fields before him were bountiful with vegetables and fruit whether it was corn and potatoes or strawberries and watermelons. They all looked mouthwateringly delicious to even the biggest of appetites. These vast fields of food were all thanks to the backbreaking, sweat dripping hard work of the Clark family.
Middle-aged Jason didn’t want to think about his family too much. Knowing they would never come back from the dead put the occasional tear in his eye. A beautiful wife and two happy children were ripped from his life in a bloody struggle that Jason could never forgive. “Today is the day,” he said to himself in a stern and gravelly voice. “No turning back.”
And then the sounds and tremors of gigantic footsteps rang across the fields. Even though Jason’s two-story house was shaking, he wasn’t in a huge hurry when he stood up and slowly walked in front of the dirt path leading to his home. The source of the earth-shattering footsteps was plain in sight and all the farmer could do was fold his arms and give him a hateful frown.
There he was in all of his fifty-foot tall glory: King Blizzard. He had the golden crown and long red cloak to prove his “royalty”. He looked more like an outlander barbarian with a fur loincloth covering his body and ogre-like dentistry. He acted like one too when he leaned down and screamed at Jason in an attempt to get his bones rattling and adrenaline flowing. The stoic farmer didn’t blink, let alone budge.
“You’re awfully confident for someone who could get stepped on like the insect you are!” grunted King Blizzard in his throaty, demonic voice.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Jason. “All I did was put in the best work of my life this year to make sure you have all your food. That is what you came here for, right? An undeserved handout? Hell, I could have used one when you murdered my family.”
Blizzard stood up straight and let out an obnoxious belly laugh. “Trust me, you didn’t need those little twerps anymore. They were doing you no good. If anything, they held you back. You know what happens when farmers don’t give me what I’m entitled to, right? They get smashed!”
The unflinching Jason Clark spit out the wheat straw and said, “Yeah, I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. But the real question is…do you know what I’m capable of?”
The giant’s next belly laugh caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass, sending a ripple throughout the ground and nearly knocking Jason on his back. “Wow, you’re quite the comedian today! Maybe instead of being a farmer, you should be a court jester! You’d probably make more money dancing and singing like an idiot than you would feeding my big ass! Speaking of which…”
Blizzard started uprooting various crops around his massive body. He ate handfuls of pumpkins and watermelon like they were candy. He picked his teeth with ears of corn. He stuffed mounds of lettuce in his mouth like it was his last meal. Throughout his banquet, he smacked his lips, drooled rivers all over himself, and burped sonic booms like the annoying bastard he was. “Is this seriously all you’ve got? I’m still hungry! Feed me, you pathetic human!”
“How about instead of eating like a spoiled brat, you actually start being thankful for the bounty these farmers give you! We work our asses off for three hundred and sixty-five days a year just so you could feed that massive belly of yours! And just so you know, Blizzard, we were all secretly hoping that your filthy eating habits would earn you a heart attack! But I guess that’s all wishful thinking, now isn’t it!” screamed Jason with his clinched fists at his sides.
“You’ve got some balls on you, son,” said Blizzard as he started to stand back up. He looked down on Jason as if he was nothing more than a flea. The giant’s eyebrows furrowed. His voice grew angrier. His balled up fists were like wrecking balls. His whole body was a weapon of war, a war he was determined to win within seconds.
He reached down and picked up Jason Clark before squeezing him tightly in his mountainous hand. Aside from a few grunts and groans, the farmer remained as stoic as ever, uncaring about his own life now that his family was torn away from him. The giant could squeeze until the Jason’s head popped like a zit and there would still be courage in the little guy’s heart.
“I should just crush you in the palm of my hand right here right now!” shouted King Blizzard. “But I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of a quick death. No, I’m going to draw this out for as long as I damn well want. The first thing I’m going to do is rip off your arms and legs one at a time.”
In a strained voice, Jason said, “Do your worst! See if I give a shit!”
“Your balls are too big for your own good, little buddy. Maybe I’ll rip them off first!” threatened Blizzard. “But first, I need to have a seat. All that food’s giving me a cramp.” The giant chuckled evilly before sitting down on Jason’s two-story house and crushing it to toothpicks.
And then Blizzard’s threatening mood changed to one of pain and agony. At first he winced and shivered to try and ease himself. He even loosened his grip around Jason long enough for him to get away and roll on the ground to cough up little droplets of blood. Blizzard couldn’t take it anymore. He let out the world’s loudest growl of pain as he rolled over and revealed the source of his agony. He had a column of piled up furniture going up his ass crack. Heat stoves, couches, bookshelves, and even a spiky tube was stacked high from the top to the bottom of the house.
As King Blizzard’s anus was bleeding profusely from the furniture sodomy, Jason, who was on his back breathing painfully, poked his head up and said, “You feel that, big guy? You feel that?! Good! I hope it hurts like hell! I’ve been hurting for a whole year ever since you took my family away from me! But did I back down? No, I didn’t! I kept plowing my fields and I gave you some of the best food you’ve ever eaten! Consider this your last meal before your execution!”
Blizzard’s breathing became labored and raspy as his anus continued to bleed all over the remains of Jason’s house. “Execution?! You’re the one who’s going to be executed, you little shit!” The giant fumbled and staggered in his attempt to stand back on his feet. He was still bleeding profusely, but for a moment he blocked out the literal pain in his ass and focused on the figurative one lying on the ground below him.
The giant limped and dragged himself over to Jason’s broken body. But the minute he knelt down to pick him up again, the pain in his ass fired up and he screamed some more. After a while of dancing around in pain, King Blizzard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards with a resounding thud, shoving the furniture up his ass even more. There was no more movement, no more screaming, and no more tyranny. King Blizzard had just become the world’s biggest rotting corpse.
In his groundbreaking fall, Blizzard landed back first on Jason’s body, crushing it into blood and bones and taking him to the afterlife with the giant. But was this battle considered a draw? Hardly. After a few days of inactivity, several of Jason Clark’s farmer friends visited his fields and saw the proof themselves that he was a hero. King Blizzard was slain and a victory square dance was in order.
Before there could be a grand celebration, a funeral would take place to honor the Clark family. There would be plenty to eat at the ceremony since Blizzard left behind fields and fields of uneaten food. But more importantly, Blizzard himself would be on the menu since his muscular body had more meat on it than the entire world’s cow population.
What did the farmers call this new food company? The name was a no-brainer. Ho, ho, ho! Green Giant!
Middle-aged Jason didn’t want to think about his family too much. Knowing they would never come back from the dead put the occasional tear in his eye. A beautiful wife and two happy children were ripped from his life in a bloody struggle that Jason could never forgive. “Today is the day,” he said to himself in a stern and gravelly voice. “No turning back.”
And then the sounds and tremors of gigantic footsteps rang across the fields. Even though Jason’s two-story house was shaking, he wasn’t in a huge hurry when he stood up and slowly walked in front of the dirt path leading to his home. The source of the earth-shattering footsteps was plain in sight and all the farmer could do was fold his arms and give him a hateful frown.
There he was in all of his fifty-foot tall glory: King Blizzard. He had the golden crown and long red cloak to prove his “royalty”. He looked more like an outlander barbarian with a fur loincloth covering his body and ogre-like dentistry. He acted like one too when he leaned down and screamed at Jason in an attempt to get his bones rattling and adrenaline flowing. The stoic farmer didn’t blink, let alone budge.
“You’re awfully confident for someone who could get stepped on like the insect you are!” grunted King Blizzard in his throaty, demonic voice.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Jason. “All I did was put in the best work of my life this year to make sure you have all your food. That is what you came here for, right? An undeserved handout? Hell, I could have used one when you murdered my family.”
Blizzard stood up straight and let out an obnoxious belly laugh. “Trust me, you didn’t need those little twerps anymore. They were doing you no good. If anything, they held you back. You know what happens when farmers don’t give me what I’m entitled to, right? They get smashed!”
The unflinching Jason Clark spit out the wheat straw and said, “Yeah, I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. But the real question is…do you know what I’m capable of?”
The giant’s next belly laugh caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass, sending a ripple throughout the ground and nearly knocking Jason on his back. “Wow, you’re quite the comedian today! Maybe instead of being a farmer, you should be a court jester! You’d probably make more money dancing and singing like an idiot than you would feeding my big ass! Speaking of which…”
Blizzard started uprooting various crops around his massive body. He ate handfuls of pumpkins and watermelon like they were candy. He picked his teeth with ears of corn. He stuffed mounds of lettuce in his mouth like it was his last meal. Throughout his banquet, he smacked his lips, drooled rivers all over himself, and burped sonic booms like the annoying bastard he was. “Is this seriously all you’ve got? I’m still hungry! Feed me, you pathetic human!”
“How about instead of eating like a spoiled brat, you actually start being thankful for the bounty these farmers give you! We work our asses off for three hundred and sixty-five days a year just so you could feed that massive belly of yours! And just so you know, Blizzard, we were all secretly hoping that your filthy eating habits would earn you a heart attack! But I guess that’s all wishful thinking, now isn’t it!” screamed Jason with his clinched fists at his sides.
“You’ve got some balls on you, son,” said Blizzard as he started to stand back up. He looked down on Jason as if he was nothing more than a flea. The giant’s eyebrows furrowed. His voice grew angrier. His balled up fists were like wrecking balls. His whole body was a weapon of war, a war he was determined to win within seconds.
He reached down and picked up Jason Clark before squeezing him tightly in his mountainous hand. Aside from a few grunts and groans, the farmer remained as stoic as ever, uncaring about his own life now that his family was torn away from him. The giant could squeeze until the Jason’s head popped like a zit and there would still be courage in the little guy’s heart.
“I should just crush you in the palm of my hand right here right now!” shouted King Blizzard. “But I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of a quick death. No, I’m going to draw this out for as long as I damn well want. The first thing I’m going to do is rip off your arms and legs one at a time.”
In a strained voice, Jason said, “Do your worst! See if I give a shit!”
“Your balls are too big for your own good, little buddy. Maybe I’ll rip them off first!” threatened Blizzard. “But first, I need to have a seat. All that food’s giving me a cramp.” The giant chuckled evilly before sitting down on Jason’s two-story house and crushing it to toothpicks.
And then Blizzard’s threatening mood changed to one of pain and agony. At first he winced and shivered to try and ease himself. He even loosened his grip around Jason long enough for him to get away and roll on the ground to cough up little droplets of blood. Blizzard couldn’t take it anymore. He let out the world’s loudest growl of pain as he rolled over and revealed the source of his agony. He had a column of piled up furniture going up his ass crack. Heat stoves, couches, bookshelves, and even a spiky tube was stacked high from the top to the bottom of the house.
As King Blizzard’s anus was bleeding profusely from the furniture sodomy, Jason, who was on his back breathing painfully, poked his head up and said, “You feel that, big guy? You feel that?! Good! I hope it hurts like hell! I’ve been hurting for a whole year ever since you took my family away from me! But did I back down? No, I didn’t! I kept plowing my fields and I gave you some of the best food you’ve ever eaten! Consider this your last meal before your execution!”
Blizzard’s breathing became labored and raspy as his anus continued to bleed all over the remains of Jason’s house. “Execution?! You’re the one who’s going to be executed, you little shit!” The giant fumbled and staggered in his attempt to stand back on his feet. He was still bleeding profusely, but for a moment he blocked out the literal pain in his ass and focused on the figurative one lying on the ground below him.
The giant limped and dragged himself over to Jason’s broken body. But the minute he knelt down to pick him up again, the pain in his ass fired up and he screamed some more. After a while of dancing around in pain, King Blizzard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards with a resounding thud, shoving the furniture up his ass even more. There was no more movement, no more screaming, and no more tyranny. King Blizzard had just become the world’s biggest rotting corpse.
In his groundbreaking fall, Blizzard landed back first on Jason’s body, crushing it into blood and bones and taking him to the afterlife with the giant. But was this battle considered a draw? Hardly. After a few days of inactivity, several of Jason Clark’s farmer friends visited his fields and saw the proof themselves that he was a hero. King Blizzard was slain and a victory square dance was in order.
Before there could be a grand celebration, a funeral would take place to honor the Clark family. There would be plenty to eat at the ceremony since Blizzard left behind fields and fields of uneaten food. But more importantly, Blizzard himself would be on the menu since his muscular body had more meat on it than the entire world’s cow population.
What did the farmers call this new food company? The name was a no-brainer. Ho, ho, ho! Green Giant!
April 6, 2016
Dark Fantasy
***DARK FANTASY***
This is going to come as a shock to a lot of people (eye roll)…but I’m a dark fantasy nut. You’ll probably need a crane to pick your jaw up off the floor after that revelation. Every chance I get, I always talk about black magic no matter what the situation is. Here are some examples:
When the power went out in Port Orchard a few weeks ago due to a windstorm, I described the town as being at the mercy of “The Aeromancers”, or wizards who specialize in wind magic. It was really just Mother Nature being an asshole, but I like the dark fantasy version better.
My most painful memories in life are referred to as “Demons”. It’s a common word for a lot of people to use, but I take it to an entirely differently level. I actually see those memories as hellish monsters that must be hunted with barbaric force. That could explain why I like the band Demon Hunter despite not being religious. That and they make good music.
If I ever decide to embark on a career in heavy metal music (beyond writing song lyrics), I’d want my band to be called The Pyrocrats, which is a Greek word that basically means we govern with fire. Granted, I don’t actually want to set buildings on fire, because that would be illegal. They call it “dark fantasy” for a reason.
If I ever decide to get a tattoo (which will never happen because I have a low tolerance for pain), I’d want to have a pair of dragon wings on my back. Why? Because every time I find something in life I want to go to war with, I “breathe dragon fire on it”. But that’s not dark fantasy, that’s high fantasy. It could be dark fantasy one day.
Every fantasy short story or novel I’ve ever written has been described by Good Reads members as “deliciously violent” (or something to that effect). There’s fast-paced martial arts action, energy slinging, and blood (lots and lots of blood). Violence is a necessary part of the dark fantasy genre because it combines magic and horror.
Most of the monsters in my stories are designed to be scary in some way. They can hatch tarantulas, they can cover someone in scorpions, they can be extremely hairy, or they could wear a freaky mask of some kind. Pink Floyd the Wall and WWE are my biggest influences when it comes to scary characters.
You know the drawings of my short story and novel characters? I refer to them as “Dark Fantasy Warriors”. They’re violent, they’re vicious, they’re nasty, and they can take any Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter situation and cover it in blood. Mmmmmm, blood.
Who do you have to thank for all of this delicious darkness? The people at Blizzard, of course. They created Diablo II: Lord of Destruction (a dark fantasy RPG) and I enjoyed the shit out of playing it for nearly all of my life. That computer game is the main reason why I have so many barbarians in my stories, Deus Shadowheart being the most famous example.
I’m currently reading a book called “Swamplandia!” by Karen Russell and there’s a rival theme park called The World of Darkness, which is basically like Disney World, but with a demonic theme. I wouldn’t want to work there due to the way they treat their employees, but I’d love to spend a day there and ride the rides. Eh, maybe I shouldn’t. Kiwi Bigtree is in enough trouble as it is.
That’s all folks! Actually, there are probably more examples, but I can’t think of any right now. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week, which means a new story. The theme we’ve got this time around is Contrast. The story this theme produces is called “King Blizzard” (now that we’re on the topic of the dark fantasy genre). It goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
King Blizzard, Tyrannical Giant
Jason Clark, Farmer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The contrast in size between King Blizzard and Jason Clark is astronomical.
SYNOPSIS: For centuries, King Blizzard has bullied the people of The Zeal Empire by stealing food from their farms and tromping all over the land if he doesn’t get what he wants. In the past, soldiers and mages have all been sent out to slay the giant, but all that did was lead them to the slaughter. For as long as he owned his farm, Jason would always surrender his food without incident. That changes when he decides to stand up to the giant. He might get himself stomped on in the process, but in his mind, it’s better than living life without his family, whom Blizzard killed when his “payment” was late one year.
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SEBASTIAN LUND: Chris is the one with the funny accent.
CHRIS LASALLE: Y’all are the ones with accents.
-NCIS: New Orleans-
This is going to come as a shock to a lot of people (eye roll)…but I’m a dark fantasy nut. You’ll probably need a crane to pick your jaw up off the floor after that revelation. Every chance I get, I always talk about black magic no matter what the situation is. Here are some examples:
When the power went out in Port Orchard a few weeks ago due to a windstorm, I described the town as being at the mercy of “The Aeromancers”, or wizards who specialize in wind magic. It was really just Mother Nature being an asshole, but I like the dark fantasy version better.
My most painful memories in life are referred to as “Demons”. It’s a common word for a lot of people to use, but I take it to an entirely differently level. I actually see those memories as hellish monsters that must be hunted with barbaric force. That could explain why I like the band Demon Hunter despite not being religious. That and they make good music.
If I ever decide to embark on a career in heavy metal music (beyond writing song lyrics), I’d want my band to be called The Pyrocrats, which is a Greek word that basically means we govern with fire. Granted, I don’t actually want to set buildings on fire, because that would be illegal. They call it “dark fantasy” for a reason.
If I ever decide to get a tattoo (which will never happen because I have a low tolerance for pain), I’d want to have a pair of dragon wings on my back. Why? Because every time I find something in life I want to go to war with, I “breathe dragon fire on it”. But that’s not dark fantasy, that’s high fantasy. It could be dark fantasy one day.
Every fantasy short story or novel I’ve ever written has been described by Good Reads members as “deliciously violent” (or something to that effect). There’s fast-paced martial arts action, energy slinging, and blood (lots and lots of blood). Violence is a necessary part of the dark fantasy genre because it combines magic and horror.
Most of the monsters in my stories are designed to be scary in some way. They can hatch tarantulas, they can cover someone in scorpions, they can be extremely hairy, or they could wear a freaky mask of some kind. Pink Floyd the Wall and WWE are my biggest influences when it comes to scary characters.
You know the drawings of my short story and novel characters? I refer to them as “Dark Fantasy Warriors”. They’re violent, they’re vicious, they’re nasty, and they can take any Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter situation and cover it in blood. Mmmmmm, blood.
Who do you have to thank for all of this delicious darkness? The people at Blizzard, of course. They created Diablo II: Lord of Destruction (a dark fantasy RPG) and I enjoyed the shit out of playing it for nearly all of my life. That computer game is the main reason why I have so many barbarians in my stories, Deus Shadowheart being the most famous example.
I’m currently reading a book called “Swamplandia!” by Karen Russell and there’s a rival theme park called The World of Darkness, which is basically like Disney World, but with a demonic theme. I wouldn’t want to work there due to the way they treat their employees, but I’d love to spend a day there and ride the rides. Eh, maybe I shouldn’t. Kiwi Bigtree is in enough trouble as it is.
That’s all folks! Actually, there are probably more examples, but I can’t think of any right now. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week, which means a new story. The theme we’ve got this time around is Contrast. The story this theme produces is called “King Blizzard” (now that we’re on the topic of the dark fantasy genre). It goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
King Blizzard, Tyrannical Giant
Jason Clark, Farmer
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The contrast in size between King Blizzard and Jason Clark is astronomical.
SYNOPSIS: For centuries, King Blizzard has bullied the people of The Zeal Empire by stealing food from their farms and tromping all over the land if he doesn’t get what he wants. In the past, soldiers and mages have all been sent out to slay the giant, but all that did was lead them to the slaughter. For as long as he owned his farm, Jason would always surrender his food without incident. That changes when he decides to stand up to the giant. He might get himself stomped on in the process, but in his mind, it’s better than living life without his family, whom Blizzard killed when his “payment” was late one year.
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SEBASTIAN LUND: Chris is the one with the funny accent.
CHRIS LASALLE: Y’all are the ones with accents.
-NCIS: New Orleans-
April 1, 2016
Exposed
In Juliet Farrell’s fourteen-year-old mind, whoever invented math should be strapped to a chair and beaten with hammers. Trying to wrap her head around complicated algebra caused her to rip up her homework assignments and stab her textbook with a sharpened pencil. If not for the after school tutoring of her teacher Trent O’Neil, her head would have exploded like a suicide vest. Every day for thirty minutes, she would sit in his empty classroom and work frantically on homework assignments. Meanwhile, Mr. O’Neil would stand over her with a shit-eating grin on his face and promises of his undying support.
“Don’t forget what FOIL stands for: First, Outside, Inside, Last. You have to remember that when multiplying two polynomials together,” said Mr. O’Neil in his best jovial voice. Juliet had a smile on her face as well when her teacher’s advice was actually working. “Excellent work, Juliet! You’ve come a long way in such a short period of time. I like that! If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to use the men’s room. I’ll be right back to grade your assignment.”
It had been only a few short minutes since Mr. O’Neil left the room and Juliet was already confident enough to finish her assignment in record time. Another smile formed across her dimpled cheeks and she gave a silent, “Yes!” She hugged the piece of paper to her chest like it was a child’s baby doll. She then danced happily over to her teacher’s desk to lay down the assignment.
It was here that the brunette haired teen took a closer look at Trent’s desk and noticed something unusual. His drawers were usually locked, but one of them was slightly ajar. With furrowed brows of confusion, she opened one of the drawers just out of random curiosity. She had seen him confiscate contraband from other students before and lock them up in these drawers. Maybe there was a CD player in there. Maybe there was chewing gum. Or pot. Or a knife.
After shuffling around inside the drawer, Juliet’s eyes widened in horror and her cheeks were quivering. As she flipped through naked photos of herself one by one, her blood had chilled and cold sweat poured off of her face in streams. She even held her hand to her mouth and cried silently at the perverted nature of these nude photos of her. Obviously they were Photoshopped, but the sexual acts she was performing in these photos…they brought up bile in the back of her throat.
“What are you doing with those?” asked a falsely apologetic Trent O’Neil, who was standing in the doorway with a horrified look on his face.
“What am I doing with these?” sobbed Juliet. She repeated that sentence in a scream this time followed by, “You have naked pictures of me in your drawer! What is wrong with you! Is that the only reason why you wanted to tutor me?! Oh my god, I feel sick!” The traumatized teen dropped to her knees and dry heaved on the floor. Her face had turned bright red and mucous was forming around her nostrils as she sobbed some more.
“Juliet…you need to listen to me. I can explain why those photos are there. They’re not mine, I swear,” said Trent with his arms held out in a mediocre attempt to calm his student down.
“Bullshit!” shouted Juliet while rising to her feet. “That is such bullshit! You’re a pedophile! You’re a goddamn pedophile!” Her sentences were punctuated by shoving Trent backwards repeatedly. The teacher had successfully deceived the entire school into thinking he was a decent person. But with one slap across Juliet’s face, his true colors showed and they were blood red.
Trent continued his assault by grabbing Juliet’s brown hair and hauling her to her feet. “Who in the hell do you think you are, little girl?!” he said in an emotionless whisper. “Who are you to destroy my career?! I spent years teaching the next generation how to excel at math and become productive citizens. If you think you’re going to fuck it all up for me, you’re dead wrong!”
Juliet stomped on Trent’s feet repeatedly, causing him to do a painful dance, but he wouldn’t relinquish his grasp on his student’s hair. In fact, he had enough strength to shove her to the ground and lay on top of her. His powerful arms pinned her skinny wrists to the ground while the teen screamed and pleaded to be released. “Let me go! Please let me go!”
“You want to be released?! Huh?! You want to be released?! Oh trust me, little girl, I’ll give you the best release you’ve ever had in your entire life!” Trent’s breathing was heavy and labored, but also creepy to listen to. “Don’t believe everything your sex ed teacher tells you. You’re not going to have green splooge afterwards. But here’s the kicker, my darling: if you tell anybody about this, those nude photos go online! One way or another, you’re going to be known as a fourteen-year-old whore! Whether it’s mine or the internet’s is up to you, little girl! What do you say?!”
Juliet sobbed the entire time Mr. O’Neil was yelling at her. No matter the outcome of this confrontation, she was doomed forever. She thought of all the people who would either know about her rape or see her Photoshopped pictures online. All the name calling. All the physicality. All the isolation. The thoughts numbed out her mind like a shot of Novocain to the brain. Then again, as long as her life was going to be ruined…
“Eat shit and die, you pervert!” screamed Juliet Farrell before she leaned her head over and bit down hard on Trent’s wrist, drawing so much blood that it probably curdled while the teacher was screaming in mind-blowing pain. He rolled off of her and allowed the blubbering student to get up and run toward the desk where the stack of photos was being kept.
Juliet looked through those photos again with downward eyebrows and clinched teeth before looking back at Trent O’Neil, who was sitting on his ass screaming in agony and wrapping his orange tie around his wrist wound. Juliet then picked up a stapler along with the photos and marched over to her injured teacher with sick intentions on her mind.
“You want people to see me naked? Fine by me. But it’ll be on my terms. And the blood will be on your hands!” threatened Juliet. One by one, she stapled the naked pictures to Trent’s exposed skin and caused bigger gushers than the one on his wrist. The teacher screamed and pleaded, but instead got more pictures stapled to his arms, legs, chest, forehead, and lastly, his crotch.
Trent shot up off the ground and danced in pain while bleeding all over the desks and carpet. Juliet watched him twirl around with folded arms and a gorgon death stare as she followed him out into the hallway where the football team was just getting out of practice at the next door gym.
The football players’ eyes widened in horror at the sight of a bloodied pedophile with pictures of a naked teenager stapled to his body. Trent O’Neil had become a human collage of disgust, disdain, and violence and all he could do about it was crawl on his hands and knees with the football team’s hearts skipping a few beats.
“Go ahead. Soak it all in,” said Juliet, who was standing in a puddle of her math teacher’s blood. “Add those pictures to your personal spank bank. Jack off to them as much as you want. But if you’re thinking of keeping me like one of your slutty cheerleaders, just remember that you too could be just as bloody and bruised as the man who did this to me. So…how about it, boys? Do you have something you want to say to me? You want to whistle at me? You want to blow me a kiss? You want to ask me to the homecoming dance? If you’ve got something to say, say it to my motherfucking face!”
For extra emphasis on how brutal she can be when she’s crossed, Juliet held up the bloodstained stapler she used to make artwork out of her teacher. “You’re crazy! You’re fucking crazy!” yelled one of the football players as all of them started to back away slowly in trembling fear.
“You’re right. I am crazy. Crazy like a fox,” said Juliet with a sadistic smile on her face. She even licked the blood off of the stapler to make the football team backpedal just a little bit faster (they were moving too slowly for her tastes).
“Don’t forget what FOIL stands for: First, Outside, Inside, Last. You have to remember that when multiplying two polynomials together,” said Mr. O’Neil in his best jovial voice. Juliet had a smile on her face as well when her teacher’s advice was actually working. “Excellent work, Juliet! You’ve come a long way in such a short period of time. I like that! If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to use the men’s room. I’ll be right back to grade your assignment.”
It had been only a few short minutes since Mr. O’Neil left the room and Juliet was already confident enough to finish her assignment in record time. Another smile formed across her dimpled cheeks and she gave a silent, “Yes!” She hugged the piece of paper to her chest like it was a child’s baby doll. She then danced happily over to her teacher’s desk to lay down the assignment.
It was here that the brunette haired teen took a closer look at Trent’s desk and noticed something unusual. His drawers were usually locked, but one of them was slightly ajar. With furrowed brows of confusion, she opened one of the drawers just out of random curiosity. She had seen him confiscate contraband from other students before and lock them up in these drawers. Maybe there was a CD player in there. Maybe there was chewing gum. Or pot. Or a knife.
After shuffling around inside the drawer, Juliet’s eyes widened in horror and her cheeks were quivering. As she flipped through naked photos of herself one by one, her blood had chilled and cold sweat poured off of her face in streams. She even held her hand to her mouth and cried silently at the perverted nature of these nude photos of her. Obviously they were Photoshopped, but the sexual acts she was performing in these photos…they brought up bile in the back of her throat.
“What are you doing with those?” asked a falsely apologetic Trent O’Neil, who was standing in the doorway with a horrified look on his face.
“What am I doing with these?” sobbed Juliet. She repeated that sentence in a scream this time followed by, “You have naked pictures of me in your drawer! What is wrong with you! Is that the only reason why you wanted to tutor me?! Oh my god, I feel sick!” The traumatized teen dropped to her knees and dry heaved on the floor. Her face had turned bright red and mucous was forming around her nostrils as she sobbed some more.
“Juliet…you need to listen to me. I can explain why those photos are there. They’re not mine, I swear,” said Trent with his arms held out in a mediocre attempt to calm his student down.
“Bullshit!” shouted Juliet while rising to her feet. “That is such bullshit! You’re a pedophile! You’re a goddamn pedophile!” Her sentences were punctuated by shoving Trent backwards repeatedly. The teacher had successfully deceived the entire school into thinking he was a decent person. But with one slap across Juliet’s face, his true colors showed and they were blood red.
Trent continued his assault by grabbing Juliet’s brown hair and hauling her to her feet. “Who in the hell do you think you are, little girl?!” he said in an emotionless whisper. “Who are you to destroy my career?! I spent years teaching the next generation how to excel at math and become productive citizens. If you think you’re going to fuck it all up for me, you’re dead wrong!”
Juliet stomped on Trent’s feet repeatedly, causing him to do a painful dance, but he wouldn’t relinquish his grasp on his student’s hair. In fact, he had enough strength to shove her to the ground and lay on top of her. His powerful arms pinned her skinny wrists to the ground while the teen screamed and pleaded to be released. “Let me go! Please let me go!”
“You want to be released?! Huh?! You want to be released?! Oh trust me, little girl, I’ll give you the best release you’ve ever had in your entire life!” Trent’s breathing was heavy and labored, but also creepy to listen to. “Don’t believe everything your sex ed teacher tells you. You’re not going to have green splooge afterwards. But here’s the kicker, my darling: if you tell anybody about this, those nude photos go online! One way or another, you’re going to be known as a fourteen-year-old whore! Whether it’s mine or the internet’s is up to you, little girl! What do you say?!”
Juliet sobbed the entire time Mr. O’Neil was yelling at her. No matter the outcome of this confrontation, she was doomed forever. She thought of all the people who would either know about her rape or see her Photoshopped pictures online. All the name calling. All the physicality. All the isolation. The thoughts numbed out her mind like a shot of Novocain to the brain. Then again, as long as her life was going to be ruined…
“Eat shit and die, you pervert!” screamed Juliet Farrell before she leaned her head over and bit down hard on Trent’s wrist, drawing so much blood that it probably curdled while the teacher was screaming in mind-blowing pain. He rolled off of her and allowed the blubbering student to get up and run toward the desk where the stack of photos was being kept.
Juliet looked through those photos again with downward eyebrows and clinched teeth before looking back at Trent O’Neil, who was sitting on his ass screaming in agony and wrapping his orange tie around his wrist wound. Juliet then picked up a stapler along with the photos and marched over to her injured teacher with sick intentions on her mind.
“You want people to see me naked? Fine by me. But it’ll be on my terms. And the blood will be on your hands!” threatened Juliet. One by one, she stapled the naked pictures to Trent’s exposed skin and caused bigger gushers than the one on his wrist. The teacher screamed and pleaded, but instead got more pictures stapled to his arms, legs, chest, forehead, and lastly, his crotch.
Trent shot up off the ground and danced in pain while bleeding all over the desks and carpet. Juliet watched him twirl around with folded arms and a gorgon death stare as she followed him out into the hallway where the football team was just getting out of practice at the next door gym.
The football players’ eyes widened in horror at the sight of a bloodied pedophile with pictures of a naked teenager stapled to his body. Trent O’Neil had become a human collage of disgust, disdain, and violence and all he could do about it was crawl on his hands and knees with the football team’s hearts skipping a few beats.
“Go ahead. Soak it all in,” said Juliet, who was standing in a puddle of her math teacher’s blood. “Add those pictures to your personal spank bank. Jack off to them as much as you want. But if you’re thinking of keeping me like one of your slutty cheerleaders, just remember that you too could be just as bloody and bruised as the man who did this to me. So…how about it, boys? Do you have something you want to say to me? You want to whistle at me? You want to blow me a kiss? You want to ask me to the homecoming dance? If you’ve got something to say, say it to my motherfucking face!”
For extra emphasis on how brutal she can be when she’s crossed, Juliet held up the bloodstained stapler she used to make artwork out of her teacher. “You’re crazy! You’re fucking crazy!” yelled one of the football players as all of them started to back away slowly in trembling fear.
“You’re right. I am crazy. Crazy like a fox,” said Juliet with a sadistic smile on her face. She even licked the blood off of the stapler to make the football team backpedal just a little bit faster (they were moving too slowly for her tastes).
March 31, 2016
I Dream of Weird Shit
***I DREAM OF WEIRD SHIT***
I say all the time that dreams are a rich source of creative fuel. They’re like Vitamin B12 for the schizophrenic mind (trust me, this is real science; look it up). Last night’s visit to the subconscious theater was one that qualified as cinematic wizardry. Or a psychotic cluster fuck, one of those two. Either way, I’m going to harvest as much creative fuel as I can from this once in a lifetime acid trip. Here’s how the dream went:
I started the dream by opening a newspaper and reading about male-to-female transgender MMA fighter Fallon Fox confronting Ronda Rousey at one of her press conferences…wielding a crossbow. That’s right, folks. A crossbow. Not a shotgun. Not an AK-47. A crossbow. Nobody around me was asking why Fallon Fox was holding a crossbow. They wondered what kind it was and how many rounds it could carry. This was the one instance where it was okay to complain about unfair advantages in a one-on-one situation. A crossbow, for shit’s sake!
I put down the newspaper and get to work at my family-owned toy store. My occupational dreams have come true; I get to work with toys! I was setting up various Bionicle figures on the display table and even playing with some of them. My videogame playing brother signed a package for a shipment of Double Dragon games…for the PS4. A beat-‘em-up side-scroller from the 1980’s is now on Playstation 4. Where the fuck have Jimmy and Billy Lee been this whole time?! I missed those guys!
And then I actually start to play a copy of the game. Seeing as how it’s on the newest generation of videogame consoles, the game is ten times harder than its Regular Nintendo predecessors. The first level is a ski resort crawling with anthropomorphic wolves carrying big fucking swords. The creatures themselves aren’t so scary. It was when they grabbed Billy Lee and bashed him over the head several times with the handles of their blades that I decided to lower the difficulty and try again.
The ski resort level was the same, but this time I was fighting baby dolls with milk bottles. The same health bar-draining beatdown happens all over again. The dolls force feed me sleep-inducing milk while the other dolls punch and kick me while I’m down. I throw the control and say, “I don’t want to play anymore!”
I couldn’t play the videogame any further anyways, because it was time for me to clock out from the toy store and spends some time with my babysitter. This thirty-year-old man actually has a babysitter! And that babysitter has some cute daughters who are about my age. I tell everybody how beautiful they are and they get creeped out.
Instead of talking about beauty, we watch a TV show about aliens disguised as people roaming the earth and preparing it for an invasion. For the main character, we have a bald guy in a trench coat and a hat with his face concealed as he goes around ratting on these aliens to the authorities. Every time he successfully squeals on an alien, he gets a new identity under the Witness Protection Program and continues roaming the earth to do his detective work. He one time ratted out an entire restaurant because the aliens were making racist jokes about Europeans. Aliens getting accused of xenophobia: the irony could not be clearer.
After the end credits rolled, the closing logo featured a guy getting hit by a car and flying through the air, getting hit by another car and flying through the air, getting hit by a train and flying through the air again, and then getting his nose chopped off by a helicopter’s propellers. In the words of the pilot, “That’s one dead motherfucker!” For some reason, I thought that closing logo was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.
I woke up this afternoon at about two o’clock and I didn’t want to do anything for the rest of the day. I was so exhausted from ongoing sleep apnea issues that writing was impossible until now. I also didn’t feel like watching WWE NXT or Smackdown this evening, instead electing to watch the NXT Takeover special in Dallas tomorrow night and Wrestlemania 32 on Sunday.
Losing an entire day of potential work to sleep apnea is something that has plagued me throughout my whole career. Some days I’d have energy, some days I didn’t. Today was the latter and I felt awful about it. Not to worry, because I finally scheduled a sleep study which will take place on June 8th, five days after my 31st birthday and three days before seeing Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in Auburn. Chances are good I will need an oxygen mask, which I won’t mind as long as it gives me the energy I need in my day-to-day routine.
As of now, I have a short story to write for the WSS and a chapter to edit the hell out of in Occupy Wrestling. Those things don’t just write themselves. At least now I have some funky creative fuel to power me through my short stories. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: What do you call it when the voices in your head laugh at you for having dirty underwear?
A: Skids-ophrenia.
I say all the time that dreams are a rich source of creative fuel. They’re like Vitamin B12 for the schizophrenic mind (trust me, this is real science; look it up). Last night’s visit to the subconscious theater was one that qualified as cinematic wizardry. Or a psychotic cluster fuck, one of those two. Either way, I’m going to harvest as much creative fuel as I can from this once in a lifetime acid trip. Here’s how the dream went:
I started the dream by opening a newspaper and reading about male-to-female transgender MMA fighter Fallon Fox confronting Ronda Rousey at one of her press conferences…wielding a crossbow. That’s right, folks. A crossbow. Not a shotgun. Not an AK-47. A crossbow. Nobody around me was asking why Fallon Fox was holding a crossbow. They wondered what kind it was and how many rounds it could carry. This was the one instance where it was okay to complain about unfair advantages in a one-on-one situation. A crossbow, for shit’s sake!
I put down the newspaper and get to work at my family-owned toy store. My occupational dreams have come true; I get to work with toys! I was setting up various Bionicle figures on the display table and even playing with some of them. My videogame playing brother signed a package for a shipment of Double Dragon games…for the PS4. A beat-‘em-up side-scroller from the 1980’s is now on Playstation 4. Where the fuck have Jimmy and Billy Lee been this whole time?! I missed those guys!
And then I actually start to play a copy of the game. Seeing as how it’s on the newest generation of videogame consoles, the game is ten times harder than its Regular Nintendo predecessors. The first level is a ski resort crawling with anthropomorphic wolves carrying big fucking swords. The creatures themselves aren’t so scary. It was when they grabbed Billy Lee and bashed him over the head several times with the handles of their blades that I decided to lower the difficulty and try again.
The ski resort level was the same, but this time I was fighting baby dolls with milk bottles. The same health bar-draining beatdown happens all over again. The dolls force feed me sleep-inducing milk while the other dolls punch and kick me while I’m down. I throw the control and say, “I don’t want to play anymore!”
I couldn’t play the videogame any further anyways, because it was time for me to clock out from the toy store and spends some time with my babysitter. This thirty-year-old man actually has a babysitter! And that babysitter has some cute daughters who are about my age. I tell everybody how beautiful they are and they get creeped out.
Instead of talking about beauty, we watch a TV show about aliens disguised as people roaming the earth and preparing it for an invasion. For the main character, we have a bald guy in a trench coat and a hat with his face concealed as he goes around ratting on these aliens to the authorities. Every time he successfully squeals on an alien, he gets a new identity under the Witness Protection Program and continues roaming the earth to do his detective work. He one time ratted out an entire restaurant because the aliens were making racist jokes about Europeans. Aliens getting accused of xenophobia: the irony could not be clearer.
After the end credits rolled, the closing logo featured a guy getting hit by a car and flying through the air, getting hit by another car and flying through the air, getting hit by a train and flying through the air again, and then getting his nose chopped off by a helicopter’s propellers. In the words of the pilot, “That’s one dead motherfucker!” For some reason, I thought that closing logo was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.
I woke up this afternoon at about two o’clock and I didn’t want to do anything for the rest of the day. I was so exhausted from ongoing sleep apnea issues that writing was impossible until now. I also didn’t feel like watching WWE NXT or Smackdown this evening, instead electing to watch the NXT Takeover special in Dallas tomorrow night and Wrestlemania 32 on Sunday.
Losing an entire day of potential work to sleep apnea is something that has plagued me throughout my whole career. Some days I’d have energy, some days I didn’t. Today was the latter and I felt awful about it. Not to worry, because I finally scheduled a sleep study which will take place on June 8th, five days after my 31st birthday and three days before seeing Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in Auburn. Chances are good I will need an oxygen mask, which I won’t mind as long as it gives me the energy I need in my day-to-day routine.
As of now, I have a short story to write for the WSS and a chapter to edit the hell out of in Occupy Wrestling. Those things don’t just write themselves. At least now I have some funky creative fuel to power me through my short stories. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: What do you call it when the voices in your head laugh at you for having dirty underwear?
A: Skids-ophrenia.
March 30, 2016
Youth of the Nation
***YOUTH OF THE NATION***
Even though some of the songs on my iTunes play list are considered “Christian rock”, I am by no means religious. But even with my proud atheist liberal stance, I can appreciate the message of POD’s “Youth of a Nation”. Instead of trying to push an agenda, the song is simply a mourning of all of the lives lost due to school shootings. In all of the debates going on politically, the one thing we always seem to forget is to care for one another and be the best neighbors we can be. Hugs and hair fuzzles can go a long way. Hell, it may even be the last time you get to do something like that for the ones you love. Show your love often and in huge volumes. People remember that sort of thing, so much so that they’ll take it to the grave with them when the time finally comes to die. Here are the lyrics to “Youth of a Nation”:
Last day of the rest of my life
I wish I would've known
Cause I didn't kiss my mama goodbye
I didn't tell her that I loved her and how much I care
Or thank my pops for all the talks
And all the wisdom he shared
Unaware, I just did what I always do
Everyday, the same routine
Before I skate off to school
But who knew that this day wasn't like the rest
Instead of taking a test
I took two to the chest
Call me blind, but I didn't see it coming
Everybody was running
But I couldn't hear nothing
Except gun blasts, it happened so fast
I don't really know this kid
Even though I sit by him in class
Maybe this kid was reaching out for love
Or maybe for a moment
He forgot who he was
Or maybe this kid just wanted to be hugged
Whatever it was
I know it's because
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
Little Suzy, she was only twelve
She was given the world
With every chance to excel
Hang with the boys and hear the stories they tell
She might act kind of proud
But no respect for herself
She finds love in all the wrong places
The same situations
Just different faces
Changed up her pace since her daddy left her
Too bad he never told her
She deserved much better
Johnny boy always played the fool
He broke all the rules
So you would think he was cool
He was never really one of the guys
No matter how hard he tried
Often thought of suicide
It's kind of hard when you ain't got no friends
He put his life to an end
They might remember him then
You cross the line and there's no turning back
Told the world how he felt
With the sound of a gat
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
Who's to blame for the lives that tragedies claim
No matter what you say
It don't take away the pain
That I feel inside, I'm tired of all the lies
Don't nobody know why
It's the blind leading the blind
I guess that's the way the story goes
Will it ever make sense
Somebody's got to know
There's got to be more to life than this
There's got to be more to everything
I thought exists
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a brand new week and a brand new prompt. This time we’ve got “Deception” and a story called “Exposed”, which goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Trent O’Neil, Math Teacher
Juliet Farrell, Freshman Student
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Trent deceived the whole school into thinking he was a decent human being.
SYNOPSIS: In order to improve her math grade, Juliet has been spending extra time after school with Trent as her unofficial tutor. On the eve of a midterm test, Trent leaves the classroom to use the toilet and forgets to lock his desk drawers. Juliet goes to leave her extra credit assignment on the desk and gets suspicious when one of the drawers is ajar. She opens it and becomes horrified when she sees nude photos of herself neatly stacked inside. Trent comes back from his bathroom break and tries to “explain” how nude photos of Juliet ended up in his desk. The student tries to escape, but the teacher is blocking the only exit. It’s fight or flight for the little freshman and she hits hard.
***OCCUPY WRESTLING***
With the completion of Chapter Ten’s editing chores, I have officially crossed the halfway threshold of this novel. Ten more chapters and we’re ready to rock and roll. Ten more chapters. I can do ten more chapters. The eleventh one will probably get a complete overhaul since it’s the scene where Nina Jordan traces one of Keegan’s prison phone calls to an abandoned gas station. At least I think that’s the one, I’m not sure. If it is, then I’ll have to involve a large number of cops along with the ever-present Snakes of Jehovah. I can do this. I can goddamn do this.
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DUANE PRIDE: Lay off the bee puns!
SONJA PERCY: Yeah, it’s not like this is a sting operation.
-NCIS: New Orleans-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Speaking of that TV show, John Oliver asked a very important question in one of his “Last Week Tonight” episodes: “How can there be that many dead navy sailors in New Orleans?!”
Even though some of the songs on my iTunes play list are considered “Christian rock”, I am by no means religious. But even with my proud atheist liberal stance, I can appreciate the message of POD’s “Youth of a Nation”. Instead of trying to push an agenda, the song is simply a mourning of all of the lives lost due to school shootings. In all of the debates going on politically, the one thing we always seem to forget is to care for one another and be the best neighbors we can be. Hugs and hair fuzzles can go a long way. Hell, it may even be the last time you get to do something like that for the ones you love. Show your love often and in huge volumes. People remember that sort of thing, so much so that they’ll take it to the grave with them when the time finally comes to die. Here are the lyrics to “Youth of a Nation”:
Last day of the rest of my life
I wish I would've known
Cause I didn't kiss my mama goodbye
I didn't tell her that I loved her and how much I care
Or thank my pops for all the talks
And all the wisdom he shared
Unaware, I just did what I always do
Everyday, the same routine
Before I skate off to school
But who knew that this day wasn't like the rest
Instead of taking a test
I took two to the chest
Call me blind, but I didn't see it coming
Everybody was running
But I couldn't hear nothing
Except gun blasts, it happened so fast
I don't really know this kid
Even though I sit by him in class
Maybe this kid was reaching out for love
Or maybe for a moment
He forgot who he was
Or maybe this kid just wanted to be hugged
Whatever it was
I know it's because
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
Little Suzy, she was only twelve
She was given the world
With every chance to excel
Hang with the boys and hear the stories they tell
She might act kind of proud
But no respect for herself
She finds love in all the wrong places
The same situations
Just different faces
Changed up her pace since her daddy left her
Too bad he never told her
She deserved much better
Johnny boy always played the fool
He broke all the rules
So you would think he was cool
He was never really one of the guys
No matter how hard he tried
Often thought of suicide
It's kind of hard when you ain't got no friends
He put his life to an end
They might remember him then
You cross the line and there's no turning back
Told the world how he felt
With the sound of a gat
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
Who's to blame for the lives that tragedies claim
No matter what you say
It don't take away the pain
That I feel inside, I'm tired of all the lies
Don't nobody know why
It's the blind leading the blind
I guess that's the way the story goes
Will it ever make sense
Somebody's got to know
There's got to be more to life than this
There's got to be more to everything
I thought exists
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a brand new week and a brand new prompt. This time we’ve got “Deception” and a story called “Exposed”, which goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Trent O’Neil, Math Teacher
Juliet Farrell, Freshman Student
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Trent deceived the whole school into thinking he was a decent human being.
SYNOPSIS: In order to improve her math grade, Juliet has been spending extra time after school with Trent as her unofficial tutor. On the eve of a midterm test, Trent leaves the classroom to use the toilet and forgets to lock his desk drawers. Juliet goes to leave her extra credit assignment on the desk and gets suspicious when one of the drawers is ajar. She opens it and becomes horrified when she sees nude photos of herself neatly stacked inside. Trent comes back from his bathroom break and tries to “explain” how nude photos of Juliet ended up in his desk. The student tries to escape, but the teacher is blocking the only exit. It’s fight or flight for the little freshman and she hits hard.
***OCCUPY WRESTLING***
With the completion of Chapter Ten’s editing chores, I have officially crossed the halfway threshold of this novel. Ten more chapters and we’re ready to rock and roll. Ten more chapters. I can do ten more chapters. The eleventh one will probably get a complete overhaul since it’s the scene where Nina Jordan traces one of Keegan’s prison phone calls to an abandoned gas station. At least I think that’s the one, I’m not sure. If it is, then I’ll have to involve a large number of cops along with the ever-present Snakes of Jehovah. I can do this. I can goddamn do this.
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DUANE PRIDE: Lay off the bee puns!
SONJA PERCY: Yeah, it’s not like this is a sting operation.
-NCIS: New Orleans-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Speaking of that TV show, John Oliver asked a very important question in one of his “Last Week Tonight” episodes: “How can there be that many dead navy sailors in New Orleans?!”
March 28, 2016
No Means No
Reading the same words over and over again drained the life out of Selena Gray and Jasmine Shelley’s eyes to where they could just fall asleep at the library. Every letter of their textbooks looked as dull and gray as rainy weather. They had been cramming this useless information for hours while hunched over their table drifting in and out of slumber.
“Jesus Christ, what time is it?” asked the dark-haired Selena with no life in her voice.
“Time to go to bed. This is ridiculous,” said the blond-haired Jasmine with a yawn punctuating her sentence. “I swear to god, if I don’t pass this test, I’m going to be pissed. I dumped way too much money into this damn college to just let it all go to waste.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” said Selena as she stretched out her arms and squinted.
When the two students stood up, pushed their chairs in, and stretched some more, Jasmine had a quizzical look on her face while walking toward the library window. “Do you hear that? There’s something going on outside. It’s like some yelling or something.” She thought about it some more and then her sleepy eyes widened to alertness. “Oh, no, no ,no, not this!”
Jasmine and Selena headed over to the window and cracked it open just a pinch. The boisterous voices outside belonged to the Sigma Alpha Alpha (ASS) Fraternity, all of them barrel-chested, all of them wearing red sweaters with their logo, and all of them holding a banner that emulated their chant. “No means yes! Yes means anal!”
“Oh my god…oh my god…” said Jasmine with tears in her eyes as she slid down the wall and parked her rump on the floor. She kept repeating herself while holding her head and rocking back and forth. When Selena knelt down to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, Jasmine finally said, “There’s a boy down there that I used to date. Max Tyler. He’s the one with the blond hair combed back. I can’t let him see me up here. We’ve got to get out of this fucking library!”
Selena hugged her friend around the head and said in a soothing voice, “Okay, calm down, we’ll get out of here. I think there’s a back exit in this library that leads to the woods. Once we get there, we’re hitting the ground running. Hell, I think our physics books called this velocity or some shit like that. Come on, let’s go.”
The two students stood up and left their books behind when they speed-walked their way to the back exit. Once they touched the door handle together, they stopped and took deep breaths in preparation for what came next. Selena asked, “Are you ready? One, two, three!”
On three the door burst open and the two female students bolted out to the woods at the highest velocity with no regard for their tiredness or physical wellbeing. If they had to drain every ounce of energy running through these woods, they would keep going until their feet were bleeding. They weaved throughout the trees and foliage and were already breathing heavily. Only a few seconds later, they were hunched over. Their tongues were aching and their ribs felt like they were on fire. But keep running they did.
In this mad sprint to nowhere in particular, there wasn’t much time to take in the dark surroundings. Because of that, Selena didn’t notice an oncoming deer when it got excited and kicked its hind legs into her stomach, driving the air from her body like a deflated balloon. After the deer ran off, Selena found herself on her knees trying to suck in as much air as she possibly could. She coughed violently while blood poured from her lips.
Jasmine rushed to her friend’s aid and knelt beside her with a light hug. “Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
Once Selena was done coughing and puking up blood, she rolled over on her back holding her stomach and said, “What good is 9-1-1 going to do? There aren’t even any police watching those assholes at the college! What the hell’s going on here?” She pounded the ground in frustration, but that only sent a flood of pain through her stomach and caused her to heave more blood.
In the midst of this first aid excitement, Jasmine still managed to hear leaves crunching and twigs snapping under somebody’s boot. She immediately thought the worst and pulled her wounded friend as far away from the noises as possible. In her exhausted state, Jasmine still managed to find a hollow log to take temporary shelter in alongside Selena.
Once the two crawled inside, Jasmine placed a gentle finger on Selena’s lips and whispered, “You have to be quiet, there’s somebody out there. Try not to cough.” Selena couldn’t help it and let out a drop of blood before Jasmine shushed her again.
The leaves and sticks crunching grew louder and closer to the hollow log. A familiar male voice said in a singsong voice, “Oh, Jasmine. I know you’re out here. I can still hear you saying no from a mile away, babe. Well, you can say no all you want, but you know what no really means, right? Forget all that feminist bullshit for one night and just let me have some of that action!”
Jasmine felt her breathing getting heavy as the memories of dating Max Tyler flooded back to numb her mind. The vaginal groping in the movie theater. The breast grabbing in public. The smacks on the ass. The persistent requests for sex and the increased aggressiveness in Max’s voice each time Jasmine said no. Each of these frightening scenes made her wonder why she would even date such a caveman in the first place. Her heavy breathing became even heavier as anger mixed in with her anxiety. If it wasn’t for Selena giving a slight shush, Jasmine wouldn’t have put her own hand over her mouth.
“Oh, Jasmine-Pie, come out, come out wherever you are! If I don’t find you, my buds will. I didn’t like the idea of sharing you at first, but I could see it happening one day. I totally could!” Max’s combat boots were at the opening of the hollow log facing the left direction, a scene which almost made Jasmine gasp in fear. She resisted the urge yet again when she felt something furry crawling up her leg. No! It wouldn’t happen like this!
Jasmine petted the furry animal that was mounted on her leg and suffered a few blood-drawing bites on her finger. She didn’t scream as the little guy ran inside her hoodie pockets. In fact, she crawled out of the hollow log with him. “Jasmine, what are you doing?!” Selena whispered aggressively. “Get back here!”
Outside the log, Max was still strolling around the woods with a goofy grin on his face and his hands in his sweater pockets. “Come on, baby girl, give me a kiss!” he said while making lip smacking noises.
“Kiss this, you pervert! No means no!” shouted Jasmine. When Max turned around to face his ex-girlfriend, a squirrel jumped out of her hands and into his face, chewing his cheeks and nose with a voracious appetite. The frat boy backpedaled and screamed curses when he tried to pull the little munchkin off his face.
The squirrel was about to finish his delicious dessert and then it jumped off when Max tripped over another log and rolled down the hill. He crashed head first against one of the trees and was unconscious and bleeding almost instantly. He might have even been dead.
Jasmine breathed heavy sighs of relief as she knelt down on a pile of leaves and let the floodgates pour like rain. It was finally over. No truly meant no this time. Her moment of victory was ruined when she heard Selena cough up more blood as she crawled out of the hollow log. Jasmine rushed to her aid and petted her hair before saying, “It’s okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital. It’s all over.”
“Woo-hoo! Lesbian make-out scene, yeah!” shouted one of the male voices from the crowd. A whole group of frat boys dressed in sweaters and khakis were standing only a few feet away from where Jasmine and Selena were.
“Go away! Get out of here! Can’t you see she’s hurt!” shouted a sobbing Jasmine.
“Yeah, we know. You know who else is hurt? Max! I don’t see you doing anything for him! Maybe you should go down that hill and give him mouth-to-mouth!” said one of the frat boys before the whole group of them laughed like donkeys.
Selena managed to roll over onto her stomach and get on her hands and knees. In a raspy voice, she said, “Go to hell!” and then spit a wad of blood at one of the frat boy’s feet. That one guy formed an angry face and marched over to get his “free pussy” when he felt the world’s deadliest kick to the nuts. He crumpled over and spat up even more blood than Selena did.
The other frat boys began scurrying away when they saw that the same wild deer from before had reared its head again, kicking, bucking, and being a wild warrior in general. Jasmine got a good look at the deer’s face and saw that it was foaming at the mouth when it took a big bite out of the frat boy’s arm, causing him to squeal in pain.
The deer danced and flailed around some more before curling inward and flopping on the ground in death. Its foaming mouth was flooding with even more poison now that it was dead.
“Hey, Jasmine,” said Selena before coughing some more. “Remember how I said calling 9-1-1 would be useless? I may have lied a little bit. It maybe useless, it may not be. But it’s our only fucking hope.”
Jasmine tenderly held Selena’s head in her arms while dialing 9-1-1 on her smart phone. “Yeah, I need an ambulance to come out to Braxton Woods. My best friend was kicked by a deer.” She looked empathetically at the frat boy and Max Tyler before saying, “There are two other people who need medical attention too.”
“Just let them die, Jasmine!” shouted Selena.
“Shut up!” whispered Jasmine angrily. She talked back into the phone, “Oh, and one more thing. The deer died of rabies. Okay, thanks! Bye!” The stresses of the day caused the exhausted Jasmine Shelley to roll over on her back and gaze at the night sky. It wasn’t long before tiny raindrops pricked her skin, but she didn’t care. She never felt safer than in this moment of victory.
“We’re supposed to be better than those guys, Selena,” said Jasmine. “That’s why I included them in the ambulance call. Besides, if you really want them to learn what “no means no” stands for, wait until they go to prison!” Jasmine and Selena’s smiles were brighter than any full moon out this evening.
“Jesus Christ, what time is it?” asked the dark-haired Selena with no life in her voice.
“Time to go to bed. This is ridiculous,” said the blond-haired Jasmine with a yawn punctuating her sentence. “I swear to god, if I don’t pass this test, I’m going to be pissed. I dumped way too much money into this damn college to just let it all go to waste.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” said Selena as she stretched out her arms and squinted.
When the two students stood up, pushed their chairs in, and stretched some more, Jasmine had a quizzical look on her face while walking toward the library window. “Do you hear that? There’s something going on outside. It’s like some yelling or something.” She thought about it some more and then her sleepy eyes widened to alertness. “Oh, no, no ,no, not this!”
Jasmine and Selena headed over to the window and cracked it open just a pinch. The boisterous voices outside belonged to the Sigma Alpha Alpha (ASS) Fraternity, all of them barrel-chested, all of them wearing red sweaters with their logo, and all of them holding a banner that emulated their chant. “No means yes! Yes means anal!”
“Oh my god…oh my god…” said Jasmine with tears in her eyes as she slid down the wall and parked her rump on the floor. She kept repeating herself while holding her head and rocking back and forth. When Selena knelt down to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, Jasmine finally said, “There’s a boy down there that I used to date. Max Tyler. He’s the one with the blond hair combed back. I can’t let him see me up here. We’ve got to get out of this fucking library!”
Selena hugged her friend around the head and said in a soothing voice, “Okay, calm down, we’ll get out of here. I think there’s a back exit in this library that leads to the woods. Once we get there, we’re hitting the ground running. Hell, I think our physics books called this velocity or some shit like that. Come on, let’s go.”
The two students stood up and left their books behind when they speed-walked their way to the back exit. Once they touched the door handle together, they stopped and took deep breaths in preparation for what came next. Selena asked, “Are you ready? One, two, three!”
On three the door burst open and the two female students bolted out to the woods at the highest velocity with no regard for their tiredness or physical wellbeing. If they had to drain every ounce of energy running through these woods, they would keep going until their feet were bleeding. They weaved throughout the trees and foliage and were already breathing heavily. Only a few seconds later, they were hunched over. Their tongues were aching and their ribs felt like they were on fire. But keep running they did.
In this mad sprint to nowhere in particular, there wasn’t much time to take in the dark surroundings. Because of that, Selena didn’t notice an oncoming deer when it got excited and kicked its hind legs into her stomach, driving the air from her body like a deflated balloon. After the deer ran off, Selena found herself on her knees trying to suck in as much air as she possibly could. She coughed violently while blood poured from her lips.
Jasmine rushed to her friend’s aid and knelt beside her with a light hug. “Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
Once Selena was done coughing and puking up blood, she rolled over on her back holding her stomach and said, “What good is 9-1-1 going to do? There aren’t even any police watching those assholes at the college! What the hell’s going on here?” She pounded the ground in frustration, but that only sent a flood of pain through her stomach and caused her to heave more blood.
In the midst of this first aid excitement, Jasmine still managed to hear leaves crunching and twigs snapping under somebody’s boot. She immediately thought the worst and pulled her wounded friend as far away from the noises as possible. In her exhausted state, Jasmine still managed to find a hollow log to take temporary shelter in alongside Selena.
Once the two crawled inside, Jasmine placed a gentle finger on Selena’s lips and whispered, “You have to be quiet, there’s somebody out there. Try not to cough.” Selena couldn’t help it and let out a drop of blood before Jasmine shushed her again.
The leaves and sticks crunching grew louder and closer to the hollow log. A familiar male voice said in a singsong voice, “Oh, Jasmine. I know you’re out here. I can still hear you saying no from a mile away, babe. Well, you can say no all you want, but you know what no really means, right? Forget all that feminist bullshit for one night and just let me have some of that action!”
Jasmine felt her breathing getting heavy as the memories of dating Max Tyler flooded back to numb her mind. The vaginal groping in the movie theater. The breast grabbing in public. The smacks on the ass. The persistent requests for sex and the increased aggressiveness in Max’s voice each time Jasmine said no. Each of these frightening scenes made her wonder why she would even date such a caveman in the first place. Her heavy breathing became even heavier as anger mixed in with her anxiety. If it wasn’t for Selena giving a slight shush, Jasmine wouldn’t have put her own hand over her mouth.
“Oh, Jasmine-Pie, come out, come out wherever you are! If I don’t find you, my buds will. I didn’t like the idea of sharing you at first, but I could see it happening one day. I totally could!” Max’s combat boots were at the opening of the hollow log facing the left direction, a scene which almost made Jasmine gasp in fear. She resisted the urge yet again when she felt something furry crawling up her leg. No! It wouldn’t happen like this!
Jasmine petted the furry animal that was mounted on her leg and suffered a few blood-drawing bites on her finger. She didn’t scream as the little guy ran inside her hoodie pockets. In fact, she crawled out of the hollow log with him. “Jasmine, what are you doing?!” Selena whispered aggressively. “Get back here!”
Outside the log, Max was still strolling around the woods with a goofy grin on his face and his hands in his sweater pockets. “Come on, baby girl, give me a kiss!” he said while making lip smacking noises.
“Kiss this, you pervert! No means no!” shouted Jasmine. When Max turned around to face his ex-girlfriend, a squirrel jumped out of her hands and into his face, chewing his cheeks and nose with a voracious appetite. The frat boy backpedaled and screamed curses when he tried to pull the little munchkin off his face.
The squirrel was about to finish his delicious dessert and then it jumped off when Max tripped over another log and rolled down the hill. He crashed head first against one of the trees and was unconscious and bleeding almost instantly. He might have even been dead.
Jasmine breathed heavy sighs of relief as she knelt down on a pile of leaves and let the floodgates pour like rain. It was finally over. No truly meant no this time. Her moment of victory was ruined when she heard Selena cough up more blood as she crawled out of the hollow log. Jasmine rushed to her aid and petted her hair before saying, “It’s okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital. It’s all over.”
“Woo-hoo! Lesbian make-out scene, yeah!” shouted one of the male voices from the crowd. A whole group of frat boys dressed in sweaters and khakis were standing only a few feet away from where Jasmine and Selena were.
“Go away! Get out of here! Can’t you see she’s hurt!” shouted a sobbing Jasmine.
“Yeah, we know. You know who else is hurt? Max! I don’t see you doing anything for him! Maybe you should go down that hill and give him mouth-to-mouth!” said one of the frat boys before the whole group of them laughed like donkeys.
Selena managed to roll over onto her stomach and get on her hands and knees. In a raspy voice, she said, “Go to hell!” and then spit a wad of blood at one of the frat boy’s feet. That one guy formed an angry face and marched over to get his “free pussy” when he felt the world’s deadliest kick to the nuts. He crumpled over and spat up even more blood than Selena did.
The other frat boys began scurrying away when they saw that the same wild deer from before had reared its head again, kicking, bucking, and being a wild warrior in general. Jasmine got a good look at the deer’s face and saw that it was foaming at the mouth when it took a big bite out of the frat boy’s arm, causing him to squeal in pain.
The deer danced and flailed around some more before curling inward and flopping on the ground in death. Its foaming mouth was flooding with even more poison now that it was dead.
“Hey, Jasmine,” said Selena before coughing some more. “Remember how I said calling 9-1-1 would be useless? I may have lied a little bit. It maybe useless, it may not be. But it’s our only fucking hope.”
Jasmine tenderly held Selena’s head in her arms while dialing 9-1-1 on her smart phone. “Yeah, I need an ambulance to come out to Braxton Woods. My best friend was kicked by a deer.” She looked empathetically at the frat boy and Max Tyler before saying, “There are two other people who need medical attention too.”
“Just let them die, Jasmine!” shouted Selena.
“Shut up!” whispered Jasmine angrily. She talked back into the phone, “Oh, and one more thing. The deer died of rabies. Okay, thanks! Bye!” The stresses of the day caused the exhausted Jasmine Shelley to roll over on her back and gaze at the night sky. It wasn’t long before tiny raindrops pricked her skin, but she didn’t care. She never felt safer than in this moment of victory.
“We’re supposed to be better than those guys, Selena,” said Jasmine. “That’s why I included them in the ambulance call. Besides, if you really want them to learn what “no means no” stands for, wait until they go to prison!” Jasmine and Selena’s smiles were brighter than any full moon out this evening.
March 25, 2016
The Undertaker
The bitter taste of wheat beer slid down Heath Danielson’s throat like a flash flood of numbness. It was like drinking horse piss, but it was effective at making him forget how badly his father was screwed over when he lost his bakery to the bank. Heath also forgot that he was supposed to behave in a gentlemanly manner when drinking at this particular bar.
When he fell asleep, his face landed right into a neighboring woman’s chest. All of her screams and slaps across the head were like flies buzzing: a mere annoyance. It was the beefy bouncer who grabbed Heath by his scraggly brown hair and floppy arm that finally made him realize how fucked up he had become. Being tossed out on the streets and landing firmly on the unforgiving concrete was not a mere annoyance. The scrapes and bruises were proof of that.
In his brain-dead ecstasy, Heath managed to pull himself up off the ground using a parked car as leverage. Staying up would prove to be harder as he stumbled and crawled his way down the sidewalk. He occasionally let out an obnoxious burp and everybody in his vicinity scurried away from him. Cars began honking at him as if their horns were enough to awaken him from his drunken nightmare.
All Heath really wanted to do was find a nice place to empty his bladder, which was the size of a snow tire. He couldn’t go back to the bar or any other place of business since he was too drunk to read their signs. He did however find a nice shade of darkness where he was convinced he was the only one there. Perfect!
Heath waddled and stumbled into the darkness until his forehead hit a brick wall and temporarily woke him up. He had a lump where he smacked his head, but it was as good a place as any to drain the lizard. He struggled to find his jeans zipper, but eventually unzipped it and let the urine pour from his system like the floodgates of bliss. This simple bodily function put a stupid grin on Heath’s face, as if it was the only form of happiness he could experience since his father had to close his bakery.
Once his bladder was drained, Heath tucked his thingamabob back in his pants and unwittingly gave himself a zipper injury. The spark of pain got a yelp out of him as well as the temporary ability to read what was in front of him. The drunkard’s eyes grew wide and his body was shaking violently at what he saw. He just pissed on the memorial of Zell “The Undertaker” Jardine.
“Oh, shit!” Heath said to himself. Before he could turn around and run away, a trench-coat wearing arm rose up from the grave and grabbed him around his throat, squeezing with the strength a silverback gorilla. Even without significant oxygen and a brain full of booze, Heath could easily make out this zombie’s features: an old man with white horseshoe hair, muscles upon muscles, and a trench coat that carried god knows what. Zell tossed Heath on the ground and allowed him to hack and wheeze what little oxygen he could back into his body.
As soon as the lush was breathing normally (albeit with raspy overtones), he had the urge to relieve himself once again when he saw Zell pull a long, bloody, and jagged machete out of his trench coat. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of this,” said the former war hero. “Which one of your limbs should I cut off first? Your arms? Your legs? Or maybe I should make that zipper injury feel like a paper cut and hack off your tiny dick!”
Heath crawled backwards and waved his hand defensively as he tried to plead his case to someone nicknamed “The Undertaker”. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know that was your grave!” The lush let out another sickening burp. “I’m just really pissed off tonight. You see, my dad just had to close his…”
“Silence!” shouted Zell. Heath’s breaths were getting faster and deeper with every step The Undertaker took towards him. The sounds of militia boots hitting the pavement were loud and clear to even someone with drunken vision. “I didn’t spend ten years in a government prison getting tortured half to death just so I could have disrespectful faggots like you pissing on my grave! All I want is a little peace and quite and you can’t even give that to me! You and your disgusting burping; it’s damn insulting!”
Heath’s eyes were cascading with tears when he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jardine. I’m really sorry. Please don’t kill me. I’m fucking drunk as a skunk right now. I don’t even know where the hell I am right now. I’ll give you your peace and quiet if you’d just let me go.”
Zell’s demonic eyes rolled backwards when he reached down and grabbed Heath by his shirt collar to hoist him up, holding the jagged machete to his throat in the process. “If you have any brain cells left in that thick skull of yours, then you’d better start begging for your life a lot better than that. I’ve cut up many demons and undead warriors with this machete and it would be an honor to take your head off as well. Go ahead, you little bitch! Scream for your life!”
“I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! Please let me go! My father needs me!” shouted Heath in a pathetic voice, prompting Zell to release his shirt collar and allow him to drop to the ground. The demonic zombie still had the machete pointed at his would-be victim. Heath waved his hands defensively and said, “Look, man. I’m just the son of a baker. I used to be before the goddamn bank took everything away. You just said you were in a government prison for ten years. Didn’t you feel like doing…you know…something drastic?” That last sentence was punctuated by another burp.
“Every damn day I felt like doing something drastic!” shouted Zell. He allowed that comment to hang in the air for a few long seconds before putting his instrument of destruction back in his trench coat. “Every damn day,” he said with more compassion. “Even when I got out of that prison and we eventually won the war, things were never the same. The story doesn’t end just because the author puts his pen down. I had nightmares when the war was over. Sometimes I’d wake up and wouldn’t know where I was. And yes, I did a lot of drinking during that time, even more so than you.”
Heath looked up at his now calmed down assailant with compassion of his own. And then he turned his head to the side and puked his guts out. Some of the flowing stomach acid managed to dirty up Zell’s boots, which once again put a sadistic frown on the war hero’s face. After wiping the bile from his mouth with his jacket sleeve, Heath realized what he just did and said in that same pathetic voice, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please, don’t kill me!”
Zell’s eyes rolled back and he this time picked Heath up by his unwashed hair before pulling the machete back out to hold it to the drunkard’s throat. Mr. Danielson cried like a little baby with his tears coming as quickly as his puke. The zombie warrior shouted, “Shut up! Stop your blubbering, little boy!” The tears had dried up. “So that’s how your story’s going to end, huh? You’re just going to let these corrupt banks do whatever they want with your father’s business? One that he worked so hard to obtain?”
“What am I supposed to do about it?” said a whiny-voiced Heath.
The Undertaker pressed the blade against Heath’s throat even harder, drawing a little speck of blood and causing the raspy breaths to come more rapidly. And then Zell turned the blade over and put the handle of the weapon in Heath’s shaking hands. “I have no more use for this now that I’m dead and gone. But for you, my friend, it’s not too late. Take this blade and show those asshole bankers that you’re not one to be fucked with!”
“Are you kidding me? I can’t just attack them like that!” said Heath.
“You’re right,” said Zell sarcastically. “They’re just going to give your father’s bakery back to you like civilized gentlemen. Because that’s how the real world works: everything is handed to you and nothing has to be fought for. That’s why I have my own tombstone where I’m resting more comfortably than I would in a Hilton Hotel.”
Heath could feel the cold steel in his hand. It was such a simple weapon of war with jagged edges and many lives claimed. A prolific war hero was passing down his instrument of death to a mere drunkard who never thought he could change the world with a bloody slash. This blade made Heath Danielson feel powerful. It made him feel revolutionary. Those suit-wearing jackasses at Babylon Bank didn’t stand a chance against him. They could have all the beefy security and all the brutal cops they wanted and they would all fall down one by one. A sea of blood would overtake the streets as the souls of those claimed by this machete would be burning in hellfire for all eternity.
“You can count on me, Mr. Jardine. Nobody steals from the Danielson family! Nobody!” shouted Heath…right before he puked up another meal on Zell’s legs.
“For God’s sake, man, don’t ever drink that much alcohol again!” shouted the zombie before shoving the drunkard down on the ground.
When he fell asleep, his face landed right into a neighboring woman’s chest. All of her screams and slaps across the head were like flies buzzing: a mere annoyance. It was the beefy bouncer who grabbed Heath by his scraggly brown hair and floppy arm that finally made him realize how fucked up he had become. Being tossed out on the streets and landing firmly on the unforgiving concrete was not a mere annoyance. The scrapes and bruises were proof of that.
In his brain-dead ecstasy, Heath managed to pull himself up off the ground using a parked car as leverage. Staying up would prove to be harder as he stumbled and crawled his way down the sidewalk. He occasionally let out an obnoxious burp and everybody in his vicinity scurried away from him. Cars began honking at him as if their horns were enough to awaken him from his drunken nightmare.
All Heath really wanted to do was find a nice place to empty his bladder, which was the size of a snow tire. He couldn’t go back to the bar or any other place of business since he was too drunk to read their signs. He did however find a nice shade of darkness where he was convinced he was the only one there. Perfect!
Heath waddled and stumbled into the darkness until his forehead hit a brick wall and temporarily woke him up. He had a lump where he smacked his head, but it was as good a place as any to drain the lizard. He struggled to find his jeans zipper, but eventually unzipped it and let the urine pour from his system like the floodgates of bliss. This simple bodily function put a stupid grin on Heath’s face, as if it was the only form of happiness he could experience since his father had to close his bakery.
Once his bladder was drained, Heath tucked his thingamabob back in his pants and unwittingly gave himself a zipper injury. The spark of pain got a yelp out of him as well as the temporary ability to read what was in front of him. The drunkard’s eyes grew wide and his body was shaking violently at what he saw. He just pissed on the memorial of Zell “The Undertaker” Jardine.
“Oh, shit!” Heath said to himself. Before he could turn around and run away, a trench-coat wearing arm rose up from the grave and grabbed him around his throat, squeezing with the strength a silverback gorilla. Even without significant oxygen and a brain full of booze, Heath could easily make out this zombie’s features: an old man with white horseshoe hair, muscles upon muscles, and a trench coat that carried god knows what. Zell tossed Heath on the ground and allowed him to hack and wheeze what little oxygen he could back into his body.
As soon as the lush was breathing normally (albeit with raspy overtones), he had the urge to relieve himself once again when he saw Zell pull a long, bloody, and jagged machete out of his trench coat. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of this,” said the former war hero. “Which one of your limbs should I cut off first? Your arms? Your legs? Or maybe I should make that zipper injury feel like a paper cut and hack off your tiny dick!”
Heath crawled backwards and waved his hand defensively as he tried to plead his case to someone nicknamed “The Undertaker”. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know that was your grave!” The lush let out another sickening burp. “I’m just really pissed off tonight. You see, my dad just had to close his…”
“Silence!” shouted Zell. Heath’s breaths were getting faster and deeper with every step The Undertaker took towards him. The sounds of militia boots hitting the pavement were loud and clear to even someone with drunken vision. “I didn’t spend ten years in a government prison getting tortured half to death just so I could have disrespectful faggots like you pissing on my grave! All I want is a little peace and quite and you can’t even give that to me! You and your disgusting burping; it’s damn insulting!”
Heath’s eyes were cascading with tears when he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jardine. I’m really sorry. Please don’t kill me. I’m fucking drunk as a skunk right now. I don’t even know where the hell I am right now. I’ll give you your peace and quiet if you’d just let me go.”
Zell’s demonic eyes rolled backwards when he reached down and grabbed Heath by his shirt collar to hoist him up, holding the jagged machete to his throat in the process. “If you have any brain cells left in that thick skull of yours, then you’d better start begging for your life a lot better than that. I’ve cut up many demons and undead warriors with this machete and it would be an honor to take your head off as well. Go ahead, you little bitch! Scream for your life!”
“I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! Please let me go! My father needs me!” shouted Heath in a pathetic voice, prompting Zell to release his shirt collar and allow him to drop to the ground. The demonic zombie still had the machete pointed at his would-be victim. Heath waved his hands defensively and said, “Look, man. I’m just the son of a baker. I used to be before the goddamn bank took everything away. You just said you were in a government prison for ten years. Didn’t you feel like doing…you know…something drastic?” That last sentence was punctuated by another burp.
“Every damn day I felt like doing something drastic!” shouted Zell. He allowed that comment to hang in the air for a few long seconds before putting his instrument of destruction back in his trench coat. “Every damn day,” he said with more compassion. “Even when I got out of that prison and we eventually won the war, things were never the same. The story doesn’t end just because the author puts his pen down. I had nightmares when the war was over. Sometimes I’d wake up and wouldn’t know where I was. And yes, I did a lot of drinking during that time, even more so than you.”
Heath looked up at his now calmed down assailant with compassion of his own. And then he turned his head to the side and puked his guts out. Some of the flowing stomach acid managed to dirty up Zell’s boots, which once again put a sadistic frown on the war hero’s face. After wiping the bile from his mouth with his jacket sleeve, Heath realized what he just did and said in that same pathetic voice, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please, don’t kill me!”
Zell’s eyes rolled back and he this time picked Heath up by his unwashed hair before pulling the machete back out to hold it to the drunkard’s throat. Mr. Danielson cried like a little baby with his tears coming as quickly as his puke. The zombie warrior shouted, “Shut up! Stop your blubbering, little boy!” The tears had dried up. “So that’s how your story’s going to end, huh? You’re just going to let these corrupt banks do whatever they want with your father’s business? One that he worked so hard to obtain?”
“What am I supposed to do about it?” said a whiny-voiced Heath.
The Undertaker pressed the blade against Heath’s throat even harder, drawing a little speck of blood and causing the raspy breaths to come more rapidly. And then Zell turned the blade over and put the handle of the weapon in Heath’s shaking hands. “I have no more use for this now that I’m dead and gone. But for you, my friend, it’s not too late. Take this blade and show those asshole bankers that you’re not one to be fucked with!”
“Are you kidding me? I can’t just attack them like that!” said Heath.
“You’re right,” said Zell sarcastically. “They’re just going to give your father’s bakery back to you like civilized gentlemen. Because that’s how the real world works: everything is handed to you and nothing has to be fought for. That’s why I have my own tombstone where I’m resting more comfortably than I would in a Hilton Hotel.”
Heath could feel the cold steel in his hand. It was such a simple weapon of war with jagged edges and many lives claimed. A prolific war hero was passing down his instrument of death to a mere drunkard who never thought he could change the world with a bloody slash. This blade made Heath Danielson feel powerful. It made him feel revolutionary. Those suit-wearing jackasses at Babylon Bank didn’t stand a chance against him. They could have all the beefy security and all the brutal cops they wanted and they would all fall down one by one. A sea of blood would overtake the streets as the souls of those claimed by this machete would be burning in hellfire for all eternity.
“You can count on me, Mr. Jardine. Nobody steals from the Danielson family! Nobody!” shouted Heath…right before he puked up another meal on Zell’s legs.
“For God’s sake, man, don’t ever drink that much alcohol again!” shouted the zombie before shoving the drunkard down on the ground.
March 23, 2016
General Update: Creative Fuel
***GENERAL UPDATE: CREATIVE FUEL***
I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. Creative fuel can come from the strangest places and it can result in some of the strangest pieces of art imaginable. I kept wondering if the Hulk Hogan dream I had in my last journal would amount to anything and it just might. And then things just rolled on from there. Here’s a general update on all of the short story synopses I’ve created, dreams I’ve had, and movies I’ve seen. If you feel inspired by any of this to do something of your own, then that means my journal was a success. If not, well, at least now I have something to talk about. Starting with the synopsis I plan on using for this week’s WSS contest (Breaking the Habit)….
***THE UNDERTAKER***
CHARACTERS:
Zell Jardine, The Undertaker
Heath Danielson, Depressed Drunk
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Hopefully, this encounter with Zell will break Heath’s drinking habit.
CREATIVE FUEL: The Undertaker from the WWE, a legendary wrestler who will compete at Wrestlemania 32 against Shane McMahon in a Hell in a Cell match. If Shane wins, he will gain control of the WWE and The Undertaker will be out of a job.
SYNOPSIS: After his father’s bakery goes out of business, Heath nurses his sadness at a bar and gets so drunk that the bartender orders him to leave. Not knowing where he is now, he stops to relieve himself in a random spot in the street. When his vision comes back into focus, Heath realizes he just urinated on Zell Jardine’s grave. Zell’s hand rises from below and grabs the drunk by his throat. “The Undertaker” as he’s called is hell bent on murdering Heath in cold blood. Mr. Danielson tries to explain his situation and say he’s sorry, but he’s too drunk to put words together.
***HARDCORE HOGAN***
CHARACTERS:
Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling
Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego
Kasabian, Alien Lord
Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors
CREATIVE FUEL: Hulk Hogan dream.
SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.
***JUST AS BAD***
CHARACTERS:
Leon Archer, Vengeful Brother
Bryan Hicks, Former Bully
CREATIVE FUEL: Episode of Family Guy where Peter confronts an ex-bully of his who is now physically disabled.
SYNOPSIS: Leon finds the permanent address of Bryan Hicks, a former high school jock who bullied Leon’s brother to the point of suicide. Years of tension built up inside Mr. Archer, but when he sees Bryan bedridden in his apartment due to cancer, he’s faced with a moral dilemma. Will he beat the crap out of a weakened former bully or will that make him just as bad as Mr. Hicks used to be? Bryan tries to convince Leon that he’s a changed man who would go back in time and make different decisions if that was possible. Five years of lonely anger dictates otherwise for Leon.
***GORGON DEATH BITCH***
CHARACTERS:
Steve Jones, Frightened Boyfriend
Kathryn Marsh, Angry Girlfriend
CREATIVE FUEL: The Gorgon Video logo at the beginning of the “Faces of Death” movies.
SYNOPSIS: Steve and Kathryn had been dating for several months and are already living together. They’ve also been fighting a lot recently, giving Steve ideas of breaking up with his girlfriend. When he comes home late from work one night, Kathryn tears into him verbally, prompting Steve to give into his designs of ending the relationship. Kathryn bursts into tears on the couch and then transforms into a gorgon to terrorize her lover some more. Steve tries to talk some sense into her, but he’s too terrified to put words together. He’s also trying not to look Kathryn in the eyes lest he be turned to stone.
***KING BLIZZARD***
CHARACTERS:
King Blizzard, Tyrannical Giant
Jason Clark, Farmer
CREATIVE FUEL: Giant gold and bronze action figure I used to have of Sabertooth from “X-Men”. I called it King Blizzard for the sake of the play dates I used to have with my childhood friend Lance.
SYNOPSIS: For centuries, King Blizzard has bullied the people of The Zeal Empire by stealing food from their farms and tromping all over the land if he doesn’t get what he wants. In the past, soldiers and mages have all been sent out to slay the giant, but all that did was lead them to the slaughter. For as long as he owned his farm, Jason would always be someone who surrendered his food without incident. That changes on the day he decides to stand up to the giant. He might get himself stomped on in the process, but in his mind, it’s better than living life without his family, whom Blizzard killed when his “payment” was late one year.
***ZERO URREA DREAM***
As many of you already know, I have a Deviant Art friend named Zero Urrea and we’ve been friends since 2009. Last night, I had a weird dream about him where I went to his house and his TV was showing an anime about a bisexual monster farmer. Zero came home dressed in camouflage pants and carrying an AK-47 over his shoulders. He also miraculously had brown skin (he’s white in real life). The two of us went on a road trip together to drive me back to Port Orchard. On our way there, we saw that all of the amusements parks in the world were melting into liquid. In an effort to enjoy one of them while we could, we swam in the current the melted water was making. Then I woke up from that dream when my brother James wanted to take me to the YMCA and I didn’t want to go.
***STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS***
I saw that movie earlier tonight with my mom and Reina. While I won’t write a review for it since it would contain spoilers, I will say that it’s one of the rare mediums that deserve an Extra Credit (five-star) score. It was fucking awesome to say the least. When we were driving home from the cinema, Reina said that I reminded her of Chewbacca from the film. I’m not that hairy and I can’t shoot a crossbow worth a damn, but I do growl and groan a lot, so the comparison is apt.
***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***
On WWE television, Jerry Lawler always has nicknames for his fellow announcers based on their initials. He calls Byron Saxton BS (bullshit) and Mauro Ranallo MR (mentally retarded). If Tom Philips was part of the team, he would be called TP (toilet paper). If Daniel Bryan ever decided to become an announcer, he would be called DB (douche bag). Such unfortunate initials to have when calling the Smackdown action with The King.
I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. Creative fuel can come from the strangest places and it can result in some of the strangest pieces of art imaginable. I kept wondering if the Hulk Hogan dream I had in my last journal would amount to anything and it just might. And then things just rolled on from there. Here’s a general update on all of the short story synopses I’ve created, dreams I’ve had, and movies I’ve seen. If you feel inspired by any of this to do something of your own, then that means my journal was a success. If not, well, at least now I have something to talk about. Starting with the synopsis I plan on using for this week’s WSS contest (Breaking the Habit)….
***THE UNDERTAKER***
CHARACTERS:
Zell Jardine, The Undertaker
Heath Danielson, Depressed Drunk
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Hopefully, this encounter with Zell will break Heath’s drinking habit.
CREATIVE FUEL: The Undertaker from the WWE, a legendary wrestler who will compete at Wrestlemania 32 against Shane McMahon in a Hell in a Cell match. If Shane wins, he will gain control of the WWE and The Undertaker will be out of a job.
SYNOPSIS: After his father’s bakery goes out of business, Heath nurses his sadness at a bar and gets so drunk that the bartender orders him to leave. Not knowing where he is now, he stops to relieve himself in a random spot in the street. When his vision comes back into focus, Heath realizes he just urinated on Zell Jardine’s grave. Zell’s hand rises from below and grabs the drunk by his throat. “The Undertaker” as he’s called is hell bent on murdering Heath in cold blood. Mr. Danielson tries to explain his situation and say he’s sorry, but he’s too drunk to put words together.
***HARDCORE HOGAN***
CHARACTERS:
Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling
Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego
Kasabian, Alien Lord
Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors
CREATIVE FUEL: Hulk Hogan dream.
SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.
***JUST AS BAD***
CHARACTERS:
Leon Archer, Vengeful Brother
Bryan Hicks, Former Bully
CREATIVE FUEL: Episode of Family Guy where Peter confronts an ex-bully of his who is now physically disabled.
SYNOPSIS: Leon finds the permanent address of Bryan Hicks, a former high school jock who bullied Leon’s brother to the point of suicide. Years of tension built up inside Mr. Archer, but when he sees Bryan bedridden in his apartment due to cancer, he’s faced with a moral dilemma. Will he beat the crap out of a weakened former bully or will that make him just as bad as Mr. Hicks used to be? Bryan tries to convince Leon that he’s a changed man who would go back in time and make different decisions if that was possible. Five years of lonely anger dictates otherwise for Leon.
***GORGON DEATH BITCH***
CHARACTERS:
Steve Jones, Frightened Boyfriend
Kathryn Marsh, Angry Girlfriend
CREATIVE FUEL: The Gorgon Video logo at the beginning of the “Faces of Death” movies.
SYNOPSIS: Steve and Kathryn had been dating for several months and are already living together. They’ve also been fighting a lot recently, giving Steve ideas of breaking up with his girlfriend. When he comes home late from work one night, Kathryn tears into him verbally, prompting Steve to give into his designs of ending the relationship. Kathryn bursts into tears on the couch and then transforms into a gorgon to terrorize her lover some more. Steve tries to talk some sense into her, but he’s too terrified to put words together. He’s also trying not to look Kathryn in the eyes lest he be turned to stone.
***KING BLIZZARD***
CHARACTERS:
King Blizzard, Tyrannical Giant
Jason Clark, Farmer
CREATIVE FUEL: Giant gold and bronze action figure I used to have of Sabertooth from “X-Men”. I called it King Blizzard for the sake of the play dates I used to have with my childhood friend Lance.
SYNOPSIS: For centuries, King Blizzard has bullied the people of The Zeal Empire by stealing food from their farms and tromping all over the land if he doesn’t get what he wants. In the past, soldiers and mages have all been sent out to slay the giant, but all that did was lead them to the slaughter. For as long as he owned his farm, Jason would always be someone who surrendered his food without incident. That changes on the day he decides to stand up to the giant. He might get himself stomped on in the process, but in his mind, it’s better than living life without his family, whom Blizzard killed when his “payment” was late one year.
***ZERO URREA DREAM***
As many of you already know, I have a Deviant Art friend named Zero Urrea and we’ve been friends since 2009. Last night, I had a weird dream about him where I went to his house and his TV was showing an anime about a bisexual monster farmer. Zero came home dressed in camouflage pants and carrying an AK-47 over his shoulders. He also miraculously had brown skin (he’s white in real life). The two of us went on a road trip together to drive me back to Port Orchard. On our way there, we saw that all of the amusements parks in the world were melting into liquid. In an effort to enjoy one of them while we could, we swam in the current the melted water was making. Then I woke up from that dream when my brother James wanted to take me to the YMCA and I didn’t want to go.
***STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS***
I saw that movie earlier tonight with my mom and Reina. While I won’t write a review for it since it would contain spoilers, I will say that it’s one of the rare mediums that deserve an Extra Credit (five-star) score. It was fucking awesome to say the least. When we were driving home from the cinema, Reina said that I reminded her of Chewbacca from the film. I’m not that hairy and I can’t shoot a crossbow worth a damn, but I do growl and groan a lot, so the comparison is apt.
***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***
On WWE television, Jerry Lawler always has nicknames for his fellow announcers based on their initials. He calls Byron Saxton BS (bullshit) and Mauro Ranallo MR (mentally retarded). If Tom Philips was part of the team, he would be called TP (toilet paper). If Daniel Bryan ever decided to become an announcer, he would be called DB (douche bag). Such unfortunate initials to have when calling the Smackdown action with The King.
