Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 107
January 13, 2016
I Owe You Nothing
It didn’t matter how many times Tina Williamson replayed the incidents in her head, because they made less sense with every mental edit. What part about “No!” did John Link not understand? It was a two-letter word that even the most rudimentary English speakers could understand. Regardless of how many times she said it, John kept on asking her out on dates as if high school romance had become a war of attrition. At first it was just a simple series of requests. Then John started saying things like “You owe me!” and tugging on her clothing, almost enough to pull them off.
When these frightening thoughts prevented Tina from concentrating on school work, she decided enough was enough. Giving a D+ to a hardworking student like her was unjustifiable. She had to tell someone of John Link’s misdeeds. Why not start with her parents? That should have been a secure conversation to have. She couldn’t imagine going to the Principal with something like this, considering the school’s track record with handling student complaints.
As Tina gingerly walked home, her legs and arms shook not just because of the cold weather, but also because she didn’t know what the hell she was going to say. She stared through her thick-rimmed, fogged up glasses with dead emptiness. She stuffed her hands in her blue jeans pockets, but the denim wasn’t thick enough to protect against the cold. The black skull cap and pink sweater didn’t do much good either since she was still shaking. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone in her room with the heater blasting at maximum power. It would have been like a sweet Hawaiian breeze, the calm before the storm of knowing she eventually had to talk to her parents.
She finally made it to her house and fumbled with her keys. Her hands shook so badly that they fell out of her grip once she pulled them out of her pockets. It took her a while to get a good grasp while bending over, but once she did, she wasted no time in unlocking the door and being in the comfort of her…well, comfortable home. At least it was supposed to be comfortable.
Tina’s eyes widened with horror as she shut the door behind her. Her jaw was quivering and her teeth were chattering at the sight of John Link sitting on the living room couch with her parents, Kenny and Melissa Williamson. John, who wore his studded leather jacket and black jeans, had his arm around Melissa while the two of them plus Kenny laughed like a happy family should.
“Tina, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us about this handsome young boy?” said Melissa with a charming smile. “He was going on and on about how he’d love to have you as a date to the winter dance.”
“He’s a stud, Tina. He’ll take good care of you like a grown man should. Hell, I’d even call him husband material!” said Kenny as he ruffled John’s spiky blond hair.
The image of those three sitting together laughing, joking, and buttering each other up lit a fire in Tina’s belly. She threw her brown leather book bag on the plush chair opposite of the couch and folded her arms while giving John Link the gorgon death stare. “How many times do I have to tell you no? Are you deaf? Do you need a hearing aid? Or are you just plain stupid?”
“Tina, don’t be rude to your guest!” insisted Melissa.
“No, I’ve had it with this shit!” screamed Tina as she threw her arms by her side. “I’m tired of this Neanderthal coming around me thinking I owe him a fucking relationship! I’ve got news for you, dumb-ass! I owe you nothing! You’re not entitled to free sex! You’re entitled to get the hell out of my house before I call 9-1-1!”
John stood up and extended his arms in a “calm down” manner and said, “Hey, hey, hey! There’s no need for that, Tina. I just want to take you out and show you a good time. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I was just telling your folks here that it would be a great idea for us to get dinner at your favorite Italian place after we mingled at the winter dance. Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“Not nearly as much fun as watching you being dragged away in handcuffs!” screamed Tina.
The mock boyfriend hung his head and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. With a solemn attitude, he said, “Okay, okay. You’re absolutely right, Tina. You’ve said no to me for a long time now and I’m just too thickheaded to get the point. I’ll be on my way soon enough.” A beat of silence hung in the air and cold chills were building within the Williamson family. “But then again,” said John. “You’ve shown me disrespect just now and…and…I can’t let that slide!”
John pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket and put a bullet in Kenny’s leg. The old man dropped to the floor clutching his bloody wound and howling in agony while Melissa knelt beside him, also screaming like a demon. Tina’s eyes shot up as she held her hand to her mouth while watching this scene unfold. She tried to help her father, but John kept his gun trained on her and said, “Hey! Back off!”
Holding her hands in the air defensively, Tina said, “He needs help, John! He needs an ambulance!”
“For God’s sake, Tina! Why couldn’t you just say yes to the poor man!” yelled Kenny in between fits of pain.
“Your dad has a point there, sweet cheeks. All of this could have gone away if you just said one simple word. One word, three letters, one of them being a Y. That’s all you had to do. Instead…” John twisted his head around eccentrically and said, “You had to reject me and make me feel like a worthless piece of shit! Do you think I’m a piece of shit, Tina?! Huh?! Do you think you can label me like that?!”
John fired another bullet, this time into Melissa’s back, causing her to wail at her loudest. Tina wailed as well when she screamed, “Stop it! Leave them alone! They’re my family!”
“Now look what you’ve done, Tina! How could you do this to your mommy and daddy! We’ve worked so hard for you!” screamed Kenny before he went back to clutching his leg and grunting through his teeth.
And then Tina Williamson had a moment of clarity. Here was this maniac standing in her living room with a loaded pistol and her own parents were putting the blame on her for refusing John’s advances. Tina’s parents always had a conservative state of mind where women were subservient to men. But Tina never bought it for a minute. She was nobody’s slave. She was her own woman and she planned on keeping it that way. But with a pistol pointed at her face, her options were limited. Just one word could change it all.
“Yes.” Tina let that word hang in the air for a while so that it could resonate throughout the room. In a calm manner, she said, “You win, John. If you want to date me, you can. But first, there’s something I want from you.”
“You’re in no position to be making demands, lady! I’m the one with the gun! I give the orders!” screamed John.
“All I wanted was a kiss. Why can’t we start things over with just a nice kiss?” said Tina. Those words hung in the air as well. Every syllable could be felt by all in the form of blood chilling and temporary silence from screaming in agony.
A smile formed on John’s face when he said, “Okay, baby. That’s actually a good idea.” He lowered his weapon as the two of them came together in the center of the living room for what would be a passionate make-out session. It started with a peck on the lips. Then their tongues danced in each other’s mouths. And then once John’s tongue advanced passed Tina’s teeth, she bit down hard and amputated the oral organ.
John dropped his gun and held his rapidly bleeding mouth while shrieking in pain. He tried to swear, but there was too much blood and not enough tongue for words to be formed. It all sounded like a monster’s gargling. In the time it took John to sprawl across the ground and dribble blood on the carpet, Tina picked up the fallen gun and put a bullet into the sex offender’s head, causing Melissa and Kenny to squeal in fear and jump backwards a little bit, but not too far since they were still in god-awful pain.
Tina never fired a gun before in her life, yet she slew John Link like a professional assassin. Her arms were shaking, her eyes were teary, and she could barely stand up as she trembled.
“Tina…sweetie?” said Melissa in a soft voice. “Give me the gun and we’ll take care of this for you.” No answer.
“Come on, Tina, what are you waiting for? Give your mother the goddamn gun!” insisted Kenny.
In a sudden burst of volcanic anger, Tina pointed the gun at her parents and yelled, “You sold me up the fucking river with no paddle! Die, you motherfuckers! Die!” She unloaded the last remaining bullets on both of her parents, leaving the living room with three dead bodies and one sobbing girl.
Tina threw the empty gun aside and dropped to her knees, letting her sore red eyeballs drain onto what was left of the now bloodstained carpet. She could see it all unfold before her. It didn’t happen yet, but it was going to. Tina would be sentenced to life in prison, the newspapers would label her a psycho, her fellow classmates (male and female) would laugh at her, and it would all boil down to one stupid question that nobody should ask: “Why didn’t she just say yes?” The disgusting thoughts caused Tina to vomit heavily onto the carpet before laying down in her own mess and passing out. She knew the world was cruel to women, but she didn’t know how bad it had gotten until that day.
When these frightening thoughts prevented Tina from concentrating on school work, she decided enough was enough. Giving a D+ to a hardworking student like her was unjustifiable. She had to tell someone of John Link’s misdeeds. Why not start with her parents? That should have been a secure conversation to have. She couldn’t imagine going to the Principal with something like this, considering the school’s track record with handling student complaints.
As Tina gingerly walked home, her legs and arms shook not just because of the cold weather, but also because she didn’t know what the hell she was going to say. She stared through her thick-rimmed, fogged up glasses with dead emptiness. She stuffed her hands in her blue jeans pockets, but the denim wasn’t thick enough to protect against the cold. The black skull cap and pink sweater didn’t do much good either since she was still shaking. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone in her room with the heater blasting at maximum power. It would have been like a sweet Hawaiian breeze, the calm before the storm of knowing she eventually had to talk to her parents.
She finally made it to her house and fumbled with her keys. Her hands shook so badly that they fell out of her grip once she pulled them out of her pockets. It took her a while to get a good grasp while bending over, but once she did, she wasted no time in unlocking the door and being in the comfort of her…well, comfortable home. At least it was supposed to be comfortable.
Tina’s eyes widened with horror as she shut the door behind her. Her jaw was quivering and her teeth were chattering at the sight of John Link sitting on the living room couch with her parents, Kenny and Melissa Williamson. John, who wore his studded leather jacket and black jeans, had his arm around Melissa while the two of them plus Kenny laughed like a happy family should.
“Tina, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us about this handsome young boy?” said Melissa with a charming smile. “He was going on and on about how he’d love to have you as a date to the winter dance.”
“He’s a stud, Tina. He’ll take good care of you like a grown man should. Hell, I’d even call him husband material!” said Kenny as he ruffled John’s spiky blond hair.
The image of those three sitting together laughing, joking, and buttering each other up lit a fire in Tina’s belly. She threw her brown leather book bag on the plush chair opposite of the couch and folded her arms while giving John Link the gorgon death stare. “How many times do I have to tell you no? Are you deaf? Do you need a hearing aid? Or are you just plain stupid?”
“Tina, don’t be rude to your guest!” insisted Melissa.
“No, I’ve had it with this shit!” screamed Tina as she threw her arms by her side. “I’m tired of this Neanderthal coming around me thinking I owe him a fucking relationship! I’ve got news for you, dumb-ass! I owe you nothing! You’re not entitled to free sex! You’re entitled to get the hell out of my house before I call 9-1-1!”
John stood up and extended his arms in a “calm down” manner and said, “Hey, hey, hey! There’s no need for that, Tina. I just want to take you out and show you a good time. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I was just telling your folks here that it would be a great idea for us to get dinner at your favorite Italian place after we mingled at the winter dance. Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“Not nearly as much fun as watching you being dragged away in handcuffs!” screamed Tina.
The mock boyfriend hung his head and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. With a solemn attitude, he said, “Okay, okay. You’re absolutely right, Tina. You’ve said no to me for a long time now and I’m just too thickheaded to get the point. I’ll be on my way soon enough.” A beat of silence hung in the air and cold chills were building within the Williamson family. “But then again,” said John. “You’ve shown me disrespect just now and…and…I can’t let that slide!”
John pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket and put a bullet in Kenny’s leg. The old man dropped to the floor clutching his bloody wound and howling in agony while Melissa knelt beside him, also screaming like a demon. Tina’s eyes shot up as she held her hand to her mouth while watching this scene unfold. She tried to help her father, but John kept his gun trained on her and said, “Hey! Back off!”
Holding her hands in the air defensively, Tina said, “He needs help, John! He needs an ambulance!”
“For God’s sake, Tina! Why couldn’t you just say yes to the poor man!” yelled Kenny in between fits of pain.
“Your dad has a point there, sweet cheeks. All of this could have gone away if you just said one simple word. One word, three letters, one of them being a Y. That’s all you had to do. Instead…” John twisted his head around eccentrically and said, “You had to reject me and make me feel like a worthless piece of shit! Do you think I’m a piece of shit, Tina?! Huh?! Do you think you can label me like that?!”
John fired another bullet, this time into Melissa’s back, causing her to wail at her loudest. Tina wailed as well when she screamed, “Stop it! Leave them alone! They’re my family!”
“Now look what you’ve done, Tina! How could you do this to your mommy and daddy! We’ve worked so hard for you!” screamed Kenny before he went back to clutching his leg and grunting through his teeth.
And then Tina Williamson had a moment of clarity. Here was this maniac standing in her living room with a loaded pistol and her own parents were putting the blame on her for refusing John’s advances. Tina’s parents always had a conservative state of mind where women were subservient to men. But Tina never bought it for a minute. She was nobody’s slave. She was her own woman and she planned on keeping it that way. But with a pistol pointed at her face, her options were limited. Just one word could change it all.
“Yes.” Tina let that word hang in the air for a while so that it could resonate throughout the room. In a calm manner, she said, “You win, John. If you want to date me, you can. But first, there’s something I want from you.”
“You’re in no position to be making demands, lady! I’m the one with the gun! I give the orders!” screamed John.
“All I wanted was a kiss. Why can’t we start things over with just a nice kiss?” said Tina. Those words hung in the air as well. Every syllable could be felt by all in the form of blood chilling and temporary silence from screaming in agony.
A smile formed on John’s face when he said, “Okay, baby. That’s actually a good idea.” He lowered his weapon as the two of them came together in the center of the living room for what would be a passionate make-out session. It started with a peck on the lips. Then their tongues danced in each other’s mouths. And then once John’s tongue advanced passed Tina’s teeth, she bit down hard and amputated the oral organ.
John dropped his gun and held his rapidly bleeding mouth while shrieking in pain. He tried to swear, but there was too much blood and not enough tongue for words to be formed. It all sounded like a monster’s gargling. In the time it took John to sprawl across the ground and dribble blood on the carpet, Tina picked up the fallen gun and put a bullet into the sex offender’s head, causing Melissa and Kenny to squeal in fear and jump backwards a little bit, but not too far since they were still in god-awful pain.
Tina never fired a gun before in her life, yet she slew John Link like a professional assassin. Her arms were shaking, her eyes were teary, and she could barely stand up as she trembled.
“Tina…sweetie?” said Melissa in a soft voice. “Give me the gun and we’ll take care of this for you.” No answer.
“Come on, Tina, what are you waiting for? Give your mother the goddamn gun!” insisted Kenny.
In a sudden burst of volcanic anger, Tina pointed the gun at her parents and yelled, “You sold me up the fucking river with no paddle! Die, you motherfuckers! Die!” She unloaded the last remaining bullets on both of her parents, leaving the living room with three dead bodies and one sobbing girl.
Tina threw the empty gun aside and dropped to her knees, letting her sore red eyeballs drain onto what was left of the now bloodstained carpet. She could see it all unfold before her. It didn’t happen yet, but it was going to. Tina would be sentenced to life in prison, the newspapers would label her a psycho, her fellow classmates (male and female) would laugh at her, and it would all boil down to one stupid question that nobody should ask: “Why didn’t she just say yes?” The disgusting thoughts caused Tina to vomit heavily onto the carpet before laying down in her own mess and passing out. She knew the world was cruel to women, but she didn’t know how bad it had gotten until that day.
January 12, 2016
Scary Masks
***SCARY MASKS***
If you go to my Face Book page (which is under my real name Garrison Haines-Temons), you will see that my profile picture is me wearing Corey Taylor’s Slipknot mask. I wore a different Slipknot mask on Halloween, but the scariness was the same as evidenced by little children crying, screaming, and parting from my walking path like the Red Sea. Scaring the shit out of everyone around me is fun because I already get enough grief for being socially awkward, so why not go the full nine when it comes to traumatizing people? Why does Halloween terror only get to happen once a year? This journal will document some of my favorite creepy masks throughout history and maybe give you all ideas for scaring the shit out of people on October 31st. Starting with…
***SLIPKNOT HORROR MOVIE MASKS***
If you wear one of these masks, you’re a part of something special. You open your ears to the grinding vocals of Corey Taylor and the thrashing heavy metal music the rest of Slipknot brings. Although the music comes off as angry, energetic, and devilish, the people of this band would never inflict harm on another human being. The violent fantasies are just that: fantasies. Each mask comes from classic horror cinema and was designed to carry out the legacy of psychological torture. Corey Taylor’s most recent mask comes from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Mick Thomson’s mask is a modification of Hannibal Lecter’s hockey mask. Shawn Crahan’s clown mask is based off of Stephen King’s horrifying monster Pennywise. Though his name escapes me, the guy who wears the gimp mask with the long leather nose drew inspiration from Alex’s mask from A Clockwork Orange during the rape scene. If you’re not chilled to your core, you were dead from pants-pissing fright a long time ago, my friend. Then again, that’s how most close-minded folks meet their fate.
***PINK FLOYD THE WALL PUTTY FACES***
If you wear this kind of mask, you’ve lost so much of your individuality that you blend in with the rest of the crowd. A flesh-colored mask with two large holes for the eyes and one large hole for the mouth, that might as well be your driver’s license photo. But you didn’t give up on your individuality without a fight. It had to be taken from you via negative reinforcement, which came in the form of coercion, violence, or most common, insults. When someone insults a part of your life, the insulting words leech onto that part of your mind like parasites. Try as you might to derive pleasure from that part of your life, all you’ll get is a playback of those negative words, so you avoid it as much as possible. And when you avoid it, you avoid other things that give you pleasure and hope until you no longer have a face of your own. Fighting for your individuality has become more important now than it ever has been with the emergence of the millennial generation, a group of youngsters who follow their own paths to success and prefer creative expression over dull corporate politics.
***PHANTO FROM SUPER MARIO BROTHERS 2***
You don’t have to worry about having this creepy visage on your face, because Phanto is a sentient being. Two downward curved eyeholes followed by a wide grin, Phanto has one job in Super Mario Brothers 2: to guard the golden key and punish those who take it with intimidation and incessant ramming. Not all Phanto masks have this assignment. Some of them are hanging on the walls of whatever dungeon Mario is in just for a frightening ambience. The hallway leading to King Wart and his vegetable machine is lined with a row of dormant Phanto masks. They won’t hurt you physically, but mentally, you’re on high alert even after King Wart is nauseous from being force-fed vegetables. Looking into those pitch black eyes and knowing you’re being smiled at is enough to give most Nintendo-playing millennials lifelong nightmares. If Phanto’s mouth was capable of forming words, what would he say to you? “Run!”
***HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD GANGSTER MASKS***
If you’re wearing one of these masks, you know the struggles of the originators of these visages. Hollywood Undead is a rap rock band who in their words have nearly died for the music they made. Hollywood isn’t exactly the safest place on earth with its history of gang violence, police corruption, and influx of dangerous drugs. To be a member of Hollywood Undead means you’ve survived these mean streets and you live to tell your tales through rapping lyrics and heavy metal instrumentation. You played a million empty shows to only family and friends, but the minute My Space discovered you, your popularity took off and your scary visages are recognizable from miles away. Keep on rhyming, boys. Keep on head banging. If anybody wants to deliver their negative hate to you, let them know just what it’s like to survive California’s toughest neighborhoods. Most trolls would crap their pants at such visuals, as if the masks aren’t scary enough.
***OCCUPY WALL STREET’S GUY FAWKES MASKS***
Every Guy Fawkes mask is identical with the curved moustache, soul patch beard, and debonair face. But make no mistake about it: you didn’t lose your individuality by joining this movement. You joined it because you’re sick of the top one-percent trying to strip you of everything you love. You ask for “free shit” because getting it with today’s wages would be impossible with bills and screw jobs serving as obstacles. Though vocal you may be, you still are capable of the same amount of peace and serenity as any other legitimate protester. But the corrupt police department doesn’t always know this. If they see you with a Guy Fawkes mask, they will not hesitate to beat and pummel you while pinning false charges and making false arrests. The one-percent think they’ve won after such a bloody battle with authority. But they haven’t. They’re merely proving a point we’ve known all along and the Guy Fawkes clan is here to spread that awareness worldwide. Those who listen to you will feel empowered. Those who don’t will feel unjustifiably safe.
***THE WYATT FAMILY’S SHEEP MASKS***
Unlike the members of Slipknot, the WWE’s backwoods cult known as The Wyatt Family enjoy the opportunity to bring violence and hatred to every battle with other WWE superstars. It’s not enough that Erick Rowan (the white sheep) and Braun Strowman (the black sheep) are nearly seven feet tall and weigh in excess of 300 lbs. of muscle and murder. They also have to wear creepy-looking animal masks that do little more than solidify their loyalty to not only their brother Luke Harper, but their leader Bray Wyatt. Very few people have waged war with the Wyatts and emerged survivors, let alone victorious. These men are huge, they have scraggly beards, they stink like a swamp, and two of their members feel the need to wear sheep masks. If they carried sickles, chainsaws, and knives to the ring with them, they would complete their serial killer images. When Bray Wyatt tells you to “Run!”, that’s the wisest advice anybody can give you. Stretch your legs, get your cardio in, because it’s going to be the longest and most exhausting marathon you’ll be a part of.
***CONCLUSION***
If somebody calls you a coward for “hiding behind” one of these masks, just allow them to get a better look at you and then we’ll see who’s shitting their pants at the end of the confrontation. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
A new week is already here, which means a new prompt has been released. This time we’re dealing with the topic of “homecomings”, which is good news for me because I happen to have a synopsis ready for such an occasion. My story will be called “I Owe You Nothing” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
John Link, Sexual Harasser
Tina Williamson, Victim
Kenny Williamson, Tina’s Father
Melissa Williamson, Tina’s Mother
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The story begins with Tina returning home from school.
SYNOPSIS: Prior to the events of this story, John had repeatedly asked Tina out on dates during school time and Tina’s answer was always a definitive no. Fast forward to the actual story and Tina comes home from school to see John in the living room chatting with her parents and buttering them up. Tina continues to resist John’s advances despite coercion from him, Kenny, and Melissa. The situation reaches its boiling point when John pulls a gun out of his coat pocket and demands a yes answer at the threat of Tina being shot.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Danielle Courtney’s drawing yielded some…interesting results, particularly those of Marilyn Manson comparisons. I can’t say they’re wrong. Hehe! This next drawing will be different because the character is actually supposed to look manly. He’s a human necromancer named Angelo Rude and he’s the lead villain of a short story that used to be called “conform”, but is now called “Dead Man Walking”. Dance, skeletons! Dance!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“If you’re 555, then I’m 666!”
-Slipknot singing “The Heretic Anthem”-
If you go to my Face Book page (which is under my real name Garrison Haines-Temons), you will see that my profile picture is me wearing Corey Taylor’s Slipknot mask. I wore a different Slipknot mask on Halloween, but the scariness was the same as evidenced by little children crying, screaming, and parting from my walking path like the Red Sea. Scaring the shit out of everyone around me is fun because I already get enough grief for being socially awkward, so why not go the full nine when it comes to traumatizing people? Why does Halloween terror only get to happen once a year? This journal will document some of my favorite creepy masks throughout history and maybe give you all ideas for scaring the shit out of people on October 31st. Starting with…
***SLIPKNOT HORROR MOVIE MASKS***
If you wear one of these masks, you’re a part of something special. You open your ears to the grinding vocals of Corey Taylor and the thrashing heavy metal music the rest of Slipknot brings. Although the music comes off as angry, energetic, and devilish, the people of this band would never inflict harm on another human being. The violent fantasies are just that: fantasies. Each mask comes from classic horror cinema and was designed to carry out the legacy of psychological torture. Corey Taylor’s most recent mask comes from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Mick Thomson’s mask is a modification of Hannibal Lecter’s hockey mask. Shawn Crahan’s clown mask is based off of Stephen King’s horrifying monster Pennywise. Though his name escapes me, the guy who wears the gimp mask with the long leather nose drew inspiration from Alex’s mask from A Clockwork Orange during the rape scene. If you’re not chilled to your core, you were dead from pants-pissing fright a long time ago, my friend. Then again, that’s how most close-minded folks meet their fate.
***PINK FLOYD THE WALL PUTTY FACES***
If you wear this kind of mask, you’ve lost so much of your individuality that you blend in with the rest of the crowd. A flesh-colored mask with two large holes for the eyes and one large hole for the mouth, that might as well be your driver’s license photo. But you didn’t give up on your individuality without a fight. It had to be taken from you via negative reinforcement, which came in the form of coercion, violence, or most common, insults. When someone insults a part of your life, the insulting words leech onto that part of your mind like parasites. Try as you might to derive pleasure from that part of your life, all you’ll get is a playback of those negative words, so you avoid it as much as possible. And when you avoid it, you avoid other things that give you pleasure and hope until you no longer have a face of your own. Fighting for your individuality has become more important now than it ever has been with the emergence of the millennial generation, a group of youngsters who follow their own paths to success and prefer creative expression over dull corporate politics.
***PHANTO FROM SUPER MARIO BROTHERS 2***
You don’t have to worry about having this creepy visage on your face, because Phanto is a sentient being. Two downward curved eyeholes followed by a wide grin, Phanto has one job in Super Mario Brothers 2: to guard the golden key and punish those who take it with intimidation and incessant ramming. Not all Phanto masks have this assignment. Some of them are hanging on the walls of whatever dungeon Mario is in just for a frightening ambience. The hallway leading to King Wart and his vegetable machine is lined with a row of dormant Phanto masks. They won’t hurt you physically, but mentally, you’re on high alert even after King Wart is nauseous from being force-fed vegetables. Looking into those pitch black eyes and knowing you’re being smiled at is enough to give most Nintendo-playing millennials lifelong nightmares. If Phanto’s mouth was capable of forming words, what would he say to you? “Run!”
***HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD GANGSTER MASKS***
If you’re wearing one of these masks, you know the struggles of the originators of these visages. Hollywood Undead is a rap rock band who in their words have nearly died for the music they made. Hollywood isn’t exactly the safest place on earth with its history of gang violence, police corruption, and influx of dangerous drugs. To be a member of Hollywood Undead means you’ve survived these mean streets and you live to tell your tales through rapping lyrics and heavy metal instrumentation. You played a million empty shows to only family and friends, but the minute My Space discovered you, your popularity took off and your scary visages are recognizable from miles away. Keep on rhyming, boys. Keep on head banging. If anybody wants to deliver their negative hate to you, let them know just what it’s like to survive California’s toughest neighborhoods. Most trolls would crap their pants at such visuals, as if the masks aren’t scary enough.
***OCCUPY WALL STREET’S GUY FAWKES MASKS***
Every Guy Fawkes mask is identical with the curved moustache, soul patch beard, and debonair face. But make no mistake about it: you didn’t lose your individuality by joining this movement. You joined it because you’re sick of the top one-percent trying to strip you of everything you love. You ask for “free shit” because getting it with today’s wages would be impossible with bills and screw jobs serving as obstacles. Though vocal you may be, you still are capable of the same amount of peace and serenity as any other legitimate protester. But the corrupt police department doesn’t always know this. If they see you with a Guy Fawkes mask, they will not hesitate to beat and pummel you while pinning false charges and making false arrests. The one-percent think they’ve won after such a bloody battle with authority. But they haven’t. They’re merely proving a point we’ve known all along and the Guy Fawkes clan is here to spread that awareness worldwide. Those who listen to you will feel empowered. Those who don’t will feel unjustifiably safe.
***THE WYATT FAMILY’S SHEEP MASKS***
Unlike the members of Slipknot, the WWE’s backwoods cult known as The Wyatt Family enjoy the opportunity to bring violence and hatred to every battle with other WWE superstars. It’s not enough that Erick Rowan (the white sheep) and Braun Strowman (the black sheep) are nearly seven feet tall and weigh in excess of 300 lbs. of muscle and murder. They also have to wear creepy-looking animal masks that do little more than solidify their loyalty to not only their brother Luke Harper, but their leader Bray Wyatt. Very few people have waged war with the Wyatts and emerged survivors, let alone victorious. These men are huge, they have scraggly beards, they stink like a swamp, and two of their members feel the need to wear sheep masks. If they carried sickles, chainsaws, and knives to the ring with them, they would complete their serial killer images. When Bray Wyatt tells you to “Run!”, that’s the wisest advice anybody can give you. Stretch your legs, get your cardio in, because it’s going to be the longest and most exhausting marathon you’ll be a part of.
***CONCLUSION***
If somebody calls you a coward for “hiding behind” one of these masks, just allow them to get a better look at you and then we’ll see who’s shitting their pants at the end of the confrontation. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
A new week is already here, which means a new prompt has been released. This time we’re dealing with the topic of “homecomings”, which is good news for me because I happen to have a synopsis ready for such an occasion. My story will be called “I Owe You Nothing” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
John Link, Sexual Harasser
Tina Williamson, Victim
Kenny Williamson, Tina’s Father
Melissa Williamson, Tina’s Mother
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The story begins with Tina returning home from school.
SYNOPSIS: Prior to the events of this story, John had repeatedly asked Tina out on dates during school time and Tina’s answer was always a definitive no. Fast forward to the actual story and Tina comes home from school to see John in the living room chatting with her parents and buttering them up. Tina continues to resist John’s advances despite coercion from him, Kenny, and Melissa. The situation reaches its boiling point when John pulls a gun out of his coat pocket and demands a yes answer at the threat of Tina being shot.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Danielle Courtney’s drawing yielded some…interesting results, particularly those of Marilyn Manson comparisons. I can’t say they’re wrong. Hehe! This next drawing will be different because the character is actually supposed to look manly. He’s a human necromancer named Angelo Rude and he’s the lead villain of a short story that used to be called “conform”, but is now called “Dead Man Walking”. Dance, skeletons! Dance!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“If you’re 555, then I’m 666!”
-Slipknot singing “The Heretic Anthem”-
January 7, 2016
Sunday School
VERSE 1
Masturbating doesn’t make you a sinner
Jumping for Jesus doesn’t make you a winner
Having a wife doesn’t guarantee dinner
You were told otherwise by the holy swindlers
It’s all a distraction from the bigger picture
The altar boy with his finger on the trigger
The barrel pointed to his sweating forehead
The only way he could learn how to forget
CHORUS
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
VERSE 2
Bend his little body over the holy altar
Make him scream in pain, make him holler
To you it’s just business, not worth a bother
Just drown him in the river, the Baptist water
Your deadly sins tend to go unnoticed
The police do nothing, though they know this
A transfer request to a different church
You can do it all again, except much worse
EXTENDED CHORUS 1
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
We’re not singing in the choir!
We’re picking up the phone!
We’re going to tell anyone who will listen!
Something they’ve already known!
VERSE 3
Heaven doesn’t want you, neither does hell
Neither does the chime of the funeral bells
Neither does the water of the holy wells
Nobody is buying the things that you sell
We know it’s bullshit, we don’t say it enough
What you did to that boy was far from love
Tell us the truth, we don’t scare so easy
Though the news makes us feel queasy
EXTENDED CHORUS 2
We’re not going to the mega church!
We’re protesting outside!
We’re not going on your private jet!
We’re forming a line!
We’re not going on your holy mission!
We’re turning the tide!
Keep your hands off our fucking bodies!
I’ll see you on the dark side!
Masturbating doesn’t make you a sinner
Jumping for Jesus doesn’t make you a winner
Having a wife doesn’t guarantee dinner
You were told otherwise by the holy swindlers
It’s all a distraction from the bigger picture
The altar boy with his finger on the trigger
The barrel pointed to his sweating forehead
The only way he could learn how to forget
CHORUS
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
VERSE 2
Bend his little body over the holy altar
Make him scream in pain, make him holler
To you it’s just business, not worth a bother
Just drown him in the river, the Baptist water
Your deadly sins tend to go unnoticed
The police do nothing, though they know this
A transfer request to a different church
You can do it all again, except much worse
EXTENDED CHORUS 1
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
We’re not singing in the choir!
We’re picking up the phone!
We’re going to tell anyone who will listen!
Something they’ve already known!
VERSE 3
Heaven doesn’t want you, neither does hell
Neither does the chime of the funeral bells
Neither does the water of the holy wells
Nobody is buying the things that you sell
We know it’s bullshit, we don’t say it enough
What you did to that boy was far from love
Tell us the truth, we don’t scare so easy
Though the news makes us feel queasy
EXTENDED CHORUS 2
We’re not going to the mega church!
We’re protesting outside!
We’re not going on your private jet!
We’re forming a line!
We’re not going on your holy mission!
We’re turning the tide!
Keep your hands off our fucking bodies!
I’ll see you on the dark side!
Ancient Spirits of Evil
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 1
Death and decay is what they bring
To every hunk of land and living thing
In eternal pain and suffering we scream
Nightmare fuel for an innocent dream
Man, woman, child, it means nothing
To ancient spirits not known for loving
Lightning and shadows is their currency
The world is theirs for all damn eternity
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 2
They harvest the souls of those in power
Rain down on the poor with a fiery shower
Playing politics like it’s a game of D&D
Ripping the land from under you and me
This shit has continued for many centuries
Yet we look at each other like brutal enemies
What the fuck is happening to our dying world?
When will the ancient ones’ flags unfurl?
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 3
The ghosts of this earth will never rest
We constantly put this planet to the test
Smog, war, hunger, it’s all the same
This is what it takes to make us tame
Digging in the dumpster for a peach pit
Climbing to the top, you’ll never reach it
History teaches us that we never learn
Ancient spirits of evil watch us all burn
HOOK
This isn’t something you can teach at college
Nobody else gives a damn about knowledge
Wisdom has always been in short supply
We’re left to the vultures to feast and fly
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 1
Death and decay is what they bring
To every hunk of land and living thing
In eternal pain and suffering we scream
Nightmare fuel for an innocent dream
Man, woman, child, it means nothing
To ancient spirits not known for loving
Lightning and shadows is their currency
The world is theirs for all damn eternity
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 2
They harvest the souls of those in power
Rain down on the poor with a fiery shower
Playing politics like it’s a game of D&D
Ripping the land from under you and me
This shit has continued for many centuries
Yet we look at each other like brutal enemies
What the fuck is happening to our dying world?
When will the ancient ones’ flags unfurl?
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 3
The ghosts of this earth will never rest
We constantly put this planet to the test
Smog, war, hunger, it’s all the same
This is what it takes to make us tame
Digging in the dumpster for a peach pit
Climbing to the top, you’ll never reach it
History teaches us that we never learn
Ancient spirits of evil watch us all burn
HOOK
This isn’t something you can teach at college
Nobody else gives a damn about knowledge
Wisdom has always been in short supply
We’re left to the vultures to feast and fly
Self-Pressure
***SELF-PRESSURE***
Dr. Phil McGraw may be full of shit most of the time, but he at least has one thing right: the words we tell ourselves are so powerful that we blindly believe them. If you’re sending yourself negative messages, you’re going to feel sad and angry. If you’re sending yourself positive messages, your self-esteem will be a lot higher.
The same thing goes for the kind of pressure we put on ourselves in order to be successful. Some people do well under such pressure, others crack. When you’re putting the weight of the world on your shoulders, successes and failures become that much more amplified in the way they feel emotionally. But sometimes we put so much pressure on ourselves that no amount of success will satisfy us.
As artists, being unsatisfied with success is a way of life for us. We don’t like to rest on our laurels and that’s a good thing. The creative urge takes over and we continually make more and more pieces of art. But what about our “off” days? What happens when circumstances prevent us from doing our best or doing anything at all? Then the pressure we put on ourselves gives way to negativity and we feel awful about that day. It doesn’t matter what those circumstances are, because in our minds, there are no excuses.
Athletes feel this way all the time since they’re constantly put in pressure cooker situations. In his second match in the UFC, Conor McGregor put on a martial arts clinic against fellow upstart Max Holloway. Although Conor won the match by unanimous decision, he was pissed off with himself because he wanted to win either by knockout or submission. He doesn’t even care how good the match was; he still wanted to win convincingly instead of leaving things in the judges’ hands. He put the weight of the world on his shoulders and it crushed him.
I also put a lot of pressure on myself as many of you know by now. Some days, I’m a working stiff who can put out a short story, a blog entry, a WWE match review, and a drawing all in one day well still being able to read 30 pages of whatever novel I’m on. On those days, I feel high as a kite and nothing can take my big ass down. And then there are those “off” days where I get either so little done or nothing at all done. At the end of those days, I feel empty inside and it’s an awful feeling. Hell, there have been days when I wrote a short story for the WSS and it was the best damn thing I’ve written so far. Yet, I still feel like shit because I don’t feel like it’s enough.
My reasons for putting this much pressure on myself are simple. I’m unemployed and have no social life, which means I have all the time in the world to work on my creative projects. There are people out there who are employed fulltime and go to work anyways even during their “off” days. I feel like I have to constantly prove to myself that I’m just as hardworking as those who have jobs as pay taxes. I don’t know why, but I constantly do. When I go through just one day, one single day, of lazing around, the pressure I put on myself turns me into coal dust instead of a diamond in the rough.
Is self-pressure a good motivator or is it just a way to make people feel like shit? It all depends on how well you work under pressure. Some people achieve great things when the weight of the world is crashing down on them. Some people don’t and they panic easily. Because I’m an autistic schizophrenic introvert, I have increased sensitivity to all stimuli, including the kind I inflict on myself. When the pressure caves down on me, I feel horrible. So maybe it’s a good idea for me to ease some of the self-pressure and be a happy guy no matter what happens.
Anybody can miss one day of creative work. And when you do force yourself to work under extreme conditions, you don’t always put out the best product possible. If anything, these one day breaks of mine are ways to recover mentally so that when I’m ready, I can put out 110% effort and give an A+ performance. Teachers always advise students to get good nutrition and have a regular exercise routine. You know why? Because teachers want their students to have as many “on” days as possible and the only way to do that is by being healthy and getting enough sleep.
So what do you guys think of all of this? Do you put an overwhelming amount of pressure on yourselves as well? If so, do you become a diamond or coal dust? Do you believe alleviating some of this pressure will help you? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***MUSIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
“Some may call it a curse, a life like mine. But others, a blessing. It’s certainly a lonely life, but a fulfilling one and the best. It’s my cross to bear and I’ll bear it gladly. Someone has to take a stand against evil. Why should it not be me?”
-Mother Maiden from the Within Temptation song “Why Not Me?”-
Dr. Phil McGraw may be full of shit most of the time, but he at least has one thing right: the words we tell ourselves are so powerful that we blindly believe them. If you’re sending yourself negative messages, you’re going to feel sad and angry. If you’re sending yourself positive messages, your self-esteem will be a lot higher.
The same thing goes for the kind of pressure we put on ourselves in order to be successful. Some people do well under such pressure, others crack. When you’re putting the weight of the world on your shoulders, successes and failures become that much more amplified in the way they feel emotionally. But sometimes we put so much pressure on ourselves that no amount of success will satisfy us.
As artists, being unsatisfied with success is a way of life for us. We don’t like to rest on our laurels and that’s a good thing. The creative urge takes over and we continually make more and more pieces of art. But what about our “off” days? What happens when circumstances prevent us from doing our best or doing anything at all? Then the pressure we put on ourselves gives way to negativity and we feel awful about that day. It doesn’t matter what those circumstances are, because in our minds, there are no excuses.
Athletes feel this way all the time since they’re constantly put in pressure cooker situations. In his second match in the UFC, Conor McGregor put on a martial arts clinic against fellow upstart Max Holloway. Although Conor won the match by unanimous decision, he was pissed off with himself because he wanted to win either by knockout or submission. He doesn’t even care how good the match was; he still wanted to win convincingly instead of leaving things in the judges’ hands. He put the weight of the world on his shoulders and it crushed him.
I also put a lot of pressure on myself as many of you know by now. Some days, I’m a working stiff who can put out a short story, a blog entry, a WWE match review, and a drawing all in one day well still being able to read 30 pages of whatever novel I’m on. On those days, I feel high as a kite and nothing can take my big ass down. And then there are those “off” days where I get either so little done or nothing at all done. At the end of those days, I feel empty inside and it’s an awful feeling. Hell, there have been days when I wrote a short story for the WSS and it was the best damn thing I’ve written so far. Yet, I still feel like shit because I don’t feel like it’s enough.
My reasons for putting this much pressure on myself are simple. I’m unemployed and have no social life, which means I have all the time in the world to work on my creative projects. There are people out there who are employed fulltime and go to work anyways even during their “off” days. I feel like I have to constantly prove to myself that I’m just as hardworking as those who have jobs as pay taxes. I don’t know why, but I constantly do. When I go through just one day, one single day, of lazing around, the pressure I put on myself turns me into coal dust instead of a diamond in the rough.
Is self-pressure a good motivator or is it just a way to make people feel like shit? It all depends on how well you work under pressure. Some people achieve great things when the weight of the world is crashing down on them. Some people don’t and they panic easily. Because I’m an autistic schizophrenic introvert, I have increased sensitivity to all stimuli, including the kind I inflict on myself. When the pressure caves down on me, I feel horrible. So maybe it’s a good idea for me to ease some of the self-pressure and be a happy guy no matter what happens.
Anybody can miss one day of creative work. And when you do force yourself to work under extreme conditions, you don’t always put out the best product possible. If anything, these one day breaks of mine are ways to recover mentally so that when I’m ready, I can put out 110% effort and give an A+ performance. Teachers always advise students to get good nutrition and have a regular exercise routine. You know why? Because teachers want their students to have as many “on” days as possible and the only way to do that is by being healthy and getting enough sleep.
So what do you guys think of all of this? Do you put an overwhelming amount of pressure on yourselves as well? If so, do you become a diamond or coal dust? Do you believe alleviating some of this pressure will help you? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***MUSIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
“Some may call it a curse, a life like mine. But others, a blessing. It’s certainly a lonely life, but a fulfilling one and the best. It’s my cross to bear and I’ll bear it gladly. Someone has to take a stand against evil. Why should it not be me?”
-Mother Maiden from the Within Temptation song “Why Not Me?”-
January 6, 2016
Happy Meal
“Going to McDonald’s to eat a salad is like going to a prostitute for a hug.” CJ Blake giggled when she saw that Face Book meme on her smart phone. Judging from her hunched posture and droopy expression, however, that would be the only moment of happiness she had in a long period of time. She dredged into McDonald’s looking like someone had killed her puppy-duppy. Her blond hair was disheveled, her frail hands were stuffed in her black hoodie pockets, and her blue jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed in days.
When Miss Blake surveyed the restaurant with her bloodshot eyes, she found that except for the clerks and Ronald McDonald mascot, she was all alone for the evening. Given her circumstances, being alone was both a positive and a negative. She would have her meal all to herself, but no cute guy to share it with.
The clerk at the counter, Leon Tobin, didn’t look any better when it came to being stressed out by depression. The only reason his lanky figure was upright was because such posture was necessary for looking superior in an argument. His furrowed brows and quick movements on the register gave away more of his angry attitude.
“Welcome to McDonald’s, ma’am. What can I get started for you?” asked Leon in a professional, yet bothered tone. His fingers on the cash register were going to blitz and scramble once this order was taken.
Without looking at the menu above, CJ Blake knew exactly what she wanted: “Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, a Twenty-Piece McNugget with no sauce, a large vanilla shake, and a large coke?”
The only reason Leon hesitated when punching the numbers in the register was out of surprise that a cute girl would order such a big meal and ruin her lovely figure. The moment of hesitation was brief and the total was otherwise quickly added up. “That’ll be nineteen dollars even.”
CJ languidly fiddled around in her hoodie pockets and paid Leon with a twenty dollar bill, thus receiving one dollar in change. Without even waiting for the clerk to give her the order number, CJ dragged herself over to a nearby table and hung her head low. A small tear formed in her eye and dropped onto the table to create a tiny splash.
After giving the cooks CJ’s order, Leon stood behind the counter with his arms folded and watched his only customer with concern. He knew the personal affairs of his clientele were none of his damn business, so going over to ask what was wrong was out of the question. Besides, he had enough problems of his own that evening to be getting personally involved. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Watching CJ wallow in her depressive state made his heart ache on the inside. Either that or Leon’s dinner wasn’t sitting well with him.
Miss Blake continued to sit at her table with her head slouched over and her energy low. She probably wouldn’t have noticed if her food was ready. Garrett Fox dressed as Ronald McDonald, on the other hand, caused her to jump back and gasp. Garrett said, “Hey there, little girl!” in a deep, goofy voice. “You don’t have to be sour! Your meal is coming up soon and you’re going to have a wonderful time! If you want to order anything else…”
“Get the fuck away from me before I punch that silly red nose of yours through your goddamn skull,” said CJ in her usual languid voice.
“You heard her, Garrett. She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Take five,” said Leon, still with his arms folded behind the counter.
Garrett Fox’s eyes danced back and forth between CJ and Leon, not knowing where to go at first. He then took off his Ronald mask to reveal shaggy brown hair and a lion’s mane underneath before stomping over to Leon to angrily whisper, “What the hell are you doing?! We’re supposed to be selling her as much food as possible and you’re getting in my way again!”
“Her order was nineteen dollars even. She doesn’t need any more of this processed crap.”
With his arms flailing like a cartoon character, Garrett said, “Are you kidding me right now? Where’s your spirit? The only way we’re going to stay in business is by being enthusiastic about it. Smile, damn it! Have some fun!”
“Fun?!” said Leon with a raised voice. “You think this is fun for me?! You think taking orders from snotty people gives me pleasure?! Shit, man, I could go on forever about the screaming old people and the bratty teenagers who wouldn’t leave me alone for just one minute! That’s it! I can’t do this anymore!”
Garrett placed both of his gloved hands on either side of Leon’s face and said, “Think of your baby son, Leon! What’s he going to do if he finds out that daddy’s a quitter?!”
Leon swatted Garrett’s hands away, pointed a finger at him, and yelled, “Don’t you ever mention my family again, you son of a bitch! You know nothing about them!”
The two McDonald’s employees shoved and wrestled with each other over the counter with the other workers seemingly ignorant to what was going on out there. The last person expected to care, CJ Blake, suddenly stood up from the table and shouted, “Stop it! Stop this shit right now!”
Leon Tobin and Garrett Fox stopped their countertop roughhousing and gave CJ their wide-eyed attention. She screamed, “I came here to McDonald’s to get away from the fighting, not to watch more of it! You guys think you had it rough? Try getting in a nasty breakup with your lover! I’m talking about a really nasty breakup!”
To prove her point, CJ pulled her right hand out of her pocket and revealed red knuckles and pink scrapes. “Holy shit!” said Garrett.
“Yeah, you’re damn right that hurts! What hurts even more is the fact that every one of my family and friends keeps giving me the ‘I told you so!’ speech! I told you so, I told you so! So excuse me if I make your cooks work a little harder to get me a big ass meal! Shit, man, I already have a big ass.” CJ sat back down and buried her face in her folded arms. Tears soaked her hoodie sleeves while she breathed quickly in and out.
“Order up!” said one of the cooks.
Leon snapped out of his trance long enough to swipe the tray of food onto the floor and yell, “No! That’s not how this is going down!” He climbed over the counter and left Garrett in a dumbfounded state of mind as he lay on the counter staring at CJ.
As soon as the disgruntled clerk took a seat across from her, the depressed ex-girlfriend said, “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you right now. And why did you throw around my food like that? You’re an asshole.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Leon before he held CJ’s bruised hand in both of his own. “I am an asshole. I spent the last few days snapping at people when they just wanted their meals. We both had a bad couple of days. But you know what? Eating all that food isn’t going to make you feel better. It’s going to make you feel like shit. You’re going to be sluggish, you’re going to be slow, and you’re going to be struggling for air all the time. It’s almost like you wanted to commit suicide or something.”
CJ lifted her head to reveal her wet face and said, “I’m diabetic.” Garrett and Leon’s eyes shot up in horror and their lips quivered in fear. “That’s right. I came here to die tonight. It doesn’t matter how many times I punched my boyfriend, those nude photos of me are going to be on the internet forever. And no, I don’t care about telling a complete stranger all of this, because I’m not going to be around long enough to feel awkward about it.”
The depressed lady buried her tearful face in her arms yet again and sobbed away with Leon watching her in shock. He never let go of her hand. He snapped at enough people already and he wasn’t about to take his anger out on another poor soul. CJ had enough people angry with her already. What she needed more than anything was a kindred soul.
“You don’t need to die tonight. You need to start over,” said Leon. “If all your friend and family keep saying, ‘I told you so’, then you need new friends and new family members. Maybe I can be the one who helps you with that.”
“Yeah right!” said CJ. “How can you help me? You just said yourself that you spent the last few days yelling at customers!”
“I did. And it was stupid. I need to start over as well. Do you know how I plan to start over? Come with me and I’ll show you.” Leon helped the shaky CJ stand up and the two of them put their arms around each other’s shoulders as they walked out of McDonald’s in protest. To prove his run was over, Leon took off his McDonald’s hat and ripped off the shirt to his uniform.
CJ smiled at Leon and whistled flirtingly. Another short moment of happiness that would hopefully evolve into a longer one with Leon by her side. Their temporary chuckles ended when the two of them saw Garrett shamelessly eating CJ’s order off of the floor. “What?” the mascot said. “It’s a five minute rule.”
“That’s five seconds, you dummy!” said CJ before she and Leon walked away from McDonald’s forever.
When Miss Blake surveyed the restaurant with her bloodshot eyes, she found that except for the clerks and Ronald McDonald mascot, she was all alone for the evening. Given her circumstances, being alone was both a positive and a negative. She would have her meal all to herself, but no cute guy to share it with.
The clerk at the counter, Leon Tobin, didn’t look any better when it came to being stressed out by depression. The only reason his lanky figure was upright was because such posture was necessary for looking superior in an argument. His furrowed brows and quick movements on the register gave away more of his angry attitude.
“Welcome to McDonald’s, ma’am. What can I get started for you?” asked Leon in a professional, yet bothered tone. His fingers on the cash register were going to blitz and scramble once this order was taken.
Without looking at the menu above, CJ Blake knew exactly what she wanted: “Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, a Twenty-Piece McNugget with no sauce, a large vanilla shake, and a large coke?”
The only reason Leon hesitated when punching the numbers in the register was out of surprise that a cute girl would order such a big meal and ruin her lovely figure. The moment of hesitation was brief and the total was otherwise quickly added up. “That’ll be nineteen dollars even.”
CJ languidly fiddled around in her hoodie pockets and paid Leon with a twenty dollar bill, thus receiving one dollar in change. Without even waiting for the clerk to give her the order number, CJ dragged herself over to a nearby table and hung her head low. A small tear formed in her eye and dropped onto the table to create a tiny splash.
After giving the cooks CJ’s order, Leon stood behind the counter with his arms folded and watched his only customer with concern. He knew the personal affairs of his clientele were none of his damn business, so going over to ask what was wrong was out of the question. Besides, he had enough problems of his own that evening to be getting personally involved. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Watching CJ wallow in her depressive state made his heart ache on the inside. Either that or Leon’s dinner wasn’t sitting well with him.
Miss Blake continued to sit at her table with her head slouched over and her energy low. She probably wouldn’t have noticed if her food was ready. Garrett Fox dressed as Ronald McDonald, on the other hand, caused her to jump back and gasp. Garrett said, “Hey there, little girl!” in a deep, goofy voice. “You don’t have to be sour! Your meal is coming up soon and you’re going to have a wonderful time! If you want to order anything else…”
“Get the fuck away from me before I punch that silly red nose of yours through your goddamn skull,” said CJ in her usual languid voice.
“You heard her, Garrett. She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Take five,” said Leon, still with his arms folded behind the counter.
Garrett Fox’s eyes danced back and forth between CJ and Leon, not knowing where to go at first. He then took off his Ronald mask to reveal shaggy brown hair and a lion’s mane underneath before stomping over to Leon to angrily whisper, “What the hell are you doing?! We’re supposed to be selling her as much food as possible and you’re getting in my way again!”
“Her order was nineteen dollars even. She doesn’t need any more of this processed crap.”
With his arms flailing like a cartoon character, Garrett said, “Are you kidding me right now? Where’s your spirit? The only way we’re going to stay in business is by being enthusiastic about it. Smile, damn it! Have some fun!”
“Fun?!” said Leon with a raised voice. “You think this is fun for me?! You think taking orders from snotty people gives me pleasure?! Shit, man, I could go on forever about the screaming old people and the bratty teenagers who wouldn’t leave me alone for just one minute! That’s it! I can’t do this anymore!”
Garrett placed both of his gloved hands on either side of Leon’s face and said, “Think of your baby son, Leon! What’s he going to do if he finds out that daddy’s a quitter?!”
Leon swatted Garrett’s hands away, pointed a finger at him, and yelled, “Don’t you ever mention my family again, you son of a bitch! You know nothing about them!”
The two McDonald’s employees shoved and wrestled with each other over the counter with the other workers seemingly ignorant to what was going on out there. The last person expected to care, CJ Blake, suddenly stood up from the table and shouted, “Stop it! Stop this shit right now!”
Leon Tobin and Garrett Fox stopped their countertop roughhousing and gave CJ their wide-eyed attention. She screamed, “I came here to McDonald’s to get away from the fighting, not to watch more of it! You guys think you had it rough? Try getting in a nasty breakup with your lover! I’m talking about a really nasty breakup!”
To prove her point, CJ pulled her right hand out of her pocket and revealed red knuckles and pink scrapes. “Holy shit!” said Garrett.
“Yeah, you’re damn right that hurts! What hurts even more is the fact that every one of my family and friends keeps giving me the ‘I told you so!’ speech! I told you so, I told you so! So excuse me if I make your cooks work a little harder to get me a big ass meal! Shit, man, I already have a big ass.” CJ sat back down and buried her face in her folded arms. Tears soaked her hoodie sleeves while she breathed quickly in and out.
“Order up!” said one of the cooks.
Leon snapped out of his trance long enough to swipe the tray of food onto the floor and yell, “No! That’s not how this is going down!” He climbed over the counter and left Garrett in a dumbfounded state of mind as he lay on the counter staring at CJ.
As soon as the disgruntled clerk took a seat across from her, the depressed ex-girlfriend said, “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you right now. And why did you throw around my food like that? You’re an asshole.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Leon before he held CJ’s bruised hand in both of his own. “I am an asshole. I spent the last few days snapping at people when they just wanted their meals. We both had a bad couple of days. But you know what? Eating all that food isn’t going to make you feel better. It’s going to make you feel like shit. You’re going to be sluggish, you’re going to be slow, and you’re going to be struggling for air all the time. It’s almost like you wanted to commit suicide or something.”
CJ lifted her head to reveal her wet face and said, “I’m diabetic.” Garrett and Leon’s eyes shot up in horror and their lips quivered in fear. “That’s right. I came here to die tonight. It doesn’t matter how many times I punched my boyfriend, those nude photos of me are going to be on the internet forever. And no, I don’t care about telling a complete stranger all of this, because I’m not going to be around long enough to feel awkward about it.”
The depressed lady buried her tearful face in her arms yet again and sobbed away with Leon watching her in shock. He never let go of her hand. He snapped at enough people already and he wasn’t about to take his anger out on another poor soul. CJ had enough people angry with her already. What she needed more than anything was a kindred soul.
“You don’t need to die tonight. You need to start over,” said Leon. “If all your friend and family keep saying, ‘I told you so’, then you need new friends and new family members. Maybe I can be the one who helps you with that.”
“Yeah right!” said CJ. “How can you help me? You just said yourself that you spent the last few days yelling at customers!”
“I did. And it was stupid. I need to start over as well. Do you know how I plan to start over? Come with me and I’ll show you.” Leon helped the shaky CJ stand up and the two of them put their arms around each other’s shoulders as they walked out of McDonald’s in protest. To prove his run was over, Leon took off his McDonald’s hat and ripped off the shirt to his uniform.
CJ smiled at Leon and whistled flirtingly. Another short moment of happiness that would hopefully evolve into a longer one with Leon by her side. Their temporary chuckles ended when the two of them saw Garrett shamelessly eating CJ’s order off of the floor. “What?” the mascot said. “It’s a five minute rule.”
“That’s five seconds, you dummy!” said CJ before she and Leon walked away from McDonald’s forever.
January 3, 2016
San Diego
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 1
Building blocks are no longer just toys
They add some color to schizophrenic noise
The ogre and dragon went to war today
The mini-figures have been laid to waste
Emmet and Metal Beard make things weird
Chaotic minds make them a team to be feared
Let’s build a bridge to the next adventure
With all these bricks from the shopping center
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 2
The beaches look like heaven today
Soaked forever in ultraviolet rays
Lovely ladies chilling in swimsuits
Fluffy puppies take their masters’ route
Frisbees flying in the clear blue sky
Flower children blow smoke to get high
I’ll laze in the sand until time stands still
If you don’t stay, then I damn sure will
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 3
A bowl of mac and cheese if you please
A plate of fried rice tastes so nice
Who cares about calories when it feels good?
Wolf all that down? You knew I would
Dinner and a show on the cinema screen
R-rated heaven it’s so sick and obscene
Getting on that plane is the hardest part
Of giving San Diego my soul and heart
HOOK
December ‘14 was when my smile returned
When the world finally no longer burned
I held onto paradise with an iron tight grip
As I soak in the hot tub for one last dip
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 1
Building blocks are no longer just toys
They add some color to schizophrenic noise
The ogre and dragon went to war today
The mini-figures have been laid to waste
Emmet and Metal Beard make things weird
Chaotic minds make them a team to be feared
Let’s build a bridge to the next adventure
With all these bricks from the shopping center
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 2
The beaches look like heaven today
Soaked forever in ultraviolet rays
Lovely ladies chilling in swimsuits
Fluffy puppies take their masters’ route
Frisbees flying in the clear blue sky
Flower children blow smoke to get high
I’ll laze in the sand until time stands still
If you don’t stay, then I damn sure will
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 3
A bowl of mac and cheese if you please
A plate of fried rice tastes so nice
Who cares about calories when it feels good?
Wolf all that down? You knew I would
Dinner and a show on the cinema screen
R-rated heaven it’s so sick and obscene
Getting on that plane is the hardest part
Of giving San Diego my soul and heart
HOOK
December ‘14 was when my smile returned
When the world finally no longer burned
I held onto paradise with an iron tight grip
As I soak in the hot tub for one last dip
December 31, 2015
Happy New Year's 2016
***HAPPY NEW YEAR’S 2016***
The year 2016 is only hours away, which means it’s time to make some resolutions. Whether or not I keep those resolutions remains to be seen, but I’m keeping a positive attitude about it. The year 2015 was one of awesomeness for me with all the concerts I’ve been to, the Canadian vacation I went on, and all the creative work I got done from reading to writing to editing. I know 2016 will be all that and more, but with a few slight additions and modifications:
1. I spoke about this in a previous journal, but I’d like to lose weight and have good cardio again. My target weight is a long ways away, but I’d like to shoot for light heavyweight status, which if you follow UFC means I want to weigh 205 lbs. How do I plan on doing this? More water-walking, less fast food. It’s going to take a lot of discipline (which I already have) and more importantly, it’s going to take support from my family. I need someone to drive me to the gym every day and I need people to stop offering me burgers and fries. A Subway or Quizno’s sandwich is fine, but burgers and fries are no good. I am ready to be thinner and more energetic. I’m also ready to stay that way for the rest of my life.
2. I want to work with my beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps in editing Occupy Wrestling a second time so that it can achieve a higher rating on Good Reads and Amazon. Round two will focus on two different aspects: showing instead of telling and making the protagonists likeable. Showing is something that all authors struggle with, but it basically means to use sensory details, body language, thoughts, and dialogue to portray a character’s emotions rather than simply stating it. For example, telling would be, “Mitch McLeod is fucking pissed off.” and showing would be “Mitch McLeod’s eyes were bulging, his face was reddening, and his muscles were tensing up. His fists were clinched tightly like he wanted to knock someone’s fucking head off.” As far as likeability goes, Mitch’s emotions will focus on the guilt he feels after crippling Jack Finnegan and killing Jason Finnegan. It’s a long road, but I won’t travel it alone. I’ve got Marie Krepps by my side for another January in the trenches.
3. When Occupy Wrestling is in tip-top form, the next order of business will be Poison Tongue Tales, which will be comparatively easier since short stories demand less attention than full-blown novels. The show vs. tell principle still applies and having likeable characters will be a must. I’ve already edited a whopping six stories (eye roll) and I’ve only got forty-four more to go. When I had to do the same thing with American Darkness, I put myself on a “bulldozing schedule”, which means I edited three short stories a day until they were all ready for publication. No breaks, no vacations, just straight up hard work. It worked with American Darkness and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t work with Poison Tongue Tales.
4. Remember how I often say that I always keep my creative commitments? That includes reading and editing other people’s works as well. I told Zero Urrea countless times that I’d help him with editing his debut novel “Rake”, but I kept putting it off due to exhaustion or prior commitments. This time around, I’m going to push myself to get him a chapter-by-chapter analysis. Yes, his book is a doorstopper that could be mistaken for a medieval weapon, but that’s not an excuse for me to put it off. Zero, I said I would help you and in 2016, I’m going to make it happen. You’ve obviously worked hard on this novel and it should be the best that you can make it.
And then there are smaller goals like collecting more CD’s and books, building a bookshelf, and attending concerts and vacations. Those things are easy-breezy to take care of, so I’m not going to list them with everything else. Come to think of it, I’m not a very demanding person when it comes to New Year’s resolutions. My life is as relaxing, happy, and easy as it’s going to be and I’m grateful for all of it. For the things I want to get done, when I start dropping my weight, I’ll have more energy and I won’t be able to use mental tiredness as a crutch anymore. We’re going to do this and we’re going to do this right!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Come on, Sheamus, I thought you Irishmen were supposed to have potatoes. Turns out you’re just smuggling some tater tots.”
-Roman Reigns-
***MOST DISGUSTING PROMOTIONAL TACTIC***
Once January starts getting into the 20th days of the month, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards will be released. As you all know, my favorite award is the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic because I enjoy shocking the shit out of people. My prediction for 2015? It’s a no-brainer: WWE exploiting the death of Reid Flair. I’d bet money on it. Then again, I’ve been wrong before.
The year 2016 is only hours away, which means it’s time to make some resolutions. Whether or not I keep those resolutions remains to be seen, but I’m keeping a positive attitude about it. The year 2015 was one of awesomeness for me with all the concerts I’ve been to, the Canadian vacation I went on, and all the creative work I got done from reading to writing to editing. I know 2016 will be all that and more, but with a few slight additions and modifications:
1. I spoke about this in a previous journal, but I’d like to lose weight and have good cardio again. My target weight is a long ways away, but I’d like to shoot for light heavyweight status, which if you follow UFC means I want to weigh 205 lbs. How do I plan on doing this? More water-walking, less fast food. It’s going to take a lot of discipline (which I already have) and more importantly, it’s going to take support from my family. I need someone to drive me to the gym every day and I need people to stop offering me burgers and fries. A Subway or Quizno’s sandwich is fine, but burgers and fries are no good. I am ready to be thinner and more energetic. I’m also ready to stay that way for the rest of my life.
2. I want to work with my beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps in editing Occupy Wrestling a second time so that it can achieve a higher rating on Good Reads and Amazon. Round two will focus on two different aspects: showing instead of telling and making the protagonists likeable. Showing is something that all authors struggle with, but it basically means to use sensory details, body language, thoughts, and dialogue to portray a character’s emotions rather than simply stating it. For example, telling would be, “Mitch McLeod is fucking pissed off.” and showing would be “Mitch McLeod’s eyes were bulging, his face was reddening, and his muscles were tensing up. His fists were clinched tightly like he wanted to knock someone’s fucking head off.” As far as likeability goes, Mitch’s emotions will focus on the guilt he feels after crippling Jack Finnegan and killing Jason Finnegan. It’s a long road, but I won’t travel it alone. I’ve got Marie Krepps by my side for another January in the trenches.
3. When Occupy Wrestling is in tip-top form, the next order of business will be Poison Tongue Tales, which will be comparatively easier since short stories demand less attention than full-blown novels. The show vs. tell principle still applies and having likeable characters will be a must. I’ve already edited a whopping six stories (eye roll) and I’ve only got forty-four more to go. When I had to do the same thing with American Darkness, I put myself on a “bulldozing schedule”, which means I edited three short stories a day until they were all ready for publication. No breaks, no vacations, just straight up hard work. It worked with American Darkness and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t work with Poison Tongue Tales.
4. Remember how I often say that I always keep my creative commitments? That includes reading and editing other people’s works as well. I told Zero Urrea countless times that I’d help him with editing his debut novel “Rake”, but I kept putting it off due to exhaustion or prior commitments. This time around, I’m going to push myself to get him a chapter-by-chapter analysis. Yes, his book is a doorstopper that could be mistaken for a medieval weapon, but that’s not an excuse for me to put it off. Zero, I said I would help you and in 2016, I’m going to make it happen. You’ve obviously worked hard on this novel and it should be the best that you can make it.
And then there are smaller goals like collecting more CD’s and books, building a bookshelf, and attending concerts and vacations. Those things are easy-breezy to take care of, so I’m not going to list them with everything else. Come to think of it, I’m not a very demanding person when it comes to New Year’s resolutions. My life is as relaxing, happy, and easy as it’s going to be and I’m grateful for all of it. For the things I want to get done, when I start dropping my weight, I’ll have more energy and I won’t be able to use mental tiredness as a crutch anymore. We’re going to do this and we’re going to do this right!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Come on, Sheamus, I thought you Irishmen were supposed to have potatoes. Turns out you’re just smuggling some tater tots.”
-Roman Reigns-
***MOST DISGUSTING PROMOTIONAL TACTIC***
Once January starts getting into the 20th days of the month, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards will be released. As you all know, my favorite award is the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic because I enjoy shocking the shit out of people. My prediction for 2015? It’s a no-brainer: WWE exploiting the death of Reid Flair. I’d bet money on it. Then again, I’ve been wrong before.
December 29, 2015
Violence, Blood, and Gore
VERSE 1
Enough of this G-rated garbage
Don’t cater to a flowery market
It’s time to put on our gloves
Fight like it’s all we ever love
Broken skulls, shredded flesh
Electric wire, steel cage mesh
Someone’s getting knocked out tonight
It’s a brutal battle, it’s an epic fight
CHORUS 1
Let’s see some violence!
Let’s see some blood!
Let’s see some gore!
Come get yourself some!
VERSE 2
I’m sick of this PG-rated sewage
I’m getting ready to fucking lose it
Beat some ass, smash some heads
One of us is going to end up dead
Swing that Singapore cane with style
Watch the bruises bleed for a while
Leaking with pus and other sickly stuff
This is what we are, this is what we love
CHORUS 2
Let’s see some violence!
Let’s see some gore!
Let’s see some blood!
Let’s beg them for more!
VERSE 3
TV-MA has gone out of fashion
Lost forever to violent passion
Rated-R Superstar falling far
Down like a brawler in a bar
NC-17, you must be dreaming
Triple X, you’re not steaming
Lost innocence doesn’t have a limit
Bloodthirsty warrior’s my only gimmick
CHORUS 3
Let’s see some blood!
Let’s see some violence!
Let’s see some gore!
Let’s break the silence!
HOOK
EC-dub, bitch! EC-dub!
Join the party! Join the club!
The janitors will clean and scrub
The bloody stains, puked up grub
This is what I call mortal combat
With a drunken brawler and a conman
Nobody gets out alive tonight
Lace up your boots, get ready to fight!
Enough of this G-rated garbage
Don’t cater to a flowery market
It’s time to put on our gloves
Fight like it’s all we ever love
Broken skulls, shredded flesh
Electric wire, steel cage mesh
Someone’s getting knocked out tonight
It’s a brutal battle, it’s an epic fight
CHORUS 1
Let’s see some violence!
Let’s see some blood!
Let’s see some gore!
Come get yourself some!
VERSE 2
I’m sick of this PG-rated sewage
I’m getting ready to fucking lose it
Beat some ass, smash some heads
One of us is going to end up dead
Swing that Singapore cane with style
Watch the bruises bleed for a while
Leaking with pus and other sickly stuff
This is what we are, this is what we love
CHORUS 2
Let’s see some violence!
Let’s see some gore!
Let’s see some blood!
Let’s beg them for more!
VERSE 3
TV-MA has gone out of fashion
Lost forever to violent passion
Rated-R Superstar falling far
Down like a brawler in a bar
NC-17, you must be dreaming
Triple X, you’re not steaming
Lost innocence doesn’t have a limit
Bloodthirsty warrior’s my only gimmick
CHORUS 3
Let’s see some blood!
Let’s see some violence!
Let’s see some gore!
Let’s break the silence!
HOOK
EC-dub, bitch! EC-dub!
Join the party! Join the club!
The janitors will clean and scrub
The bloody stains, puked up grub
This is what I call mortal combat
With a drunken brawler and a conman
Nobody gets out alive tonight
Lace up your boots, get ready to fight!
Take a Swing
Karl Wight stood in the middle of Renegade Gym’s wrestling ring with his muscular arms crossed over his protruding chest and his fierce eyes staring daggers into the wall clock. With every tick-tock of the second hand, his muscles got tighter, his eyes bulged out, his lips were tightly pursed, and the vein in his bald head looked ready to explode. He wore his gray Renegade Gym’s sweatshirt, black wrestling shorts, and blue wrestling boots with pride, part of that pride being he always showed up to work on time and ready to go.
And then there was Josh Tweed, a skinny twenty-something in a black tank top and purple sweatpants. He strutted into the gym with no concern about rushing, just bobbing his head to his iPod music, which was blasting into his oversized headphones. He approached the ring with even more swagger before dropping his gym bag, iPod, and headphones to the floor. He jumped up to the ring apron and stepped through the ropes to start his lesson with the much larger Karl Wight, who was still fuming after staring at the clock for so long.
In a low wolf’s growl, Karl said, “I thought we agreed to start training at eight o’clock. It’s eight-thirty. You’re a half hour late, buddy. What’s your excuse this time?”
“Look, man, I’m sorry about showing up late, but I was caught in traffic and there was no getting around it,” said Josh while waving his hands defensively.
The 300 lb. man beast of a trainer popped his protégé on the forehead with his palm and then waved his sausage finger in his face. “You’d better listen to me good, Mister. I’d better not hear another lame ass excuse come out of your mouth. Show up on time, get your ass in gear, and get ready to exercise. You really think Vince McMahon or Dixie Carter are going to hire you if you keep coming up with bullshit excuses?!”
“I’m sorry, coach, it is what it is,” said Josh, for lack of a better way to sooth his teacher’s nerves.
The enraged behemoth grabbed Josh Tweed by the shirt and rammed him back into one of the turnbuckles, eliciting a response of quick breathing, wide eyes, and stuttering from his pupil. “No, you son of a bitch! It’s not like that at all! One of these days I’m going to break you! And when you break, I doubt you’ll ever fuck up again! Do you understand me?!” For good measure, Karl slapped Josh across the face with his meaty palm. “I said do you understand me?!”
“Okay, okay! It’s cool, Mr. Wight! It’s all good! Just let me go and don’t hurt me!” said Josh in a rushed, wimpy voice.
Karl grabbed his student by the hair and pulled him to the center of the ring. The poor kid was on the verge of pissing his pants when Karl ducked his protégé’s head down, double under-hooked both arms, and threw him backwards. Josh let out a feral cry as the resounding thud of landing on the mat sent a lightning bolt up his spine.
“If you would have been here thirty minutes ago, you could have learned that move in a less destructive way!” bellowed Karl. “That move is called a Butterfly Suplex. As you can tell, it’s just as painful for your arms as it is for your back. If you would have landed on your head, that would have spelled disaster for your neck too. I’m glad to know at least some of my teachings are paying off.”
Josh grabbed onto the ropes and pulled himself off the ground, still sore, still bruised, still wobbly. Karl ducked down to get in position so that his student could try the move on him. Josh would have loved nothing more than to dunk this jerk-off on his back, but his arms were trembling and too pain-wracked to get a good double under-hook.
“For Christ’s sake, man! This isn’t a gay porn movie! I don’t want to be stuck here all day long!” screamed Karl. Josh tried again to keep the under-hooks in, but the juggernaut of a trainer said, “Time’s up!” and flipped the poor kid on his back. With his back feeling like knives are going through it, Josh tried to roll over on his knees, but he kept getting his face shoved by Karl’s boot. “Get up, damn it! Get up!”
Josh Tweed was on the verge of breaking, but not into a puddle of tears like Karl Wight had hoped. Instead the little beanpole, threw a low blow at his teacher, who caught the kid’s arm, hooked it, and threw him back for another Butterfly Suplex. Karl just kept on giving Butterfly Suplexes to his pupil over and over again. One slam on the mat. Two. Three. Four. Josh’s body felt like he’d been crushed by a falling piano. Standing up was a chore that required a firm, motherly grip on the top and middle ropes.
“You do realize that this is a wrestling exhibition I’m putting you through, right? As such, you’re supposed to fight back and actually gain some leverage over me. That’s how you look good in your matches. But hey, we don’t have to worry about you looking good in the ring. You’ll lose for just about anybody they put in front of you. Hell, I just took you to Suplex City, bitch!” taunted Karl.
“I ain’t no bitch!” screamed Josh at the top of his lungs. When Karl tauntingly asked him to repeat himself, he obliged, “I ain’t no bitch! You are the worst teacher in the history of wrestling! Even if I showed up on time, you’d still act like a spoiled little boy! Screw you and your family too!”
“Oh yeah?” asked Karl as he raised his eyebrows. “And what’s the alternative? Because no matter which wrestling school you go to, there’s always going to be a teacher who treats you like this! It’s called tough love! All wrestlers go through it eventually! You think you’re getting a free pass just because I hurt your damn feelings?! Newsflash: there are no handouts in this industry! If you want a handout so badly, then go back to your job as a convenience store clerk and go on welfare! Hell, given your performance today, Tax Day is my new favorite day of the year!”
The stress of Karl’s words brought Josh to his knees. It took a lot of strength for him to keep from bursting into tears. There was no way he was going to let this asshole see him like this. He lifted one leg and from there he stood up without the aid of the ropes. He was still sore all over, but his newfound aggression allowed him to block out the pain.
Karl got out of the ring temporarily, dug into his own gym bag, and returned to the squared circle with a gold and diamond-encrusted championship belt. “You see this, Josh? You see this piece of hardware? I earned it back when I was your age by fighting through the pain, scratching and clawing, and never giving up. Here, I want you to hold it for a minute.”
Josh took the title and stared at it in his arms with eye-bulging intensity. He loved the way it felt. Just holding something that expensive looking made him feel like a hero. This too was his dream: to scratch and claw to the top of the mountain and never look down. But of course, Karl pissed in his Cheerios once again with, “That’s as close to a world championship as you’re going to get my friend.”
Mr. Tweed slowly lifted his head and made brutal eye contact with his harsh trainer. They spent the world’s longest minute gazing at each other before Josh did the unthinkable and dropped the belt at his master’s feet. Karl looked down at his belt and said, “Pick that up, you stooge!”
“How about you bend over in front of me and pick it up yourself, you homo,” said Josh with bravery in his voice.
Karl got closer into his student’s face and said, “With that kind of disrespectful bullshit going for you, it’s amazing you’re allowed to work here at all. I’m so disappointed in you, Josh Tweed. Heh, what kind of a last name is that for a wrestler?”
As Karl doubled over to pick up his title, Josh summoned the hulking strength to double under-hook his mentor’s arms and throw him backwards in his own version of a Butterfly Suplex. The loud thud of Karl’s back hitting the mat wasn’t as bad as the surprise of it all, as evidenced by the teacher’s slight yip from taking his bump.
As the master laid on his back staring at the ceiling in shock wondering just what the hell happened, Josh Tweed stood over him and said, “You’re right. That Butterfly Suplex is one hell of a move.”
The other surprise of the morning? Karl Wight couldn’t be mad about it at all. He chuckled and said, “You sneaky bastard. You got me good. You got me real’ good. Maybe instead of being a jobber, you could be one of those tricky heel characters. You’re already sounding like the perfect bad guy to me.”
“Take a good look at the bad guy!” said Josh as he stretched his arms out crucifix style and did his best Razor Ramon impression.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Josh. We’ve still got an entire day of drills to get through. And then I’m going to teach you my favorite move of all time. You don’t see it much in wrestling anymore, but it used to be really popular in the 90’s.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“The pile-driver!”
Josh’s machismo faded into a look of concern followed by a gulp of saliva. Meanwhile, Karl Wight was still on his back chuckling like a madman.
And then there was Josh Tweed, a skinny twenty-something in a black tank top and purple sweatpants. He strutted into the gym with no concern about rushing, just bobbing his head to his iPod music, which was blasting into his oversized headphones. He approached the ring with even more swagger before dropping his gym bag, iPod, and headphones to the floor. He jumped up to the ring apron and stepped through the ropes to start his lesson with the much larger Karl Wight, who was still fuming after staring at the clock for so long.
In a low wolf’s growl, Karl said, “I thought we agreed to start training at eight o’clock. It’s eight-thirty. You’re a half hour late, buddy. What’s your excuse this time?”
“Look, man, I’m sorry about showing up late, but I was caught in traffic and there was no getting around it,” said Josh while waving his hands defensively.
The 300 lb. man beast of a trainer popped his protégé on the forehead with his palm and then waved his sausage finger in his face. “You’d better listen to me good, Mister. I’d better not hear another lame ass excuse come out of your mouth. Show up on time, get your ass in gear, and get ready to exercise. You really think Vince McMahon or Dixie Carter are going to hire you if you keep coming up with bullshit excuses?!”
“I’m sorry, coach, it is what it is,” said Josh, for lack of a better way to sooth his teacher’s nerves.
The enraged behemoth grabbed Josh Tweed by the shirt and rammed him back into one of the turnbuckles, eliciting a response of quick breathing, wide eyes, and stuttering from his pupil. “No, you son of a bitch! It’s not like that at all! One of these days I’m going to break you! And when you break, I doubt you’ll ever fuck up again! Do you understand me?!” For good measure, Karl slapped Josh across the face with his meaty palm. “I said do you understand me?!”
“Okay, okay! It’s cool, Mr. Wight! It’s all good! Just let me go and don’t hurt me!” said Josh in a rushed, wimpy voice.
Karl grabbed his student by the hair and pulled him to the center of the ring. The poor kid was on the verge of pissing his pants when Karl ducked his protégé’s head down, double under-hooked both arms, and threw him backwards. Josh let out a feral cry as the resounding thud of landing on the mat sent a lightning bolt up his spine.
“If you would have been here thirty minutes ago, you could have learned that move in a less destructive way!” bellowed Karl. “That move is called a Butterfly Suplex. As you can tell, it’s just as painful for your arms as it is for your back. If you would have landed on your head, that would have spelled disaster for your neck too. I’m glad to know at least some of my teachings are paying off.”
Josh grabbed onto the ropes and pulled himself off the ground, still sore, still bruised, still wobbly. Karl ducked down to get in position so that his student could try the move on him. Josh would have loved nothing more than to dunk this jerk-off on his back, but his arms were trembling and too pain-wracked to get a good double under-hook.
“For Christ’s sake, man! This isn’t a gay porn movie! I don’t want to be stuck here all day long!” screamed Karl. Josh tried again to keep the under-hooks in, but the juggernaut of a trainer said, “Time’s up!” and flipped the poor kid on his back. With his back feeling like knives are going through it, Josh tried to roll over on his knees, but he kept getting his face shoved by Karl’s boot. “Get up, damn it! Get up!”
Josh Tweed was on the verge of breaking, but not into a puddle of tears like Karl Wight had hoped. Instead the little beanpole, threw a low blow at his teacher, who caught the kid’s arm, hooked it, and threw him back for another Butterfly Suplex. Karl just kept on giving Butterfly Suplexes to his pupil over and over again. One slam on the mat. Two. Three. Four. Josh’s body felt like he’d been crushed by a falling piano. Standing up was a chore that required a firm, motherly grip on the top and middle ropes.
“You do realize that this is a wrestling exhibition I’m putting you through, right? As such, you’re supposed to fight back and actually gain some leverage over me. That’s how you look good in your matches. But hey, we don’t have to worry about you looking good in the ring. You’ll lose for just about anybody they put in front of you. Hell, I just took you to Suplex City, bitch!” taunted Karl.
“I ain’t no bitch!” screamed Josh at the top of his lungs. When Karl tauntingly asked him to repeat himself, he obliged, “I ain’t no bitch! You are the worst teacher in the history of wrestling! Even if I showed up on time, you’d still act like a spoiled little boy! Screw you and your family too!”
“Oh yeah?” asked Karl as he raised his eyebrows. “And what’s the alternative? Because no matter which wrestling school you go to, there’s always going to be a teacher who treats you like this! It’s called tough love! All wrestlers go through it eventually! You think you’re getting a free pass just because I hurt your damn feelings?! Newsflash: there are no handouts in this industry! If you want a handout so badly, then go back to your job as a convenience store clerk and go on welfare! Hell, given your performance today, Tax Day is my new favorite day of the year!”
The stress of Karl’s words brought Josh to his knees. It took a lot of strength for him to keep from bursting into tears. There was no way he was going to let this asshole see him like this. He lifted one leg and from there he stood up without the aid of the ropes. He was still sore all over, but his newfound aggression allowed him to block out the pain.
Karl got out of the ring temporarily, dug into his own gym bag, and returned to the squared circle with a gold and diamond-encrusted championship belt. “You see this, Josh? You see this piece of hardware? I earned it back when I was your age by fighting through the pain, scratching and clawing, and never giving up. Here, I want you to hold it for a minute.”
Josh took the title and stared at it in his arms with eye-bulging intensity. He loved the way it felt. Just holding something that expensive looking made him feel like a hero. This too was his dream: to scratch and claw to the top of the mountain and never look down. But of course, Karl pissed in his Cheerios once again with, “That’s as close to a world championship as you’re going to get my friend.”
Mr. Tweed slowly lifted his head and made brutal eye contact with his harsh trainer. They spent the world’s longest minute gazing at each other before Josh did the unthinkable and dropped the belt at his master’s feet. Karl looked down at his belt and said, “Pick that up, you stooge!”
“How about you bend over in front of me and pick it up yourself, you homo,” said Josh with bravery in his voice.
Karl got closer into his student’s face and said, “With that kind of disrespectful bullshit going for you, it’s amazing you’re allowed to work here at all. I’m so disappointed in you, Josh Tweed. Heh, what kind of a last name is that for a wrestler?”
As Karl doubled over to pick up his title, Josh summoned the hulking strength to double under-hook his mentor’s arms and throw him backwards in his own version of a Butterfly Suplex. The loud thud of Karl’s back hitting the mat wasn’t as bad as the surprise of it all, as evidenced by the teacher’s slight yip from taking his bump.
As the master laid on his back staring at the ceiling in shock wondering just what the hell happened, Josh Tweed stood over him and said, “You’re right. That Butterfly Suplex is one hell of a move.”
The other surprise of the morning? Karl Wight couldn’t be mad about it at all. He chuckled and said, “You sneaky bastard. You got me good. You got me real’ good. Maybe instead of being a jobber, you could be one of those tricky heel characters. You’re already sounding like the perfect bad guy to me.”
“Take a good look at the bad guy!” said Josh as he stretched his arms out crucifix style and did his best Razor Ramon impression.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Josh. We’ve still got an entire day of drills to get through. And then I’m going to teach you my favorite move of all time. You don’t see it much in wrestling anymore, but it used to be really popular in the 90’s.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“The pile-driver!”
Josh’s machismo faded into a look of concern followed by a gulp of saliva. Meanwhile, Karl Wight was still on his back chuckling like a madman.
