Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 116
August 9, 2015
Blood Brawl, Chapter 1
Orcs didn’t give two shits about what “lesser” races thought of their appearances. An orcish warrior could walk down the street covered in pig mud and horse piss and it would be completely normal to him. On this night, however, it wasn’t about odors or clothing; it was about hair. It was a rowdy and raucous night in the Dragon Wings Orc Bar. Every smelly disgusting orc raised their arms in the air and shouted like sports fans. The latter could have been because they were sports fan, particularly combat sports.
Two grimy wrestlers stood across from each other in the bar’s circle pit while others gathered around them and cheered in lovely orcish cacophony. The fighters never took their eyes off of each other as they stared across the circle pit. They had the one thing that made orcs stand out from the rest of the fantasy races: ruthless aggression. Their fangs were clamped down tightly. Their slimy green lips were quivering. Their bulging muscles were trembling. Their fists were harder than blocks of cement. The biggest blow to the loser wouldn’t come in the form of bruises or cuts. It would come in the form of having his head shaved completely bald.
Tazz Battler, the one with the black dreadlocks and brown fur wrestling trunks, got in his combative stance and looked ready to slam his opponent on the wooden floor with a deafening thud. Gargoth Trencher, the one with blond pigtails and gray sharkskin trunks, remained arrogant with his folded arms and wicked glare. Word around the campfire was that Gargoth wasn’t taking this Hair vs. Hair matchup seriously since he believed Tazz was beneath him. It was either a big mistake or a prophecy, an answer only having this wrestling match would tell.
With the thunderous ring of the brass bell, the fight was underway. Tazz let out a monstrous warcry and wasted no time in bull rushing his opponent. Gargoth, being the arrogant prick he was, allowed his adversary to engage him in a collar-elbow tie-up without much effort. The two of them pushed and shoved their away around the sea of orcish humanity just to see who would gain the first advantage. Even the biggest bruisers were being knocked over with ease by these two warriors.
Gargoth drew first blood when he grabbed Tazz by his dreadlocks and shoved him face first to the floor. To add insult to injury, the pigtailed orc placed his steel boot on his opponent’s head and held him there while posing and pandering to the wildly cheering crowd.
Tazz thrashed underneath the weight of his rival in an attempt not to suffocate on this dingy wooden floor. He then got the idea of grabbing Gargoth’s free ankle with both hands and yanking his body out from underneath, sending the blond oaf crashing to the ground.
Playtime had officially come to an end for these two grapplers. They scrambled together on the floor in an attempt to lock in a submission hold of some kind. Their slimy skin and deadly strength left them both at a stalemate since grabbing onto a limb was next to impossible.
Finally, Gargoth grabbed both of Tazz’s wrists and squeezed as hard as he could while whispering angrily, “Are you a wrestler…or a whore of the night?! If you’re going to fight me, do it without trying to get laid!”
It was advice well-taken. Tazz ripped his greasy, unwashed arms out of Gargoth’s grip, stood up, and jumped up before planting both heavy feet into his opponent’s stomach. The pigtailed warrior let out a throaty scream of agony while the orcish audience cheered their approval of this brutality, especially after blood was leaking from Gargoth’s bottom lip.
Tazz Battler wasn’t finished yet. He hooked his massive arms around his nemesis’ ankles and spun him around in a classic wrestling move known as The Giant Swing. Around and around the two of them went, Tazz not caring if he smacked a few orcish audience members along the way. This gargantuan display of power was ended when the dreadlocked warrior lifted Gargoth even higher in the air and slammed him repeatedly on his back until the pigtailed brute passed out from the pain. So many crunches, so much bleeding from the mouth, and the audience was there to cheer on the whole thing.
“Hand me the razor! He’s finished!” screamed Tazz while holding his hand out. Someone gave him a shaving razor that looked more like a rogue’s dagger and probably hurt like one when cutting hair. But as Tazz went to work on the pompous pigtails and everything in between, Gargoth was still out of it from being slammed on his back so many times.
By the time the once arrogant prick came to, his green scaly scalp had deep gashes and cuts, but no pigtails. He was completely bald while Tazz Battler held the remaining bloody hair in the sky with pride and orcish adrenaline. To confirm this was really happening, Gargoth placed a gentle hand on his own head to feel the wounds. He really was shaved bald. The Hair vs. Hair stipulation had been fulfilled.
Upon realizing his “lovely locks” were gone and upon listening to the orcish audience laugh at him and cheer for Tazz, Gargoth’s lips quivered in sadness while tears streamed down his cheeks, prompting even louder laughter from his peers. He was even treated to slurs like “fag”, “man-whore”, and “big baby” for good measure. The once proud orc was reduced to a blubbering child as tears poured from his eyes in a waterfall of sadness. He was traumatized for life.
The horse laughing and name calling would have gone on all night if it wasn’t for the fact that Gargoth’s tears had turned blood red. Orcs were accustomed to seeing blood on a daily basis, but this was weird enough to cast universal silence in the bar. The more Gargoth cried tears of blood, the angrier he became. His breath became hot enough to blow fire. His bald wounds were healing over with parasites. His muscle-bound body was forming cracks with burning orange light shining through them.
The once tough orcish crowd was now backing away from Gargoth Trencher as he stood up and started peeling his skin off. This wasn’t gentle peeling; this was ripping and shredding, which started to scare the once proud orcish audience. The huge chunks of ripped flesh were turning into maggots and leeches that stank worse than the entire bar clientele put together.
With a sea of orcs cowering and quivering in fear before him, Gargoth Trencher had peeled away his old self to reveal the form of a flaming skeletal death angel, complete with black metal wings and enough of an odor to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon.
With a deeper, more demonic voice than before, Gargoth screamed, “Is this what you call entertainment?! Is this you’re idea of fun?! Then goddamn it, let’s have some mother…fucking…FUN!!” That last word was prolonged with extra fire in his voice, fire that scorched the skin of the orcs in the tavern.
Gargoth continued to breathe fire and tear the flesh off of the orcs around him. His violent rampage made the entire bar look like a bloodbath of fire and flesh. Some of the cowardly and bullying orcs were able to run for the exit, though most of them were thrashing and burning in never-ending pain. Death came slowly and torturously for Gargoth’s victims.
He could have won bonus points for mental torture as well. In the distant corner of the Dragon Wings Orc Bar was the barkeep, cowering, quivering, and making himself as small as humanly possible. He shivered and cried in his little space and wished death would come instantly. Get in line, barkeep. The only thing that gave him any peace whatsoever was the sudden extinguishing of the flames around him and the disappearance of Gargoth Trencher, death angel at large.
The bartender slowly stood up and surveyed the horrifying damage around him. His furniture had turned to ashes, though that was the least of his concerns. His patrons were mangled and twisted into funny shapes while drowning in a heap of blood and smoke. Judging from the sorrowful look on the bartender’s face as well as his unwillingness to stop shaking, this battlefield would haunt him for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do was sit in bed and cry, but no eiderdown was soft enough to sooth his mental wounds.
Two grimy wrestlers stood across from each other in the bar’s circle pit while others gathered around them and cheered in lovely orcish cacophony. The fighters never took their eyes off of each other as they stared across the circle pit. They had the one thing that made orcs stand out from the rest of the fantasy races: ruthless aggression. Their fangs were clamped down tightly. Their slimy green lips were quivering. Their bulging muscles were trembling. Their fists were harder than blocks of cement. The biggest blow to the loser wouldn’t come in the form of bruises or cuts. It would come in the form of having his head shaved completely bald.
Tazz Battler, the one with the black dreadlocks and brown fur wrestling trunks, got in his combative stance and looked ready to slam his opponent on the wooden floor with a deafening thud. Gargoth Trencher, the one with blond pigtails and gray sharkskin trunks, remained arrogant with his folded arms and wicked glare. Word around the campfire was that Gargoth wasn’t taking this Hair vs. Hair matchup seriously since he believed Tazz was beneath him. It was either a big mistake or a prophecy, an answer only having this wrestling match would tell.
With the thunderous ring of the brass bell, the fight was underway. Tazz let out a monstrous warcry and wasted no time in bull rushing his opponent. Gargoth, being the arrogant prick he was, allowed his adversary to engage him in a collar-elbow tie-up without much effort. The two of them pushed and shoved their away around the sea of orcish humanity just to see who would gain the first advantage. Even the biggest bruisers were being knocked over with ease by these two warriors.
Gargoth drew first blood when he grabbed Tazz by his dreadlocks and shoved him face first to the floor. To add insult to injury, the pigtailed orc placed his steel boot on his opponent’s head and held him there while posing and pandering to the wildly cheering crowd.
Tazz thrashed underneath the weight of his rival in an attempt not to suffocate on this dingy wooden floor. He then got the idea of grabbing Gargoth’s free ankle with both hands and yanking his body out from underneath, sending the blond oaf crashing to the ground.
Playtime had officially come to an end for these two grapplers. They scrambled together on the floor in an attempt to lock in a submission hold of some kind. Their slimy skin and deadly strength left them both at a stalemate since grabbing onto a limb was next to impossible.
Finally, Gargoth grabbed both of Tazz’s wrists and squeezed as hard as he could while whispering angrily, “Are you a wrestler…or a whore of the night?! If you’re going to fight me, do it without trying to get laid!”
It was advice well-taken. Tazz ripped his greasy, unwashed arms out of Gargoth’s grip, stood up, and jumped up before planting both heavy feet into his opponent’s stomach. The pigtailed warrior let out a throaty scream of agony while the orcish audience cheered their approval of this brutality, especially after blood was leaking from Gargoth’s bottom lip.
Tazz Battler wasn’t finished yet. He hooked his massive arms around his nemesis’ ankles and spun him around in a classic wrestling move known as The Giant Swing. Around and around the two of them went, Tazz not caring if he smacked a few orcish audience members along the way. This gargantuan display of power was ended when the dreadlocked warrior lifted Gargoth even higher in the air and slammed him repeatedly on his back until the pigtailed brute passed out from the pain. So many crunches, so much bleeding from the mouth, and the audience was there to cheer on the whole thing.
“Hand me the razor! He’s finished!” screamed Tazz while holding his hand out. Someone gave him a shaving razor that looked more like a rogue’s dagger and probably hurt like one when cutting hair. But as Tazz went to work on the pompous pigtails and everything in between, Gargoth was still out of it from being slammed on his back so many times.
By the time the once arrogant prick came to, his green scaly scalp had deep gashes and cuts, but no pigtails. He was completely bald while Tazz Battler held the remaining bloody hair in the sky with pride and orcish adrenaline. To confirm this was really happening, Gargoth placed a gentle hand on his own head to feel the wounds. He really was shaved bald. The Hair vs. Hair stipulation had been fulfilled.
Upon realizing his “lovely locks” were gone and upon listening to the orcish audience laugh at him and cheer for Tazz, Gargoth’s lips quivered in sadness while tears streamed down his cheeks, prompting even louder laughter from his peers. He was even treated to slurs like “fag”, “man-whore”, and “big baby” for good measure. The once proud orc was reduced to a blubbering child as tears poured from his eyes in a waterfall of sadness. He was traumatized for life.
The horse laughing and name calling would have gone on all night if it wasn’t for the fact that Gargoth’s tears had turned blood red. Orcs were accustomed to seeing blood on a daily basis, but this was weird enough to cast universal silence in the bar. The more Gargoth cried tears of blood, the angrier he became. His breath became hot enough to blow fire. His bald wounds were healing over with parasites. His muscle-bound body was forming cracks with burning orange light shining through them.
The once tough orcish crowd was now backing away from Gargoth Trencher as he stood up and started peeling his skin off. This wasn’t gentle peeling; this was ripping and shredding, which started to scare the once proud orcish audience. The huge chunks of ripped flesh were turning into maggots and leeches that stank worse than the entire bar clientele put together.
With a sea of orcs cowering and quivering in fear before him, Gargoth Trencher had peeled away his old self to reveal the form of a flaming skeletal death angel, complete with black metal wings and enough of an odor to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon.
With a deeper, more demonic voice than before, Gargoth screamed, “Is this what you call entertainment?! Is this you’re idea of fun?! Then goddamn it, let’s have some mother…fucking…FUN!!” That last word was prolonged with extra fire in his voice, fire that scorched the skin of the orcs in the tavern.
Gargoth continued to breathe fire and tear the flesh off of the orcs around him. His violent rampage made the entire bar look like a bloodbath of fire and flesh. Some of the cowardly and bullying orcs were able to run for the exit, though most of them were thrashing and burning in never-ending pain. Death came slowly and torturously for Gargoth’s victims.
He could have won bonus points for mental torture as well. In the distant corner of the Dragon Wings Orc Bar was the barkeep, cowering, quivering, and making himself as small as humanly possible. He shivered and cried in his little space and wished death would come instantly. Get in line, barkeep. The only thing that gave him any peace whatsoever was the sudden extinguishing of the flames around him and the disappearance of Gargoth Trencher, death angel at large.
The bartender slowly stood up and surveyed the horrifying damage around him. His furniture had turned to ashes, though that was the least of his concerns. His patrons were mangled and twisted into funny shapes while drowning in a heap of blood and smoke. Judging from the sorrowful look on the bartender’s face as well as his unwillingness to stop shaking, this battlefield would haunt him for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do was sit in bed and cry, but no eiderdown was soft enough to sooth his mental wounds.
August 8, 2015
WWE Battleground: The Prime Time Players vs. The New Day
MATCH: The Prime Time Players (Titus O’Neil & Darren Young) vs. The New Day (Kofi Kingston & Big E with Xavier Woods lurking outside) for the WWE Tag Team Championship
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Battleground
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Ever since its inception in 2013, the Battleground pay-per-view has been cursed with negative reviews for one reason or another. For two years in a row, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter has given Battleground the award for Worst Major Show of 2013 and 2014. The event in 2014 received a lot of bad press because of two candidates for that year’s Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic that year: Lana’s offensive promo about the Malaysia Airways plane going down in The Ukraine and WWE false advertising Seth Rollins vs. Dean Ambrose.
While I haven’t seen the entirety of 2015’s Battleground pay-per-view due to the WWE Network’s incompetence with Roku devices, I knew this year had to have a stacked card from top to bottom in order to break their two year curse with the WON, which is a respectable publication, by the way. When it comes to Battleground’s Tag Team Championship match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day, it’s not a bad start on breaking that curse. The buildup to this match was particularly exciting for both teams since they’ve gone through serious gimmick and alignment changes over the past year.
In the case of The New Day, the three members Big E, Kofi Kingston, and Xavier Woods were mid-card baby-face talents who were just hanging around and not really going anywhere with their careers. And then in late 2014, the three of them adopted a new gimmick of being overly positive black gospel preachers who clapped, danced, and smiled their way into every match. This was intended to be a baby-face gimmick, but the WWE Universe thought they were too much of a racist joke to be taken seriously, so all three members of The New Day eventually turned heel by cheating in their matches and insulting the crowd during their preaching promos.
While The New Day preached positivity, both members of The Prime Time Players practiced it. In 2013, Darren Young was the recipient of the Most Inspirational Wrestler of the Year award from Pro-Wrestling Illustrated due to him publicly coming out as a gay man. The best part about that? The WWE didn’t make a stereotypical gimmick out of Young’s sexuality; they just let him be himself. Titus O’Neil is inspirational in a lot of ways too. In 2015, he won the Celebrity Mega Dad of the Year award and later on in that year received national attention for taking a group of homeless people out to dinner just out of the kindness of his heart. At the Money in the Bank pay-per-view prior to Battleground, O’Neil and Young actually won the Tag Team Championship from The New Day to start this feud. The championship win marks O’Neil and Young’s first major title reign in WWE since debuting on the main roster in 2010. Five years of hard work lead to all of this: hell yeah, gentlemen. Hell yeah.
And now for the actual match itself. In one corner, you’ve got The Prime Time Players in the form of the mega-muscle Titus O’Neil and the aggressive athlete Darren Young. In the other corner, you’ve got The New Day, which consists of high-flying Kofi Kingston, ultra-powerful Big E, and though he’s not an official participant of this match, Xavier Woods will make his presence known by screaming at the desk announcers and interfering on behalf of his team.
From beginning to end, this tag team match was marked with unrelenting aggression and hard-hitting stiff moves. We as the audience got to see things like Darren Young back suplexing Xavier Woods on the edge of the ring (which is the hardest part of the whole structure), Big E giving a belly-to-belly suplex on the outside of the damn ring, all five members of the match getting tossed into the barricade, and of course, where would a New Day match be without the constant corner stomping and tagging combinations from that team in order to restart the referee’s five count?
Darren Young found himself on the wrong end of a lot of these moves and wasn’t able to get to his tag team partner for the longest time. But when Titus O’Neil was tagged in, oh damn, you’d better get off the tracks when that train is coming through. Titus clotheslined, booted, and shoulder tackled his way through The New Day and even slung Kofi Kingston around like the Ghanaian superstar was a small child.
Like I said before, this match was above all else hard-hitting. There was not a single move in this match that didn’t hurt or was badly botched. Even something as simple as a shoulder tackle from Titus O’Neil or a big splash from Big E would feel like getting hit by a transcontinental bus. Hell, Kofi Kingston had been taking abuse in his midsection throughout the match and Darren Young didn’t make matters any better when he gave Kingston the Gut Check, which is a double knee rib breaker. It got worse for Kingston when Titus finished the match with a thunderous pump handle slam to retain the WWE Tag Team Championship.
While I don’t have any idea how the Battleground pay-per-view fared in the eyes of the critics (mostly because I couldn’t watch the damn thing on my Roku), I do know that this match in particular deserves high praise, both for the buildup and for the ultra-violent performance itself. In fact, I’d even dare say that this match would go a long way in breaking the two-year curse that Battleground pay-per-view events have with the Wrestling Observer Newsletter.
Now that the brutally aggressive Prime Time Players are champions and more than willing to defend against anybody, the tag team division is wide open and goddamn there are a lot of teams. You’ve got a pair of wasteland barbarians in The Ascension, high-flying luchadors in The Lucha Dragons, high-flying matadors with a silly gimmick in Los Matadores, and The New Day is still hanging around, so don’t forget about them. Who’s going to step up and face the super-powerful and widely inspirational Prime Time Players? It’s going to take a lot to knock these two badasses off of their thrones. Then again, iron sharpens iron. The more teams they have to fight, the better they’ll become. I’m not against bringing up NXT tag teams to deal with these two warriors. You hear that, Buddy Murphy and Wesley Blake? Bring your A game, boys!
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Battleground
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Ever since its inception in 2013, the Battleground pay-per-view has been cursed with negative reviews for one reason or another. For two years in a row, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter has given Battleground the award for Worst Major Show of 2013 and 2014. The event in 2014 received a lot of bad press because of two candidates for that year’s Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic that year: Lana’s offensive promo about the Malaysia Airways plane going down in The Ukraine and WWE false advertising Seth Rollins vs. Dean Ambrose.
While I haven’t seen the entirety of 2015’s Battleground pay-per-view due to the WWE Network’s incompetence with Roku devices, I knew this year had to have a stacked card from top to bottom in order to break their two year curse with the WON, which is a respectable publication, by the way. When it comes to Battleground’s Tag Team Championship match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day, it’s not a bad start on breaking that curse. The buildup to this match was particularly exciting for both teams since they’ve gone through serious gimmick and alignment changes over the past year.
In the case of The New Day, the three members Big E, Kofi Kingston, and Xavier Woods were mid-card baby-face talents who were just hanging around and not really going anywhere with their careers. And then in late 2014, the three of them adopted a new gimmick of being overly positive black gospel preachers who clapped, danced, and smiled their way into every match. This was intended to be a baby-face gimmick, but the WWE Universe thought they were too much of a racist joke to be taken seriously, so all three members of The New Day eventually turned heel by cheating in their matches and insulting the crowd during their preaching promos.
While The New Day preached positivity, both members of The Prime Time Players practiced it. In 2013, Darren Young was the recipient of the Most Inspirational Wrestler of the Year award from Pro-Wrestling Illustrated due to him publicly coming out as a gay man. The best part about that? The WWE didn’t make a stereotypical gimmick out of Young’s sexuality; they just let him be himself. Titus O’Neil is inspirational in a lot of ways too. In 2015, he won the Celebrity Mega Dad of the Year award and later on in that year received national attention for taking a group of homeless people out to dinner just out of the kindness of his heart. At the Money in the Bank pay-per-view prior to Battleground, O’Neil and Young actually won the Tag Team Championship from The New Day to start this feud. The championship win marks O’Neil and Young’s first major title reign in WWE since debuting on the main roster in 2010. Five years of hard work lead to all of this: hell yeah, gentlemen. Hell yeah.
And now for the actual match itself. In one corner, you’ve got The Prime Time Players in the form of the mega-muscle Titus O’Neil and the aggressive athlete Darren Young. In the other corner, you’ve got The New Day, which consists of high-flying Kofi Kingston, ultra-powerful Big E, and though he’s not an official participant of this match, Xavier Woods will make his presence known by screaming at the desk announcers and interfering on behalf of his team.
From beginning to end, this tag team match was marked with unrelenting aggression and hard-hitting stiff moves. We as the audience got to see things like Darren Young back suplexing Xavier Woods on the edge of the ring (which is the hardest part of the whole structure), Big E giving a belly-to-belly suplex on the outside of the damn ring, all five members of the match getting tossed into the barricade, and of course, where would a New Day match be without the constant corner stomping and tagging combinations from that team in order to restart the referee’s five count?
Darren Young found himself on the wrong end of a lot of these moves and wasn’t able to get to his tag team partner for the longest time. But when Titus O’Neil was tagged in, oh damn, you’d better get off the tracks when that train is coming through. Titus clotheslined, booted, and shoulder tackled his way through The New Day and even slung Kofi Kingston around like the Ghanaian superstar was a small child.
Like I said before, this match was above all else hard-hitting. There was not a single move in this match that didn’t hurt or was badly botched. Even something as simple as a shoulder tackle from Titus O’Neil or a big splash from Big E would feel like getting hit by a transcontinental bus. Hell, Kofi Kingston had been taking abuse in his midsection throughout the match and Darren Young didn’t make matters any better when he gave Kingston the Gut Check, which is a double knee rib breaker. It got worse for Kingston when Titus finished the match with a thunderous pump handle slam to retain the WWE Tag Team Championship.
While I don’t have any idea how the Battleground pay-per-view fared in the eyes of the critics (mostly because I couldn’t watch the damn thing on my Roku), I do know that this match in particular deserves high praise, both for the buildup and for the ultra-violent performance itself. In fact, I’d even dare say that this match would go a long way in breaking the two-year curse that Battleground pay-per-view events have with the Wrestling Observer Newsletter.
Now that the brutally aggressive Prime Time Players are champions and more than willing to defend against anybody, the tag team division is wide open and goddamn there are a lot of teams. You’ve got a pair of wasteland barbarians in The Ascension, high-flying luchadors in The Lucha Dragons, high-flying matadors with a silly gimmick in Los Matadores, and The New Day is still hanging around, so don’t forget about them. Who’s going to step up and face the super-powerful and widely inspirational Prime Time Players? It’s going to take a lot to knock these two badasses off of their thrones. Then again, iron sharpens iron. The more teams they have to fight, the better they’ll become. I’m not against bringing up NXT tag teams to deal with these two warriors. You hear that, Buddy Murphy and Wesley Blake? Bring your A game, boys!
August 5, 2015
Kill, Cut, Scalp
Buildings crumbled to rubble. Oceans flooded the streets. Volcanoes burned this once great Earth. Lightning flashed in the gray skies. And who did the people of Earth have to thank for all of this? Their new master, the necromancer Dark-Law. Those who agreed to Dark-Law’s leadership survived long enough to live as slaves. Those who didn’t were tortured with spikes and fire or decapitated with a skeletal minion’s energy saber. Dystopia was an overused word to describe situations such as this. Hellish nightmare would have been more appropriate. The worst part about this? Nobody was powerful enough to slay this sorcerer and restore peace to this destructive landscape.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
August 4, 2015
Hush
***HUSH***
Over the past week, I’ve maintained a minimal presence on the internet. It’s almost as if a hush had fallen over my social media accounts, which is weird because I’m currently listening to a song called “Hush” by Hellyeah, but it’s not about the same thing. Because of this “hush” over the internet, I’ve only gotten two pieces of writing done (“Saggy-Maggie” and “WWE Tough Enough”) and my online presence has been limited to Face Book posts of heavy metal songs from You Tube. You guys have been very supportive of me and even told me that I don’t have to apologize every time there’s lack of activity. I believe you guys when you say it, so I won’t apologize. However, I do feel that at least some kind of explanation is necessary. In that case, there are three different things going on in my life that keep me from maintaining a full internet schedule: housework, sleep apnea, and lopsided creative work.
For anybody who doesn’t know, this past June, Susan and Reina have moved out of the house and aren’t on good terms with either of my parents. This move was going to happen sooner or later since Mom and Susan really never could get along. They were always arguing over the messiness of the house and Susan’s parenting abilities. When Susan and Reina finally moved out, they left in a huff and a lot of their possessions were left behind. Mom, Dale, James, and I spent the last week boxing up Susan and Reina’s possessions and remodeling the house. It was exhausting work for all of us. In fact, just today, after I got done shampooing the carpets, I passed out on my bed for five hours. No kidding. Mom and Dale wanted to get all of this work done before they flew out to North Carolina to inspect what will eventually become our new home. On a positive note, our house here in Port Orchard looks MUCH better than it did before, but at what price?
This past July, I visited my therapist Rachel Burgett’s office and one of our topics was my mental and physical energy. I told her about my newly formed caffeine habits and how I drink either four tall cans of Diet Coke or three large bottles of Diet Mountain Dew just so I can stay awake and alert. Caffeine is not conducive to being a schizophrenic since it has been known to trigger head voices. After saying that, Rachel suggested that I might have problems with sleep apnea due to my ongoing weight issues. The sleep apnea suggestion might be the closest thing to the truth I need to hear. In college, my roommates kept moving out of my dorm because I snored too loudly. One of my roommates even said I stopped breathing before the snoring started. Snoring is a problem in my present life and it shows, because even though I get 12 to 14 hours of sleep a night, I still feel exhausted throughout the day. As soon as Mom and Dale get back from their two week trip to Asheville, they’re going to schedule me for a visit to a sleep clinic to see what they can do about my sleep apnea. I might need a breathing mask, but I’m not sure.
I’m sure you all have noticed by now that I’ve stopped talking about “Star Island” by Carl Hiaasen as my current reading project. It’s not because I stopped enjoying it. On the contrary, it’s quick and witty just like any Carl Hiaasen book should be. I was recently asked a favor by my friend and fellow independent author Andy Peloquin to read “Blade of the Destroyer” and give it an honest review on Amazon and Good Reads. He says he needs the review by August 21st, but also keeps insisting there’s no rush and that if I miss the deadline it’s no big deal. In his words, “Any time before the end of the world would be nice.” I also need reviews of my books, Occupy Wrestling in particular, so I agree to this favor. I don’t mind doing this favor at all. In fact, I think very highly of Andy Peloquin’s writing skills. It’s just that for some reason, I became so obsessed with this reading project that I’ve completely ignored all of my other creative obligations. It’s been ages since I saw a new episode of NCIS: Los Angeles. And that first chapter of Hair vs. Hair (which will now be called Blood Brawl)? Not up yet. No movie reviews, no character profiles, no paperback versions of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Occupy Wrestling, nothing. The problem here isn’t that I’m doing someone a favor. The problem is that I’m obsessing over it. I did the same thing when I was editing Occupy Wrestling with Marie Krepps.
Couple my obsessive work schedule with cleaning up after Susan and Reina and sleep apnea problems and it should all be clear by now what’s going on in my life. I still haven’t decided yet if I’m going to compete in this week’s WSS contest, I’m so tired. I need a few moments to figure everything out in my life. It’s suddenly not as easy as going to random.org anymore.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“You are not alone. I’m standing by your side. I walk with you through hell. I walk with you tonight. We are the forgotten that nobody wants to face. Together we can rise. Let’s climb out of hell. You are not forgotten. I’m standing by your side. Your struggle makes you beautiful. Out of hell we will climb.”
-In This Moment singing “Out of Hell”-
Over the past week, I’ve maintained a minimal presence on the internet. It’s almost as if a hush had fallen over my social media accounts, which is weird because I’m currently listening to a song called “Hush” by Hellyeah, but it’s not about the same thing. Because of this “hush” over the internet, I’ve only gotten two pieces of writing done (“Saggy-Maggie” and “WWE Tough Enough”) and my online presence has been limited to Face Book posts of heavy metal songs from You Tube. You guys have been very supportive of me and even told me that I don’t have to apologize every time there’s lack of activity. I believe you guys when you say it, so I won’t apologize. However, I do feel that at least some kind of explanation is necessary. In that case, there are three different things going on in my life that keep me from maintaining a full internet schedule: housework, sleep apnea, and lopsided creative work.
For anybody who doesn’t know, this past June, Susan and Reina have moved out of the house and aren’t on good terms with either of my parents. This move was going to happen sooner or later since Mom and Susan really never could get along. They were always arguing over the messiness of the house and Susan’s parenting abilities. When Susan and Reina finally moved out, they left in a huff and a lot of their possessions were left behind. Mom, Dale, James, and I spent the last week boxing up Susan and Reina’s possessions and remodeling the house. It was exhausting work for all of us. In fact, just today, after I got done shampooing the carpets, I passed out on my bed for five hours. No kidding. Mom and Dale wanted to get all of this work done before they flew out to North Carolina to inspect what will eventually become our new home. On a positive note, our house here in Port Orchard looks MUCH better than it did before, but at what price?
This past July, I visited my therapist Rachel Burgett’s office and one of our topics was my mental and physical energy. I told her about my newly formed caffeine habits and how I drink either four tall cans of Diet Coke or three large bottles of Diet Mountain Dew just so I can stay awake and alert. Caffeine is not conducive to being a schizophrenic since it has been known to trigger head voices. After saying that, Rachel suggested that I might have problems with sleep apnea due to my ongoing weight issues. The sleep apnea suggestion might be the closest thing to the truth I need to hear. In college, my roommates kept moving out of my dorm because I snored too loudly. One of my roommates even said I stopped breathing before the snoring started. Snoring is a problem in my present life and it shows, because even though I get 12 to 14 hours of sleep a night, I still feel exhausted throughout the day. As soon as Mom and Dale get back from their two week trip to Asheville, they’re going to schedule me for a visit to a sleep clinic to see what they can do about my sleep apnea. I might need a breathing mask, but I’m not sure.
I’m sure you all have noticed by now that I’ve stopped talking about “Star Island” by Carl Hiaasen as my current reading project. It’s not because I stopped enjoying it. On the contrary, it’s quick and witty just like any Carl Hiaasen book should be. I was recently asked a favor by my friend and fellow independent author Andy Peloquin to read “Blade of the Destroyer” and give it an honest review on Amazon and Good Reads. He says he needs the review by August 21st, but also keeps insisting there’s no rush and that if I miss the deadline it’s no big deal. In his words, “Any time before the end of the world would be nice.” I also need reviews of my books, Occupy Wrestling in particular, so I agree to this favor. I don’t mind doing this favor at all. In fact, I think very highly of Andy Peloquin’s writing skills. It’s just that for some reason, I became so obsessed with this reading project that I’ve completely ignored all of my other creative obligations. It’s been ages since I saw a new episode of NCIS: Los Angeles. And that first chapter of Hair vs. Hair (which will now be called Blood Brawl)? Not up yet. No movie reviews, no character profiles, no paperback versions of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Occupy Wrestling, nothing. The problem here isn’t that I’m doing someone a favor. The problem is that I’m obsessing over it. I did the same thing when I was editing Occupy Wrestling with Marie Krepps.
Couple my obsessive work schedule with cleaning up after Susan and Reina and sleep apnea problems and it should all be clear by now what’s going on in my life. I still haven’t decided yet if I’m going to compete in this week’s WSS contest, I’m so tired. I need a few moments to figure everything out in my life. It’s suddenly not as easy as going to random.org anymore.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“You are not alone. I’m standing by your side. I walk with you through hell. I walk with you tonight. We are the forgotten that nobody wants to face. Together we can rise. Let’s climb out of hell. You are not forgotten. I’m standing by your side. Your struggle makes you beautiful. Out of hell we will climb.”
-In This Moment singing “Out of Hell”-
July 29, 2015
WWE Tough Enough
***BEFORE I BEGIN***
From now on, every piece of writing I do, whether it’s a short story, novel chapter, review, or blog entry, will be posted on ALL of my social media accounts, not just certain ones. A year ago, I made the decision to post my Garrison’s Library entries on Deviant Art. Why isn’t all of my writing on all of my accounts? That’s a lot of untapped potential that’s going to waste. This journal entry would normally be meant for Deviant Art, but why stop there? Enjoy!
***WWE TOUGH ENOUGH***
Every once and a while, my step-dad Dale will call upstairs to my room and tell me that WWE Tough Enough is on TV. Yes, it’s a WWE production and as everyone here knows, I can’t shut up about wrestling. But if there’s one show I try to avoid every time it comes on, it’s Tough Enough. If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s a reality TV competition where a bunch of rookies learn how to wrestle. Here’s why it’s called Tough Enough: because the trainers and judges have a boot camp mentality where screaming and insulting the competitors will eventually motivate them to do the right things in the ring.
It may be that there’s some truth in harsh motivation being good for an athlete or a combatant. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy watching it. In fact, watching the upper echelon scream their heads off at those below makes me feel uncomfortable. It reminds me of other relationships in life where there’s a ridiculous imbalance of power: bank robbers and hostages, rapists and women, drunken step-dads and small children, conformist teachers and imaginative students, etc.
Just one time during a boot camp scenario like this would I like to see some insubordination from the bottom tier. Maybe one of the competitors will get fed up with the trainers’ shit and throw a metal dumbbell at one of them. Maybe Paige (one of the judges) will tell someone to get off the stage and that someone will tell her to remove the A and E from her name. Maybe Daniel Bryan (another judge) will tell someone they have no charisma and that person will pull a pair of clippers out of his gym bag and shave his beard off.
I’m sure insubordination has happened before on an episode of Tough Enough, but I wouldn’t know, because it’s a rare occurrence. Either the competitors are too scared of losing their spots or they have too much respect for authority. As long as there’s an overwhelming imbalance of power, it will keep me from watching Tough Enough or any other show with screaming authority figures. That being said, Full Metal Jacket makes me want to vomit.
You’ve gotten this far in my journal and have also read the entirety of Occupy Wrestling, my latest self-published novel. You probably feel like calling me out on a hypocrisy since at the end of Occupy Wrestling, Debra flies to Japan to train in a wrestling dojo where there’s absolutely no shortage of harsh motivation. The only reason I put that in the story is because I needed a believable reason for her to suddenly be good at fighting. I’ll tell you right now that just because it happens in my stories, I in no way endorse nor condone drill sergeant motivation. Maybe that’s because I myself would crack easily under pressure in such a situation because of my schizophrenia and autism. Harsh motivation may work for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean I have to endorse it.
In short, if you’ve heard me talk about WWE and were wondering if I watch Tough Enough every week, the answer is no. It makes me feel vicariously bad for the competitors, especially since it’s unscripted. I also won’t be watching Summer Slam this year for two reasons. One, I’ve cancelled my subscription to the WWE Network due to it crapping out every time I want to watch a pay-per-view. And two, on that same day, I’m going to see Slipknot, Three Days Grace, Lamb of God, and a bunch of other metal bands perform at the White River Amphitheater. If the WWE wants me to watch their major shows, then I guess I’ll order a PPV through my cable provider and pay $50 for it. Granted, John Layfield will call me an idiot for doing so, but that just magnifies his status as an asshole commentator.
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: Who is John Layfield’s favorite rapper?
A: Maggle-More.
From now on, every piece of writing I do, whether it’s a short story, novel chapter, review, or blog entry, will be posted on ALL of my social media accounts, not just certain ones. A year ago, I made the decision to post my Garrison’s Library entries on Deviant Art. Why isn’t all of my writing on all of my accounts? That’s a lot of untapped potential that’s going to waste. This journal entry would normally be meant for Deviant Art, but why stop there? Enjoy!
***WWE TOUGH ENOUGH***
Every once and a while, my step-dad Dale will call upstairs to my room and tell me that WWE Tough Enough is on TV. Yes, it’s a WWE production and as everyone here knows, I can’t shut up about wrestling. But if there’s one show I try to avoid every time it comes on, it’s Tough Enough. If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s a reality TV competition where a bunch of rookies learn how to wrestle. Here’s why it’s called Tough Enough: because the trainers and judges have a boot camp mentality where screaming and insulting the competitors will eventually motivate them to do the right things in the ring.
It may be that there’s some truth in harsh motivation being good for an athlete or a combatant. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy watching it. In fact, watching the upper echelon scream their heads off at those below makes me feel uncomfortable. It reminds me of other relationships in life where there’s a ridiculous imbalance of power: bank robbers and hostages, rapists and women, drunken step-dads and small children, conformist teachers and imaginative students, etc.
Just one time during a boot camp scenario like this would I like to see some insubordination from the bottom tier. Maybe one of the competitors will get fed up with the trainers’ shit and throw a metal dumbbell at one of them. Maybe Paige (one of the judges) will tell someone to get off the stage and that someone will tell her to remove the A and E from her name. Maybe Daniel Bryan (another judge) will tell someone they have no charisma and that person will pull a pair of clippers out of his gym bag and shave his beard off.
I’m sure insubordination has happened before on an episode of Tough Enough, but I wouldn’t know, because it’s a rare occurrence. Either the competitors are too scared of losing their spots or they have too much respect for authority. As long as there’s an overwhelming imbalance of power, it will keep me from watching Tough Enough or any other show with screaming authority figures. That being said, Full Metal Jacket makes me want to vomit.
You’ve gotten this far in my journal and have also read the entirety of Occupy Wrestling, my latest self-published novel. You probably feel like calling me out on a hypocrisy since at the end of Occupy Wrestling, Debra flies to Japan to train in a wrestling dojo where there’s absolutely no shortage of harsh motivation. The only reason I put that in the story is because I needed a believable reason for her to suddenly be good at fighting. I’ll tell you right now that just because it happens in my stories, I in no way endorse nor condone drill sergeant motivation. Maybe that’s because I myself would crack easily under pressure in such a situation because of my schizophrenia and autism. Harsh motivation may work for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean I have to endorse it.
In short, if you’ve heard me talk about WWE and were wondering if I watch Tough Enough every week, the answer is no. It makes me feel vicariously bad for the competitors, especially since it’s unscripted. I also won’t be watching Summer Slam this year for two reasons. One, I’ve cancelled my subscription to the WWE Network due to it crapping out every time I want to watch a pay-per-view. And two, on that same day, I’m going to see Slipknot, Three Days Grace, Lamb of God, and a bunch of other metal bands perform at the White River Amphitheater. If the WWE wants me to watch their major shows, then I guess I’ll order a PPV through my cable provider and pay $50 for it. Granted, John Layfield will call me an idiot for doing so, but that just magnifies his status as an asshole commentator.
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: Who is John Layfield’s favorite rapper?
A: Maggle-More.
July 19, 2015
Wendi Kael
NAME: Wendi Kael
AGE: 10
OCCUPATION: Elementary School Student
CANON: Kill the Power Rangers
When my niece Reina was little and still living with me and my family, she watched a lot of corny cartoons on my TV, among them Spongebob Squarepants. Whenever she did something wrong, I would threaten her by saying, “If you do that one more time, I’m going to kill Spongebob!” She saw right through me. It’s not like I could leap into the TV and strangle the shit out of Spongebob and his friends right in front of Reina. Well, I could leap into the TV, but not only would I have nothing to watch my shows with, but I’d have glass cuts to show for it. Killing Reina’s favorite cartoon characters was a benign threat, but it was one that amused me to where I wanted to write a short story about it.
In the case of 10-year-old Wendi Kael, her favorite TV show was the early 90’s version of the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. The flamboyant martial arts, the giant dinosaur robots that could form into one badass (reminds me of Voltron), and of course, there was everybody’s favorite Power Ranger who would one day become a legitimate mixed-martial artist: Tommy Oliver aka The Green Ranger, played by Jason David Frank. Was Wendi old enough to have crushes on older gentlemen such as Mr. Frank? Maybe an innocent schoolgirl one, but nothing more.
In the end, it didn’t matter how emotionally invested Wendi Kael was in her show, because her mother’s boyfriend Chad was determined to screw it all up for her. All that fatherly anger over poor grades in school and Chad knew physical punishment would land him in jail. So what was the next way to break Wendi into becoming a serious student? Kill the Power Rangers, of course. But how was Chad going to do it? He can’t leap into the TV unless he wants to be slashed to pieces by the screen glass. Beating up a stuffed toy of the Green Ranger is even less convincing. In order to make the death of The Power Rangers convincing, Chad had to get disturbingly creative.
Wendi came home from school one day and went back to her room to find The Green Ranger’s rotten corpse lying in her bed gathering flies and bloodying the sheets. Then Wendi went into the garage and found the Yellow and Pink Rangers lynched from the ceiling. Then she went to the backyard and found the Black Ranger lynched from the oak tree (that’s not racist at all). And then she found the Blue Ranger in the tool shed bent over a saw horse with a rake handle shoved up his ass (that’s not homophobic at all). Okay, so these weren’t the real Power Rangers; they were just already dead bodies dressed in their uniforms, which begs the disgusting question of where Chad got the dead bodies.
I tried to pass this story off as black comedy and it would have succeeded in getting those due chuckles. But then the story had to be terminated due to its Deus Ex Machina ending. Chad gets into a standoff with the police and the Red Ranger’s sword miraculously flies through the overbearing step-dad’s throat. Did I also mention that next week the world will end? But don’t worry, because we’ll be saved at the zero hour by a mutant fish koala bird. Clerks came out in 1994 and the original Power Rangers show came out a little earlier, so I didn’t set my time machine too far back.
The black comedy of killing a child’s favorite TV characters could still work in some capacity and Wendi Kael would definitely be the one who took the burden of such heavy jokes. If anybody needs discipline in her life, it’s an obnoxious 10-year-old who doesn’t give a shit about school and watches more TV shows than she reads books. This is the kind of traumatizing tough love she needs to get back on track. But it has to be more convincing and more legal than what Chad did. Otherwise, the joke will fall on deaf ears.
I think I’ve found the perfect solution to “kill” Wendi Kael’s fictional characters: with drawings. So she has a crush on The Green Ranger? Fine. Let’s tie him down to a torture table and have Rita Repulsa put a spring-loaded clamp on the base of his penis. Okay, that might have been influenced by Tales From the Hood, another movie from the 90’s time machine. So let’s be original with our Rangers. Let’s have the Blue Ranger get sodomized by Zed and Maynard from Pulp Fiction, another movie from the 90’s. Let’s have The Black Ranger’s mouth get taken away by Agent Smith from The Matrix, here we go again with the fucking 90’s movies. Anachronisms aside, the point of these drawings is to put the Rangers in violent or sexual situations that would disgust a normal human being. I’ve drawn many pictures like that of Bugs Bunny and Inspector Gadget and showed them to my best friend Susan. She was horrified.
Okay, so we’ve sent poor Wendi Kael to therapy at least once during this rehabilitation process. Now what? Does she spiral into madness or does she become a respectable citizen in the making? A small part of me is leaning towards spiraling into madness. Children as young as 10 don’t have the mental toughness to question the bullshit they’re being fed. They’ll believe anything adults tell them whether it’s detrimental or beneficial. That’s why a lot of teachers get away with insulting their students into becoming soul-dead conformists: when the kids are that young, they’re vulnerable. Come to think of it, this might sound more like psychological horror than black comedy. The only way it could ever be black comedy is if Wendi Kael was on an episode of either Robot Chicken or Family Guy.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
BARTENDER: How far are you willing to take this?
MARCELLUS WALLACE: I’m ready to scour the earth for that motherfucker. If he’s hiding out in Indo-China, I want a nigga hiding in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.
-Pulp Fiction, a movie from the 90’s time machine-
AGE: 10
OCCUPATION: Elementary School Student
CANON: Kill the Power Rangers
When my niece Reina was little and still living with me and my family, she watched a lot of corny cartoons on my TV, among them Spongebob Squarepants. Whenever she did something wrong, I would threaten her by saying, “If you do that one more time, I’m going to kill Spongebob!” She saw right through me. It’s not like I could leap into the TV and strangle the shit out of Spongebob and his friends right in front of Reina. Well, I could leap into the TV, but not only would I have nothing to watch my shows with, but I’d have glass cuts to show for it. Killing Reina’s favorite cartoon characters was a benign threat, but it was one that amused me to where I wanted to write a short story about it.
In the case of 10-year-old Wendi Kael, her favorite TV show was the early 90’s version of the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. The flamboyant martial arts, the giant dinosaur robots that could form into one badass (reminds me of Voltron), and of course, there was everybody’s favorite Power Ranger who would one day become a legitimate mixed-martial artist: Tommy Oliver aka The Green Ranger, played by Jason David Frank. Was Wendi old enough to have crushes on older gentlemen such as Mr. Frank? Maybe an innocent schoolgirl one, but nothing more.
In the end, it didn’t matter how emotionally invested Wendi Kael was in her show, because her mother’s boyfriend Chad was determined to screw it all up for her. All that fatherly anger over poor grades in school and Chad knew physical punishment would land him in jail. So what was the next way to break Wendi into becoming a serious student? Kill the Power Rangers, of course. But how was Chad going to do it? He can’t leap into the TV unless he wants to be slashed to pieces by the screen glass. Beating up a stuffed toy of the Green Ranger is even less convincing. In order to make the death of The Power Rangers convincing, Chad had to get disturbingly creative.
Wendi came home from school one day and went back to her room to find The Green Ranger’s rotten corpse lying in her bed gathering flies and bloodying the sheets. Then Wendi went into the garage and found the Yellow and Pink Rangers lynched from the ceiling. Then she went to the backyard and found the Black Ranger lynched from the oak tree (that’s not racist at all). And then she found the Blue Ranger in the tool shed bent over a saw horse with a rake handle shoved up his ass (that’s not homophobic at all). Okay, so these weren’t the real Power Rangers; they were just already dead bodies dressed in their uniforms, which begs the disgusting question of where Chad got the dead bodies.
I tried to pass this story off as black comedy and it would have succeeded in getting those due chuckles. But then the story had to be terminated due to its Deus Ex Machina ending. Chad gets into a standoff with the police and the Red Ranger’s sword miraculously flies through the overbearing step-dad’s throat. Did I also mention that next week the world will end? But don’t worry, because we’ll be saved at the zero hour by a mutant fish koala bird. Clerks came out in 1994 and the original Power Rangers show came out a little earlier, so I didn’t set my time machine too far back.
The black comedy of killing a child’s favorite TV characters could still work in some capacity and Wendi Kael would definitely be the one who took the burden of such heavy jokes. If anybody needs discipline in her life, it’s an obnoxious 10-year-old who doesn’t give a shit about school and watches more TV shows than she reads books. This is the kind of traumatizing tough love she needs to get back on track. But it has to be more convincing and more legal than what Chad did. Otherwise, the joke will fall on deaf ears.
I think I’ve found the perfect solution to “kill” Wendi Kael’s fictional characters: with drawings. So she has a crush on The Green Ranger? Fine. Let’s tie him down to a torture table and have Rita Repulsa put a spring-loaded clamp on the base of his penis. Okay, that might have been influenced by Tales From the Hood, another movie from the 90’s time machine. So let’s be original with our Rangers. Let’s have the Blue Ranger get sodomized by Zed and Maynard from Pulp Fiction, another movie from the 90’s. Let’s have The Black Ranger’s mouth get taken away by Agent Smith from The Matrix, here we go again with the fucking 90’s movies. Anachronisms aside, the point of these drawings is to put the Rangers in violent or sexual situations that would disgust a normal human being. I’ve drawn many pictures like that of Bugs Bunny and Inspector Gadget and showed them to my best friend Susan. She was horrified.
Okay, so we’ve sent poor Wendi Kael to therapy at least once during this rehabilitation process. Now what? Does she spiral into madness or does she become a respectable citizen in the making? A small part of me is leaning towards spiraling into madness. Children as young as 10 don’t have the mental toughness to question the bullshit they’re being fed. They’ll believe anything adults tell them whether it’s detrimental or beneficial. That’s why a lot of teachers get away with insulting their students into becoming soul-dead conformists: when the kids are that young, they’re vulnerable. Come to think of it, this might sound more like psychological horror than black comedy. The only way it could ever be black comedy is if Wendi Kael was on an episode of either Robot Chicken or Family Guy.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
BARTENDER: How far are you willing to take this?
MARCELLUS WALLACE: I’m ready to scour the earth for that motherfucker. If he’s hiding out in Indo-China, I want a nigga hiding in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.
-Pulp Fiction, a movie from the 90’s time machine-
Home Alone
MOVIE TITLE: Home Alone
DIRECTOR: John Hughes
YEAR: 1990
GENRE: Christmas Comedy
RATING: PG for slapstick violence and mild language
GRADE: Pass
After being humiliated during a big family pizza dinner, all eight-year-old Kevin McAllister wants is to live by himself with nobody to take orders from. He’s scheduled to go on a trip to Paris with said family, but in the scuffle of trying not to miss their flight, they left little Kevin behind. He’s living large with his huge bowls of ice cream and R-rated movies, but when two burglars named Harry and Marv begin casing his neighborhood for houses to target, the McAllister house is on that list. While Kevin’s family is trying to book a flight back home, he sets up booby traps for the invading burglars.
Anybody who remembers watching this movie as a kid like I did knows the best part about it isn’t the love between family members or the magic of Christmas. It’s the creative traps Kevin sets for his burglar buddies. The screams of agony by both Marv and Harry are hilarious to listen to despite the horrific pain they go through. The traps include a blowtorch to Harry’s head, a nail through Marv’s bare foot, paint cans to both of their heads, and swinging on a zip line into the side of Kevin’s house. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the pet tarantula being placed on Marv’s face; that’ll give you non-PG nightmares.
The ingenuity of the individual traps is enough to satisfy the imagination and tickle the funny bone of any child watching this family classic. But what if you’re watching this movie as an adult? Does family love become that much more important to you? Do you cheer for Kevin’s family to come home on time to take care of their little guy? Do you have a special place in your heart for the bonding between Kevin and old man Marley?
Marley was rumored to have murdered his family and packed their bodies in the snow to create mummies. In reality, he was the sweetest guy anybody could ever know. He’s legitimately afraid of trying to get back together with his estranged son and granddaughter after a bad falling out. It’s Kevin who coaxes Marley into reconciling with the ones he loves and misses. Remember that episode of Seinfeld when George cries after watching Home Alone? “The old man got to me!” That will be any adult watching this movie if they have a sensitive heart.
And of course, whether you’re a kid or an adult, the one piece of stealth Kevin uses on intruders of all sorts is one you’ll definitely appreciate. He watches an R-rated movie and leaves it playing in the background so that the intruders will think there’s an adult home supervising Kevin. The Little Nero’s (which is an obvious parody of Little Caesar’s) pizza guy gets a surprise when he leaves the pizza at the doorstep and thinks he’s being shot at with a machinegun. Marv also gets surprised when he thinks two burglars are in the house ahead of him and Harry arguing over who gets the final score. In today’s world, we have technology where we can edit clips together to have those effects. But this was 1990, where technology wasn’t even close to where it is today. Kevin had to rely on his creativity and his brains to get the job done.
When Christmastime finally rolls around and you want some comedic nostalgia, look no further than the first Home Alone. You can laugh, love, and have your creativity ignited at the same time. Maybe if you’re a DM for Dungeons & Dragons, you can treat your fellow players to these kinds of traps. Although to be fair to reality, if anybody got their head burned with a blowtorch, they’d need immediate medical attention and to be locked in a burn ward. Kids, don’t try any of those traps at home; you will die!
DIRECTOR: John Hughes
YEAR: 1990
GENRE: Christmas Comedy
RATING: PG for slapstick violence and mild language
GRADE: Pass
After being humiliated during a big family pizza dinner, all eight-year-old Kevin McAllister wants is to live by himself with nobody to take orders from. He’s scheduled to go on a trip to Paris with said family, but in the scuffle of trying not to miss their flight, they left little Kevin behind. He’s living large with his huge bowls of ice cream and R-rated movies, but when two burglars named Harry and Marv begin casing his neighborhood for houses to target, the McAllister house is on that list. While Kevin’s family is trying to book a flight back home, he sets up booby traps for the invading burglars.
Anybody who remembers watching this movie as a kid like I did knows the best part about it isn’t the love between family members or the magic of Christmas. It’s the creative traps Kevin sets for his burglar buddies. The screams of agony by both Marv and Harry are hilarious to listen to despite the horrific pain they go through. The traps include a blowtorch to Harry’s head, a nail through Marv’s bare foot, paint cans to both of their heads, and swinging on a zip line into the side of Kevin’s house. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the pet tarantula being placed on Marv’s face; that’ll give you non-PG nightmares.
The ingenuity of the individual traps is enough to satisfy the imagination and tickle the funny bone of any child watching this family classic. But what if you’re watching this movie as an adult? Does family love become that much more important to you? Do you cheer for Kevin’s family to come home on time to take care of their little guy? Do you have a special place in your heart for the bonding between Kevin and old man Marley?
Marley was rumored to have murdered his family and packed their bodies in the snow to create mummies. In reality, he was the sweetest guy anybody could ever know. He’s legitimately afraid of trying to get back together with his estranged son and granddaughter after a bad falling out. It’s Kevin who coaxes Marley into reconciling with the ones he loves and misses. Remember that episode of Seinfeld when George cries after watching Home Alone? “The old man got to me!” That will be any adult watching this movie if they have a sensitive heart.
And of course, whether you’re a kid or an adult, the one piece of stealth Kevin uses on intruders of all sorts is one you’ll definitely appreciate. He watches an R-rated movie and leaves it playing in the background so that the intruders will think there’s an adult home supervising Kevin. The Little Nero’s (which is an obvious parody of Little Caesar’s) pizza guy gets a surprise when he leaves the pizza at the doorstep and thinks he’s being shot at with a machinegun. Marv also gets surprised when he thinks two burglars are in the house ahead of him and Harry arguing over who gets the final score. In today’s world, we have technology where we can edit clips together to have those effects. But this was 1990, where technology wasn’t even close to where it is today. Kevin had to rely on his creativity and his brains to get the job done.
When Christmastime finally rolls around and you want some comedic nostalgia, look no further than the first Home Alone. You can laugh, love, and have your creativity ignited at the same time. Maybe if you’re a DM for Dungeons & Dragons, you can treat your fellow players to these kinds of traps. Although to be fair to reality, if anybody got their head burned with a blowtorch, they’d need immediate medical attention and to be locked in a burn ward. Kids, don’t try any of those traps at home; you will die!
July 15, 2015
Misty Blades
NAME: Misty Blades
AGE: 31
OCCUPATION: Fox Ninja
CANON: Final Fantasy Hardcore 2
Misty Blades came from the same batch of animal warrior villains as Jacob Slash. In this case, she was formerly known as Atir Mystblade and she was scheduled to be a kitsune ninja. I have no idea where I got the idea to create a bunch of animal warriors, but the influence for Misty Blades could easily be traced to Magic: the Gathering. This was around 2005 and 2006, so this would have been the time where Hasbro was releasing Japanese-themed cards such as samurais, ninjas, dragons, demons, and of course, anthropomorphic animals. The Kitsune Blademaster, a fox samurai with first strike and bushido 1, was one of my favorite cards to use in white decks and could have very well been the inspiration for Misty Blades even though Misty is a ninja and not a samurai.
Seeing as how Final Fantasy Hardcore 2 went defunct before I had the chance to use my animal warrior bosses, Misty didn’t get much of a chance to shine. She has no background information, no storyline involvement, and no real reason for being created in the first place. All I wanted was a fox ninja who could slash shit up and get the fuck out of dodge before anybody caught her. Foxes are cool. Ninjas are cool. Fox ninjas are really goddamn cool! She had a lot of buzz generated, but I didn’t know what to do with her. She was comparable to CM Punk, who was signed to WWE right around the time Misty Blades was conceived (2005-2006). Punk earned a lot of fame around the world, but was creatively stifled in WWE because nobody knew what to do with him.
I’m not going to let Misty Blades leave my creative world the same way CM Punk left WWE after being battered, bruised, and sore for many years. Don’t get me wrong; Misty is going to take a beating one way or another, but not for the wrong reasons. Misty is going to count for something. In the case of her next story (which would in reality be her first one), she will play the role of a villain. Yes, foxes are cute and don’t normally act like villains, but then again, some ninjas do act like villains. And if I completely have to strip Misty of her cute factor, I could always give her razor-sharp teeth, drooling rabies, and neon green eyes. Seriously, what’s it going to take for my audience to see how dangerous and how bitchy this fox woman is? Her last name is Blades, for Christ’s sake.
So what kind of villainy role could we give to Misty and flesh out her resume a little bit? She could be a heartless mercenary. She could assassinate someone for political reasons. Hell, let’s combine those two things and make her into one badass bitch! It worked perfectly for Mileena from Mortal Kombat 2. Yes, Mileena looks nice on the outside, but when she takes off her mask and reveals her sword-like teeth and witch-like nose, you’d better run for the fucking hills, my friend! Maybe that’s what it takes for Misty Blades to be a convincing villain. She could easily be a fox version of Mileena! Oh, my inner geek is going nuts right now! If I’m not careful, I could have a nerd-gasm all over my keyboard! Actually, having any kind of orgasm for Mileena is virtually impossible (unless you leave her mask on, of course).
What about the weapons Misty will carry? We know she’s going to use a sword since most ninjas do. But what if the edges on that sword were jagged and bloody? What if she was using nunchucks made of thigh bones? Or a ribcage shield? Or a flail that’s really just someone’s spinal column and skull? How about a shuriken made entirely out of monster teeth? If your inner geek is ready for a mental institution just like mine is, get ready for this: a spear with deer antlers at the end instead of a steel tip! Or a whip that’s really a live snake! With all of these possibilities for her character and her weapon choices, it makes me wonder why she was unemployed in the first place! Hehe!
The last thing I’ll harangue you guys with his Misty’s dialogue. When I write dialogue for my characters, I try to make it as realistic as possible. If I wanted to add some witty dialogue for a character with a sharp tongue, I could very well do that. But would that work for a monstrous fox like Misty? I’m leaning towards grunts and gurgles, myself. Or she can have no dialogue at all. Or she could swear up a storm. It would have to be something crude enough to make her a monster and mysterious enough to make her a ninja. Maybe a steel tongue isn’t the best option for her. Oh well, there are other characters I can give snappy dialogue to. No sweat!
When I was looking for post-college employment from 2010 to 2013, the only experience I had was educational. Since I’ve never had paid employment before, I had to enhance my resume to make my education look like a blessing straight from the heavens. I wasn’t successful in finding a job. However, I did a little resume enhancement with Misty Blades despite her not being experienced. The difference is, Misty is going to make her mark sooner rather than later. And that mark is probably going to be a trail of blood, bones, and vomit leading all the way to the tip of her jagged sword. Yikes!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“We were born and bred to rip and shred!”
-Konnor, one half of The Ascension-
AGE: 31
OCCUPATION: Fox Ninja
CANON: Final Fantasy Hardcore 2
Misty Blades came from the same batch of animal warrior villains as Jacob Slash. In this case, she was formerly known as Atir Mystblade and she was scheduled to be a kitsune ninja. I have no idea where I got the idea to create a bunch of animal warriors, but the influence for Misty Blades could easily be traced to Magic: the Gathering. This was around 2005 and 2006, so this would have been the time where Hasbro was releasing Japanese-themed cards such as samurais, ninjas, dragons, demons, and of course, anthropomorphic animals. The Kitsune Blademaster, a fox samurai with first strike and bushido 1, was one of my favorite cards to use in white decks and could have very well been the inspiration for Misty Blades even though Misty is a ninja and not a samurai.
Seeing as how Final Fantasy Hardcore 2 went defunct before I had the chance to use my animal warrior bosses, Misty didn’t get much of a chance to shine. She has no background information, no storyline involvement, and no real reason for being created in the first place. All I wanted was a fox ninja who could slash shit up and get the fuck out of dodge before anybody caught her. Foxes are cool. Ninjas are cool. Fox ninjas are really goddamn cool! She had a lot of buzz generated, but I didn’t know what to do with her. She was comparable to CM Punk, who was signed to WWE right around the time Misty Blades was conceived (2005-2006). Punk earned a lot of fame around the world, but was creatively stifled in WWE because nobody knew what to do with him.
I’m not going to let Misty Blades leave my creative world the same way CM Punk left WWE after being battered, bruised, and sore for many years. Don’t get me wrong; Misty is going to take a beating one way or another, but not for the wrong reasons. Misty is going to count for something. In the case of her next story (which would in reality be her first one), she will play the role of a villain. Yes, foxes are cute and don’t normally act like villains, but then again, some ninjas do act like villains. And if I completely have to strip Misty of her cute factor, I could always give her razor-sharp teeth, drooling rabies, and neon green eyes. Seriously, what’s it going to take for my audience to see how dangerous and how bitchy this fox woman is? Her last name is Blades, for Christ’s sake.
So what kind of villainy role could we give to Misty and flesh out her resume a little bit? She could be a heartless mercenary. She could assassinate someone for political reasons. Hell, let’s combine those two things and make her into one badass bitch! It worked perfectly for Mileena from Mortal Kombat 2. Yes, Mileena looks nice on the outside, but when she takes off her mask and reveals her sword-like teeth and witch-like nose, you’d better run for the fucking hills, my friend! Maybe that’s what it takes for Misty Blades to be a convincing villain. She could easily be a fox version of Mileena! Oh, my inner geek is going nuts right now! If I’m not careful, I could have a nerd-gasm all over my keyboard! Actually, having any kind of orgasm for Mileena is virtually impossible (unless you leave her mask on, of course).
What about the weapons Misty will carry? We know she’s going to use a sword since most ninjas do. But what if the edges on that sword were jagged and bloody? What if she was using nunchucks made of thigh bones? Or a ribcage shield? Or a flail that’s really just someone’s spinal column and skull? How about a shuriken made entirely out of monster teeth? If your inner geek is ready for a mental institution just like mine is, get ready for this: a spear with deer antlers at the end instead of a steel tip! Or a whip that’s really a live snake! With all of these possibilities for her character and her weapon choices, it makes me wonder why she was unemployed in the first place! Hehe!
The last thing I’ll harangue you guys with his Misty’s dialogue. When I write dialogue for my characters, I try to make it as realistic as possible. If I wanted to add some witty dialogue for a character with a sharp tongue, I could very well do that. But would that work for a monstrous fox like Misty? I’m leaning towards grunts and gurgles, myself. Or she can have no dialogue at all. Or she could swear up a storm. It would have to be something crude enough to make her a monster and mysterious enough to make her a ninja. Maybe a steel tongue isn’t the best option for her. Oh well, there are other characters I can give snappy dialogue to. No sweat!
When I was looking for post-college employment from 2010 to 2013, the only experience I had was educational. Since I’ve never had paid employment before, I had to enhance my resume to make my education look like a blessing straight from the heavens. I wasn’t successful in finding a job. However, I did a little resume enhancement with Misty Blades despite her not being experienced. The difference is, Misty is going to make her mark sooner rather than later. And that mark is probably going to be a trail of blood, bones, and vomit leading all the way to the tip of her jagged sword. Yikes!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“We were born and bred to rip and shred!”
-Konnor, one half of The Ascension-
WWE Wrestlemania 31: Sting vs. Triple H
MATCH: Sting vs. Triple H in a No Disqualification match
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Wrestlemania 31
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
In the 1990’s, the ratings war between WWE and WCW was one that would determine which company would remain in business. Both companies had high-rising superstars. Both companies had millions of dollars. Both companies pushed the envelope with their edgy television shows. In the beginning of this competitive war, WCW introduced the world to The New World Order, a faction of rebels consisting of mega-stars like Scott Hall (formerly Razor Ramon), Kevin Nash (formerly Diesel), Hulk Hogan, and many other wrestlers with a legendary legacy.
But in the end, it was the youth and freshness of Mick Foley, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, and Degeneration X that slew the beast known as WCW. The star power-fueled company known as WCW closed its doors permanently in 2001 with many of their wrestlers serving as jobbers for the WWE during the “invasion” storyline.
Fast forward to Survivor Series in 2014, which was 13 years after the WCW legacy was buried forever. The Authority (Triple H and Stephanie McMahon) were throwing their weight around and making life for young up-and-comers miserable. Daniel Bryan had been put on the injured reserve list, Dolph Ziggler had many handicapped matches to deal with, John Cena was losing his opportunities at star power, and oh yeah, the Big Show cried like a baby.
Who decides to show up at Survivor Series of that year? Sting, the face-painted, trench coat-wearing, baseball bat-wielding vigilante who said more with just one stare than most wrestlers could in a ten minute interview. He continued to cost The Authority matches and play mind games with Triple H. Sting was at one point WCW’s lone soldier against the powers of the New World Order. Over a decade later, he wants revenge against Triple H for putting that company out of business and leaving Sting in an indefinite stasis (actually, he wrestled for TNA, which is basically WCW for the 2000’s, but who’s keeping track?).
Several months after Sting’s WWE debut, a match between him and Triple H is made for 2015’s biggest pay-per-view event, Wrestlemania 31. It was billed as a clash between icons of their respective companies, Sting representing WCW and Triple H representing WWE. These two wrestlers were past the prime of their careers, yet they were determined to wrestle with the spirit of youth. For Sting, this wasn’t just about WCW closing its doors in 2001; this was about knocking a tyrant like Triple H off of his throne.
Fast forward to the actual match between these two. Wrestlemania events are known for super-creative entrances to the ring. This match was no different when Sting came to the ring with face-painted Japanese warriors were playing Taiko drums to introduce him. Triple H chose something slightly more epic for his entrance. He dressed like The Terminator and carried metal skulls to the ring with him. Sting promised the samurai warrior spirit and Triple H promised futuristic destruction that spared nobody. Which one would prevail?
Sting and Triple H had a lot of miles on their bodies, but with those miles comes wisdom and experience. The opening parts of the match were wrestled with basic maneuvers such as clotheslines, hip tosses, knee drops, back body drops, suplexes, and the occasional corner splash. Yes, these are old school moves, but Triple H and Sting did them with such perfection that they were actually entertaining to watch. Even more entertaining was when Sting had Triple H dead to rights in the Scorpion Death Lock.
And then we hear the Chris Warren band screaming, “Break it down!”, which could mean only one thing: the arrival of Degeneration X members Road Dog, Billy Gunn, and X-Pac, all three of which were instrumental in bringing WCW to its knees. If they wanted to get involved in the match, they could since it was announced as No Disqualification. The numbers game was sure to catch Sting off guard.
And then we hear Frank Shelley’s guitar twanging and twisting, which meant the arrival of New World Order members Hulk Hogan, Scott Hall, and Kevin Nash, all three of which had achieved WWE Hall of Fame inductions. Outside of the ring, the New World Order and Degeneration X members beat the hell out of each other. They threw each other against barricades, ring posts, the punched and kicked like there was no tomorrow, and there was even a time when Road Dog back body dropped Scott Hall on the concrete floor…and Scott Hall, as elderly as he was, got back up!
And then the hardware started to come out, Sting with his baseball bat and Triple H with his sledgehammer. While the NWO and DX were fighting outside the ring, the two actual match competitors fought like medieval warriors with their hardcore weapons. Triple H was determined to be the badass barbarian he always was with his hammer, but with one strike from Sting’s bat, the hammer broke in two and Triple H was cornered.
And then, the final member of DX, Shawn Michaels, another Hall of Famer, came out of nowhere and super-kicked Sting into unconsciousness. It was another blow from Triple H’s now broken hammer that finally did in the vigilante known as Sting. A count to three later and Triple H was declared the winner of this war between WWE and WCW. After all was said and done, the members of the New World Order, Degeneration X, Triple H, and Sting all got together and showed each other respect with hand shakes and hugs.
Normally when old wrestlers get in the ring, they’re huffing and puffing as they struggle with their equilibrium, which is why a lot of WCW were boring to watch. But when the remnants of DX and the NWO got in their time machines and threw themselves into the Wrestlemania 31 vortex, it had the crowd chanting, “This is awesome!” over and over again. I would have chanted the same thing if I was in San Francisco that day. Hell, that whole audience was having nerd-gasms all night long after this match. There wasn’t one bad match on that whole pay-per-view. In fact, Wrestlemania 31 might get the nod for Best Major Show of 2015 from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter and it would be a well deserved honor.
Nerd-gasms and childhood memories aside, the conclusion of this match does beg the question of what Sting’s role within WWE will be now that he failed to dethrone Triple H. Is his momentum completely destroyed? Will he strictly have a backstage role? Will he show up at another major show and shift the balance of power again? I wouldn’t mind seeing Sting again someday. He has many decades of wear and tear on his body, yet he wrestles like a 21-year-old. In other words, the man forgot to age. Give him another chance, damn it!
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Wrestlemania 31
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
In the 1990’s, the ratings war between WWE and WCW was one that would determine which company would remain in business. Both companies had high-rising superstars. Both companies had millions of dollars. Both companies pushed the envelope with their edgy television shows. In the beginning of this competitive war, WCW introduced the world to The New World Order, a faction of rebels consisting of mega-stars like Scott Hall (formerly Razor Ramon), Kevin Nash (formerly Diesel), Hulk Hogan, and many other wrestlers with a legendary legacy.
But in the end, it was the youth and freshness of Mick Foley, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, and Degeneration X that slew the beast known as WCW. The star power-fueled company known as WCW closed its doors permanently in 2001 with many of their wrestlers serving as jobbers for the WWE during the “invasion” storyline.
Fast forward to Survivor Series in 2014, which was 13 years after the WCW legacy was buried forever. The Authority (Triple H and Stephanie McMahon) were throwing their weight around and making life for young up-and-comers miserable. Daniel Bryan had been put on the injured reserve list, Dolph Ziggler had many handicapped matches to deal with, John Cena was losing his opportunities at star power, and oh yeah, the Big Show cried like a baby.
Who decides to show up at Survivor Series of that year? Sting, the face-painted, trench coat-wearing, baseball bat-wielding vigilante who said more with just one stare than most wrestlers could in a ten minute interview. He continued to cost The Authority matches and play mind games with Triple H. Sting was at one point WCW’s lone soldier against the powers of the New World Order. Over a decade later, he wants revenge against Triple H for putting that company out of business and leaving Sting in an indefinite stasis (actually, he wrestled for TNA, which is basically WCW for the 2000’s, but who’s keeping track?).
Several months after Sting’s WWE debut, a match between him and Triple H is made for 2015’s biggest pay-per-view event, Wrestlemania 31. It was billed as a clash between icons of their respective companies, Sting representing WCW and Triple H representing WWE. These two wrestlers were past the prime of their careers, yet they were determined to wrestle with the spirit of youth. For Sting, this wasn’t just about WCW closing its doors in 2001; this was about knocking a tyrant like Triple H off of his throne.
Fast forward to the actual match between these two. Wrestlemania events are known for super-creative entrances to the ring. This match was no different when Sting came to the ring with face-painted Japanese warriors were playing Taiko drums to introduce him. Triple H chose something slightly more epic for his entrance. He dressed like The Terminator and carried metal skulls to the ring with him. Sting promised the samurai warrior spirit and Triple H promised futuristic destruction that spared nobody. Which one would prevail?
Sting and Triple H had a lot of miles on their bodies, but with those miles comes wisdom and experience. The opening parts of the match were wrestled with basic maneuvers such as clotheslines, hip tosses, knee drops, back body drops, suplexes, and the occasional corner splash. Yes, these are old school moves, but Triple H and Sting did them with such perfection that they were actually entertaining to watch. Even more entertaining was when Sting had Triple H dead to rights in the Scorpion Death Lock.
And then we hear the Chris Warren band screaming, “Break it down!”, which could mean only one thing: the arrival of Degeneration X members Road Dog, Billy Gunn, and X-Pac, all three of which were instrumental in bringing WCW to its knees. If they wanted to get involved in the match, they could since it was announced as No Disqualification. The numbers game was sure to catch Sting off guard.
And then we hear Frank Shelley’s guitar twanging and twisting, which meant the arrival of New World Order members Hulk Hogan, Scott Hall, and Kevin Nash, all three of which had achieved WWE Hall of Fame inductions. Outside of the ring, the New World Order and Degeneration X members beat the hell out of each other. They threw each other against barricades, ring posts, the punched and kicked like there was no tomorrow, and there was even a time when Road Dog back body dropped Scott Hall on the concrete floor…and Scott Hall, as elderly as he was, got back up!
And then the hardware started to come out, Sting with his baseball bat and Triple H with his sledgehammer. While the NWO and DX were fighting outside the ring, the two actual match competitors fought like medieval warriors with their hardcore weapons. Triple H was determined to be the badass barbarian he always was with his hammer, but with one strike from Sting’s bat, the hammer broke in two and Triple H was cornered.
And then, the final member of DX, Shawn Michaels, another Hall of Famer, came out of nowhere and super-kicked Sting into unconsciousness. It was another blow from Triple H’s now broken hammer that finally did in the vigilante known as Sting. A count to three later and Triple H was declared the winner of this war between WWE and WCW. After all was said and done, the members of the New World Order, Degeneration X, Triple H, and Sting all got together and showed each other respect with hand shakes and hugs.
Normally when old wrestlers get in the ring, they’re huffing and puffing as they struggle with their equilibrium, which is why a lot of WCW were boring to watch. But when the remnants of DX and the NWO got in their time machines and threw themselves into the Wrestlemania 31 vortex, it had the crowd chanting, “This is awesome!” over and over again. I would have chanted the same thing if I was in San Francisco that day. Hell, that whole audience was having nerd-gasms all night long after this match. There wasn’t one bad match on that whole pay-per-view. In fact, Wrestlemania 31 might get the nod for Best Major Show of 2015 from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter and it would be a well deserved honor.
Nerd-gasms and childhood memories aside, the conclusion of this match does beg the question of what Sting’s role within WWE will be now that he failed to dethrone Triple H. Is his momentum completely destroyed? Will he strictly have a backstage role? Will he show up at another major show and shift the balance of power again? I wouldn’t mind seeing Sting again someday. He has many decades of wear and tear on his body, yet he wrestles like a 21-year-old. In other words, the man forgot to age. Give him another chance, damn it!
July 12, 2015
The Shield
TV SHOW TITLE: The Shield
CREATOR: Shawn Ryan
YEARS ACTIVE: 2002-2008
GENRE: Crime Drama
RATING: TV-MA for violence, language, and sexual situations
GRADE: Pass
The city of Los Angeles is plagued with crime whether it’s gang-related, corporate, or the work of a sadistic serial killer. With Detective Vic Mackey and his Strike Team on the case, the justice may be worse than the crime itself. Vic is not afraid to break the rules when it comes to catching criminals. He’s not above torturing suspects or even killing and intimidating other cops if it means closing a case or saving his own ass. Even under the hawk-like eyes of Captain David Aceveda and the scrutiny of his peers such as Detective Dutch Wagenbach and Officer Danielle Sofer, Vic Mackey manages to stay one step ahead of everyone else and leaves a trail of blood and broken bones in his wake.
Unlike crime dramas such as Castle, NCIS, Bones, and Rizzoli and Isles, The Shield takes the viewers to a much darker place where the humor is raunchy and the violence is graphic. As I’ve mentioned in the opening paragraph, Vic often tortures his suspects to get a confession or information to a bigger arrest. Over the course of the show, he has whipped a suspect with a chain, burned a suspect’s face on a stovetop, stabbed a cop killer with his badge, and in the first episode shot another cop named Terry Crowley because Terry was a rat within the Strike Team. Vic Mackey and his team are like police brutality on steroids. The more people complained against him and his tactics, the more bruises and scars those people got. It’s an endless stream of graphic beatings and torture until the city is safe again, at least from the original gangsters, but not Mackey.
As vicious as Vic can be, the things he did on the show will never compare to what happened to David Aceveda in the third season of the show. David is investigating the home of a Mexican gangster named Juan Lazano. Juan jumps David from behind, binds his hands with a TV cord, and orally rapes him while Juan’s buddy is filming the whole thing with a smart phone. The sodomy was disturbing enough, but it was the ongoing trauma, family dissention, and blackmail David experienced afterwards that made The Shield hard to watch. When it comes to TV-MA-rated shows, I’m not a wimp by any stretch of the imagination, but even David Aceveda’s oral rape storyline was enough to shake me to my core.
If you strip away all of the torture, forced sex, limb chopping, burnings, and blood, you still have a well-written detective show. Yes, all of that hardcore and disgusting content is good for the Nightmare Fetishists out there, but The Shield isn’t just about violence and brutality; it has substance. It asks the bold question of whether or not the ends justify the means and how far we’re willing to trust the government to protect us when they commit questionable acts. Police brutality is an ongoing problem even in today’s world; just ask the families of Michael Brown and Eric Garner. The Shield does what all forms of media should do: it holds a mirror up to society and shows everyone its ugliest features. The show doesn’t glorify police brutality; it questions it. And by the end of the series, everybody on that show gets what they deserve whether it’s for better or worse.
But sometimes all you want from a detective show is a solid series of cases where the police work is intelligent and the laws and techniques are well-researched. You’ll get all of those things with The Shield. Shawn Ryan wasn’t just putting together a montage of beatings; he was putting together solid cases that real police officers and detectives would have to solve using their sharp investigative skills. Even Vic Mackey and his Strike Team are capable of using smart investigative tactics; otherwise, they wouldn’t be detectives.
All in all, The Shield is the complete package that a detective show is supposed to have. The only things that separate it from other shows is its dark nature, it’s bold statements, and its TV-MA rating. The show was revolutionary in more ways than TV being allowed to use the word “shit”, which is why it deserves a passing grade.
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
VIC MACKEY: Do you want to catch this criminal or not?
DAVID ACEVEDA: Going undercover as dirty cops. You guys think you can pull that off?
VIC MACKEY: We can try.
-The Shield-
CREATOR: Shawn Ryan
YEARS ACTIVE: 2002-2008
GENRE: Crime Drama
RATING: TV-MA for violence, language, and sexual situations
GRADE: Pass
The city of Los Angeles is plagued with crime whether it’s gang-related, corporate, or the work of a sadistic serial killer. With Detective Vic Mackey and his Strike Team on the case, the justice may be worse than the crime itself. Vic is not afraid to break the rules when it comes to catching criminals. He’s not above torturing suspects or even killing and intimidating other cops if it means closing a case or saving his own ass. Even under the hawk-like eyes of Captain David Aceveda and the scrutiny of his peers such as Detective Dutch Wagenbach and Officer Danielle Sofer, Vic Mackey manages to stay one step ahead of everyone else and leaves a trail of blood and broken bones in his wake.
Unlike crime dramas such as Castle, NCIS, Bones, and Rizzoli and Isles, The Shield takes the viewers to a much darker place where the humor is raunchy and the violence is graphic. As I’ve mentioned in the opening paragraph, Vic often tortures his suspects to get a confession or information to a bigger arrest. Over the course of the show, he has whipped a suspect with a chain, burned a suspect’s face on a stovetop, stabbed a cop killer with his badge, and in the first episode shot another cop named Terry Crowley because Terry was a rat within the Strike Team. Vic Mackey and his team are like police brutality on steroids. The more people complained against him and his tactics, the more bruises and scars those people got. It’s an endless stream of graphic beatings and torture until the city is safe again, at least from the original gangsters, but not Mackey.
As vicious as Vic can be, the things he did on the show will never compare to what happened to David Aceveda in the third season of the show. David is investigating the home of a Mexican gangster named Juan Lazano. Juan jumps David from behind, binds his hands with a TV cord, and orally rapes him while Juan’s buddy is filming the whole thing with a smart phone. The sodomy was disturbing enough, but it was the ongoing trauma, family dissention, and blackmail David experienced afterwards that made The Shield hard to watch. When it comes to TV-MA-rated shows, I’m not a wimp by any stretch of the imagination, but even David Aceveda’s oral rape storyline was enough to shake me to my core.
If you strip away all of the torture, forced sex, limb chopping, burnings, and blood, you still have a well-written detective show. Yes, all of that hardcore and disgusting content is good for the Nightmare Fetishists out there, but The Shield isn’t just about violence and brutality; it has substance. It asks the bold question of whether or not the ends justify the means and how far we’re willing to trust the government to protect us when they commit questionable acts. Police brutality is an ongoing problem even in today’s world; just ask the families of Michael Brown and Eric Garner. The Shield does what all forms of media should do: it holds a mirror up to society and shows everyone its ugliest features. The show doesn’t glorify police brutality; it questions it. And by the end of the series, everybody on that show gets what they deserve whether it’s for better or worse.
But sometimes all you want from a detective show is a solid series of cases where the police work is intelligent and the laws and techniques are well-researched. You’ll get all of those things with The Shield. Shawn Ryan wasn’t just putting together a montage of beatings; he was putting together solid cases that real police officers and detectives would have to solve using their sharp investigative skills. Even Vic Mackey and his Strike Team are capable of using smart investigative tactics; otherwise, they wouldn’t be detectives.
All in all, The Shield is the complete package that a detective show is supposed to have. The only things that separate it from other shows is its dark nature, it’s bold statements, and its TV-MA rating. The show was revolutionary in more ways than TV being allowed to use the word “shit”, which is why it deserves a passing grade.
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
VIC MACKEY: Do you want to catch this criminal or not?
DAVID ACEVEDA: Going undercover as dirty cops. You guys think you can pull that off?
VIC MACKEY: We can try.
-The Shield-
