Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 21
August 17, 2021
Mitch McLeod Puts the Death in Death Match
Clockwork Orange House of Fun. New Orleans Street Fight. No Holds Barred. Death Match. Hardcore Rules. In professional wrestling, there are thousands of ways to describe a match having no rules, where the only ways to win are by pinfall or submission. No rules rules, right? Well, as Mitch McLeod found out in a message board wrestling RPG, you still have to work within the limits of the law. You can’t shower your opponent with an AK-47. You can’t strap a dynamite vest to a random audience member to extort your opponent into quitting. You shouldn’t be able to do what Stone Cold Steve Austin did and raise a car that Triple H is in with a forklift before dropping it upside down from twenty feet high. Don’t worry about Trips, though, because he was back on TV the next night with only “contusions” on his medical record. There are lots of ways you can win a Death Match, none of which include murder. You can’t take the world championship to prison with you.
As a side note, Mitch McLeod shouldn’t be confused with Kentucky politician Mitch McConnell. One of them will inflict so much pain on you that you’ll develop an addiction to Oxycontin. The other is a hardcore wrestler. McLeod was OTT Wrestling’s version of Tommy Dreamer: the hardcore heart and soul of the company. Mitch would scramble your brains with a steel chair and deduct a hundred IQ points from your test. He would scissors kick a glass water pitcher over your head and deduct another hundred IQ points from your test. He would put a set of steel stairs over your head and leapfrog over the top rope onto them…there go another hundred IQ points. By the time Mitch McLeod was done fucking with your brain, you’d be more than qualified to vote for that Kentucky politician I mentioned earlier.
Unfortunately, none of those credentials would be enough to earn him a victory in his first OTT match ever against the seven-foot tall behemoth known as Yeti. No, I’m not talking about the toilet paper mummy from WCW in the 90’s. This version of Yeti was a legitimate powerhouse. He towered over everybody and made them look and cry like children. His breath reeked of human flesh and sour blood. His horns gave you the impression that the devil himself was standing across the ring from you. And those muscles…so many fucking muscles, but not the kind that belong on the cover of a cheesy romance novel. If Yeti wanted to hurt you, the National Guard would merely delay the inevitable…by about five seconds. He was the perfect first opponent for Mitch McLeod.
With Yeti already waiting to feast on the walking corpse that awaited him, Mitch McLeod’s music hit and the crowd went ape shit, no pun intended. Then again, how do you not go ape shit when “Wollt Ihr Das Bett En Flammen Sehen?” by Rammstein is blasting out of the speakers? German heavy metal for an American ass-kicker. You would think that Mitch would have all the (literal) tools necessary to beat Yeti like a war drum. But prior to joining OTT, he didn’t know that every match in this organization was contested under hardcore rules. Therefore, he did what every good baby-faced hero did in wrestling and attempted to cheat. What a great guy! Such a role model for the youngsters in the crowd!
The rules of the RPG were simple: each player would post a series of moves to perform in the match and whoever had the best writing and most impressive showing would be declared the victor by the GM/referee. At this point, the only thing that dwarfed Mitch’s opponent was my ego. I didn’t want to lose. I didn’t want to “do the job” as they say in the wrestling industry. Sixteen-year-old me didn’t make sacrifices for the good of the story. I just wanted to see Mitch be undefeated in everything he did, because I believed in my own hype. I was my own “mark”, to use another wrestling term. So when Yeti and Mitch locked up, it was game on, motherfucker.
While I don’t remember the exact choreography of the match, I do know that it started off with some actual wrestling maneuvers. Yeti hit a few body slams, suplexes, and clotheslines, each of them rattling Mitch’s bones like a Haitian earthquake that would surely be referenced in a Max Caster freestyle rap if given the opportunity. Max had already made fun of Simone Biles’s mental health, the Duke LaCrosse rape case, COVID testing, and Julia Hart’s vagina, why not a Haitian earthquake? You know what Max didn’t do, though? Put Yeti in a torture rack before slamming his spine across the knee. Mitch did that. He also spiked Yeti on top of his head with a brainbuster. He also hit a power bomb. And a spinebuster. And any other move that a man with Mitch’s size disadvantage had no right to use. Remember, I wanted to win and make Mitch look good, even at the expense of a much bigger star like Yeti.
Mitch would do anything to win at this point. Anything, even “accidentally” knocking out the referee so that using weapons (which was already legal) could be a thing in this match. He pulled a fire extinguisher from under the ring, sprayed Yeti in the eyes with it, threw it at his face, and gave him one final brainbuster onto the extinguisher. A normal man would have died from these wounds long before he had the chance to vote for unsavory Kentucky politicians. Not Yeti. He kicked out just as the referee was about to slap the mat for a three count. What kind of military grade weapons would it take to keep Yeti down? A Sherman tank? A nuclear bomb? Space lasers? Mitch could have used them all and Yeti would still no-sell everything and defeat him with a move called “The Heart Slam”, where he literally grabbed Mitch by his heart and slammed him to the mat before pinning him, one, two, three.
That should have been the end of it all. Mitch McLeod should have picked up his own carcass off the mat and gone back to the locker room to shower. It would actually take a lot more effort to do that considering Yeti gave Mitch another Heart Slam after the match was over, that cheeky heel. But instead of swallowing my pride and selling the injuries, I had Mitch throw the fire extinguisher at Yeti again and then lure him backstage with insults. Yeti, being an angry yeti, took the bait and got clobbered with another fire extinguisher for his troubles. Mitch then tied Yeti’s ankles to the back of his car and drove into town while dragging his big ass across the cement. A normal man would have died after thirty feet, the skin on his back shredded like Floydian beef. If that wasn’t bad enough, Mitch drove Yeti to a suspension bridge, tied cement blocks around him, and threw him into the ocean. Isn’t Mitch such a great role model? Dexter Morgan would be so proud of him! Wait a minute…
In the same way that Mitch no-sold everything Yeti did, Yeti in turn no-sold the attempted murder. I say attempted because Yeti was napping during the whole time he was being dragged. He woke up from his nap, jumped out of the water, and destroyed Mitch’s car so badly that it exploded in a climate change-like fireball. Yeti then advised Mitch to keep all the action in the ring, which would only be bad advice if the match was contested under Falls Count Anywhere rules, which is yet another form of no-disqualification rules. My never-ending ego would have taken this murder spree to the ends of the earth if the GM didn’t intervene when he did. He deleted all of the post-match violence and I was half-relieved that he did. Yeti then gave me a congratulatory “Good match” without a hint of irony, which meant we as players were still on good terms.
The one thing I would like to unpack from this story above all else is that good storytelling comes with sacrifices. If Mitch McLeod won all the time against all challengers in brutal apocalyptic fashion, yes, he would be elevated, but the story would be boring and he would be labeled a Gary-Stu. Flawless characters aren’t fun to read about because they’re not relatable to the reader. Even Hulk Hogan and John Cena, as big as their egos are, wouldn’t be able to relate to Mitch McLeod if he was an indestructible Gary-Stu. The role of the characters is to create a cohesive story through teamwork, and teamwork requires sacrifices. If the heroes have to lose every once and a while to make the stakes believable, so be it. If the villains have to look strong until the very last match when they’re finally defeated, such is life.
Mitch McLeod should have had flaws during his time in OTT Wrestling, but those flaws shouldn’t have been evil attempts to make himself an unstoppable god. In other words, he shouldn’t make himself so unlikable that nobody in their right mind would ever cheer for him. Baby-face heroes shouldn’t have “go-away heat”, or the kind of audience anger that isn’t born from good character work, but from a genuine desire to see them disappear forever, even if that means death itself. No-selling an opponent’s offence in wrestling is a big taboo in the industry, because it completely kills the illusion and undermines the team effort in building a narrative.
After Mitch took his second Heart Slam, he should have stayed down. Let Yeti have his heel heat, let Mitch train harder and grow as a wrestler instead of turning into a whiny serial killer. When Mitch starts to win matches again and develop his skills, then maybe he can have another crack at Yeti and get even closer to victory this time. Mitch would look impressive as a plucky underdog who has to constantly overcome the odds by the skin of his teeth. Beat him down until he has nothing left, so that when he finally earns his big comeback, he will have worked for something he can be proud of.
That’s what you have to remember not just with wrestling, but with every story you tell: the protagonist has to work for everything he has. Sometimes he has to work so hard that his body and mind fail him when he needs the energy the most. Sometimes he has to work hard enough to bring him to death’s door. But unlike in a capitalist society where unsavory Kentucky politicians hold the brass rings hostage, Mitch McLeod actually has a chance of having his hard work pay off. A theater teacher I had once advised us to, “Throw rocks at our protagonists and make them run up a tree.” In other words, make life difficult enough so that when those difficulties are conquered in a believable way, the protagonist will have something to be proud of. And so will you, fellow writers. So will you.
As a side note, Mitch McLeod shouldn’t be confused with Kentucky politician Mitch McConnell. One of them will inflict so much pain on you that you’ll develop an addiction to Oxycontin. The other is a hardcore wrestler. McLeod was OTT Wrestling’s version of Tommy Dreamer: the hardcore heart and soul of the company. Mitch would scramble your brains with a steel chair and deduct a hundred IQ points from your test. He would scissors kick a glass water pitcher over your head and deduct another hundred IQ points from your test. He would put a set of steel stairs over your head and leapfrog over the top rope onto them…there go another hundred IQ points. By the time Mitch McLeod was done fucking with your brain, you’d be more than qualified to vote for that Kentucky politician I mentioned earlier.
Unfortunately, none of those credentials would be enough to earn him a victory in his first OTT match ever against the seven-foot tall behemoth known as Yeti. No, I’m not talking about the toilet paper mummy from WCW in the 90’s. This version of Yeti was a legitimate powerhouse. He towered over everybody and made them look and cry like children. His breath reeked of human flesh and sour blood. His horns gave you the impression that the devil himself was standing across the ring from you. And those muscles…so many fucking muscles, but not the kind that belong on the cover of a cheesy romance novel. If Yeti wanted to hurt you, the National Guard would merely delay the inevitable…by about five seconds. He was the perfect first opponent for Mitch McLeod.
With Yeti already waiting to feast on the walking corpse that awaited him, Mitch McLeod’s music hit and the crowd went ape shit, no pun intended. Then again, how do you not go ape shit when “Wollt Ihr Das Bett En Flammen Sehen?” by Rammstein is blasting out of the speakers? German heavy metal for an American ass-kicker. You would think that Mitch would have all the (literal) tools necessary to beat Yeti like a war drum. But prior to joining OTT, he didn’t know that every match in this organization was contested under hardcore rules. Therefore, he did what every good baby-faced hero did in wrestling and attempted to cheat. What a great guy! Such a role model for the youngsters in the crowd!
The rules of the RPG were simple: each player would post a series of moves to perform in the match and whoever had the best writing and most impressive showing would be declared the victor by the GM/referee. At this point, the only thing that dwarfed Mitch’s opponent was my ego. I didn’t want to lose. I didn’t want to “do the job” as they say in the wrestling industry. Sixteen-year-old me didn’t make sacrifices for the good of the story. I just wanted to see Mitch be undefeated in everything he did, because I believed in my own hype. I was my own “mark”, to use another wrestling term. So when Yeti and Mitch locked up, it was game on, motherfucker.
While I don’t remember the exact choreography of the match, I do know that it started off with some actual wrestling maneuvers. Yeti hit a few body slams, suplexes, and clotheslines, each of them rattling Mitch’s bones like a Haitian earthquake that would surely be referenced in a Max Caster freestyle rap if given the opportunity. Max had already made fun of Simone Biles’s mental health, the Duke LaCrosse rape case, COVID testing, and Julia Hart’s vagina, why not a Haitian earthquake? You know what Max didn’t do, though? Put Yeti in a torture rack before slamming his spine across the knee. Mitch did that. He also spiked Yeti on top of his head with a brainbuster. He also hit a power bomb. And a spinebuster. And any other move that a man with Mitch’s size disadvantage had no right to use. Remember, I wanted to win and make Mitch look good, even at the expense of a much bigger star like Yeti.
Mitch would do anything to win at this point. Anything, even “accidentally” knocking out the referee so that using weapons (which was already legal) could be a thing in this match. He pulled a fire extinguisher from under the ring, sprayed Yeti in the eyes with it, threw it at his face, and gave him one final brainbuster onto the extinguisher. A normal man would have died from these wounds long before he had the chance to vote for unsavory Kentucky politicians. Not Yeti. He kicked out just as the referee was about to slap the mat for a three count. What kind of military grade weapons would it take to keep Yeti down? A Sherman tank? A nuclear bomb? Space lasers? Mitch could have used them all and Yeti would still no-sell everything and defeat him with a move called “The Heart Slam”, where he literally grabbed Mitch by his heart and slammed him to the mat before pinning him, one, two, three.
That should have been the end of it all. Mitch McLeod should have picked up his own carcass off the mat and gone back to the locker room to shower. It would actually take a lot more effort to do that considering Yeti gave Mitch another Heart Slam after the match was over, that cheeky heel. But instead of swallowing my pride and selling the injuries, I had Mitch throw the fire extinguisher at Yeti again and then lure him backstage with insults. Yeti, being an angry yeti, took the bait and got clobbered with another fire extinguisher for his troubles. Mitch then tied Yeti’s ankles to the back of his car and drove into town while dragging his big ass across the cement. A normal man would have died after thirty feet, the skin on his back shredded like Floydian beef. If that wasn’t bad enough, Mitch drove Yeti to a suspension bridge, tied cement blocks around him, and threw him into the ocean. Isn’t Mitch such a great role model? Dexter Morgan would be so proud of him! Wait a minute…
In the same way that Mitch no-sold everything Yeti did, Yeti in turn no-sold the attempted murder. I say attempted because Yeti was napping during the whole time he was being dragged. He woke up from his nap, jumped out of the water, and destroyed Mitch’s car so badly that it exploded in a climate change-like fireball. Yeti then advised Mitch to keep all the action in the ring, which would only be bad advice if the match was contested under Falls Count Anywhere rules, which is yet another form of no-disqualification rules. My never-ending ego would have taken this murder spree to the ends of the earth if the GM didn’t intervene when he did. He deleted all of the post-match violence and I was half-relieved that he did. Yeti then gave me a congratulatory “Good match” without a hint of irony, which meant we as players were still on good terms.
The one thing I would like to unpack from this story above all else is that good storytelling comes with sacrifices. If Mitch McLeod won all the time against all challengers in brutal apocalyptic fashion, yes, he would be elevated, but the story would be boring and he would be labeled a Gary-Stu. Flawless characters aren’t fun to read about because they’re not relatable to the reader. Even Hulk Hogan and John Cena, as big as their egos are, wouldn’t be able to relate to Mitch McLeod if he was an indestructible Gary-Stu. The role of the characters is to create a cohesive story through teamwork, and teamwork requires sacrifices. If the heroes have to lose every once and a while to make the stakes believable, so be it. If the villains have to look strong until the very last match when they’re finally defeated, such is life.
Mitch McLeod should have had flaws during his time in OTT Wrestling, but those flaws shouldn’t have been evil attempts to make himself an unstoppable god. In other words, he shouldn’t make himself so unlikable that nobody in their right mind would ever cheer for him. Baby-face heroes shouldn’t have “go-away heat”, or the kind of audience anger that isn’t born from good character work, but from a genuine desire to see them disappear forever, even if that means death itself. No-selling an opponent’s offence in wrestling is a big taboo in the industry, because it completely kills the illusion and undermines the team effort in building a narrative.
After Mitch took his second Heart Slam, he should have stayed down. Let Yeti have his heel heat, let Mitch train harder and grow as a wrestler instead of turning into a whiny serial killer. When Mitch starts to win matches again and develop his skills, then maybe he can have another crack at Yeti and get even closer to victory this time. Mitch would look impressive as a plucky underdog who has to constantly overcome the odds by the skin of his teeth. Beat him down until he has nothing left, so that when he finally earns his big comeback, he will have worked for something he can be proud of.
That’s what you have to remember not just with wrestling, but with every story you tell: the protagonist has to work for everything he has. Sometimes he has to work so hard that his body and mind fail him when he needs the energy the most. Sometimes he has to work hard enough to bring him to death’s door. But unlike in a capitalist society where unsavory Kentucky politicians hold the brass rings hostage, Mitch McLeod actually has a chance of having his hard work pay off. A theater teacher I had once advised us to, “Throw rocks at our protagonists and make them run up a tree.” In other words, make life difficult enough so that when those difficulties are conquered in a believable way, the protagonist will have something to be proud of. And so will you, fellow writers. So will you.
Strip You
I hereby strip you of your freedom of speech
You fucked the conversation with the hate you teach
I hereby strip you of your right to bear arms
You could take a toy pistol and maximize the harm
I hereby strip you of your right to a trial
The shit you’re accused of goes on for miles
I hereby strip you of your non-prison clothes
In exchange for a jumpsuit and depressive woes
This ain’t no funhouse, people are dying
Yet you shrug off the complaints as babies crying
This ain’t no rally, you have nothing to be proud of
Count the dead bodies, if you’re generous, round up
I hereby strip you of your power over us
You’re drunk on your Kool-Aid, time to sober up
I hereby strip you of your gaslighting techniques
None of it’s romantic, even less of it is sexy
I hereby strip you of your traumatic excuses
None of them justify your emotional abuses
I hereby strip you of your entire legacy
And your purple cushion throne and royal pedigree
This ain’t no kingdom, I won’t fight for you
And your so-called rights to fuck over the truth
This ain’t no ballgame, I won’t bat for you
I’d rather take that bat and beat you black and blue
I hereby strip you of your bigotry
Brought to you by generations of idiocy
I hereby strip you of your ignorance
Everything you love lacks innocence
What gives me the right to take it all away?
You’d do the same to me anytime any day
Freedom for all loses all of its meaning
When the power belongs to the extremist-leaning
This ain’t no safe space for your prejudice
Defeats the purpose of human etiquette
This ain’t no graveyard for your victims
But a mausoleum for a broken system
You fucked the conversation with the hate you teach
I hereby strip you of your right to bear arms
You could take a toy pistol and maximize the harm
I hereby strip you of your right to a trial
The shit you’re accused of goes on for miles
I hereby strip you of your non-prison clothes
In exchange for a jumpsuit and depressive woes
This ain’t no funhouse, people are dying
Yet you shrug off the complaints as babies crying
This ain’t no rally, you have nothing to be proud of
Count the dead bodies, if you’re generous, round up
I hereby strip you of your power over us
You’re drunk on your Kool-Aid, time to sober up
I hereby strip you of your gaslighting techniques
None of it’s romantic, even less of it is sexy
I hereby strip you of your traumatic excuses
None of them justify your emotional abuses
I hereby strip you of your entire legacy
And your purple cushion throne and royal pedigree
This ain’t no kingdom, I won’t fight for you
And your so-called rights to fuck over the truth
This ain’t no ballgame, I won’t bat for you
I’d rather take that bat and beat you black and blue
I hereby strip you of your bigotry
Brought to you by generations of idiocy
I hereby strip you of your ignorance
Everything you love lacks innocence
What gives me the right to take it all away?
You’d do the same to me anytime any day
Freedom for all loses all of its meaning
When the power belongs to the extremist-leaning
This ain’t no safe space for your prejudice
Defeats the purpose of human etiquette
This ain’t no graveyard for your victims
But a mausoleum for a broken system
August 16, 2021
25 Things That Got Me Through 2021
The year 2021 isn’t over yet (damn it), but I’d like to make a list of 25 things that got me through it anyways, as a sequel to my 2020 list, which in turn was inspired by Innuendo Studios.
1. Amanda the Jedi
2. Casey Aonso
3. Chrono Trigger Soundtrack
4. Crit Crab
5. Cynical Reviews
6. Figure Four Weekly’s You Tube Channel
7. Final Fantasy IV Soundtrack (I deleted the Calcobrena theme for being too creepy)
8. Final Fantasy VI Soundtrack
9. Final Fantasy VII Soundtrack
10. Jenna Moreci
11. Krimson Rogue: His Reviews for Ready Player Two and the 64-Squares Book with the Long-Winded Title
12. Last Week Tonight with John Oliver
13. Mega Man X3 Soundtrack
14. Psych 2 Go
15. Rachel Oates
16. Savannah (a.k.a. The Queer Kiwi): Oxygen EP
17. Secret of Mana Soundtrack
18. Silent Season: Wounds, Stars, and Blame (three separate songs, not one title)
19. Solomonster Sounds Off
20. Stealers Wheel: Stuck in the Middle with You
21. The Ever-Burning Light by K.L. Cottrell
22. The Hunger Games: Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
23. Thought Slime
24. Wrestle Talk TV
25. Zoe Bee
1. Amanda the Jedi
2. Casey Aonso
3. Chrono Trigger Soundtrack
4. Crit Crab
5. Cynical Reviews
6. Figure Four Weekly’s You Tube Channel
7. Final Fantasy IV Soundtrack (I deleted the Calcobrena theme for being too creepy)
8. Final Fantasy VI Soundtrack
9. Final Fantasy VII Soundtrack
10. Jenna Moreci
11. Krimson Rogue: His Reviews for Ready Player Two and the 64-Squares Book with the Long-Winded Title
12. Last Week Tonight with John Oliver
13. Mega Man X3 Soundtrack
14. Psych 2 Go
15. Rachel Oates
16. Savannah (a.k.a. The Queer Kiwi): Oxygen EP
17. Secret of Mana Soundtrack
18. Silent Season: Wounds, Stars, and Blame (three separate songs, not one title)
19. Solomonster Sounds Off
20. Stealers Wheel: Stuck in the Middle with You
21. The Ever-Burning Light by K.L. Cottrell
22. The Hunger Games: Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
23. Thought Slime
24. Wrestle Talk TV
25. Zoe Bee
August 10, 2021
Where's My Justice?
VERSE 1
I used to believe that karma was real
Until I saw my kitty cat under some guy’s wheel
Driver might be partying with chicks and drugs
While his mortal sin was swept under the rug
They say to just let God do his little thing
Assuming he’s not purchased by the far right-wing
They say the best revenge is living well
But I’d rather bust his gut with a shotgun shell
CHORUS 1
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my mercy?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! The gods curse me!
VERSE 2
Justice is only for those with fat banks
And a trillion dollars worth of army tanks
And brainwashed lawyers who’ll shine their shoes
And broadcast their ass-kissing all over the news
CHORUS 2
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s comeuppance?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! There’s no substance!
BRIDGE
When you try to find justice without a badge
By pulling your own trigger, killing them in a flash
They put you in a cage and say it’s all your fault
Because you couldn’t pick the lock on the money vault
When you write a bad check to the justice man
They take away your house so you can live in a camp
It’s just the way the universe is wired to work
Sorry if you don’t have a way to go berserk
CHORUS 3
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my payback?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! There’s no way back!
American dreams are for those who sleep
Forget counting them, you’re already a sheep
You can wake up an emotional wreck and upset
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
I used to believe that karma was real
Until I saw my kitty cat under some guy’s wheel
Driver might be partying with chicks and drugs
While his mortal sin was swept under the rug
They say to just let God do his little thing
Assuming he’s not purchased by the far right-wing
They say the best revenge is living well
But I’d rather bust his gut with a shotgun shell
CHORUS 1
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my mercy?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! The gods curse me!
VERSE 2
Justice is only for those with fat banks
And a trillion dollars worth of army tanks
And brainwashed lawyers who’ll shine their shoes
And broadcast their ass-kissing all over the news
CHORUS 2
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s comeuppance?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! There’s no substance!
BRIDGE
When you try to find justice without a badge
By pulling your own trigger, killing them in a flash
They put you in a cage and say it’s all your fault
Because you couldn’t pick the lock on the money vault
When you write a bad check to the justice man
They take away your house so you can live in a camp
It’s just the way the universe is wired to work
Sorry if you don’t have a way to go berserk
CHORUS 3
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my payback?
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
Yeah! Yeah! There’s no way back!
American dreams are for those who sleep
Forget counting them, you’re already a sheep
You can wake up an emotional wreck and upset
Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?
August 9, 2021
25 Things That Got Me Through 2020
Earlier today, Ian Danskin aka Innuendo Studios put out a video on You Tube detailing 25 things that got him through 2020. If it’ll help me form at least a modicum of a positive outlook on life and help me fight depression, I’d like to make my own list of 25 things. Here you go!
1. 30 For 30: Nature Boy (ESPN Documentary)
2. Andre the Giant (HBO Documentary)
3. BoJack Horseman: Season One
4. Cold Wind by CJ Box
5. Dark Side of the Ring
6. Doggolescence by Rachel Oates
7. Five Finger Death Punch: F8
8. Force of Nature by CJ Box
9. Idiocracy
10. Inglorious Basterds
11. Kind of Like Life by Christina McMullen
12. Knives Out
13. Mega Man X Soundtrack
14. Papa Roach: Scars en Espanol
15. So Much I Want to Tell You by Anna Akana
16. Solomonster Sounds Off
17. System of a Down: Protect the Land/Genocidal Humanoidz
18. Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim
19. Ted (Seth MacFarlane movie)
20. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
21. The Liberal Redneck Manifesto by Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester, and Drew Morgan
22. They Called Us Enemy by George Takei
23. World Heroes 2 Soundtrack (Arcade)
24. Wrestle Talk TV
25. Zombieland
1. 30 For 30: Nature Boy (ESPN Documentary)
2. Andre the Giant (HBO Documentary)
3. BoJack Horseman: Season One
4. Cold Wind by CJ Box
5. Dark Side of the Ring
6. Doggolescence by Rachel Oates
7. Five Finger Death Punch: F8
8. Force of Nature by CJ Box
9. Idiocracy
10. Inglorious Basterds
11. Kind of Like Life by Christina McMullen
12. Knives Out
13. Mega Man X Soundtrack
14. Papa Roach: Scars en Espanol
15. So Much I Want to Tell You by Anna Akana
16. Solomonster Sounds Off
17. System of a Down: Protect the Land/Genocidal Humanoidz
18. Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim
19. Ted (Seth MacFarlane movie)
20. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
21. The Liberal Redneck Manifesto by Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester, and Drew Morgan
22. They Called Us Enemy by George Takei
23. World Heroes 2 Soundtrack (Arcade)
24. Wrestle Talk TV
25. Zombieland
August 6, 2021
The Dwarf with Bad Aim
When I was an edgy little shithead during my pre-teen and teenage years, I laughed my ass off at Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles jokes. The cheese grater was the best book they’ve ever read. The fastest thing to go on land was their speedboats. The best way to torture them is to rearrange the furniture. Get it? Because they’re blind? Oh-ho-ho-ho! Blindness is so funny, isn’t it? You know who probably wouldn’t think those jokes are funny? The level one dwarf fighter I played as during a D&D campaign in the 90’s. I don’t remember a whole lot about that campaign, so the details might be a little fuzzy. Hell, I don’t even remember the dwarf’s name. Let’s call him Clark. Not very fantasy-like, but fuck it, I’m calling him Clark anyways because I like the name Clark.
So why is it that a level one dwarf fighter named Clark wouldn’t have a sense of humor about blindness jokes? It’s not like he’s blind himself. He could surely set his empathy aside for a few chuckles, right? Well, not exactly. He could see just fine, but you wouldn’t know that from how often he missed his enemies during combat situations. He had this hulking battleaxe that could rip any monster to shreds. The original Axe Body Spray could have been Clark slashing a poor son of a bitch goblin in half…emphases on could have been.
The campaign was DMed by my brother James and played by me and his friends Nathan and Chris. I don’t remember their characters or their names. I don’t remember what the name of the campaign was (it was pre-written by Wizards of the Coast). All I remember about the campaign is that it used to be really popular among D&D nerds in the 90’s. The players had to transport a prisoner to the gallows only to find out that an elf thief was a mole in the group all along. Now the end goal is to send them both to the guillotine. There would be our fair share of obstacles along the way, all of which required Clark and his comrades to swing their weapons and actually hit something for a change. Nathan and Chris’s characters hit their targets with a sniper’s precision. Clark? Not so much.
The first battle during this prisoner transport was already underway with some bandits wanting to steal our riches. Clark had the opportunity to swing his axe and shed some blood all over the forest’s most beautiful features. He swung his axe…and missed. He swung again…and missed. He swung yet again…and missed. Nathan and Chris’s characters picked up Clark’s slack and left the bandits’ corpses stacked a mile high. And then we encountered some gnomes with a broken down war machine. The gnomes naturally blamed us for their misfortune and attacked right away. Clark swung his axe…and missed. He swung again…and missed. I put the twenty-sided die in my mouth and spit it out hoping it would improve the result. Not only did Clark miss again, but I got chewed out for being weird and getting saliva on the dice.
There were many battles to be fought whether it was with knights, mages, or the prisoners themselves. The story was the same: Clark swung his axe and missed horribly. There was even a time when I rolled a nat-one and had to skip an extra turn to pick up my weapon again. Nathan and Chris’s characters did the heavy lifting for me and laid waste to our enemies. Yada, yada, yada, the prisoners were executed and everything was happy in fantasy land. By the time the campaign ended, I had tears in my eyes due to how poorly Clark performed in battle. Every swing he took, he missed like a bitch. He let his team down, though his teammates didn’t show any hint of anger at him. But Clark knew he deserved their scorn if they had any. He was just extra weight freeloading experience points from their labor. As the tears poured from my eyes, I bemoaned the fact that I wouldn’t get any experience points. But James gave me some anyways, though I didn’t do anything significant to deserve them.
Because this was the 90’s and wisdom wasn’t my strong suit at the time, I didn’t see an opportunity for a compelling story when it came to Clark’s misfortune. All I saw was a series of misses. It wouldn’t be acceptable in a game of Final Fantasy IV or Chrono Trigger, because that’s how your characters die. But Clark lived through it all. He leeched off of his friends and never once paid them back. If there was a story to be had there, my younger self couldn’t see it and no, that’s not a blindness joke.
So…now that everything happened and Clark is a broken man, where does he go from here? As a wiser storyteller than I was in the 90’s, I see many angles this can take. Obviously, Clark is overwhelmed with guilt. But how does he handle it? Does he train harder and get better? Does he use his pay from the campaign to sign up for fighting classes? Does he push himself beyond what he’s capable of and jeopardize his health?
Or does he let the guilt take a stronger hold of him and instead of using it as inspiration, he uses it as an excuse to quit. Maybe Clark retires from adventuring altogether. Maybe he spends his money on alcohol to silence his guilty conscience. Maybe he meets a woman who finds him attractive, but he pushes her away because he “can’t satisfy her”. Ever hear the phrase “those who can’t do, teach?” What if Clark feels so guilty that he thinks he would suck as a teacher as well as a real-world fighter?
What you have to remember as a D&D player is that this is a story above all else. It’s more than just swinging axes, casting spells, and slaying dragons. Everything is an opportunity for a story. And when your characters go through those stories with newfound experience, they, you guessed it, gain experience points. And then those characters develop into three-dimensional people. They feel real despite the fact that they’re in a fantasy setting. They feel human despite being a dwarf, elf, or orc. They have thoughts, opinions, dreams, ambitions, and goals. Sometimes those goals are self-destructive, sometimes they reach beyond the cosmos. The more you develop your story and your characters, the more invested you and your audience will become. If you only care about your misses and failures, that’s all your audience will care about as well.
Everything has a story behind it whether you see it or not, even the ordinary aspects of life. That bookshelf you’ve got in your room? It has seen a lot during its time. It was crafted by creative hands. It’s had many owners who used it for purposes other than storing books. It’s collected dust and formed cracks in the wood and paint. There will be a day when your bookshelf breaks down completely and has to spend its final days in a landfill somewhere. Or the wood from the shelves could be refashioned into something else like a nightstand or even firewood for a camping trip. If an ordinary bookshelf can have this much of a story behind it, so can Clark. But Clark is not an inanimate object. He’s a person with thoughts and feelings. How he deals with his thoughts and feelings is what will determine how three-dimensional he really is. Okay, Clark, so you missed all of your shots and let your teammates down. What will you do next? That’s a story very much worth telling.
But maybe Clark can’t do a whole lot anymore because he really is going blind. Maybe it’s time for him to put down the axe before he hurts someone he didn’t intend to. Maybe he has to spend his time in a home for disabled dwarves. But then Clark has to deal with ableism and people who whine about how their tax money is being spent. If the aggression against him gets so bad, he might have to pick up his axe again to defend himself. But he’ll have help from that woman who found him attractive. She’ll guide his every step and he’ll get progressively better at swinging his axe and murdering ableist assholes. And then…he’ll believe in himself again. His self-esteem will grant him the willingness to marry that woman and start a family with her. And just like that…you have a compelling, three-dimensional story about Clark a.k.a. The Dwarf with Bad Aim!
So why is it that a level one dwarf fighter named Clark wouldn’t have a sense of humor about blindness jokes? It’s not like he’s blind himself. He could surely set his empathy aside for a few chuckles, right? Well, not exactly. He could see just fine, but you wouldn’t know that from how often he missed his enemies during combat situations. He had this hulking battleaxe that could rip any monster to shreds. The original Axe Body Spray could have been Clark slashing a poor son of a bitch goblin in half…emphases on could have been.
The campaign was DMed by my brother James and played by me and his friends Nathan and Chris. I don’t remember their characters or their names. I don’t remember what the name of the campaign was (it was pre-written by Wizards of the Coast). All I remember about the campaign is that it used to be really popular among D&D nerds in the 90’s. The players had to transport a prisoner to the gallows only to find out that an elf thief was a mole in the group all along. Now the end goal is to send them both to the guillotine. There would be our fair share of obstacles along the way, all of which required Clark and his comrades to swing their weapons and actually hit something for a change. Nathan and Chris’s characters hit their targets with a sniper’s precision. Clark? Not so much.
The first battle during this prisoner transport was already underway with some bandits wanting to steal our riches. Clark had the opportunity to swing his axe and shed some blood all over the forest’s most beautiful features. He swung his axe…and missed. He swung again…and missed. He swung yet again…and missed. Nathan and Chris’s characters picked up Clark’s slack and left the bandits’ corpses stacked a mile high. And then we encountered some gnomes with a broken down war machine. The gnomes naturally blamed us for their misfortune and attacked right away. Clark swung his axe…and missed. He swung again…and missed. I put the twenty-sided die in my mouth and spit it out hoping it would improve the result. Not only did Clark miss again, but I got chewed out for being weird and getting saliva on the dice.
There were many battles to be fought whether it was with knights, mages, or the prisoners themselves. The story was the same: Clark swung his axe and missed horribly. There was even a time when I rolled a nat-one and had to skip an extra turn to pick up my weapon again. Nathan and Chris’s characters did the heavy lifting for me and laid waste to our enemies. Yada, yada, yada, the prisoners were executed and everything was happy in fantasy land. By the time the campaign ended, I had tears in my eyes due to how poorly Clark performed in battle. Every swing he took, he missed like a bitch. He let his team down, though his teammates didn’t show any hint of anger at him. But Clark knew he deserved their scorn if they had any. He was just extra weight freeloading experience points from their labor. As the tears poured from my eyes, I bemoaned the fact that I wouldn’t get any experience points. But James gave me some anyways, though I didn’t do anything significant to deserve them.
Because this was the 90’s and wisdom wasn’t my strong suit at the time, I didn’t see an opportunity for a compelling story when it came to Clark’s misfortune. All I saw was a series of misses. It wouldn’t be acceptable in a game of Final Fantasy IV or Chrono Trigger, because that’s how your characters die. But Clark lived through it all. He leeched off of his friends and never once paid them back. If there was a story to be had there, my younger self couldn’t see it and no, that’s not a blindness joke.
So…now that everything happened and Clark is a broken man, where does he go from here? As a wiser storyteller than I was in the 90’s, I see many angles this can take. Obviously, Clark is overwhelmed with guilt. But how does he handle it? Does he train harder and get better? Does he use his pay from the campaign to sign up for fighting classes? Does he push himself beyond what he’s capable of and jeopardize his health?
Or does he let the guilt take a stronger hold of him and instead of using it as inspiration, he uses it as an excuse to quit. Maybe Clark retires from adventuring altogether. Maybe he spends his money on alcohol to silence his guilty conscience. Maybe he meets a woman who finds him attractive, but he pushes her away because he “can’t satisfy her”. Ever hear the phrase “those who can’t do, teach?” What if Clark feels so guilty that he thinks he would suck as a teacher as well as a real-world fighter?
What you have to remember as a D&D player is that this is a story above all else. It’s more than just swinging axes, casting spells, and slaying dragons. Everything is an opportunity for a story. And when your characters go through those stories with newfound experience, they, you guessed it, gain experience points. And then those characters develop into three-dimensional people. They feel real despite the fact that they’re in a fantasy setting. They feel human despite being a dwarf, elf, or orc. They have thoughts, opinions, dreams, ambitions, and goals. Sometimes those goals are self-destructive, sometimes they reach beyond the cosmos. The more you develop your story and your characters, the more invested you and your audience will become. If you only care about your misses and failures, that’s all your audience will care about as well.
Everything has a story behind it whether you see it or not, even the ordinary aspects of life. That bookshelf you’ve got in your room? It has seen a lot during its time. It was crafted by creative hands. It’s had many owners who used it for purposes other than storing books. It’s collected dust and formed cracks in the wood and paint. There will be a day when your bookshelf breaks down completely and has to spend its final days in a landfill somewhere. Or the wood from the shelves could be refashioned into something else like a nightstand or even firewood for a camping trip. If an ordinary bookshelf can have this much of a story behind it, so can Clark. But Clark is not an inanimate object. He’s a person with thoughts and feelings. How he deals with his thoughts and feelings is what will determine how three-dimensional he really is. Okay, Clark, so you missed all of your shots and let your teammates down. What will you do next? That’s a story very much worth telling.
But maybe Clark can’t do a whole lot anymore because he really is going blind. Maybe it’s time for him to put down the axe before he hurts someone he didn’t intend to. Maybe he has to spend his time in a home for disabled dwarves. But then Clark has to deal with ableism and people who whine about how their tax money is being spent. If the aggression against him gets so bad, he might have to pick up his axe again to defend himself. But he’ll have help from that woman who found him attractive. She’ll guide his every step and he’ll get progressively better at swinging his axe and murdering ableist assholes. And then…he’ll believe in himself again. His self-esteem will grant him the willingness to marry that woman and start a family with her. And just like that…you have a compelling, three-dimensional story about Clark a.k.a. The Dwarf with Bad Aim!
Sex
CHORUS
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
VERSE 1
Look at that knight and his surfboard sword
Look at the way he cuts down the orc horde
Not even their axes could put a dent in his armor
It’s made of gold and spikes, for starters
But everything about him reminds you of a dick
And his only end goal is to obviously get chicks
His sword is so long and fat around the edges
So are the spikes in his suit, gold is piss, you get it?
CHORUS
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
VERSE 2
Look at the damsel stuck in the dragon’s tower
Rescue her and she’ll give you money and power
One slash of the dragon’s neck and he’s gone
Head rolling down the hill into the bubbly swamp
Damsel thanks you with a passionate kiss
Whether you want it or not, no refusing this
How can you be platonic when she’s clearly a prize?
The male gaze comes with the horniest eyes
CHORUS
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
BRIDGE
Testosterone is the reason for all of your decisions
Sperm invades your brain like a vaginal incision
If you get an A+ in all of your classes
It’s because you fantasize about tits and asses
Never mind that you studied and prepared for life
Because it all means nothing without a sexy wife
Everyone in town walks around with an erection
Always looking for ways to get an extension
VERSE 3
It’s insulting to every gender that there is
To leave the world around you covered in jizz
Think of all that greatness we could achieve
If we had self-esteem we could truly believe
CHORUS
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
VERSE 1
Look at that knight and his surfboard sword
Look at the way he cuts down the orc horde
Not even their axes could put a dent in his armor
It’s made of gold and spikes, for starters
But everything about him reminds you of a dick
And his only end goal is to obviously get chicks
His sword is so long and fat around the edges
So are the spikes in his suit, gold is piss, you get it?
CHORUS
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
VERSE 2
Look at the damsel stuck in the dragon’s tower
Rescue her and she’ll give you money and power
One slash of the dragon’s neck and he’s gone
Head rolling down the hill into the bubbly swamp
Damsel thanks you with a passionate kiss
Whether you want it or not, no refusing this
How can you be platonic when she’s clearly a prize?
The male gaze comes with the horniest eyes
CHORUS
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
BRIDGE
Testosterone is the reason for all of your decisions
Sperm invades your brain like a vaginal incision
If you get an A+ in all of your classes
It’s because you fantasize about tits and asses
Never mind that you studied and prepared for life
Because it all means nothing without a sexy wife
Everyone in town walks around with an erection
Always looking for ways to get an extension
VERSE 3
It’s insulting to every gender that there is
To leave the world around you covered in jizz
Think of all that greatness we could achieve
If we had self-esteem we could truly believe
CHORUS
Everything’s about sex except sex itself
Sex is about power and really nothing else
If it looks like a penis or like a vagina
Can’t wait to get something inside ya
July 25, 2021
Destroy and Reform
VERSE 1
When you hang on to the macho mentality of the past
It’s no wonder why your students won’t come to class
No one wants a lashing with a bamboo whipping cane
No one wants false history to liquefy their brains
No one wants to do homework for the rest of eternity
No one wants the bullies to taunt them with absurdity
No one wants to grow up with a brainwashed point of view
No one wants to be a part of the putty-faced crew
CHORUS
Destroy and reform
Never obey and conform
Rebellion is the new norm
Been that way since we were born
VERSE 2
Nobody wants to serve sundaes to entitled Karens
Nobody wants to be screamed at while running errands
Nobody wants to gaze into the abyss of a factory
Nobody wants to pick fruit that triggers allergies
Nobody wants to collect garbage for a few cents
Nobody wants to unclog toilets just to pay the rent
Nobody wants to coast when they’ve got passion to boast
With just one poem, they turn a request in a roast
CHORUS
Destroy and reform
Never obey and conform
Rebellion is the new norm
Been that way since we were born
BRIDGE
Five dollars an hour isn’t going to cut it
Don’t argue against that, fucking shut it
Dystopia shouldn’t feel so natural
As we swallow the last of our Adderall
VERSE 3
Never accept less than being treated as human
Never vote for politicians who’re useless
Never raise your hand for an uncaring teacher
Only rely on yourself to be a truth-seeker
Never give that job to a nutcase fuck-up
Never thrive in the world by being a suck-up
Never compromise what makes you special
Lest you be an empty shell of a vessel
CHORUS
Destroy and reform
Never obey and conform
Rebellion is the new norm
Been that way since we were born
When you hang on to the macho mentality of the past
It’s no wonder why your students won’t come to class
No one wants a lashing with a bamboo whipping cane
No one wants false history to liquefy their brains
No one wants to do homework for the rest of eternity
No one wants the bullies to taunt them with absurdity
No one wants to grow up with a brainwashed point of view
No one wants to be a part of the putty-faced crew
CHORUS
Destroy and reform
Never obey and conform
Rebellion is the new norm
Been that way since we were born
VERSE 2
Nobody wants to serve sundaes to entitled Karens
Nobody wants to be screamed at while running errands
Nobody wants to gaze into the abyss of a factory
Nobody wants to pick fruit that triggers allergies
Nobody wants to collect garbage for a few cents
Nobody wants to unclog toilets just to pay the rent
Nobody wants to coast when they’ve got passion to boast
With just one poem, they turn a request in a roast
CHORUS
Destroy and reform
Never obey and conform
Rebellion is the new norm
Been that way since we were born
BRIDGE
Five dollars an hour isn’t going to cut it
Don’t argue against that, fucking shut it
Dystopia shouldn’t feel so natural
As we swallow the last of our Adderall
VERSE 3
Never accept less than being treated as human
Never vote for politicians who’re useless
Never raise your hand for an uncaring teacher
Only rely on yourself to be a truth-seeker
Never give that job to a nutcase fuck-up
Never thrive in the world by being a suck-up
Never compromise what makes you special
Lest you be an empty shell of a vessel
CHORUS
Destroy and reform
Never obey and conform
Rebellion is the new norm
Been that way since we were born
Heath Riggs the Clumsy Cowboy
The sum’bitch who said hanging on isn’t a good thing never had to worry about their equilibrium over a mud pit. Have you ever tried to wash mud and pig shit off of clothing with nothing but a Tide Pod and a spinning machine? Neither of those stains are coming out without a fight. But it was a battle that Heath Riggs was not prepared or willing to fight. When I was contacted on Deviant Art in early 2011 for an RP request, I figured it would be some nice D&D fun with orcs chopping off elves’ heads and gnomes picking the pockets of arrogant kings who sat their asses on purple cushions. Unfortunately, it turned out to be anything but.
My recollection of this particular role-playing session is fuzzy at best, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I don’t remember this woman’s name nor do I remember the name of her character. No, I’m not just protecting her identity, I seriously don’t remember. All I know was that she was so adamant about me getting a Yahoo Messenger account so that we could do this in real time instead of posting it as messages on a board somewhere.
Without coming off as rude, she did have a bit of an aggressive streak when it came to asking for this role-play. She MUST know when I’m available to play. She MUST know how she can reach me. She MUST know why I’m having trouble accessing a Yahoo account I haven’t touched since the W administration. Red flag city, here I come. Come to think of it, I do believe there is a place where red flags are prominent. John Cena knows of this place since he had to apologize to their government for calling Taiwan a country.
So what was the premise of this role-play that the mysterious woman was so desperate to get out of me? What could possibly be so important to require my writing skills and RPG knowledge? Is it a trip to outer space to shoot lasers at aliens? Is it a dungeon crawl that involves throwing axes and shooting arrows at fire-breathing dragons? Is it a wrestling RPG where Triple H is serving up sledgehammer shots and graveyard burials like he didn’t steal the latter gimmick from The Undertaker? No, no, no, not even close. She wanted this role-play to take place on a cattle ranch. She was the farm girl, I was the cowboy known as Heath Riggs. Why Heath Riggs? Because I chose it and she was okay with it. Heath reminded her of Heath Ledger’s role in Brokeback Mountain and Riggs reminded her of pickup trucks in the rural area in which the RPG took place.
Unfortunately, Heath Riggs’s name was the only badass thing about him. As the newest cowboy at the farm girl’s ranch, he came off as awkward to be in conversations with. Okay, not so bad just yet. I’m an awkward conversationalist in real life, so it’s bound to come out in my role-playing of Heath’s character. He and the farm girl talked about his newbie status. They talked about his past employment. They talked about his past relationships. They talked about how this totally ranks low on the weirdest experiences Heath has ever had. I don’t have a script with me, so this is the best I can do as far as show don’t tell goes. Pretty mundane stuff in the lives of socially weird people. Not exciting at all. The cowboy in question wasn’t of the Sergio Leone variety. He was just a guy who fiddle-fucked around with the animals.
And then…from out of nowhere…my role-playing partner decides that Heath Riggs will slip on a puddle of mud and pig shit and get his clothes stained beyond recognition. I didn’t decide it. She did. Her character laughed like she just watched an episode of America’s Funniest Home Videos. Come to think of it, if this happened in real life, it would probably take home the grand prize on that show. Maybe with the winning purse, Heath wouldn’t have to work at a mediocre ranch anymore! But until then…another slip in the mud (which sounds like a Pink Floyd song if they played country instead of classic rock). And another. And another. And another. Heath looked like his candy bar namesake, but less appetizing. Nobody would be eating him that afternoon, least of all the giggling farm girl.
Obviously, I wasn’t having a good time in this RP. I almost fell asleep on multiple occasions. My butt was numb. My jaw was clenched tightly. I needed to get the hell out of that Yahoo chat room. I finally told the woman that I had to get going for the day and secretly hoped she wouldn’t chew me out over it. She was aggressive enough in getting me to role-play with her in the first place, so why wouldn’t she be possessive over my spare time like an obsessed yandere? But to my surprise, she was understanding. We said our goodbyes in a way that was just as uneventful as it would have been for Heath Riggs and the nameless farm girl.
Now…one thing you need to understand about me is that I had and still to an extent have a hard time saying no to people when I’m feeling uncomfortable. It could be a trauma response, but agreeing to unsavory conditions to keep the peace was what I did best back in 2011. I was never prepared to deal with getting yelled at or being made to look like the bad guy for standing up for myself. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up and keeping friendships was too important to me, even if they weren’t healthy ones. Even as I type this, I realize that I’d rather be lonely than share a space with toxic people. The woman in question wasn’t what I’d consider toxic, but I did have qualms about telling her that the RP wasn’t working out. I ghosted her for weeks on end. I didn’t go anywhere near Yahoo Messenger.
I dreaded the day when she would eventually contact me on Deviant Art and ask me where the hell I was. I knew it was coming. I knew I couldn’t get through 2011 without having to face that day. So when she finally asked where I was, I took a chance. I told her the RP wasn’t working out for me. I told her that I preferred fast-paced adventures like the D&D campaigns promised. I told her that it wasn’t anything against her. I told her that Heath Riggs’s clumsy cowboy gimmick was boring me to tears. I was expecting to get chewed out like a wad of bubblegum. I was expecting to look more villainous than Voldemort and Dolores Umbridge put together.
But instead…she understood where I was coming from. No grudge. No backlash. No venom of any kind. She understood and it was okay with her that I didn’t want to continue. I gave her a digital hug and the two of us went our separate ways. The name Heath Riggs would eventually be recycled into a debt collector character in a cyberpunk short story who went on a local news show to spill industry secrets and make the pervy anchor look like a buffoon on live TV. There was no real reason for him to be named Heath Riggs other than the fact that it sounded cool. There was no Brokeback Mountain reference. There was no need for an eighteen-wheeler. Just a guy named Heath who betrayed the debt-collection industry by exposing their greatest weaknesses. At least Heath didn’t slip in pig shit this time, although, one would argue that the news anchor more than qualified for the role of pig shit.
The lesson of the day, my young grasshoppers, is to speak up when you’re uncomfortable. It takes a lot of bravery to do in the face of kind people. It takes even more bravery to do it in the presence of your family and friends. But if they don’t know, then nothing will change. Yes, you may be labeled a villain for saying no. But the bigger question is, why isn’t the other person a villain for forcing you into a situation you don’t want to be in? You’re chaotic neutral at worst, but the pushy bastards who want to keep you under their thumb are fifty shades of lawful evil.
You can wear the dark cloak, but they can wear the QAnon shaman furs. And besides, what’s the worst that could happen to you for playing the role of villain? You’ll have fewer friends, sure, but being on your own is better than being surrounded by toxic assholes. At least you’re good company. At least the darkness of your solitude will give you some cool rumination. A toxic asshole will give you trauma and heartache, neither of which are worth retaining for their comfort.
This is a lesson I have yet to learn myself even though I’m preaching it like a mega-church wing-nut. I haven’t prepared myself for ultimate loneliness. Maybe it’s something I should talk with a therapist about. Maybe when I do, I can bring up the Heath Riggs example as to why it’s beneficial for me to stand up for myself. For some toxic people, I’m risking not only a lack of friendship, but sometimes a beating and ridicule. You know what? Put me in the ICU for all I care. I’ll get the best medical treatment I’ve ever had while you’re rotting in a prison cell. As it turns out, taking toxicity too far is fucking illegal. I’m not worth going to prison over, no matter who you are. You think losing my friendship is lonely for you? Prison is lonelier. It lasts longer, too. So, bring it on, world!
My recollection of this particular role-playing session is fuzzy at best, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I don’t remember this woman’s name nor do I remember the name of her character. No, I’m not just protecting her identity, I seriously don’t remember. All I know was that she was so adamant about me getting a Yahoo Messenger account so that we could do this in real time instead of posting it as messages on a board somewhere.
Without coming off as rude, she did have a bit of an aggressive streak when it came to asking for this role-play. She MUST know when I’m available to play. She MUST know how she can reach me. She MUST know why I’m having trouble accessing a Yahoo account I haven’t touched since the W administration. Red flag city, here I come. Come to think of it, I do believe there is a place where red flags are prominent. John Cena knows of this place since he had to apologize to their government for calling Taiwan a country.
So what was the premise of this role-play that the mysterious woman was so desperate to get out of me? What could possibly be so important to require my writing skills and RPG knowledge? Is it a trip to outer space to shoot lasers at aliens? Is it a dungeon crawl that involves throwing axes and shooting arrows at fire-breathing dragons? Is it a wrestling RPG where Triple H is serving up sledgehammer shots and graveyard burials like he didn’t steal the latter gimmick from The Undertaker? No, no, no, not even close. She wanted this role-play to take place on a cattle ranch. She was the farm girl, I was the cowboy known as Heath Riggs. Why Heath Riggs? Because I chose it and she was okay with it. Heath reminded her of Heath Ledger’s role in Brokeback Mountain and Riggs reminded her of pickup trucks in the rural area in which the RPG took place.
Unfortunately, Heath Riggs’s name was the only badass thing about him. As the newest cowboy at the farm girl’s ranch, he came off as awkward to be in conversations with. Okay, not so bad just yet. I’m an awkward conversationalist in real life, so it’s bound to come out in my role-playing of Heath’s character. He and the farm girl talked about his newbie status. They talked about his past employment. They talked about his past relationships. They talked about how this totally ranks low on the weirdest experiences Heath has ever had. I don’t have a script with me, so this is the best I can do as far as show don’t tell goes. Pretty mundane stuff in the lives of socially weird people. Not exciting at all. The cowboy in question wasn’t of the Sergio Leone variety. He was just a guy who fiddle-fucked around with the animals.
And then…from out of nowhere…my role-playing partner decides that Heath Riggs will slip on a puddle of mud and pig shit and get his clothes stained beyond recognition. I didn’t decide it. She did. Her character laughed like she just watched an episode of America’s Funniest Home Videos. Come to think of it, if this happened in real life, it would probably take home the grand prize on that show. Maybe with the winning purse, Heath wouldn’t have to work at a mediocre ranch anymore! But until then…another slip in the mud (which sounds like a Pink Floyd song if they played country instead of classic rock). And another. And another. And another. Heath looked like his candy bar namesake, but less appetizing. Nobody would be eating him that afternoon, least of all the giggling farm girl.
Obviously, I wasn’t having a good time in this RP. I almost fell asleep on multiple occasions. My butt was numb. My jaw was clenched tightly. I needed to get the hell out of that Yahoo chat room. I finally told the woman that I had to get going for the day and secretly hoped she wouldn’t chew me out over it. She was aggressive enough in getting me to role-play with her in the first place, so why wouldn’t she be possessive over my spare time like an obsessed yandere? But to my surprise, she was understanding. We said our goodbyes in a way that was just as uneventful as it would have been for Heath Riggs and the nameless farm girl.
Now…one thing you need to understand about me is that I had and still to an extent have a hard time saying no to people when I’m feeling uncomfortable. It could be a trauma response, but agreeing to unsavory conditions to keep the peace was what I did best back in 2011. I was never prepared to deal with getting yelled at or being made to look like the bad guy for standing up for myself. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up and keeping friendships was too important to me, even if they weren’t healthy ones. Even as I type this, I realize that I’d rather be lonely than share a space with toxic people. The woman in question wasn’t what I’d consider toxic, but I did have qualms about telling her that the RP wasn’t working out. I ghosted her for weeks on end. I didn’t go anywhere near Yahoo Messenger.
I dreaded the day when she would eventually contact me on Deviant Art and ask me where the hell I was. I knew it was coming. I knew I couldn’t get through 2011 without having to face that day. So when she finally asked where I was, I took a chance. I told her the RP wasn’t working out for me. I told her that I preferred fast-paced adventures like the D&D campaigns promised. I told her that it wasn’t anything against her. I told her that Heath Riggs’s clumsy cowboy gimmick was boring me to tears. I was expecting to get chewed out like a wad of bubblegum. I was expecting to look more villainous than Voldemort and Dolores Umbridge put together.
But instead…she understood where I was coming from. No grudge. No backlash. No venom of any kind. She understood and it was okay with her that I didn’t want to continue. I gave her a digital hug and the two of us went our separate ways. The name Heath Riggs would eventually be recycled into a debt collector character in a cyberpunk short story who went on a local news show to spill industry secrets and make the pervy anchor look like a buffoon on live TV. There was no real reason for him to be named Heath Riggs other than the fact that it sounded cool. There was no Brokeback Mountain reference. There was no need for an eighteen-wheeler. Just a guy named Heath who betrayed the debt-collection industry by exposing their greatest weaknesses. At least Heath didn’t slip in pig shit this time, although, one would argue that the news anchor more than qualified for the role of pig shit.
The lesson of the day, my young grasshoppers, is to speak up when you’re uncomfortable. It takes a lot of bravery to do in the face of kind people. It takes even more bravery to do it in the presence of your family and friends. But if they don’t know, then nothing will change. Yes, you may be labeled a villain for saying no. But the bigger question is, why isn’t the other person a villain for forcing you into a situation you don’t want to be in? You’re chaotic neutral at worst, but the pushy bastards who want to keep you under their thumb are fifty shades of lawful evil.
You can wear the dark cloak, but they can wear the QAnon shaman furs. And besides, what’s the worst that could happen to you for playing the role of villain? You’ll have fewer friends, sure, but being on your own is better than being surrounded by toxic assholes. At least you’re good company. At least the darkness of your solitude will give you some cool rumination. A toxic asshole will give you trauma and heartache, neither of which are worth retaining for their comfort.
This is a lesson I have yet to learn myself even though I’m preaching it like a mega-church wing-nut. I haven’t prepared myself for ultimate loneliness. Maybe it’s something I should talk with a therapist about. Maybe when I do, I can bring up the Heath Riggs example as to why it’s beneficial for me to stand up for myself. For some toxic people, I’m risking not only a lack of friendship, but sometimes a beating and ridicule. You know what? Put me in the ICU for all I care. I’ll get the best medical treatment I’ve ever had while you’re rotting in a prison cell. As it turns out, taking toxicity too far is fucking illegal. I’m not worth going to prison over, no matter who you are. You think losing my friendship is lonely for you? Prison is lonelier. It lasts longer, too. So, bring it on, world!
July 21, 2021
Blade Master
Butchered genitals, agony in general
Slash those cocks like a samurai sentinel
They call you Blade Master, I call you torturer
Target little children, never be a warrior
You say it’s just a snip as you steal the tip
But it feels like fire, but it feels like a rip
Do it all in the name of stopping masturbation
Do it all in the name of god’s favorite creations
But if I could hide behind a mystical deity
I could impale you with a spear against the ceiling
I could shove a chainsaw right up your ass
Give you a torture test that you’ll never pass
I could blame it all on who I pray to at night
I could call it freedom or my inalienable right
Doesn’t feel good when I’m the one with the blade
Chopping off your schlong, no more babies to be made
In case you want make a point about abortion
Don’t even try, because we know it’s extortion
A clump of cells ain’t got shit on a living child
Stop dicing dicks and adding to your growing pile
Blade Master, Blade Master, rest in little pieces
Know you can’t do fuck-all about sexual releases
Got no resume to take with you to heaven
Take the elevator down to the land of bad intentions
Tell the demons about the parents’ medical decision
Give them a lecture on what you call circumcisions
Slash those cocks like a samurai sentinel
They call you Blade Master, I call you torturer
Target little children, never be a warrior
You say it’s just a snip as you steal the tip
But it feels like fire, but it feels like a rip
Do it all in the name of stopping masturbation
Do it all in the name of god’s favorite creations
But if I could hide behind a mystical deity
I could impale you with a spear against the ceiling
I could shove a chainsaw right up your ass
Give you a torture test that you’ll never pass
I could blame it all on who I pray to at night
I could call it freedom or my inalienable right
Doesn’t feel good when I’m the one with the blade
Chopping off your schlong, no more babies to be made
In case you want make a point about abortion
Don’t even try, because we know it’s extortion
A clump of cells ain’t got shit on a living child
Stop dicing dicks and adding to your growing pile
Blade Master, Blade Master, rest in little pieces
Know you can’t do fuck-all about sexual releases
Got no resume to take with you to heaven
Take the elevator down to the land of bad intentions
Tell the demons about the parents’ medical decision
Give them a lecture on what you call circumcisions
