Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 30
June 22, 2020
Toilet Humor
***TOILET HUMOR***
You could be running late to a lot of things: a meeting, your job, a date, a party, or school to name a few examples. But if you’re running late to the bathroom, you can bet your ass someone will make comedy out of it. Toilet humor for me is very hit or miss. On one hand, using words like “nasal jelly” and “penis pudding” will always get a laugh. That’s one thing. But if someone is just pissing, shitting, and farting for the hell of it, that’s not comedy, that’s disgusting. If I ever give a book or movie a low review score, it’s probably because the bathroom humor was hammed up to the extreme. “Throw the Damn Ball” is an animal poetry book that received two stars from me because they couldn’t resist talking about piss and shit in every other stanza. “Doggolescence” at least had the decency to keep it to a minimum.
I’m not completely opposed to bathroom humor provided it’s done correctly, a.k.a. the exact opposite of what WWE is known for, which is one of the many reasons I stopped watching it in 2018. Natalya Neidhart, a technical genius in the ring and a naturally beautiful woman, was given a farting gimmick in 2012 and she never recovered from that humiliation. The Authors of Pain, a tag team consisting of two colossal MMA heavyweights, were reduced to a joke after their manager Drake Maverick pissed his pants on live television (and thus they were nicknamed AOPeePee). In 2019, The Usos rubbed their version of Icy Hot all over the inside of The Revival’s wrestling shorts and effectively killed their momentum in the process.
It’s hard to take anybody seriously as a character when they’ve been humiliated by bathroom humor. Apply this logic to any one of your favorite stories. You think Tobias Kaya from “The Savior’s Champion” would have gotten the girl in the end if he was a perpetual farting machine? You think Charlie from “The Perks of Being a Wallfower” would even be allowed into his new social circle if he shit himself on a regular basis? You think Jonathan Quinn from “The Cleaner” would be an effective secret agent if he constantly wet himself? The answer to all of these questions is an emphatic hell no. Bathroom humor by itself isn’t funny, but it really destroys a story if handled in a heavy-handed way.
So why am I telling you all this? Because if I don’t, you’ll think of me as a hypocrite for wanting to write short stories called “The Scatomancer” and “The Uromancer”. Any story with “mancer” in the title is automatically going to have magical implications. Unfortunately in this case, it’s a shit wizard and a piss wizard I’m itching to write about. There’s no way in hell I can tell serious stories given the material I’m working with. They have to be presented as bathroom comedies right out of the gate. The wizards have to be self-aware as far as their magical powers go. Do you honestly think Diablo II: Lord of Destruction would have been a worldwide success if one of the boss enemies was called The Scatomancer? Do you think Final Fantasy VII would take off as a serious emotional story if the Materia allowed the user to practice Uromancy? Oh! What riveting stories! Cloud Strife suddenly has the ability to make Sephiroth piss his pants! What’s so exciting about that?!
But if you’re honest about what you’re selling and you’re self-aware of your gross-out humor, that’s one thing. Case in point, John Kricfalusi, the creator of Ren & Stimpy, although I hate using him as an example because of his predatory behavior towards minors. But if I may be allowed one small second to separate the art from the artist, Ren & Stimpy was a shining example of bathroom humor done correctly. The lysergic animation, the wacky facial expressions, and the daringness to go beyond the capabilities of a TV-Y7 rating: that’s what bathroom humor should be about. However, it sucks that John K is a pedophile and he should be punished for that. Ren & Stimpy could have been dubbed the greatest cartoon of all time and it still wouldn’t absolve him.
I’m not saying I’m an expert in perfecting toilet humor. I openly hate it whenever it’s done incorrectly. I hate the damage it could do to an otherwise beautiful story. But I’ll at least try to get it right when I eventually write “The Scatomancer” and “The Uromancer”. If anybody has tips for me in this regard, I’d be open to feedback. One person I will not take feedback from is Vince McMahon, the same guy who greenlit a colonoscopy segment in 2005 involving Jim Ross where he pulled various objects out of Mr. Ross’s ass before opening it up further with a jackhammer and the Jaws of Life. You know what else Vince McMahon greenlit? A drug testing segment on Smackdown where Jeff Hardy threw a cup of urine in Sheamus’s face. I don’t miss WWE at all. Yeah, I’m happy that Drew McIntyre is finally the WWE Champion, but it’ll take more than that to get me to return to my television set.
Pissing and shitting isn’t comedy. Farting isn’t a ratings booster. They’re natural bodily functions that have to be done behind a locked bathroom door. Repeat: a locked bathroom door. If you have layers on top of those bodily functions, that could count as comedy. But the acts themselves? Not even close to being funny. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SECURITY GUARD: Your pants are awfully baggy. You got anything in there?
BAD SANTA: Yeah, my dick. You want to see it?
-Bad Santa-
***POST-SCRIPT***
See? Was that so hard? That’s an example of toilet humor done right!
You could be running late to a lot of things: a meeting, your job, a date, a party, or school to name a few examples. But if you’re running late to the bathroom, you can bet your ass someone will make comedy out of it. Toilet humor for me is very hit or miss. On one hand, using words like “nasal jelly” and “penis pudding” will always get a laugh. That’s one thing. But if someone is just pissing, shitting, and farting for the hell of it, that’s not comedy, that’s disgusting. If I ever give a book or movie a low review score, it’s probably because the bathroom humor was hammed up to the extreme. “Throw the Damn Ball” is an animal poetry book that received two stars from me because they couldn’t resist talking about piss and shit in every other stanza. “Doggolescence” at least had the decency to keep it to a minimum.
I’m not completely opposed to bathroom humor provided it’s done correctly, a.k.a. the exact opposite of what WWE is known for, which is one of the many reasons I stopped watching it in 2018. Natalya Neidhart, a technical genius in the ring and a naturally beautiful woman, was given a farting gimmick in 2012 and she never recovered from that humiliation. The Authors of Pain, a tag team consisting of two colossal MMA heavyweights, were reduced to a joke after their manager Drake Maverick pissed his pants on live television (and thus they were nicknamed AOPeePee). In 2019, The Usos rubbed their version of Icy Hot all over the inside of The Revival’s wrestling shorts and effectively killed their momentum in the process.
It’s hard to take anybody seriously as a character when they’ve been humiliated by bathroom humor. Apply this logic to any one of your favorite stories. You think Tobias Kaya from “The Savior’s Champion” would have gotten the girl in the end if he was a perpetual farting machine? You think Charlie from “The Perks of Being a Wallfower” would even be allowed into his new social circle if he shit himself on a regular basis? You think Jonathan Quinn from “The Cleaner” would be an effective secret agent if he constantly wet himself? The answer to all of these questions is an emphatic hell no. Bathroom humor by itself isn’t funny, but it really destroys a story if handled in a heavy-handed way.
So why am I telling you all this? Because if I don’t, you’ll think of me as a hypocrite for wanting to write short stories called “The Scatomancer” and “The Uromancer”. Any story with “mancer” in the title is automatically going to have magical implications. Unfortunately in this case, it’s a shit wizard and a piss wizard I’m itching to write about. There’s no way in hell I can tell serious stories given the material I’m working with. They have to be presented as bathroom comedies right out of the gate. The wizards have to be self-aware as far as their magical powers go. Do you honestly think Diablo II: Lord of Destruction would have been a worldwide success if one of the boss enemies was called The Scatomancer? Do you think Final Fantasy VII would take off as a serious emotional story if the Materia allowed the user to practice Uromancy? Oh! What riveting stories! Cloud Strife suddenly has the ability to make Sephiroth piss his pants! What’s so exciting about that?!
But if you’re honest about what you’re selling and you’re self-aware of your gross-out humor, that’s one thing. Case in point, John Kricfalusi, the creator of Ren & Stimpy, although I hate using him as an example because of his predatory behavior towards minors. But if I may be allowed one small second to separate the art from the artist, Ren & Stimpy was a shining example of bathroom humor done correctly. The lysergic animation, the wacky facial expressions, and the daringness to go beyond the capabilities of a TV-Y7 rating: that’s what bathroom humor should be about. However, it sucks that John K is a pedophile and he should be punished for that. Ren & Stimpy could have been dubbed the greatest cartoon of all time and it still wouldn’t absolve him.
I’m not saying I’m an expert in perfecting toilet humor. I openly hate it whenever it’s done incorrectly. I hate the damage it could do to an otherwise beautiful story. But I’ll at least try to get it right when I eventually write “The Scatomancer” and “The Uromancer”. If anybody has tips for me in this regard, I’d be open to feedback. One person I will not take feedback from is Vince McMahon, the same guy who greenlit a colonoscopy segment in 2005 involving Jim Ross where he pulled various objects out of Mr. Ross’s ass before opening it up further with a jackhammer and the Jaws of Life. You know what else Vince McMahon greenlit? A drug testing segment on Smackdown where Jeff Hardy threw a cup of urine in Sheamus’s face. I don’t miss WWE at all. Yeah, I’m happy that Drew McIntyre is finally the WWE Champion, but it’ll take more than that to get me to return to my television set.
Pissing and shitting isn’t comedy. Farting isn’t a ratings booster. They’re natural bodily functions that have to be done behind a locked bathroom door. Repeat: a locked bathroom door. If you have layers on top of those bodily functions, that could count as comedy. But the acts themselves? Not even close to being funny. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SECURITY GUARD: Your pants are awfully baggy. You got anything in there?
BAD SANTA: Yeah, my dick. You want to see it?
-Bad Santa-
***POST-SCRIPT***
See? Was that so hard? That’s an example of toilet humor done right!
Couch Potato Salad
Running late to a party where I don’t belong
What’s the fucking point in staying so strong?
What’s the point in coming out of the shadows?
Small talk never got past the point of shallow
Laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling
Forgetting about my brokenhearted feelings
Forgetting that there are strangers all around me
I’d enter their social circles if they allowed me
Couch potato salad is what I’ve become
Lazy, dead inside, and comfortably numb
I didn’t have to suck down a single beer
To feel like sleeping forever in here
There’s a Denny’s only a few blocks away
Hopefully they’re open twenty-four hours a day
Pancakes and syrup to kill the loneliness
My body’s a temple and I’m his holiness
Nobody noticed that I got off the couch
Not a “goodbye” or “wait up” out of their mouths
That’s okay, they’re invisible to me as well
What about the waitress? Can she even tell?
Walking down the street with my head hung low
Keeping my pace so agonizingly slow
I don’t notice when someone tells me to move
To impatient strangers, I’ve nothing to prove
Another night of waffles and emptiness
Another night of squandered friendliness
Another night of being socially envious
Another night of depressive endlessness
When will I learn to stay home for the night?
When will I admit that I could never be right?
No more philosophy, just syrup and batter
It’s not like any of this even fucking matters
A happy Buddha belly and a frozen heart
This is how the next morning will start
Another day of wishing for bravery
And chowing down on steaks so savory
What’s the fucking point in staying so strong?
What’s the point in coming out of the shadows?
Small talk never got past the point of shallow
Laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling
Forgetting about my brokenhearted feelings
Forgetting that there are strangers all around me
I’d enter their social circles if they allowed me
Couch potato salad is what I’ve become
Lazy, dead inside, and comfortably numb
I didn’t have to suck down a single beer
To feel like sleeping forever in here
There’s a Denny’s only a few blocks away
Hopefully they’re open twenty-four hours a day
Pancakes and syrup to kill the loneliness
My body’s a temple and I’m his holiness
Nobody noticed that I got off the couch
Not a “goodbye” or “wait up” out of their mouths
That’s okay, they’re invisible to me as well
What about the waitress? Can she even tell?
Walking down the street with my head hung low
Keeping my pace so agonizingly slow
I don’t notice when someone tells me to move
To impatient strangers, I’ve nothing to prove
Another night of waffles and emptiness
Another night of squandered friendliness
Another night of being socially envious
Another night of depressive endlessness
When will I learn to stay home for the night?
When will I admit that I could never be right?
No more philosophy, just syrup and batter
It’s not like any of this even fucking matters
A happy Buddha belly and a frozen heart
This is how the next morning will start
Another day of wishing for bravery
And chowing down on steaks so savory
June 12, 2020
Hell Don't Need Me
Millions of years of evolution came unraveling for Harrison. Tufts of brown fur covered his already battered body. A tail protruded from his backside like a sword’s exit wound. His teeth sharpened and bulged from his gums in the same sword-like manner. His wild staring eyes grew bloodshot with rage and agony. His ham-like fists pounded against his cage as the anger within him built like dynamite. There was no more begging and pleading for the mercy of his eco-terrorist cohorts. The damage was done. Harrison was no more. In his place was a primitive savage with a thirst for blood and a nose for seeking out his prey. The more he punched the cage door, the hotter his rage became. And then…the door fell off.
There were other apes like him trapped in adjacent cages, pounding and growling for freedom. Harrison paid them no mind. His mother wanted a savage beast and she was about to get one. No plan of action. No intricate designs for revenge, just the love of revenge itself. Once he was free, with monkeys screaming in the background like his own personal cheerleaders, he pounded on the steel door to the prison room, creating little dents with each passing blow. Another series of punches, another dose of hot blood flowing through him. One dent turned into a crater of violence. And then, just like the door to his cage, this new door flew off like a leaf on a breeze.
Harrison sniffed around and perked his pointy ears up, but detected no signs of life, just an empty spaceship hallway complete with pipes and wires. More doors. More computer screens. More mumbo jumbo that used to mean something during his life as an eco-terrorist. Those days were long behind him, unlike the pipe he ripped off the wall with ease, which was right in front of him. Harrison smacked the steel pipe in his palm and bashed it off the floor several times, creating new dents where there were previously none. He howled and squeaked with a combination of excitement and anger. He loved this new weapon. He would love it even more once it struck somebody’s flesh.
And then…the common monkey scents grew stronger…and stronger. Harrison already knew he was basically occupying a zoo…but this animal prison had new blood…familiar blood…He took deeper whiffs to make sure he was locked onto this primal smell. His target burned into focus. They were all congregating down the hall. The excitement bubbling within Harrison caused even more primal screams and bashes of his lead pipe as he ran like a lunatic towards his destination. Another door to the cockpit? Where has he heard this story before? Harrison bashed his pipe against the door over and over again, creating the loudest thuds a prehistoric savage could possibly make. The deafening pounds didn’t create dents this time, but little explosions. Pieces of metal became lodged in his fur. Some got in his face, but Harrison didn’t bother wiping it away.
A few more bashes later and the door, much like Harrison’s evolutionary decline, was history. There they were, all in the cockpit like one big happy family. Except they too had prehistoric violence coursing through their veins. The monkey virus had gotten to all of them. His three brothers’ scents were powerful enough to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon. But his mother…the revered leader of a once powerful terrorist unit…the perfume and glamour had given way to a pungent odor that no mother should have. Every guilty party was gathered in one convenient room, all of them swinging around and bashing the environment around them. They didn’t even try to acknowledge Harrison’s presence. Maybe he was too far gone after all. But if that was true…how did he utter the words, “Hell don’t need me!”
Brother number one was the first to feel Harrison’s wrath in the form of a tail chomp so bloody that the limb fell off. The furry attachment flailed around like a crazy cobra while the brother screamed and writhed in agony. The other two brothers flew into battle with their anvil fists ready to disfigure any face they came across. Harrison bashed one of their ribcages in with the steel pipe and got pounced by the other brother. Harrison’s attacker leaned his face in with monster teeth bared, prepping to take a bite of delicious animal meat. Harrison held the pipe to his brother’s throat and pushed as hard as he could, drawing a small amount of blood from his mouth. Then the victim took the role of the bully as he bit his attacker’s finger off and spit it in his eye. Once Harrison was free, he wailed on his brother with the steel pipe over and over again until he was nothing more than a pile of shattered bones and pooling blood.
Harrison surveyed the damage he did in that small moment of white hot anger. His first brother passed out on the floor bleeding profusely from his tail, gangrene not too far behind. The brother with the shattered ribcage took his last breaths in the form of punctured wheezes. The less said about the third brother, the better. Harrison raised his lead pipe to the sky and roared like the savage he was meant to become. He even bashed the steel floor a few more times just to make sure he got all of his primal instincts out of his system. They were, but not in the way he had anticipated. Another cry sounded off in the room, but this one was tear-laden and shaky.
The mother monkey sat in the pilot’s seat of the ship with pleading and sorrow in her eyes. She got on her hands and knees begging for forgiveness, begging for a second chance despite the fact it would never be possible after these transformations. Wetness dropped from her bloodshot eyes and mucous splashed the floor beneath her. She even extended her arms for a peaceful hug, mother to son, just like the way it should have been.
Harrison’s former human side clouded his mind during this sympathetic display. He was feeling things again. His heart ached. His eyes dewed up when he took a second look at his fallen brothers. He snorted mucous upon locking eyes with his mother. “M…M…Mom?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Families weren’t supposed to treat each other this way. Everyone was in the wrong. Everyone had something to be guilty over. This was what it meant to be human, even if that particular DNA was a small percentage. Harrison dropped the pipe and embraced his mother, the two of them shedding tears on each other’s furry shoulders. They could start over and track down the bastard who did this to them.
But then the mother took a big bite out of Harrison’s right ear, gnawing it completely off and causing a rainstorm of blood to soak his fur. The mother bit him again, this time on the cheek. And again in the other ear. And again on the nose. Harrison tried to howl in pain, but blood was pouring onto his tongue and censoring his animalistic speech. His heart was broken. His stomach ached with betrayal. Screwed over twice by his own mother. This would be his legacy going forward. He started out as an incompetent eco-terrorist and he would die as a dumb ass monkey. With most of his face bloody and eaten, now wouldn’t be the good time for a head butt. Then again, logic wasn’t the animal kingdom’s strong suit, not even in the human world.
Harrison head butted his mother in the face and cracked her skull, causing her to spit out her sharpest front fangs. The two of them punched and wrestled each other, causing even more blood to stain the already dirty battlefield. Bones cracked. Organs sloshed around. Vomit projected from the mother’s mouth after a vicious kick to the stomach. Despite having cracked teeth himself, Harrison took one last bite out of his mother’s tail, ripping it off and bleeding her dry. The rage-filled demeanor in the mother monkey’s eyes rolled backwards to reveal dizziness and defeat. She stumbled around aimlessly while Harrison dragged his battered body over to the steel pipe before picking it up.
Once the mother plopped backwards on the ground, Harrison dragged his knuckles and his weapon across the ground, creating annoying screeching sounds in doing so, before raising the pipe in the air to deliver the final blow. “Hell…don’t…need…ME!” When Harrison brought the pipe down across his mother’s sternum and exploded her heart, he fell with her, though that was more owed to the sudden shaking of the spaceship they were in. Harrison’s dizzy eyes shifted in and out of focus as the turbulence jostled him around. The mild turbulence became a full on crash, launching Harrison through the windshield and onto the pavement.
This was it. With glass fragments stuck in his fur and blood pouring all over his body, Harrison could finally rest knowing his family was burning in hell. But then a familiar scent awakened him. His eyes slowly opened and his vision was obscured by tears and blood. It was a painstaking process pulling himself to his feet. But drag his body he did, leaving a smattering of life juices across the pavement.
Somebody else’s broken body laid on the sidewalk. All life was completely gone from this new corpse’s eyes, his fingers stuck in a gun position, his blue suit and tie a mess, and his puffy hair ripped and torn. Upon whiffing even deeper, Harrison recognized the familiar scent as the bounty hunter who unleashed his mother’s own monkey virus on the family. Spike Spiegel his name was, right?
Harrison, still holding onto his pipe, gritted his shattered teeth and crawled slowly towards Spike’s prone body. He raised the pipe in the air as if to write the final chapter of this story, despite that chapter already passing. One bash and Harrison’s revenge would be complete. And then…the human side took over once more. Harrison tossed the lead pipe aside and instead cradled Spike’s head in his lap, once again repeating the symbolic words, “Hell…don’t…need…me…” The monkey’s head swam as his vision blacked out. That would be his final act as a living creature: forgiveness for his former enemy. Why? Because it just felt right. It felt…human, at best. Evolution had taken root once again, more so in those last few seconds of life than a million years ever could.
“Hell…don’t…need…me…”
There were other apes like him trapped in adjacent cages, pounding and growling for freedom. Harrison paid them no mind. His mother wanted a savage beast and she was about to get one. No plan of action. No intricate designs for revenge, just the love of revenge itself. Once he was free, with monkeys screaming in the background like his own personal cheerleaders, he pounded on the steel door to the prison room, creating little dents with each passing blow. Another series of punches, another dose of hot blood flowing through him. One dent turned into a crater of violence. And then, just like the door to his cage, this new door flew off like a leaf on a breeze.
Harrison sniffed around and perked his pointy ears up, but detected no signs of life, just an empty spaceship hallway complete with pipes and wires. More doors. More computer screens. More mumbo jumbo that used to mean something during his life as an eco-terrorist. Those days were long behind him, unlike the pipe he ripped off the wall with ease, which was right in front of him. Harrison smacked the steel pipe in his palm and bashed it off the floor several times, creating new dents where there were previously none. He howled and squeaked with a combination of excitement and anger. He loved this new weapon. He would love it even more once it struck somebody’s flesh.
And then…the common monkey scents grew stronger…and stronger. Harrison already knew he was basically occupying a zoo…but this animal prison had new blood…familiar blood…He took deeper whiffs to make sure he was locked onto this primal smell. His target burned into focus. They were all congregating down the hall. The excitement bubbling within Harrison caused even more primal screams and bashes of his lead pipe as he ran like a lunatic towards his destination. Another door to the cockpit? Where has he heard this story before? Harrison bashed his pipe against the door over and over again, creating the loudest thuds a prehistoric savage could possibly make. The deafening pounds didn’t create dents this time, but little explosions. Pieces of metal became lodged in his fur. Some got in his face, but Harrison didn’t bother wiping it away.
A few more bashes later and the door, much like Harrison’s evolutionary decline, was history. There they were, all in the cockpit like one big happy family. Except they too had prehistoric violence coursing through their veins. The monkey virus had gotten to all of them. His three brothers’ scents were powerful enough to knock a buzzard off of a shit wagon. But his mother…the revered leader of a once powerful terrorist unit…the perfume and glamour had given way to a pungent odor that no mother should have. Every guilty party was gathered in one convenient room, all of them swinging around and bashing the environment around them. They didn’t even try to acknowledge Harrison’s presence. Maybe he was too far gone after all. But if that was true…how did he utter the words, “Hell don’t need me!”
Brother number one was the first to feel Harrison’s wrath in the form of a tail chomp so bloody that the limb fell off. The furry attachment flailed around like a crazy cobra while the brother screamed and writhed in agony. The other two brothers flew into battle with their anvil fists ready to disfigure any face they came across. Harrison bashed one of their ribcages in with the steel pipe and got pounced by the other brother. Harrison’s attacker leaned his face in with monster teeth bared, prepping to take a bite of delicious animal meat. Harrison held the pipe to his brother’s throat and pushed as hard as he could, drawing a small amount of blood from his mouth. Then the victim took the role of the bully as he bit his attacker’s finger off and spit it in his eye. Once Harrison was free, he wailed on his brother with the steel pipe over and over again until he was nothing more than a pile of shattered bones and pooling blood.
Harrison surveyed the damage he did in that small moment of white hot anger. His first brother passed out on the floor bleeding profusely from his tail, gangrene not too far behind. The brother with the shattered ribcage took his last breaths in the form of punctured wheezes. The less said about the third brother, the better. Harrison raised his lead pipe to the sky and roared like the savage he was meant to become. He even bashed the steel floor a few more times just to make sure he got all of his primal instincts out of his system. They were, but not in the way he had anticipated. Another cry sounded off in the room, but this one was tear-laden and shaky.
The mother monkey sat in the pilot’s seat of the ship with pleading and sorrow in her eyes. She got on her hands and knees begging for forgiveness, begging for a second chance despite the fact it would never be possible after these transformations. Wetness dropped from her bloodshot eyes and mucous splashed the floor beneath her. She even extended her arms for a peaceful hug, mother to son, just like the way it should have been.
Harrison’s former human side clouded his mind during this sympathetic display. He was feeling things again. His heart ached. His eyes dewed up when he took a second look at his fallen brothers. He snorted mucous upon locking eyes with his mother. “M…M…Mom?” This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Families weren’t supposed to treat each other this way. Everyone was in the wrong. Everyone had something to be guilty over. This was what it meant to be human, even if that particular DNA was a small percentage. Harrison dropped the pipe and embraced his mother, the two of them shedding tears on each other’s furry shoulders. They could start over and track down the bastard who did this to them.
But then the mother took a big bite out of Harrison’s right ear, gnawing it completely off and causing a rainstorm of blood to soak his fur. The mother bit him again, this time on the cheek. And again in the other ear. And again on the nose. Harrison tried to howl in pain, but blood was pouring onto his tongue and censoring his animalistic speech. His heart was broken. His stomach ached with betrayal. Screwed over twice by his own mother. This would be his legacy going forward. He started out as an incompetent eco-terrorist and he would die as a dumb ass monkey. With most of his face bloody and eaten, now wouldn’t be the good time for a head butt. Then again, logic wasn’t the animal kingdom’s strong suit, not even in the human world.
Harrison head butted his mother in the face and cracked her skull, causing her to spit out her sharpest front fangs. The two of them punched and wrestled each other, causing even more blood to stain the already dirty battlefield. Bones cracked. Organs sloshed around. Vomit projected from the mother’s mouth after a vicious kick to the stomach. Despite having cracked teeth himself, Harrison took one last bite out of his mother’s tail, ripping it off and bleeding her dry. The rage-filled demeanor in the mother monkey’s eyes rolled backwards to reveal dizziness and defeat. She stumbled around aimlessly while Harrison dragged his battered body over to the steel pipe before picking it up.
Once the mother plopped backwards on the ground, Harrison dragged his knuckles and his weapon across the ground, creating annoying screeching sounds in doing so, before raising the pipe in the air to deliver the final blow. “Hell…don’t…need…ME!” When Harrison brought the pipe down across his mother’s sternum and exploded her heart, he fell with her, though that was more owed to the sudden shaking of the spaceship they were in. Harrison’s dizzy eyes shifted in and out of focus as the turbulence jostled him around. The mild turbulence became a full on crash, launching Harrison through the windshield and onto the pavement.
This was it. With glass fragments stuck in his fur and blood pouring all over his body, Harrison could finally rest knowing his family was burning in hell. But then a familiar scent awakened him. His eyes slowly opened and his vision was obscured by tears and blood. It was a painstaking process pulling himself to his feet. But drag his body he did, leaving a smattering of life juices across the pavement.
Somebody else’s broken body laid on the sidewalk. All life was completely gone from this new corpse’s eyes, his fingers stuck in a gun position, his blue suit and tie a mess, and his puffy hair ripped and torn. Upon whiffing even deeper, Harrison recognized the familiar scent as the bounty hunter who unleashed his mother’s own monkey virus on the family. Spike Spiegel his name was, right?
Harrison, still holding onto his pipe, gritted his shattered teeth and crawled slowly towards Spike’s prone body. He raised the pipe in the air as if to write the final chapter of this story, despite that chapter already passing. One bash and Harrison’s revenge would be complete. And then…the human side took over once more. Harrison tossed the lead pipe aside and instead cradled Spike’s head in his lap, once again repeating the symbolic words, “Hell…don’t…need…me…” The monkey’s head swam as his vision blacked out. That would be his final act as a living creature: forgiveness for his former enemy. Why? Because it just felt right. It felt…human, at best. Evolution had taken root once again, more so in those last few seconds of life than a million years ever could.
“Hell…don’t…need…me…”
June 6, 2020
Why I Don't Show Vulnerability
***WHY I DON’T SHOW VULNERABILITY***
Earlier today, I had a brief conversation on Face Book with my long time beta reader and confidant Ashley. It started off with a post about how I haven’t had a full-on crying spell since the year 2007. That sentence alone is disturbing enough, but not nearly as disturbing as me using the word “record” to describe that year. I wasn’t thinking about the braggadocios connotations the word “record” has. There’s even something called the Guinness World Book of Records, where every inductee has something to brag about. I never meant to sound proud of not being able to cry, but that’s how it came out and that’s how the conversation got rolling along.
Ever since that conversation, I’ve had a lot of time to think about why it is that the “record” still stands. I’ve certainly had my fair share of reasons to cry all throughout the 2010’s. I’ve lost pets to old age, I’ve lost an uncle to a car accident, I’ve lost a grandmother to natural causes, I’ve had bad reviews for my books, there were times when I thought my career was over…and yet, my eyes remained dry through it all. You can’t mistake me for a tough guy, though. You could attribute it all to emotional numbness brought on by mental illnesses and the medications used to treat them. But the truth is, nothing about my dry eyes is that simple. I’ve got my own reasons for why I don’t show vulnerability.
When the day finally comes that I unleash the waterworks, I want it to be done in a place where nobody else is around to check on me. I don’t want to be checked on. I don’t want to be overprotected. It has nothing to do with coldness towards those people. It has everything to do with being too vulnerable in front of people who want to know more about my emotional state of mind. So I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more. The more they ask, the more triggered I become. The more triggered I become, the harder it is for me to recover. Talking things out has never worked in my favor. In fact, it only makes the triggers worse. It could be a byproduct of schizophrenia. It could be fear of embarrassment. It could be the fear of never moving on again and being stuck with spinning wheels. Who knows?
Now that I think about it, the concept of asking someone about their triggers and being relentless about it is probably the biggest influence on Tarja Rikkinen’s character work in the very first draft of Beautiful Monster. It was coincidentally what she was criticized for the most. I mistakenly thought that asking about triggers and forcing people to talk was a normal part of the therapeutic process. Nope! Turns out my instincts about making triggers worse was right all along. Then again, first draft Tarja was also the same character who believed that giving Windham the best sex of his life would erase the worst sex of his life at the hands of Shelly and Torger. Nope! That too is just tropey ignorance.
So…if feeling naked in front of people will lead to triggering bad memories and emotions…and talking about it all doesn’t help…what is the solution? You know, aside from taking pills and making life slightly more tolerable. Maybe there’s a magic ritual where a witchdoctor will reach inside my head and pull out all of the malignant parts of my mind. With nothing left to agonize over, happiness would take over and 2020 will be a much easier burden to bear. But of course, these magic rituals don’t exist. Otherwise, nobody would be emotionally damaged and witchdoctors would be richer…than they already are, along with psychics and Goop Lab “scientists”. There is no magic solution to it all. There is no conversation that can convince my mind to ease up on me. Crying privately isn’t a permanent solution either. I can listen to reason, but my mind cannot.
But then again, being an emotional time bomb for thirteen years doesn’t seem like much fun either. Maybe it’s why I get angry at little things. Maybe it’s why I get easily burned out and exhausted. Maybe it’s why I’m bored shitless more often than not. Maybe it’s why I get anxious on the rare occasions that women flirt with me. Who knows? All I know is that all of the pent up emotions have to go somewhere. Why not have them go to a place where it’s easy to control the outcome? I’ve already mentioned crying privately, but is that really the answer to it all? Is it possible to have a deep conversation without triggering every negative feeling within me? What exactly does “confronting my emotions” look like?
Heh…You know what I just realized? The title of this blog entry is called “Why I Don’t Show Vulnerability” and I just spent the last few paragraphs doing just that. By reading this, you know more about me than most people ever will. Do you want to know more? And more? And more? And more? Can it, Tarja Rikkinen. You can ask as many questions as you like, but if a topic gets too uncomfortable, you have to allow me the right to refuse to answer. This isn’t Scientology. This is life. This is living through 2020 and coming out of the other side smelling like roses. Of course, the police brutality and Corona Virus pandemic won’t allow that to happen. But I can at least try, right?
What would perpetual happiness look like for me personally? What happened before 2020 that made me feel like I could conquer the world? Well, let’s start with December 2014, where I took a vacation to San Diego, California so that I could visit Lego Land. That vacation made me so happy that I completely reinvented my mind. From that moment on, I always found the energy to do creative work, I was never bored, I actually paid attention to new music that was blasting in my ears, WWE was actually fun to watch (for me, anyways), my relationships with family and friends were cherished to the fullest extent…am I leaving anything out?
And then…February 2018 rolled along and I suddenly had what I like to call “permission to feel bad again”. I hate to keep beating the dead Millennium horse over and over again, but on the night before my Pop Evil concert, I got curious and looked up “A Room with No View” on Wikipedia. I had seen the episode back in the late 90’s when it aired and I originally thought it was about a yandere who wanted a boyfriend so badly that she used violence to keep him under lock and key. Nope! It’s worse! Turns out that yandere was a seductress who used her sexuality to brainwash high school students into becoming mediocre and ordinary versions of themselves. I originally invalidated my feelings because Millennium is a work of fiction and could never happen in the real world. But when you invalidate your own feelings…you become a thirteen-year time bomb waiting for that one day to let the waterworks flow. But hey, at least I got Beautiful Monster out of that disturbing as shit episode, so that’s a plus.
And then…2018 continued to descend into darkness. I lost three pets that year (Maggie, Sitka, and Smokey), I quit watching WWE because they put on the worst episode of Monday Night Raw in November, Reina moved out of the house to live with Susan on a boat after an intense argument with our family…and…hmm…what else happened? That’s right! The year 2019 rolled along! I adopted Emilio back in December of 2018 and he died on June of 2019, the same month has my birthday. I stopped watching Real Time with Bill Maher after he exploited Stan Lee’s death and mocked fat people. The year 2020 showed its ugly head and before all of the worldwide trauma started, my big fat cat Oswald died in February. And now…here we are. I was given permission to feel bad, I slowed down creatively, and I honestly don’t think it’s appropriate for me to try to rebuild my happiness with everything going on with George Floyd’s murder and Corona Virus.
I just now noticed that I’m rambling on in this blog entry. I forgot where my original talking points were going. So I’m just going to end it here. Truth is, I never should have referred to the year 2007 as “the record”. There are other words for it, I’m an English major, and I can make it happen. There will be a day when the floodgates open and I drench my cheeks with salty fluids. When will that day be? I don’t know. But when that day comes, I hope nobody’s around to see me at my worst. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“We used to laugh. We used to cry. We used to bow our heads and wonder why. And now you’re gone. I guess I’ll carry on and make the best of what you’ve left to me. And every day, I’d laugh the hours away just knowing you were thinking of me. And then it came that I was put to blame for every story told about me. I need you like the flower needs the rain. You know I need you. Guess I’ll start it all again. I need you like the winter needs the spring. You know I need you. I need you.”
-America singing “I Need You”-
Earlier today, I had a brief conversation on Face Book with my long time beta reader and confidant Ashley. It started off with a post about how I haven’t had a full-on crying spell since the year 2007. That sentence alone is disturbing enough, but not nearly as disturbing as me using the word “record” to describe that year. I wasn’t thinking about the braggadocios connotations the word “record” has. There’s even something called the Guinness World Book of Records, where every inductee has something to brag about. I never meant to sound proud of not being able to cry, but that’s how it came out and that’s how the conversation got rolling along.
Ever since that conversation, I’ve had a lot of time to think about why it is that the “record” still stands. I’ve certainly had my fair share of reasons to cry all throughout the 2010’s. I’ve lost pets to old age, I’ve lost an uncle to a car accident, I’ve lost a grandmother to natural causes, I’ve had bad reviews for my books, there were times when I thought my career was over…and yet, my eyes remained dry through it all. You can’t mistake me for a tough guy, though. You could attribute it all to emotional numbness brought on by mental illnesses and the medications used to treat them. But the truth is, nothing about my dry eyes is that simple. I’ve got my own reasons for why I don’t show vulnerability.
When the day finally comes that I unleash the waterworks, I want it to be done in a place where nobody else is around to check on me. I don’t want to be checked on. I don’t want to be overprotected. It has nothing to do with coldness towards those people. It has everything to do with being too vulnerable in front of people who want to know more about my emotional state of mind. So I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more. The more they ask, the more triggered I become. The more triggered I become, the harder it is for me to recover. Talking things out has never worked in my favor. In fact, it only makes the triggers worse. It could be a byproduct of schizophrenia. It could be fear of embarrassment. It could be the fear of never moving on again and being stuck with spinning wheels. Who knows?
Now that I think about it, the concept of asking someone about their triggers and being relentless about it is probably the biggest influence on Tarja Rikkinen’s character work in the very first draft of Beautiful Monster. It was coincidentally what she was criticized for the most. I mistakenly thought that asking about triggers and forcing people to talk was a normal part of the therapeutic process. Nope! Turns out my instincts about making triggers worse was right all along. Then again, first draft Tarja was also the same character who believed that giving Windham the best sex of his life would erase the worst sex of his life at the hands of Shelly and Torger. Nope! That too is just tropey ignorance.
So…if feeling naked in front of people will lead to triggering bad memories and emotions…and talking about it all doesn’t help…what is the solution? You know, aside from taking pills and making life slightly more tolerable. Maybe there’s a magic ritual where a witchdoctor will reach inside my head and pull out all of the malignant parts of my mind. With nothing left to agonize over, happiness would take over and 2020 will be a much easier burden to bear. But of course, these magic rituals don’t exist. Otherwise, nobody would be emotionally damaged and witchdoctors would be richer…than they already are, along with psychics and Goop Lab “scientists”. There is no magic solution to it all. There is no conversation that can convince my mind to ease up on me. Crying privately isn’t a permanent solution either. I can listen to reason, but my mind cannot.
But then again, being an emotional time bomb for thirteen years doesn’t seem like much fun either. Maybe it’s why I get angry at little things. Maybe it’s why I get easily burned out and exhausted. Maybe it’s why I’m bored shitless more often than not. Maybe it’s why I get anxious on the rare occasions that women flirt with me. Who knows? All I know is that all of the pent up emotions have to go somewhere. Why not have them go to a place where it’s easy to control the outcome? I’ve already mentioned crying privately, but is that really the answer to it all? Is it possible to have a deep conversation without triggering every negative feeling within me? What exactly does “confronting my emotions” look like?
Heh…You know what I just realized? The title of this blog entry is called “Why I Don’t Show Vulnerability” and I just spent the last few paragraphs doing just that. By reading this, you know more about me than most people ever will. Do you want to know more? And more? And more? And more? Can it, Tarja Rikkinen. You can ask as many questions as you like, but if a topic gets too uncomfortable, you have to allow me the right to refuse to answer. This isn’t Scientology. This is life. This is living through 2020 and coming out of the other side smelling like roses. Of course, the police brutality and Corona Virus pandemic won’t allow that to happen. But I can at least try, right?
What would perpetual happiness look like for me personally? What happened before 2020 that made me feel like I could conquer the world? Well, let’s start with December 2014, where I took a vacation to San Diego, California so that I could visit Lego Land. That vacation made me so happy that I completely reinvented my mind. From that moment on, I always found the energy to do creative work, I was never bored, I actually paid attention to new music that was blasting in my ears, WWE was actually fun to watch (for me, anyways), my relationships with family and friends were cherished to the fullest extent…am I leaving anything out?
And then…February 2018 rolled along and I suddenly had what I like to call “permission to feel bad again”. I hate to keep beating the dead Millennium horse over and over again, but on the night before my Pop Evil concert, I got curious and looked up “A Room with No View” on Wikipedia. I had seen the episode back in the late 90’s when it aired and I originally thought it was about a yandere who wanted a boyfriend so badly that she used violence to keep him under lock and key. Nope! It’s worse! Turns out that yandere was a seductress who used her sexuality to brainwash high school students into becoming mediocre and ordinary versions of themselves. I originally invalidated my feelings because Millennium is a work of fiction and could never happen in the real world. But when you invalidate your own feelings…you become a thirteen-year time bomb waiting for that one day to let the waterworks flow. But hey, at least I got Beautiful Monster out of that disturbing as shit episode, so that’s a plus.
And then…2018 continued to descend into darkness. I lost three pets that year (Maggie, Sitka, and Smokey), I quit watching WWE because they put on the worst episode of Monday Night Raw in November, Reina moved out of the house to live with Susan on a boat after an intense argument with our family…and…hmm…what else happened? That’s right! The year 2019 rolled along! I adopted Emilio back in December of 2018 and he died on June of 2019, the same month has my birthday. I stopped watching Real Time with Bill Maher after he exploited Stan Lee’s death and mocked fat people. The year 2020 showed its ugly head and before all of the worldwide trauma started, my big fat cat Oswald died in February. And now…here we are. I was given permission to feel bad, I slowed down creatively, and I honestly don’t think it’s appropriate for me to try to rebuild my happiness with everything going on with George Floyd’s murder and Corona Virus.
I just now noticed that I’m rambling on in this blog entry. I forgot where my original talking points were going. So I’m just going to end it here. Truth is, I never should have referred to the year 2007 as “the record”. There are other words for it, I’m an English major, and I can make it happen. There will be a day when the floodgates open and I drench my cheeks with salty fluids. When will that day be? I don’t know. But when that day comes, I hope nobody’s around to see me at my worst. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“We used to laugh. We used to cry. We used to bow our heads and wonder why. And now you’re gone. I guess I’ll carry on and make the best of what you’ve left to me. And every day, I’d laugh the hours away just knowing you were thinking of me. And then it came that I was put to blame for every story told about me. I need you like the flower needs the rain. You know I need you. Guess I’ll start it all again. I need you like the winter needs the spring. You know I need you. I need you.”
-America singing “I Need You”-
June 3, 2020
George Floyd the Wall
VERSE 1
Son-shine’s gone up to heaven
Abuse of power was the weapon
A wide shot for the viral streaming
And now a nation is left screaming
And now a nation is left screaming!
All in all, it was just a 9-1-1 call
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
VERSE 2
We don’t need no execution
We just want a revolution
No guns or tear gas in the streets
We will not cower in defeat
No! We won’t cower in defeat!
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call
VERSE 3
I don’t need your lame excuses
I don’t need human rights abuses
Now that our backs are against the wall
Your racist empire will be the next to fall
Yeah! Your racist empire is the next to fall!
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
FINAL VERSE
Goodbye, George Floyd
I say in a trembling voice
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Goodbye, Mr. President
There’s no real reason to keep you elected
Goodbye…
Son-shine’s gone up to heaven
Abuse of power was the weapon
A wide shot for the viral streaming
And now a nation is left screaming
And now a nation is left screaming!
All in all, it was just a 9-1-1 call
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
VERSE 2
We don’t need no execution
We just want a revolution
No guns or tear gas in the streets
We will not cower in defeat
No! We won’t cower in defeat!
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call
All in all, it’s just another 9-1-1 call
VERSE 3
I don’t need your lame excuses
I don’t need human rights abuses
Now that our backs are against the wall
Your racist empire will be the next to fall
Yeah! Your racist empire is the next to fall!
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
All in all, it was all just 9-1-1 calls
FINAL VERSE
Goodbye, George Floyd
I say in a trembling voice
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Goodbye, Mr. President
There’s no real reason to keep you elected
Goodbye…
May 30, 2020
Lost Without You
Chun Li tapped her white-booted foot repeatedly while crossing her arms, impatience bubbling inside her. She didn’t want to be down in this bunker. She wanted to be out there in the field lightning kicking Bison’s head off. She wanted to hear the sounds of bones crunching against her boots as she performed her Spinning Bird Kick. She wanted to hear Bison scream in agony as her fireball scorched and crisped his skin. Those sounds would have been more heavenly to listen to than a classical Mozart symphony. After all those lonely nights without her now murdered father, Chun Li believed she wasn’t asking too much in return. She just then noticed her jaw was aching from clamping down too hard.
If there was one thing that could distract her from her own impatience and the darkness of the bunker, it was seeing young Cammy White resting peacefully on a soft enough mattress. Waiting for her to wake up and give away Bison’s location would have eaten away at Chun Li since time was a factor. But there was something about Cammy’s beauty that extended beyond the surface level. Anybody could look good in a green legless leotard and black combat boots. Even Chun Li had her own moments with her blue kung fu dress, also legless. But Cammy had an air of mystery about her. She had a softness to her that Chun Li always liked in the company of women.
Crush on her later. You have a job to do once she wakes up, Chun Li thought to herself. And just like that, her sweet smile disappeared and gave way to tight-jawed intensity. She knew it wouldn’t be right to flirt with Cammy anyways. The poor girl had been through a lot, which was why she was taken to this bunker to begin with. And then, her eyes slowly flickered open, adjusting to whatever light was left. Chun Li rushed over and sat on the mattress next to her.
Don’t mess this up. You’ve got one chance to get the most out of her…
Still groggy and dazed, Cammy languidly reached out her hand and cupped it in Chun Li’s, prompting the latter’s face to go slightly pink. Even after lecturing herself about the importance of finding and destroying Bison’s Shadowloo base, Chun Li made no effort to pull her hand away. The touch was too smooth and too warm to just let go so easily. And then it became clear why Cammy was reaching out in the first place. “Bison…is that you?”
“I…no, it isn’t, Cammy.” Chun Li knew her charge was out of it, but was still hit with a pang of disappointment.
Cammy pulled her hand away ever so slowly. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what I was…I mean…”
“It’s okay, Cammy. Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind. Are you able to sit up? That might help you reorient yourself.”
She did indeed sit up, but not without slouching her head over like she was about to pass out again. “Where’s Bison?”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d know. You were closer to him than anybody else we’ve rescued so far. Do you remember where his Shadowloo hideout is?”
“I…I can’t remember much…Everything’s a blur…” Failing to compose herself, Cammy slumped over to the side and (unknowingly) rested her head on Chun Li’s shoulder, prompting an even darker shade of pink to scrawl across her face. “Am I doing that again?”
“Cammy, it’s okay. I don’t mind, really. You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay to feel sleepy after all of that. Do…do you seriously not remember where Bison is hiding out?”
“I…I don’t remember much of anything lately…”
Chun Li grabbed Cammy by her shoulders and lifted her into an upright position, steeling herself for the gravity of what she was about to say. Cammy’s head still slouched over, but hopefully Chun Li’s message got through. “Listen to me…this won’t be easy to hear, but…we believe you’ve been brainwashed by Bison into becoming one of his soldiers. The effects are just now wearing off and that’s probably why you don’t remember much about your past.”
“…Who’s we? Who are you, anyways?”
“I’m from Interpol and we’ve been building a case against Bison for years now. He has entire governments in his back pocket and has been using his influence as part of a campaign for world domination. Anybody who stands in his way or even mildly disagrees with him is promptly murdered or incarcerated. To put it in shorter terms, he’s a dictator and he’s getting too powerful for our liking.”
Cammy lifted her head as if to give some kind of hopeful answer. But…”I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything. I want to help you, but I can’t.”
And just like that, the best lead Chun Li had turned out to be a dead end. Lord knew what Bison had done to this poor girl prior to the amnesia. The possible answers, even the darkest kind, swirled in Chun Li’s head and angered her to where she unintentionally squeezed Cammy’s shoulders too hard. After a hiss of pain from her charge, Chun Li apologized and dusted her own kung fu dress off (despite there being no dust).
The two of them just sat there on the mattress together awkwardly staring into space. If Cammy really was as amnesic as she claimed to be, then what else was there to do? The logical answer would be to take her to the Interpol medical wing, but if that was a viable option, they wouldn’t be in this bunker in the first place. They needed to hide out for a while. They needed to strategize. They needed to…spring to life on their feet as soon as a crashing sound erupted at the front entrance.
The steel door came loose after a few hard punches and tumbled down the stairs into the bunker’s common area. Emerging from the chaos was exactly what Chun Li feared this whole time: Shadowloo warriors. The punches obviously came from Balrog, the ultra-muscular boxer with a ripped bare chest and baggy purple shorts. Flanking him was the steel masked Spanish ninja Vega, bearing a claw that could tear off limbs with a single stroke. While Chun Li prepared for battle with her kung fu stance, Cammy looked dumbstruck as her bare legs quivered.
Balrog pointed his boxing glove at Cammy and said, “I believe you have something that belongs to Shadowloo.”
Chun Li’s normally soft voice had extra mustard behind it. “That ‘something’ has a name, you dumb bastard. She’s not an object for Bison to play with. She’s a living, breathing human fucking being!”
Balrog and Vega laughed their heads off. Vega removed his mask and licked his claw in a sensual, creepy way. “She may be a human fucking being…but living and breathing? Ha…that’s debatable!”
“Don’t you lay a finger on her!”
“Or what?” snapped Balrog. Not wasting any more time smack talking, he initiated the battle with a rush punch aimed at Chun Li’s head.
Staying close to Cammy, who was still frozen with amnesic fear, Chun Li dodged and ducked every punch Balrog threw at her. She counted with a sweep kick, but his legs wouldn’t budge. Instead, Balrog grabbed the sweeping bare leg and squeezed it like the pervert he was, toothless grin on his face the whole time. Chun Li threw a Kioken fireball from her laying position and almost singed Balrog’s disgusting face. Once she was free, she nipped up, wanting to go in for the kill with a Spinning Bird Kick.
In doing so, she left Cammy wide open for Vega to swan dive and suplex her into the bed. This distracted Chun Li long enough for Balrog to throw a dashing uppercut, flipping her upside down and dazing her senses. He continued the punishment by picking her up and head butting her repeatedly in the chest. Every time his cannonball noggin struck her sternum, her heart skipped a few beats. She faded in and out of consciousness the whole time, but mustered enough strength to throw another fireball, forcing Balrog to let go.
That fireball proved to be her last hoorah. It bought her enough time and enough conscious energy to see something disgusting unfold before her eyes. Vega had Cammy’s arms pinned to the bed and with his mask off, he began licking his claw like he wanted to butcher her. Chun Li wanted to help. She wanted to stay conscious long enough to Lightning Kick his head off. Her wish was only half granted as the anger burning in her gut kept her awake this whole time. And then…
Just as Vega leaned down to try to give Cammy a kiss, the latter sprang to life like she wasn’t crippled with amnesic fear just a few minutes ago. She punched Vega in the face and split him open. He screamed and held his broken nose, bemoaning the fact that his “handsome” features were ruined by this “bitch”. He swan dived towards her again, but was met with a spiral kick called the Cannon Drill. Off the bed and ready to rock and roll, Cammy hit a thrust kick to Vega’s ball sack and ruined his face even further with a spinning knuckle. She never let up, just kept pounding and pounding him like a fighting machine was awakened inside of her. There may have been hope in finding Bison after all.
This newfound hope gave Chun Li enough energy to pull herself to her feet and dodge another oncoming rush punch from the now recovered Balrog. Awake and alive, she threw multiple Lightning Kicks around Balrog’s sternum, listening to his ribs crackle and pop. He backed off a little bit and spit out some blood, but ultimately shrugged off the pain like it was nothing. Boxers were used to this kind of pain, after all. Then again, so were kung fu masters and British soldiers. Chun Li winked at Cammy, who stood over Vega’s broken body with confidence and anger etched in her battle stance.
Balrog stormed in with another rush punch, but was met with a double team move from Chun Li and Cammy. Cammy went low with her Cannon Drill and Chun Li went high with the move she’d been itching to use on Bison this whole time, the Spinning Bird Kick. Bones crunched, cracked, and shattered underneath the boots of these two badass women. With a distorted face and ribs puncturing his lungs, Balrog dropped to the ground twitching and coughing up blood, which only aggravated his rib injuries even further. Cammy finished him off with a hard stomp to the balls. Balrog’s face contorted even further before he fell backwards and slipped into the dark side.
Bruised, but not broken, Cammy and Chun Li breathed heavily after their hard-earned victory and sat back down on the bed together full of piss and vinegar. If anybody else wanted to come through that doorway, they too would be beaten within an inch of their lives.
After a while of huffing and puffing, Cammy finally spoke in a tone unlike her dazed and confused persona from earlier. “I know where Bison’s hideout is…I know what he did to me…He erased my memories…Made me his slave…I want to kill him…I want to burn him alive….”
“Listen to me, Cammy…I’m glad you remember where Bison’s base is, even if it was triggered under the worst circumstances. But I’m afraid I can’t let you have that kill. Interpol will take care of everything. The important thing is that you cooperate.”
“Oh, I’ll cooperate alright. And to think, Bison thought I was in love with him. Truth is…I don’t even like men.”
Chun Li’s face reddened once again, but for more reasons than being in a brutal fight. “You…you don’t?”
“I’ve always preferred women. I don’t go around advertising my sexuality to people, so I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet too.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Cammy. Bison may think there’s something wrong with it, but I don’t. In fact…I like women too.” That last sentence was punctuated with a tiny smile.
The two of them looked in each other’s eyes, but ultimately thought nothing of it. Cammy said, “I’m not sure if I can…you know…not right now anyways. I have to wash the stench of Bison off of me before I can do anything serious…”
“I understand, Cammy. Maybe we’ll just have to settle for a nice cup of tea together.”
Cammy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”
“I, uh…sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
After a while of awkward silence, Cammy’s hand met Chun Li’s. “Sure, I’d love to get tea with you sometime. Maybe when this Shadowloo bullshit is over, though.”
“Of course…once it’s all over…”
“Hey…thank you. Thanks for everything…” Cammy kissed Chun Li’s forehead and made her blush. “Come on, let’s get out of this bunker before anybody else finds us and wants to brawl.”
Chun Li just now remembered that she had a job to do this whole time. It was easy to get lost in Cammy even after all of that. It was easy to feel…lost without her.
If there was one thing that could distract her from her own impatience and the darkness of the bunker, it was seeing young Cammy White resting peacefully on a soft enough mattress. Waiting for her to wake up and give away Bison’s location would have eaten away at Chun Li since time was a factor. But there was something about Cammy’s beauty that extended beyond the surface level. Anybody could look good in a green legless leotard and black combat boots. Even Chun Li had her own moments with her blue kung fu dress, also legless. But Cammy had an air of mystery about her. She had a softness to her that Chun Li always liked in the company of women.
Crush on her later. You have a job to do once she wakes up, Chun Li thought to herself. And just like that, her sweet smile disappeared and gave way to tight-jawed intensity. She knew it wouldn’t be right to flirt with Cammy anyways. The poor girl had been through a lot, which was why she was taken to this bunker to begin with. And then, her eyes slowly flickered open, adjusting to whatever light was left. Chun Li rushed over and sat on the mattress next to her.
Don’t mess this up. You’ve got one chance to get the most out of her…
Still groggy and dazed, Cammy languidly reached out her hand and cupped it in Chun Li’s, prompting the latter’s face to go slightly pink. Even after lecturing herself about the importance of finding and destroying Bison’s Shadowloo base, Chun Li made no effort to pull her hand away. The touch was too smooth and too warm to just let go so easily. And then it became clear why Cammy was reaching out in the first place. “Bison…is that you?”
“I…no, it isn’t, Cammy.” Chun Li knew her charge was out of it, but was still hit with a pang of disappointment.
Cammy pulled her hand away ever so slowly. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what I was…I mean…”
“It’s okay, Cammy. Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind. Are you able to sit up? That might help you reorient yourself.”
She did indeed sit up, but not without slouching her head over like she was about to pass out again. “Where’s Bison?”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d know. You were closer to him than anybody else we’ve rescued so far. Do you remember where his Shadowloo hideout is?”
“I…I can’t remember much…Everything’s a blur…” Failing to compose herself, Cammy slumped over to the side and (unknowingly) rested her head on Chun Li’s shoulder, prompting an even darker shade of pink to scrawl across her face. “Am I doing that again?”
“Cammy, it’s okay. I don’t mind, really. You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay to feel sleepy after all of that. Do…do you seriously not remember where Bison is hiding out?”
“I…I don’t remember much of anything lately…”
Chun Li grabbed Cammy by her shoulders and lifted her into an upright position, steeling herself for the gravity of what she was about to say. Cammy’s head still slouched over, but hopefully Chun Li’s message got through. “Listen to me…this won’t be easy to hear, but…we believe you’ve been brainwashed by Bison into becoming one of his soldiers. The effects are just now wearing off and that’s probably why you don’t remember much about your past.”
“…Who’s we? Who are you, anyways?”
“I’m from Interpol and we’ve been building a case against Bison for years now. He has entire governments in his back pocket and has been using his influence as part of a campaign for world domination. Anybody who stands in his way or even mildly disagrees with him is promptly murdered or incarcerated. To put it in shorter terms, he’s a dictator and he’s getting too powerful for our liking.”
Cammy lifted her head as if to give some kind of hopeful answer. But…”I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything. I want to help you, but I can’t.”
And just like that, the best lead Chun Li had turned out to be a dead end. Lord knew what Bison had done to this poor girl prior to the amnesia. The possible answers, even the darkest kind, swirled in Chun Li’s head and angered her to where she unintentionally squeezed Cammy’s shoulders too hard. After a hiss of pain from her charge, Chun Li apologized and dusted her own kung fu dress off (despite there being no dust).
The two of them just sat there on the mattress together awkwardly staring into space. If Cammy really was as amnesic as she claimed to be, then what else was there to do? The logical answer would be to take her to the Interpol medical wing, but if that was a viable option, they wouldn’t be in this bunker in the first place. They needed to hide out for a while. They needed to strategize. They needed to…spring to life on their feet as soon as a crashing sound erupted at the front entrance.
The steel door came loose after a few hard punches and tumbled down the stairs into the bunker’s common area. Emerging from the chaos was exactly what Chun Li feared this whole time: Shadowloo warriors. The punches obviously came from Balrog, the ultra-muscular boxer with a ripped bare chest and baggy purple shorts. Flanking him was the steel masked Spanish ninja Vega, bearing a claw that could tear off limbs with a single stroke. While Chun Li prepared for battle with her kung fu stance, Cammy looked dumbstruck as her bare legs quivered.
Balrog pointed his boxing glove at Cammy and said, “I believe you have something that belongs to Shadowloo.”
Chun Li’s normally soft voice had extra mustard behind it. “That ‘something’ has a name, you dumb bastard. She’s not an object for Bison to play with. She’s a living, breathing human fucking being!”
Balrog and Vega laughed their heads off. Vega removed his mask and licked his claw in a sensual, creepy way. “She may be a human fucking being…but living and breathing? Ha…that’s debatable!”
“Don’t you lay a finger on her!”
“Or what?” snapped Balrog. Not wasting any more time smack talking, he initiated the battle with a rush punch aimed at Chun Li’s head.
Staying close to Cammy, who was still frozen with amnesic fear, Chun Li dodged and ducked every punch Balrog threw at her. She counted with a sweep kick, but his legs wouldn’t budge. Instead, Balrog grabbed the sweeping bare leg and squeezed it like the pervert he was, toothless grin on his face the whole time. Chun Li threw a Kioken fireball from her laying position and almost singed Balrog’s disgusting face. Once she was free, she nipped up, wanting to go in for the kill with a Spinning Bird Kick.
In doing so, she left Cammy wide open for Vega to swan dive and suplex her into the bed. This distracted Chun Li long enough for Balrog to throw a dashing uppercut, flipping her upside down and dazing her senses. He continued the punishment by picking her up and head butting her repeatedly in the chest. Every time his cannonball noggin struck her sternum, her heart skipped a few beats. She faded in and out of consciousness the whole time, but mustered enough strength to throw another fireball, forcing Balrog to let go.
That fireball proved to be her last hoorah. It bought her enough time and enough conscious energy to see something disgusting unfold before her eyes. Vega had Cammy’s arms pinned to the bed and with his mask off, he began licking his claw like he wanted to butcher her. Chun Li wanted to help. She wanted to stay conscious long enough to Lightning Kick his head off. Her wish was only half granted as the anger burning in her gut kept her awake this whole time. And then…
Just as Vega leaned down to try to give Cammy a kiss, the latter sprang to life like she wasn’t crippled with amnesic fear just a few minutes ago. She punched Vega in the face and split him open. He screamed and held his broken nose, bemoaning the fact that his “handsome” features were ruined by this “bitch”. He swan dived towards her again, but was met with a spiral kick called the Cannon Drill. Off the bed and ready to rock and roll, Cammy hit a thrust kick to Vega’s ball sack and ruined his face even further with a spinning knuckle. She never let up, just kept pounding and pounding him like a fighting machine was awakened inside of her. There may have been hope in finding Bison after all.
This newfound hope gave Chun Li enough energy to pull herself to her feet and dodge another oncoming rush punch from the now recovered Balrog. Awake and alive, she threw multiple Lightning Kicks around Balrog’s sternum, listening to his ribs crackle and pop. He backed off a little bit and spit out some blood, but ultimately shrugged off the pain like it was nothing. Boxers were used to this kind of pain, after all. Then again, so were kung fu masters and British soldiers. Chun Li winked at Cammy, who stood over Vega’s broken body with confidence and anger etched in her battle stance.
Balrog stormed in with another rush punch, but was met with a double team move from Chun Li and Cammy. Cammy went low with her Cannon Drill and Chun Li went high with the move she’d been itching to use on Bison this whole time, the Spinning Bird Kick. Bones crunched, cracked, and shattered underneath the boots of these two badass women. With a distorted face and ribs puncturing his lungs, Balrog dropped to the ground twitching and coughing up blood, which only aggravated his rib injuries even further. Cammy finished him off with a hard stomp to the balls. Balrog’s face contorted even further before he fell backwards and slipped into the dark side.
Bruised, but not broken, Cammy and Chun Li breathed heavily after their hard-earned victory and sat back down on the bed together full of piss and vinegar. If anybody else wanted to come through that doorway, they too would be beaten within an inch of their lives.
After a while of huffing and puffing, Cammy finally spoke in a tone unlike her dazed and confused persona from earlier. “I know where Bison’s hideout is…I know what he did to me…He erased my memories…Made me his slave…I want to kill him…I want to burn him alive….”
“Listen to me, Cammy…I’m glad you remember where Bison’s base is, even if it was triggered under the worst circumstances. But I’m afraid I can’t let you have that kill. Interpol will take care of everything. The important thing is that you cooperate.”
“Oh, I’ll cooperate alright. And to think, Bison thought I was in love with him. Truth is…I don’t even like men.”
Chun Li’s face reddened once again, but for more reasons than being in a brutal fight. “You…you don’t?”
“I’ve always preferred women. I don’t go around advertising my sexuality to people, so I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet too.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Cammy. Bison may think there’s something wrong with it, but I don’t. In fact…I like women too.” That last sentence was punctuated with a tiny smile.
The two of them looked in each other’s eyes, but ultimately thought nothing of it. Cammy said, “I’m not sure if I can…you know…not right now anyways. I have to wash the stench of Bison off of me before I can do anything serious…”
“I understand, Cammy. Maybe we’ll just have to settle for a nice cup of tea together.”
Cammy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”
“I, uh…sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
After a while of awkward silence, Cammy’s hand met Chun Li’s. “Sure, I’d love to get tea with you sometime. Maybe when this Shadowloo bullshit is over, though.”
“Of course…once it’s all over…”
“Hey…thank you. Thanks for everything…” Cammy kissed Chun Li’s forehead and made her blush. “Come on, let’s get out of this bunker before anybody else finds us and wants to brawl.”
Chun Li just now remembered that she had a job to do this whole time. It was easy to get lost in Cammy even after all of that. It was easy to feel…lost without her.
Hit Piece
VERSE 1
“Everything’s a hit piece, everything’s a shit squeeze”
You can’t take criticism
“Everything is cancer, no one has the answers”
You can’t engage in witticism
“Everything is canceled, everything’s an online battle”
Who’s the real snowflake now?
“Everything is PC, they all want to have it easy”
First amendment keeps you loud
CHORUS 1
Anytime you pay your taxes
You always grind your axes
Anytime two gay guys kiss
It’s the dark ages you miss
Anytime you fire your gun
You take away somebody’s son
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
I don’t care if it’s red, white, or blue
VERSE 2
“Everyone’s got a cell phone, everyone’s mind is blown”
Pass the torch to the next generation
“Everyone wants free shit, it’s a taxpayer’s pit”
Don’t forget your arthritis medication
“Everyone’s got a trophy, they can show it to their homies”
Okay, Boomer, enough is enough
“Everyone’s too sensitive, they always want sedatives”
I thought you old farts were so tough
CHORUS 2
Anytime black people protest
You clutch your pearls to your chest
Anytime we ask for justice
You gag like you’re disgusted
Anytime you spread Corona
You blame it all on California
It’s not a hit piece, where’s the lie?
Let the man child president cry
BRIDGE
BP gas up your ass
Light the very last match
Keep the bleach within your reach
Listen to the con artists preach
Have some fun with your guns
Shoot the shit out of everyone
It’s not a hit piece, fact check that
The golden goose is getting fat
VERSE 3
“Everywhere’s burning down, not in my hometown”
The signs have never been brighter
“Everywhere’s a sanctuary, turn them all to mortuaries”
My people are both lovers and fighters
CHORUS 3
Anytime we get a little angry
You pretend to be so saintly
It’s not a hit piece if it doesn’t slander
Find another place for your star-spangled banner
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
This world doesn’t revolve around you
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
“Everything’s a hit piece, everything’s a shit squeeze”
You can’t take criticism
“Everything is cancer, no one has the answers”
You can’t engage in witticism
“Everything is canceled, everything’s an online battle”
Who’s the real snowflake now?
“Everything is PC, they all want to have it easy”
First amendment keeps you loud
CHORUS 1
Anytime you pay your taxes
You always grind your axes
Anytime two gay guys kiss
It’s the dark ages you miss
Anytime you fire your gun
You take away somebody’s son
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
I don’t care if it’s red, white, or blue
VERSE 2
“Everyone’s got a cell phone, everyone’s mind is blown”
Pass the torch to the next generation
“Everyone wants free shit, it’s a taxpayer’s pit”
Don’t forget your arthritis medication
“Everyone’s got a trophy, they can show it to their homies”
Okay, Boomer, enough is enough
“Everyone’s too sensitive, they always want sedatives”
I thought you old farts were so tough
CHORUS 2
Anytime black people protest
You clutch your pearls to your chest
Anytime we ask for justice
You gag like you’re disgusted
Anytime you spread Corona
You blame it all on California
It’s not a hit piece, where’s the lie?
Let the man child president cry
BRIDGE
BP gas up your ass
Light the very last match
Keep the bleach within your reach
Listen to the con artists preach
Have some fun with your guns
Shoot the shit out of everyone
It’s not a hit piece, fact check that
The golden goose is getting fat
VERSE 3
“Everywhere’s burning down, not in my hometown”
The signs have never been brighter
“Everywhere’s a sanctuary, turn them all to mortuaries”
My people are both lovers and fighters
CHORUS 3
Anytime we get a little angry
You pretend to be so saintly
It’s not a hit piece if it doesn’t slander
Find another place for your star-spangled banner
It’s not a hit piece if it’s true
This world doesn’t revolve around you
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
It’s not a hit piece!
May 23, 2020
Zombieland
MOVIE TITLE: Zombieland
DIRECTOR: Ruben Fleischer
YEAR: 2009
GENRE: Zombie Apocalypse Comedy
RATING: R for violence and language
GRADE: Pass
As of the year I’m writing this review, which is 2020, the Corona Virus is sweeping the world and killing everyone it comes in contact with. This disease is bringing out the worst in humanity whether it’s violent rage (a la the Michigan anti-lockdown protestors) or deceptive behavior (a la Kenneth Copeland and Joel Osteen). If this mess keeps up, our world could very well come to an end. Wouldn’t you like a nice fun-filled movie to distract you from it all? That’s where Zombieland comes into play. I don’t want to say this movie was a prophecy back in 2009…but yeah, it was totally a prophecy. Granted, we haven’t gone full-zombie just yet, but the other ramifications have come to fruition thus far. Economic collapse, swindlers, incompetent leadership, and a bunch of cowboys playing with their shotguns. Yep. I’m sure this movie was just a coincidence at the time it was made.
If you think creating believable characters is hard to do within a silly comedy, just take a look at who we’ve got in this particular movie. Columbus wants to find a sense of family whether his biological one still exists or not. Tallahassee wants to munch on Twinkies because he appreciates the little things in life. And he just wants to kill zombies left and right. Cutthroat sisters Wichita and Little Rock want to steal as many resources as they can so that they can party it up at an amusement park in California. What do you notice from all of these character descriptions? They’re motivations. They have something that they’re willing to kill zombies for. Therefore, this is a character-driven zombie story. Didn’t think that was possible, did you? Notice how they’re not scrambling to save the entire world from the zombie apocalypse. They just want to cling onto a sense of normalcy no matter how small or temporary that may be. Isn’t that what we’re doing now with the Corona Virus: looking for something to comfort us? Totally not a prophecy.
I have one tiny little critique for this movie. Why would Columbus continue to trust Wichita and Little Rock after they’ve betrayed him and Tallahassee over and over again? They’re grifters. Deception is all they’re known for. Do they stop grifting by the end of the movie? Who knows? That’s not just me refusing to give spoilers; I actually want to know the answer to that. I guess this could all go back to Columbus wanting a sense of family in his life, so he keeps hoping and praying that the sisters change their ways just for him. Then again, Wichita was a femme fatale and part of that moniker is being seductive, either through attractiveness or just playing mind games. Columbus always wanted to brush a woman’s hair behind her ears. If that’s the case, then this whole movie is just him thinking below his belt. Wichita could burn down an orphanage and Columbus would still want to give her infinite chances. Yes, this is a comedy movie. Yes, Columbus is a dorky college kid. But…come on.
You want clever dialogue from every character involved? You want bloody action and excitement? You want a lesson on how to make believable characters? Ask and you shall receive it all in the form of Zombieland. You’ll get more than a few chuckles here and there. You’ll get a few life lessons that may come in handy as the age of Corona Virus progresses onward. You’ll love Woody Harrelson’s performance as the gun-toting cowboy Tallahassee. You’ll love Jesse Eisenberg’s performance as the spineless dork Columbus. Try not to think too hard about Columbus trusting people a little too easily, especially if they’re overly attractive. This was an enjoyable movie for me and for that reason I’m giving it four out of five stars.
DIRECTOR: Ruben Fleischer
YEAR: 2009
GENRE: Zombie Apocalypse Comedy
RATING: R for violence and language
GRADE: Pass
As of the year I’m writing this review, which is 2020, the Corona Virus is sweeping the world and killing everyone it comes in contact with. This disease is bringing out the worst in humanity whether it’s violent rage (a la the Michigan anti-lockdown protestors) or deceptive behavior (a la Kenneth Copeland and Joel Osteen). If this mess keeps up, our world could very well come to an end. Wouldn’t you like a nice fun-filled movie to distract you from it all? That’s where Zombieland comes into play. I don’t want to say this movie was a prophecy back in 2009…but yeah, it was totally a prophecy. Granted, we haven’t gone full-zombie just yet, but the other ramifications have come to fruition thus far. Economic collapse, swindlers, incompetent leadership, and a bunch of cowboys playing with their shotguns. Yep. I’m sure this movie was just a coincidence at the time it was made.
If you think creating believable characters is hard to do within a silly comedy, just take a look at who we’ve got in this particular movie. Columbus wants to find a sense of family whether his biological one still exists or not. Tallahassee wants to munch on Twinkies because he appreciates the little things in life. And he just wants to kill zombies left and right. Cutthroat sisters Wichita and Little Rock want to steal as many resources as they can so that they can party it up at an amusement park in California. What do you notice from all of these character descriptions? They’re motivations. They have something that they’re willing to kill zombies for. Therefore, this is a character-driven zombie story. Didn’t think that was possible, did you? Notice how they’re not scrambling to save the entire world from the zombie apocalypse. They just want to cling onto a sense of normalcy no matter how small or temporary that may be. Isn’t that what we’re doing now with the Corona Virus: looking for something to comfort us? Totally not a prophecy.
I have one tiny little critique for this movie. Why would Columbus continue to trust Wichita and Little Rock after they’ve betrayed him and Tallahassee over and over again? They’re grifters. Deception is all they’re known for. Do they stop grifting by the end of the movie? Who knows? That’s not just me refusing to give spoilers; I actually want to know the answer to that. I guess this could all go back to Columbus wanting a sense of family in his life, so he keeps hoping and praying that the sisters change their ways just for him. Then again, Wichita was a femme fatale and part of that moniker is being seductive, either through attractiveness or just playing mind games. Columbus always wanted to brush a woman’s hair behind her ears. If that’s the case, then this whole movie is just him thinking below his belt. Wichita could burn down an orphanage and Columbus would still want to give her infinite chances. Yes, this is a comedy movie. Yes, Columbus is a dorky college kid. But…come on.
You want clever dialogue from every character involved? You want bloody action and excitement? You want a lesson on how to make believable characters? Ask and you shall receive it all in the form of Zombieland. You’ll get more than a few chuckles here and there. You’ll get a few life lessons that may come in handy as the age of Corona Virus progresses onward. You’ll love Woody Harrelson’s performance as the gun-toting cowboy Tallahassee. You’ll love Jesse Eisenberg’s performance as the spineless dork Columbus. Try not to think too hard about Columbus trusting people a little too easily, especially if they’re overly attractive. This was an enjoyable movie for me and for that reason I’m giving it four out of five stars.
May 21, 2020
Scotty's Got a Gun
VERSE 1
All the talent in the world couldn’t save his sorry ass
When his sanity and dreams shattered like church glass
Beautiful colors scattered across the wooden floor
Heart of gold tainted and rotten to its frozen core
All the needles and bottles couldn’t erase his pain
All the nights of incest drove him bat shit insane
Calling it love doesn’t change the simple fact
That Scotty’s revolver is about to click-clack
CHORUS
Scotty’s got a gun! X4
VERSE 2
There’re only two choices for the rapist in his bed
Shoot a bullet in her chest or a bullet in her head
Give her one last chance to confess her mortal sins
But she says a prayer like God will actually let her in
CHORUS
Scotty’s got a gun! X4
VERSE 3
No one ever believed a word of Scotty’s story
Except for the parts that were intentionally gory
Matricide is the buzzword that makes the paper
To give that bold headline some extra spicy flavor
A villain to a world that never gave a goddamn
If it didn’t happen young, it would’ve happened as a man
There’s no such thing as a happily ever after
When the whole universe needs some laughter
EXTENDED CHORUS
Scotty’s got one left in the chamber
Scotty’s got some residual anger
Scotty’s got some scorpion venom
Which one of you fuckers wants to go to heaven?!
Scotty’s got a gun! X4
All the talent in the world couldn’t save his sorry ass
When his sanity and dreams shattered like church glass
Beautiful colors scattered across the wooden floor
Heart of gold tainted and rotten to its frozen core
All the needles and bottles couldn’t erase his pain
All the nights of incest drove him bat shit insane
Calling it love doesn’t change the simple fact
That Scotty’s revolver is about to click-clack
CHORUS
Scotty’s got a gun! X4
VERSE 2
There’re only two choices for the rapist in his bed
Shoot a bullet in her chest or a bullet in her head
Give her one last chance to confess her mortal sins
But she says a prayer like God will actually let her in
CHORUS
Scotty’s got a gun! X4
VERSE 3
No one ever believed a word of Scotty’s story
Except for the parts that were intentionally gory
Matricide is the buzzword that makes the paper
To give that bold headline some extra spicy flavor
A villain to a world that never gave a goddamn
If it didn’t happen young, it would’ve happened as a man
There’s no such thing as a happily ever after
When the whole universe needs some laughter
EXTENDED CHORUS
Scotty’s got one left in the chamber
Scotty’s got some residual anger
Scotty’s got some scorpion venom
Which one of you fuckers wants to go to heaven?!
Scotty’s got a gun! X4
Don't Be a People Pleaser
***DON’T BE A PEOPLE PLEASER***
Yesterday evening, I had to republish four of my books to accommodate for the fact that I removed copyrighted lyrics from them. Even little insignificant snippets of lyrics are enough to violate copyright laws and get an author into hot water. I personally think it’s a bit ridiculous for a music corporation to sue an author for millions of dollars over one line of text, but it is what it is and I had to play by the rules. Copyrighted lyrics have now been eradicated from my entire catalogue. But that’s not why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds, no, no, no, no, no. We’re here to talk about what else was in those books that could be potentially damaging, not in a legal way, but in a social way.
My very first collection of poetry, Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage, has an Eric Clapton parody called “Retarded Tonight”. I wrote it through the perspective of people who see me as a cartoon character and nothing more. And when you’re a cartoon character, everything about you is hammed up to the extreme. While my poem wasn’t meant to be an attack on mentally disabled people, I can understand if people see it that way and get angry afterwards.
In my second book of poetry, Necrograph, there’s a parody song called “Texas”. On the surface it seems like stereotyping and mockery, but I only wanted to call out people who are so far on the fringe that they become parodies of themselves. Not everyone from Texas acts that way. Not everyone from any other geographic location acts that way either. Pantera is from Texas. Nothing More is from Texas. My favorite indie authors, Christina McMullen, K.L. Cottrell, and Markie Madden, are also from Texas. Quite frankly, I could have changed the name to Fringe Toast and it wouldn’t generate as much controversy. But at the same time, I empathize with people who would be upset by this song.
I’m sure there are other examples in my books of stories and poems I should apologize for. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life as an author: if you unintentionally hurt people, apologize profusely and make peace. It’s a classy move that’s good for all parties. But at the same time, you don’t want to change so much of your approach to creativity that you lose your individuality. I considered removing some of my more offensive material from my books, but if I did that, I’d have no books. Art is subjective. One man’s trash is the next man’s treasure. If you please one person, another gets upset. Bottom line: you can be a warmhearted public figure, but you can’t please everyone. If you try, your work will become so bland that the whole world will hate it.
And that’s why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds. It’s a cautionary tale not to be a people pleaser. Yes, the criticism you receive will hurt badly at times, but the love you receive from others is also valid. The negativity bias and low self-esteem is why some authors become people pleasers. Peace is comfortable. Agreeability is also comfortable. But being TOO comfortable in your own bubble doesn’t allow for personal growth or a courageous reputation. Sometimes you have to be just a little bit offensive in order to get noticed. You don’t have to go full Milo Yiannopoulos, and really, you shouldn’t even consider it, but just be controversial enough that you have a message.
Think of all of your favorite musicians, artists, and writers and how they too dared to be offensive in the face of adversity. What if Marilyn Manson was a people pleaser? What if Roger Waters cared too much what his brutal teachers thought of him? What if George Carlin toned himself down and never got in hot water with the FCC? That would make for a pretty bland world, wouldn’t you agree? Everybody would be wearing the same putty-faced masks Roger Waters introduced in the movie Pink Floyd the Wall. Nobody would laugh at George Carlin. Nobody would have the courage to be themselves if Marilyn Manson didn’t have the courage to be himself.
At the same time, you don’t want to be like a pizza cutter: all edge and no point. Roger Waters, George Carlin, and Marilyn Manson at least had a profound message in their performances. If you write a book with nothing but racial slurs and R-word implications throughout, you probably deserve the wrath of the online mob. Have a purpose. Have something to say even if it’s not the most profound message in the galaxy. Yes, you can write strictly for fun, but if you’re being offensive just for the sake of being offensive and you have nothing to back yourself up, then enjoy your one and two-star reviews, my friend.
Going back to my point about how “Texas” was about fringe people, you also don’t want to be on the fringe when it comes to the people-pleasing/edgy-jerkwad spectrum. A nice, healthy middle ground is what you should look for. If you can’t find it or it’s obvious that you’re not trying to look for it, your audience will notice. They noticed it with books like “Trigger Warning” by William Johnstone. They noticed it with that Dr. Pepper 10 commercial where they say, “It’s not for women.” While it is true that art ages poorly sometimes, it shouldn’t take such a short or instantaneous amount of time to do so.
Be yourself no matter what they say. Some people will like it, some people won’t. In the end, it’s up to you which battles are worth fighting and which ones aren’t. Know when to open fire and know when to lay down your arms with your hands in the sky. It takes practice to do this, but with a little wisdom and a little input from those you love, you can do it. I know you can. Let’s be artists together! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!
***LOST WITHOUT YOU***
I’ve talked about this story idea on Face Book and a little bit on Twitter, but not everywhere else. Because I’ve fallen in love with the fan fiction genre after writing “A Little Bit Off” and “No Country For Old Farts”, I want to keep the spirit alive with a story called “Lost Without You”. It’s a Super Street Fighter II based fan fiction and it’ll feature a lesbian romance between Chun Li and Cammy. No, it won’t resemble something you’d see on Porn Hub. The romance will be written in a classy way with three-dimensional character work. I may be offensive sometimes, but I’m not THAT offensive, especially when I know the implications of what could go wrong if I whiff this story. Wish me luck!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
After a month-long vacation from my editing job, I’ve finally tightened the prose for chapters 14 and 15. It was an easy edit, but not all chapters will be like that, so I tread slowly to make sure I don’t overwhelm myself. Next on the chopping block is chapter 16, where Windham rents a hotel room in Morgan Town and eats hallucinogenic leaves, prompting a conversation between himself and his leonine deity Mageta. Windham may be a misguided zealot sometimes, but Mageta will always provide him with good points. I do so love good conversation even if it’s with a hallucination.
***QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“I’m not a prophet. I was off by 490 years.”
-Mike Judge talking about “Idiocracy”-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Mike Judge is definitely not a people pleaser and he carved out a nice, long, healthy career for himself. I don’t agree with every single one of his views, but I agree that Idiocracy was a fucking awesome movie. Funny as hell!
Yesterday evening, I had to republish four of my books to accommodate for the fact that I removed copyrighted lyrics from them. Even little insignificant snippets of lyrics are enough to violate copyright laws and get an author into hot water. I personally think it’s a bit ridiculous for a music corporation to sue an author for millions of dollars over one line of text, but it is what it is and I had to play by the rules. Copyrighted lyrics have now been eradicated from my entire catalogue. But that’s not why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds, no, no, no, no, no. We’re here to talk about what else was in those books that could be potentially damaging, not in a legal way, but in a social way.
My very first collection of poetry, Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage, has an Eric Clapton parody called “Retarded Tonight”. I wrote it through the perspective of people who see me as a cartoon character and nothing more. And when you’re a cartoon character, everything about you is hammed up to the extreme. While my poem wasn’t meant to be an attack on mentally disabled people, I can understand if people see it that way and get angry afterwards.
In my second book of poetry, Necrograph, there’s a parody song called “Texas”. On the surface it seems like stereotyping and mockery, but I only wanted to call out people who are so far on the fringe that they become parodies of themselves. Not everyone from Texas acts that way. Not everyone from any other geographic location acts that way either. Pantera is from Texas. Nothing More is from Texas. My favorite indie authors, Christina McMullen, K.L. Cottrell, and Markie Madden, are also from Texas. Quite frankly, I could have changed the name to Fringe Toast and it wouldn’t generate as much controversy. But at the same time, I empathize with people who would be upset by this song.
I’m sure there are other examples in my books of stories and poems I should apologize for. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life as an author: if you unintentionally hurt people, apologize profusely and make peace. It’s a classy move that’s good for all parties. But at the same time, you don’t want to change so much of your approach to creativity that you lose your individuality. I considered removing some of my more offensive material from my books, but if I did that, I’d have no books. Art is subjective. One man’s trash is the next man’s treasure. If you please one person, another gets upset. Bottom line: you can be a warmhearted public figure, but you can’t please everyone. If you try, your work will become so bland that the whole world will hate it.
And that’s why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds. It’s a cautionary tale not to be a people pleaser. Yes, the criticism you receive will hurt badly at times, but the love you receive from others is also valid. The negativity bias and low self-esteem is why some authors become people pleasers. Peace is comfortable. Agreeability is also comfortable. But being TOO comfortable in your own bubble doesn’t allow for personal growth or a courageous reputation. Sometimes you have to be just a little bit offensive in order to get noticed. You don’t have to go full Milo Yiannopoulos, and really, you shouldn’t even consider it, but just be controversial enough that you have a message.
Think of all of your favorite musicians, artists, and writers and how they too dared to be offensive in the face of adversity. What if Marilyn Manson was a people pleaser? What if Roger Waters cared too much what his brutal teachers thought of him? What if George Carlin toned himself down and never got in hot water with the FCC? That would make for a pretty bland world, wouldn’t you agree? Everybody would be wearing the same putty-faced masks Roger Waters introduced in the movie Pink Floyd the Wall. Nobody would laugh at George Carlin. Nobody would have the courage to be themselves if Marilyn Manson didn’t have the courage to be himself.
At the same time, you don’t want to be like a pizza cutter: all edge and no point. Roger Waters, George Carlin, and Marilyn Manson at least had a profound message in their performances. If you write a book with nothing but racial slurs and R-word implications throughout, you probably deserve the wrath of the online mob. Have a purpose. Have something to say even if it’s not the most profound message in the galaxy. Yes, you can write strictly for fun, but if you’re being offensive just for the sake of being offensive and you have nothing to back yourself up, then enjoy your one and two-star reviews, my friend.
Going back to my point about how “Texas” was about fringe people, you also don’t want to be on the fringe when it comes to the people-pleasing/edgy-jerkwad spectrum. A nice, healthy middle ground is what you should look for. If you can’t find it or it’s obvious that you’re not trying to look for it, your audience will notice. They noticed it with books like “Trigger Warning” by William Johnstone. They noticed it with that Dr. Pepper 10 commercial where they say, “It’s not for women.” While it is true that art ages poorly sometimes, it shouldn’t take such a short or instantaneous amount of time to do so.
Be yourself no matter what they say. Some people will like it, some people won’t. In the end, it’s up to you which battles are worth fighting and which ones aren’t. Know when to open fire and know when to lay down your arms with your hands in the sky. It takes practice to do this, but with a little wisdom and a little input from those you love, you can do it. I know you can. Let’s be artists together! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!
***LOST WITHOUT YOU***
I’ve talked about this story idea on Face Book and a little bit on Twitter, but not everywhere else. Because I’ve fallen in love with the fan fiction genre after writing “A Little Bit Off” and “No Country For Old Farts”, I want to keep the spirit alive with a story called “Lost Without You”. It’s a Super Street Fighter II based fan fiction and it’ll feature a lesbian romance between Chun Li and Cammy. No, it won’t resemble something you’d see on Porn Hub. The romance will be written in a classy way with three-dimensional character work. I may be offensive sometimes, but I’m not THAT offensive, especially when I know the implications of what could go wrong if I whiff this story. Wish me luck!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
After a month-long vacation from my editing job, I’ve finally tightened the prose for chapters 14 and 15. It was an easy edit, but not all chapters will be like that, so I tread slowly to make sure I don’t overwhelm myself. Next on the chopping block is chapter 16, where Windham rents a hotel room in Morgan Town and eats hallucinogenic leaves, prompting a conversation between himself and his leonine deity Mageta. Windham may be a misguided zealot sometimes, but Mageta will always provide him with good points. I do so love good conversation even if it’s with a hallucination.
***QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“I’m not a prophet. I was off by 490 years.”
-Mike Judge talking about “Idiocracy”-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Mike Judge is definitely not a people pleaser and he carved out a nice, long, healthy career for himself. I don’t agree with every single one of his views, but I agree that Idiocracy was a fucking awesome movie. Funny as hell!
