Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 35
January 11, 2020
Knives Out
MOVIE TITLE: Knives Out
DIRECTOR: Rian Johnson
YEAR: 2019
GENRE: Murder Mystery
RATING: PG-13 for violence and language
GRADE: Pass
In a family full of rich, spoiled brats who all claim entitlement to Harlan Thromby’s fortune (and are all cut off from his will), who could possibly want him dead the most? Who would want all of that money for themselves so badly that they’re willing to commit revenge murder to get it? Is it book publisher Walt Thromby? Is it social media influencer Joni? Is it alt-right troll boy Jacob? Truth is, everybody in this family is so unlikable that any one of them would make a convincing suspect. Some are more worthy of hate than others and that may lead you, the viewer, to obvious conclusions. You’re tempted by the obvious choice, but know deep down that’s not always the case. This mystery is so nuanced and so complicated that you’ll not only yearn to know who did it, but also how. Any mystery movie that can keep the wheels turning in your mind for as long as possible counts as a great story in my opinion. Knives Out is that great story. That’s what I expected going into the movie theater and that’s what happened.
In a movie genre where lying is paramount, I love the fact that Marta, Harlan’s personal nurse from [insert Latin country here], spills her cookies every time she lies. It could be a clever plot device. It could be a convenient way to keep her honest. Or maybe it’s just a fun little gimmick to make sure the audience knows what side she’s on. Either way, the gimmick doesn’t overstay its welcome and plays an important role in the story so many times that it’s completely necessary. It’s not even a crutch to get out of storytelling plot holes. It’s there because it needs to be. Marta is a kindhearted woman anyways, but even she makes her fair share of enemies in this movie. She’s not a total Mary-Sue in that respect. Plus, she has her own deep dark secret that may or may not influence the detective work going on throughout. The plot will thicken, not unlike the intestinal acid that bursts from Marta’s mouth every time she tells a whopper.
As to be expected with a rogue’s gallery as the main character roster, there will be some bickering among them and there are some genuinely funny moments in their dialogue. The political discussions are incredibly hammy from the basic talking points to the argot used by both the leftwing and rightwing characters. “How’s that SJW degree going, Meg?” says the most obnoxious member of the family Ransom, who’s seen eating a package of cookies at the will reading. Speaking of which, I nearly bust a gut when Walt makes an offhand remark about Harlan leaving Ransom a glass of milk in the will, proceeded by a swear word insult I will not repeat in this review. Even the serious dialogue is entertaining to listen to and at times accidentally comes off as humorous. Bottom line: it’s hard to be bored with a movie like Knives Out whether it’s the dialogue, characters, or overall mystery that you’re intrigued by.
This movie met my expectations the minute I walked through the theater door. No more, no less. I wasn’t expecting to be emotionally tear-jerked by this movie, but then again, Knives Out doesn’t have to do that. It’s just a fun story from beginning to end. It was cleverly crafted, beautifully acted, and not a single detail went to waste. This movie gets four out of five stars a.k.a. the passing grade. Rian Johnson gets a lot of heat for the way he handled his Star Wars movies. I personally don’t have a problem with them, but if Mr. Johnson needed to wash away the muck from his criticism, Knives Out was the movie to do it. Was it considered for an Oscar? I’m not sure, but it should have been.
DIRECTOR: Rian Johnson
YEAR: 2019
GENRE: Murder Mystery
RATING: PG-13 for violence and language
GRADE: Pass
In a family full of rich, spoiled brats who all claim entitlement to Harlan Thromby’s fortune (and are all cut off from his will), who could possibly want him dead the most? Who would want all of that money for themselves so badly that they’re willing to commit revenge murder to get it? Is it book publisher Walt Thromby? Is it social media influencer Joni? Is it alt-right troll boy Jacob? Truth is, everybody in this family is so unlikable that any one of them would make a convincing suspect. Some are more worthy of hate than others and that may lead you, the viewer, to obvious conclusions. You’re tempted by the obvious choice, but know deep down that’s not always the case. This mystery is so nuanced and so complicated that you’ll not only yearn to know who did it, but also how. Any mystery movie that can keep the wheels turning in your mind for as long as possible counts as a great story in my opinion. Knives Out is that great story. That’s what I expected going into the movie theater and that’s what happened.
In a movie genre where lying is paramount, I love the fact that Marta, Harlan’s personal nurse from [insert Latin country here], spills her cookies every time she lies. It could be a clever plot device. It could be a convenient way to keep her honest. Or maybe it’s just a fun little gimmick to make sure the audience knows what side she’s on. Either way, the gimmick doesn’t overstay its welcome and plays an important role in the story so many times that it’s completely necessary. It’s not even a crutch to get out of storytelling plot holes. It’s there because it needs to be. Marta is a kindhearted woman anyways, but even she makes her fair share of enemies in this movie. She’s not a total Mary-Sue in that respect. Plus, she has her own deep dark secret that may or may not influence the detective work going on throughout. The plot will thicken, not unlike the intestinal acid that bursts from Marta’s mouth every time she tells a whopper.
As to be expected with a rogue’s gallery as the main character roster, there will be some bickering among them and there are some genuinely funny moments in their dialogue. The political discussions are incredibly hammy from the basic talking points to the argot used by both the leftwing and rightwing characters. “How’s that SJW degree going, Meg?” says the most obnoxious member of the family Ransom, who’s seen eating a package of cookies at the will reading. Speaking of which, I nearly bust a gut when Walt makes an offhand remark about Harlan leaving Ransom a glass of milk in the will, proceeded by a swear word insult I will not repeat in this review. Even the serious dialogue is entertaining to listen to and at times accidentally comes off as humorous. Bottom line: it’s hard to be bored with a movie like Knives Out whether it’s the dialogue, characters, or overall mystery that you’re intrigued by.
This movie met my expectations the minute I walked through the theater door. No more, no less. I wasn’t expecting to be emotionally tear-jerked by this movie, but then again, Knives Out doesn’t have to do that. It’s just a fun story from beginning to end. It was cleverly crafted, beautifully acted, and not a single detail went to waste. This movie gets four out of five stars a.k.a. the passing grade. Rian Johnson gets a lot of heat for the way he handled his Star Wars movies. I personally don’t have a problem with them, but if Mr. Johnson needed to wash away the muck from his criticism, Knives Out was the movie to do it. Was it considered for an Oscar? I’m not sure, but it should have been.
January 10, 2020
The Ballad of Sam Corleone
Every other weekend and twice on Sundays
Smashing skulls for a living on Mondays
Looking like bloodshed in khakis and boots
Fuck the spandex trunks, fuck corporate suits
Heavy metal T-shirt around his big old gut
Messy brown hair above a face full of cuts
He stood in the ring crackling his knuckles
Maybe his opponent pussed out and buckled
Then comes R-Truth and the mid-card clowns
Chasing the champ all over the fucking town
All of this comedy for an ugly green strap
Time to put an end to this silly little crap
Grabbing a steel chair from under the ring
Whacking Truth across the back so he could sing
Repeated shots across his nonexistent spine
Crushing ribs into a powder so damn fine
The pin fall was as easy as one, two, three
A new 24/7 Champ on your TV screen
While Truth boy was carried out on a stretcher
The mid-carders ran away forever and ever
New champ took the mike after taking his throne
“My motherfucking name is Sam Corleone
I’ll bring seriousness to this comedy title
Hold onto this strap for a long ass while”
Drake Maverick sneaked up from behind
Threw a chair shot to Sam’s steel spine
The no-sell motel was open for business
Sam turned around to face this idiot
Yanked his ankles, pancaked him on the mat
With one stomp, Drake’s nuts went splat
The poor fucker puked up blood eternally
Carried to the back and to the infirmary
Nobody else dared challenge the king
Even if he was unconscious in the ring
Sam Corleone kept the belt for a year
Instilling in everyone pants-shitting fear
From Strowman to Roman, Dain to Kane
Big Show to Ohno, they all got owned
Then he burned the title in a garbage can
Who’s laughing now? Not a single man
Get used to Sam having main even status
Even if it makes little kids the saddest
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!
You’ve got two options: fuck off or fight!”
Smashing skulls for a living on Mondays
Looking like bloodshed in khakis and boots
Fuck the spandex trunks, fuck corporate suits
Heavy metal T-shirt around his big old gut
Messy brown hair above a face full of cuts
He stood in the ring crackling his knuckles
Maybe his opponent pussed out and buckled
Then comes R-Truth and the mid-card clowns
Chasing the champ all over the fucking town
All of this comedy for an ugly green strap
Time to put an end to this silly little crap
Grabbing a steel chair from under the ring
Whacking Truth across the back so he could sing
Repeated shots across his nonexistent spine
Crushing ribs into a powder so damn fine
The pin fall was as easy as one, two, three
A new 24/7 Champ on your TV screen
While Truth boy was carried out on a stretcher
The mid-carders ran away forever and ever
New champ took the mike after taking his throne
“My motherfucking name is Sam Corleone
I’ll bring seriousness to this comedy title
Hold onto this strap for a long ass while”
Drake Maverick sneaked up from behind
Threw a chair shot to Sam’s steel spine
The no-sell motel was open for business
Sam turned around to face this idiot
Yanked his ankles, pancaked him on the mat
With one stomp, Drake’s nuts went splat
The poor fucker puked up blood eternally
Carried to the back and to the infirmary
Nobody else dared challenge the king
Even if he was unconscious in the ring
Sam Corleone kept the belt for a year
Instilling in everyone pants-shitting fear
From Strowman to Roman, Dain to Kane
Big Show to Ohno, they all got owned
Then he burned the title in a garbage can
Who’s laughing now? Not a single man
Get used to Sam having main even status
Even if it makes little kids the saddest
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!
You’ve got two options: fuck off or fight!”
January 6, 2020
Tooty-Fruity
VERSE 1
The flowers, the flowers, seductive power
The rose, the rose, the purple prose
The trees, the trees, swinging in the breeze
Tooty-Fruity!
VERSE 2
The sky, the sky, enough to make you cry
The clouds, the clouds, beautiful and proud
The sun, the sun, nature’s cinnamon bun
Tooty-Fruity!
VERSE 3
Roses are red, the classics are dead
Lilacs are white, Pulitzer blight
Violets are blue, elitist culture crew
Tooty-fruity!
BRIDGE
An onion has layers and so does poetry
Peace and quiet is what you’re owing me
I’ll ply my craft in my own fucking way
Heavy metal madness is here to stay
VERSE 4
The love, the love, it’s what you shove
The tears, the tears, the least of my fears
Emotions, emotions, eyes like oceans
Tooty-Fruity!
The flowers, the flowers, seductive power
The rose, the rose, the purple prose
The trees, the trees, swinging in the breeze
Tooty-Fruity!
VERSE 2
The sky, the sky, enough to make you cry
The clouds, the clouds, beautiful and proud
The sun, the sun, nature’s cinnamon bun
Tooty-Fruity!
VERSE 3
Roses are red, the classics are dead
Lilacs are white, Pulitzer blight
Violets are blue, elitist culture crew
Tooty-fruity!
BRIDGE
An onion has layers and so does poetry
Peace and quiet is what you’re owing me
I’ll ply my craft in my own fucking way
Heavy metal madness is here to stay
VERSE 4
The love, the love, it’s what you shove
The tears, the tears, the least of my fears
Emotions, emotions, eyes like oceans
Tooty-Fruity!
January 3, 2020
Higher Ground X System of a Down: Prison Song
***HIGHER GROUND X SYSTEM OF A DOWN: PRISON SONG***
Two years ago, I went down a research rabbit hole and found an episode of Millennium called “A Room with No View”. It was that episode plus an Otherwise song that was the launching point for a novel I’m currently editing called “Beautiful Monster”. Two years later, I went down another research rabbit hole and found a TV show that could very well tell Millennium to hold their beers. Take my hand; we’re going on a journey today!
It all began with a Star Wars meme that I got curious about: Anakin Skywalker saying “I don’t like sand.” He complains about how coarse and rough it is and then tells his wife Padme that unlike sand, she’s smooth and soft. It’s easy to blame Hayden Christiansen for that hokey delivery, but to be fair to him, nobody could make that dialogue sound good. Not Samuel L. Jackson. Not Michael Chiklis. Not Walton Goggins. And sure as shit not Hayden Christiansen.
So one thing led to another and I went to Hayden Christiansen’s Wikipedia page. Sure enough, one of the roles he’s famous for was Scott Barringer in the 2000 teen drama Higher Ground. And in this 2000 teen drama, Scott was a star athlete and one hell of a piano player. And then his parents divorced and his father got remarried to a woman named Elaine, who was closer to Scott’s age. Elaine started sexually abusing Scott to where his trauma could only be numbed with drugs and alcohol. His addictions got so bad that he was sent away to a “therapy school” to deal with his problems, never once addressing the root of it all, Elaine raping him.
Now, I’ve never actually watched a single episode of this show. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for it. But I saw the phrase “therapy school” and wondered just what that entailed. So the rabbit hole continues. Turns out there’s no therapy to be found in these places. Therapy school is just a PC term for “child prison”. Of course, if they started calling themselves child prisons, you know how many parents would fork over their children to them? Lots of them, because Scott’s parents don’t have any fucking principles. If they did, there would be no sexual assault and therefore no TV show.
But what exactly goes on in a “therapy school” a.k.a. “child prison”? Well, the reason why I’m calling it a prison is because therapy schools have a lot in common with establishments that openly admit to being prisons. You can’t leave whenever you’d like, you lose all of your constitutional rights, the overseers beat your ass and scream at you for no reason, and your individuality is long gone, never to be seen again. I’m not sure if this actually goes on in Higher Ground, but from what I’ve researched about therapy schools, it’s probably a safe bet. Oh, and one more thing: therapy schools get richer by keeping kids locked up and abused. They’re for-profit, just like real prisons.
One of the many behavioral modification exercises the therapy schools like to push on their patients, I mean, inmates is…wilderness training. It’s basically survivalism and it doesn’t actually cure bad behavior. You know what the counselors, I mean, prison guards really like about wilderness therapy? No cameras. No witness. Not a goddamn thing for miles. The prison guards already get away with abuse on a regular basis, but out in the wilderness, they’ve got that extra insurance.
You know what else they like to do? Hire “teen escort services”. That already sounds suspicious because the word “escort” is associated with the GFE (Girlfriend Experience). Putting the word “teen” next to it doesn’t sound any better. But that’s not where this story ends. A teen escort service is where a bunch of guys kidnap the child in the middle of the night and forcibly bring him or her to the therapy school. No due process, no right to legal representation, just a traumatic experience that will haunt the kids forever and ever. How the fuck is this legal?!
You’d think with all these ass beatings and traumatizing scream sessions going on, somebody would step in and shut down these child prisons or at least try to sue the shit out of them for millions of dollars. But this is America; capitalism and the almighty dollar come first. Therapy schools, just like for-profit prisons, are a business and business is booming. Besides, with all the money they make, they could very easily win a court case against them with the best lawyers money can buy. If suing prisons was really that easy…well, you get the picture by now.
So…in the same way that Beautiful Monster was a throwback to Millennium, its potential sequel, Prison Song, will be a throwback to Higher Ground. I haven’t figured out the exact circumstances of the therapy schools nor have I outlined the damn story. Shit, I’ve only edited three chapters of Beautiful Monster thus far, so I don’t have a clear picture of what these new changes will do for the sequel. But just like Beautiful Monster, Prison Song will be named after an actual piece of music, that being Prison Song by System of a Down. You want some lyrics? You want some protest music? Here you go:
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“They’re trying to build a prison. Following the rights movements, you clamped down with your iron fists. Drugs became conveniently available for all the kids. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. Nearly two million people are incarcerated in the prison system in the US. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me. Minor drug offenders fill your prisons, you don’t even flinch. All our taxes paying for your wars against the new non-rich. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. The percentage of Americans in the prison system has doubled since 1985. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me. All research and successful drug policies show that treatment should be increased and law enforcement decreased while abolishing mandatory minimum sentences. Utilizing drugs to pay for secret wars around the world. Drugs are now your global policy, now you police the globe. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. Drug money is used to rig elections and train brutal corporate-sponsored dictators around the world. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me.”
-System of a Down singing “Prison Song”-
Two years ago, I went down a research rabbit hole and found an episode of Millennium called “A Room with No View”. It was that episode plus an Otherwise song that was the launching point for a novel I’m currently editing called “Beautiful Monster”. Two years later, I went down another research rabbit hole and found a TV show that could very well tell Millennium to hold their beers. Take my hand; we’re going on a journey today!
It all began with a Star Wars meme that I got curious about: Anakin Skywalker saying “I don’t like sand.” He complains about how coarse and rough it is and then tells his wife Padme that unlike sand, she’s smooth and soft. It’s easy to blame Hayden Christiansen for that hokey delivery, but to be fair to him, nobody could make that dialogue sound good. Not Samuel L. Jackson. Not Michael Chiklis. Not Walton Goggins. And sure as shit not Hayden Christiansen.
So one thing led to another and I went to Hayden Christiansen’s Wikipedia page. Sure enough, one of the roles he’s famous for was Scott Barringer in the 2000 teen drama Higher Ground. And in this 2000 teen drama, Scott was a star athlete and one hell of a piano player. And then his parents divorced and his father got remarried to a woman named Elaine, who was closer to Scott’s age. Elaine started sexually abusing Scott to where his trauma could only be numbed with drugs and alcohol. His addictions got so bad that he was sent away to a “therapy school” to deal with his problems, never once addressing the root of it all, Elaine raping him.
Now, I’ve never actually watched a single episode of this show. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for it. But I saw the phrase “therapy school” and wondered just what that entailed. So the rabbit hole continues. Turns out there’s no therapy to be found in these places. Therapy school is just a PC term for “child prison”. Of course, if they started calling themselves child prisons, you know how many parents would fork over their children to them? Lots of them, because Scott’s parents don’t have any fucking principles. If they did, there would be no sexual assault and therefore no TV show.
But what exactly goes on in a “therapy school” a.k.a. “child prison”? Well, the reason why I’m calling it a prison is because therapy schools have a lot in common with establishments that openly admit to being prisons. You can’t leave whenever you’d like, you lose all of your constitutional rights, the overseers beat your ass and scream at you for no reason, and your individuality is long gone, never to be seen again. I’m not sure if this actually goes on in Higher Ground, but from what I’ve researched about therapy schools, it’s probably a safe bet. Oh, and one more thing: therapy schools get richer by keeping kids locked up and abused. They’re for-profit, just like real prisons.
One of the many behavioral modification exercises the therapy schools like to push on their patients, I mean, inmates is…wilderness training. It’s basically survivalism and it doesn’t actually cure bad behavior. You know what the counselors, I mean, prison guards really like about wilderness therapy? No cameras. No witness. Not a goddamn thing for miles. The prison guards already get away with abuse on a regular basis, but out in the wilderness, they’ve got that extra insurance.
You know what else they like to do? Hire “teen escort services”. That already sounds suspicious because the word “escort” is associated with the GFE (Girlfriend Experience). Putting the word “teen” next to it doesn’t sound any better. But that’s not where this story ends. A teen escort service is where a bunch of guys kidnap the child in the middle of the night and forcibly bring him or her to the therapy school. No due process, no right to legal representation, just a traumatic experience that will haunt the kids forever and ever. How the fuck is this legal?!
You’d think with all these ass beatings and traumatizing scream sessions going on, somebody would step in and shut down these child prisons or at least try to sue the shit out of them for millions of dollars. But this is America; capitalism and the almighty dollar come first. Therapy schools, just like for-profit prisons, are a business and business is booming. Besides, with all the money they make, they could very easily win a court case against them with the best lawyers money can buy. If suing prisons was really that easy…well, you get the picture by now.
So…in the same way that Beautiful Monster was a throwback to Millennium, its potential sequel, Prison Song, will be a throwback to Higher Ground. I haven’t figured out the exact circumstances of the therapy schools nor have I outlined the damn story. Shit, I’ve only edited three chapters of Beautiful Monster thus far, so I don’t have a clear picture of what these new changes will do for the sequel. But just like Beautiful Monster, Prison Song will be named after an actual piece of music, that being Prison Song by System of a Down. You want some lyrics? You want some protest music? Here you go:
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“They’re trying to build a prison. Following the rights movements, you clamped down with your iron fists. Drugs became conveniently available for all the kids. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. Nearly two million people are incarcerated in the prison system in the US. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me. Minor drug offenders fill your prisons, you don’t even flinch. All our taxes paying for your wars against the new non-rich. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. The percentage of Americans in the prison system has doubled since 1985. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me. All research and successful drug policies show that treatment should be increased and law enforcement decreased while abolishing mandatory minimum sentences. Utilizing drugs to pay for secret wars around the world. Drugs are now your global policy, now you police the globe. Well, I buy my crack, I smack my bitch right here in Hollywood. Drug money is used to rig elections and train brutal corporate-sponsored dictators around the world. They’re trying to build a prison for you and me to live in. Another prison system for you and me.”
-System of a Down singing “Prison Song”-
January 1, 2020
Drunk as a Skunk
This would have been a perfect time for Sheriff Walt Magnus to begin again…if it wasn’t for the smell of alcohol radiating off of his body like nuclear energy. The burps exploding from his fanged mouth also included splashes of green spittle, a color that already looked horrifying on his scaly orcish flesh. The crotch of his blue jeans resembled a swimming pool, provided his bits and pieces were swimming in sewage. His red flannel shirt was glazed over with sweat, so much so that he had to air out his leather vest just to beat the desert heat. His snakeskin boots danced around on the sandy ground as he shimmied drunkenly from side to side. No doubt the Silver Star on his cowboy hat looked less and less believable with every near trip.
Passersby gazed upon their once beloved Sheriff with crinkle-faced disgust. Elven traders backed away as quickly as they could, probably hoping Walt’s drunken sweat didn’t get on their produce. Human families shielded their children, covering their ears with every passing burp. Even the shirtless, flabby-bellied, shit-breathed ogres held their nose in disgust as they waddled away from Walt. Despite his mind echoing with drunken harmonies, he could make out the various curses that his citizens said under their breath. Walt’s heart would have sunken if his emotions weren’t already numb. Instead, a vomit spill on the wooden steps of the Red Dragon Saloon would have to suffice. Now the citizens got the hell out of there in a big fucking hurry.
“I got this…I fucking got this shit…I can do this…just one measly arrest is all it takes…eh, who am I kidding?” With nobody around to listen to his monologue, Walt collapsed through the swinging doors of the saloon and face-planted on the floor, almost shattering his wide nose and a few fangs in the process. Almost. Drunken stupor be damned, he could still hear the squeaks of a rag cleaning off glass mugs. “Thank god you’re here, Murphy. You ain’t going to believe this, but…I need another drink…”
Walt grabbed the edge of a nearby piano and yanked himself to his feet, but not without dancing around some more. It suddenly dawned on him why the saloon was so quiet. Human corpses decorated the establishment, some bent over chairs, some sprawled out across the tables and the bar, all of them with blood pouring from their wounds like the tap itself. Walt could also smell elven blood, which was a daisy garden compared to the ogres lying about. Once his vision cleared up, he saw no sign of Murphy the Bartender behind the counter.
The one wiping the glass mugs (and shattering a few of them with her thick fingers) was a rotund anthropomorphic rhino dressed in a green leather apron. She gazed into Walt’s watery eyes and pointed her blood-soaked horn at him. “I ain’t Murphy, asshole. He couldn’t make it to work today. He’s taking a permanent vacation in the bowels of hell with the rest of these fat-shaming losers. It’s like they ain’t never seen a big woman before. Even these god-forsaken ogres couldn’t keep their flabby gums shut.”
“Yeah, I know how that is…” Walt burped before staggering and dragging his feet towards the bar, almost falling off of his stool as he parked his ass down. He could have sworn the deer heads on the wall were glaring judgmentally at him as well. Even the corpses looked like they wanted to drag Walt to hell with them, provided the rhino woman was right about their ultimate fates. “Can I at least have a beer?”
The rhino woman laid her palms across the bar after tossing the glass mug aside. “You sure about that, honey? Do you really need another bottle right now? Shouldn’t you be out cuffing people or some shit?”
Walt dropped his forehead onto the bar. “Yeah, like anyone gives a shit anymore. It’s always do this, do that, all without an ounce of thanks. You have any idea how many punks I’ve put in the pokey?” He lifted his head and tried to use his bladed fingers to count, but immediately lost track and chuckled. “I’m all burned out and nobody gives a rat’s ass. They whine and complain to me all day and now they’re fucking surprised that I’m piss drunk.”
“I certainly hope you’re not trying to pull a fast one on me, Sheriff. I might have to gore your ass too if you pull that negotiator 101 shit right now. Yeah, you’re one ugly motherfucker alright, but you’ve got that little narrow ass that the voters like. Me? I couldn’t sell a glass of water to a guy dying of thirst. They see my big ass and my big nose and automatically want to deduct a hundred IQ points. Ain’t nobody voting for me anytime soon.”
Walt burped again, spilling bile down his already messed up shirt and vest.
“Ain’t nobody voting for you either if you keep that shit up. Seriously, go take a bath or something. There are horse stalls across the street that smell better than you.”
Walt almost leaned back too far for his comfort. “You know what? You’re right. Maybe I don’t need a beer today. But…there’s no way in hell I’m going out there in that heat…not like this. You won’t mind if a sleep here for a few hours, would ya, miss?” He took the rhino’s hand and kissed it in a vain attempt to sweeten the deal.
She smiled. “I don’t see why not. Everyone else around here is taking a nap, I guess you could too. Maybe I’ll play something on the piano, like a lullaby or some shit. Or I could just stick my horn right through your fucking chest, either one would be fine.”
Walt lurched forward and a vial of amber liquid fell out of his sleeve. His eyes widened as his façade was exposed to the now growling rhino. She picked it up and shattered it between her fingers, confirming that it was indeed alcoholic perfume.
The Sheriff chuckled hoarsely. “Dina Octavia Lord…you’ve got this entire town scared shitless of you...Nobody’s got balls big enough to confront your big ass…But I will. Come with me, babe. You’re under arrest for mass murder!”
Dina roared a windstorm in Walt’s face, assaulting his nostrils with bad dentistry and knocking him on his back. “Oh, shit!” he said as he put his blown off hat back on and scrambled to his feet, bolting out of the saloon.
The thunderous sound of massive rhino legs charging behind him caused Walt to hold onto his hat and pick up speed. Everybody else scattered like cockroaches, screaming and crying while their arms flailed in the air. As Dina’s feet clomped and shook the ground, Walt’s heart thudded even louder and his mind cluster-fucked itself worse than if he actually was drunk. The footsteps pounded his eardrums like they were actual percussion instruments. “Just a few more steps…a few more!”
Once he could feel the tip of Dina’s horn piercing his ass crack, Walt dove through one of the horse stalls and covered up in the hay. The wooden walls exploded like dynamite once Dina crashed through them. Walt was certain he was going to be flattened like a pancake and crushed like peanut brittle. But then…horse whines belted through the stables and were accompanied by hooves smashing and kicking out of intense fear. Dina bellowed out of both anger and pain, her face and ribs covered in horseshoe marks, broken bones, and blood.
Walt covered up and cowered some more as the horses stormed out of their stalls, leaving a trail of shit and piss behind them, not to mention Dina’s thick blood. Speaking of Dina, she lied on the ground clutching her broken body and coughing up blood. Her horn even broke off to where it was a jagged mess rather than a clean blade.
Sheriff Magnus slowly stood up and pulled out his six shooter, aiming it at the wounded and battered Dina, who just suffered through a kung fu assault from a house full of frightened horses. “You see that, Miss Lord? That’s what happens when you try to use fear to control your enemies. When the people get scared, they do scary shit. In the case of the horses…well, we knew how that story ended. I know you don’t like being called fat and ugly. To be honest, nobody does. But if the whole town followed your example and went on a mass murdering spree…I might have an actual reason to be drunk as a skunk instead of doing my duty.”
Kneeling down beside Dina, he said, “Now listen, lady: I ain’t got cuffs big enough for them wrists of yours. No, that ain’t a fat joke, that’s god’s honest truth. I guess I’ll just have to hold your ass at gunpoint as I take you to jail.” He stood back up and motioned for her to stand up with his gun barrel.
Spitting out chunky blood and broken teeth, Dina said, “There’s no way in hell I’m going to jail before these jokers and clowns do. I don’t see you arresting the dickheads who signed their own death warrant a long fucking time ago. They didn’t have to kiss my ass. They just had to keep their damn mouths shut. Is it too much to ask? I SAID IS IT TOO MUCH TO FUCKING ASK?!” Despite aggravating her rib injuries, Dina found a way to reach Walt’s ankle. She got what she probably hoped for this whole time: suicide by cop. Walt shot her in the chest multiple times, putting an end to her reign of terror for good.
Despite having an obvious victory under his belt, Walt frowned at his handiwork. His body shook in anger as onlookers clapped for him. He couldn’t help but think there was a little bit of truth to what Dina said during her final moments. Walt spun around and confronted his admirers. “What are you fuckers cheering at?! This is your damn fault!” The clapping died down and faces sagged in somber reflection. “Hell, none of you would give me the time of day when you thought I was drunk. You were ready to vote for the other guy once you had enough of my jolly green ass. Shallow bastards!”
Walt ripped the Silver Star out of his cowboy hat and tossed it aside before marching away, his middle finger waving proudly in the air like a patriotic banner. These people were freaks too, but maybe Dina was a little too freaky even for them. Then again, so was Walt Magnus, which was why he stamped away from these ingrates in the first place.
Passersby gazed upon their once beloved Sheriff with crinkle-faced disgust. Elven traders backed away as quickly as they could, probably hoping Walt’s drunken sweat didn’t get on their produce. Human families shielded their children, covering their ears with every passing burp. Even the shirtless, flabby-bellied, shit-breathed ogres held their nose in disgust as they waddled away from Walt. Despite his mind echoing with drunken harmonies, he could make out the various curses that his citizens said under their breath. Walt’s heart would have sunken if his emotions weren’t already numb. Instead, a vomit spill on the wooden steps of the Red Dragon Saloon would have to suffice. Now the citizens got the hell out of there in a big fucking hurry.
“I got this…I fucking got this shit…I can do this…just one measly arrest is all it takes…eh, who am I kidding?” With nobody around to listen to his monologue, Walt collapsed through the swinging doors of the saloon and face-planted on the floor, almost shattering his wide nose and a few fangs in the process. Almost. Drunken stupor be damned, he could still hear the squeaks of a rag cleaning off glass mugs. “Thank god you’re here, Murphy. You ain’t going to believe this, but…I need another drink…”
Walt grabbed the edge of a nearby piano and yanked himself to his feet, but not without dancing around some more. It suddenly dawned on him why the saloon was so quiet. Human corpses decorated the establishment, some bent over chairs, some sprawled out across the tables and the bar, all of them with blood pouring from their wounds like the tap itself. Walt could also smell elven blood, which was a daisy garden compared to the ogres lying about. Once his vision cleared up, he saw no sign of Murphy the Bartender behind the counter.
The one wiping the glass mugs (and shattering a few of them with her thick fingers) was a rotund anthropomorphic rhino dressed in a green leather apron. She gazed into Walt’s watery eyes and pointed her blood-soaked horn at him. “I ain’t Murphy, asshole. He couldn’t make it to work today. He’s taking a permanent vacation in the bowels of hell with the rest of these fat-shaming losers. It’s like they ain’t never seen a big woman before. Even these god-forsaken ogres couldn’t keep their flabby gums shut.”
“Yeah, I know how that is…” Walt burped before staggering and dragging his feet towards the bar, almost falling off of his stool as he parked his ass down. He could have sworn the deer heads on the wall were glaring judgmentally at him as well. Even the corpses looked like they wanted to drag Walt to hell with them, provided the rhino woman was right about their ultimate fates. “Can I at least have a beer?”
The rhino woman laid her palms across the bar after tossing the glass mug aside. “You sure about that, honey? Do you really need another bottle right now? Shouldn’t you be out cuffing people or some shit?”
Walt dropped his forehead onto the bar. “Yeah, like anyone gives a shit anymore. It’s always do this, do that, all without an ounce of thanks. You have any idea how many punks I’ve put in the pokey?” He lifted his head and tried to use his bladed fingers to count, but immediately lost track and chuckled. “I’m all burned out and nobody gives a rat’s ass. They whine and complain to me all day and now they’re fucking surprised that I’m piss drunk.”
“I certainly hope you’re not trying to pull a fast one on me, Sheriff. I might have to gore your ass too if you pull that negotiator 101 shit right now. Yeah, you’re one ugly motherfucker alright, but you’ve got that little narrow ass that the voters like. Me? I couldn’t sell a glass of water to a guy dying of thirst. They see my big ass and my big nose and automatically want to deduct a hundred IQ points. Ain’t nobody voting for me anytime soon.”
Walt burped again, spilling bile down his already messed up shirt and vest.
“Ain’t nobody voting for you either if you keep that shit up. Seriously, go take a bath or something. There are horse stalls across the street that smell better than you.”
Walt almost leaned back too far for his comfort. “You know what? You’re right. Maybe I don’t need a beer today. But…there’s no way in hell I’m going out there in that heat…not like this. You won’t mind if a sleep here for a few hours, would ya, miss?” He took the rhino’s hand and kissed it in a vain attempt to sweeten the deal.
She smiled. “I don’t see why not. Everyone else around here is taking a nap, I guess you could too. Maybe I’ll play something on the piano, like a lullaby or some shit. Or I could just stick my horn right through your fucking chest, either one would be fine.”
Walt lurched forward and a vial of amber liquid fell out of his sleeve. His eyes widened as his façade was exposed to the now growling rhino. She picked it up and shattered it between her fingers, confirming that it was indeed alcoholic perfume.
The Sheriff chuckled hoarsely. “Dina Octavia Lord…you’ve got this entire town scared shitless of you...Nobody’s got balls big enough to confront your big ass…But I will. Come with me, babe. You’re under arrest for mass murder!”
Dina roared a windstorm in Walt’s face, assaulting his nostrils with bad dentistry and knocking him on his back. “Oh, shit!” he said as he put his blown off hat back on and scrambled to his feet, bolting out of the saloon.
The thunderous sound of massive rhino legs charging behind him caused Walt to hold onto his hat and pick up speed. Everybody else scattered like cockroaches, screaming and crying while their arms flailed in the air. As Dina’s feet clomped and shook the ground, Walt’s heart thudded even louder and his mind cluster-fucked itself worse than if he actually was drunk. The footsteps pounded his eardrums like they were actual percussion instruments. “Just a few more steps…a few more!”
Once he could feel the tip of Dina’s horn piercing his ass crack, Walt dove through one of the horse stalls and covered up in the hay. The wooden walls exploded like dynamite once Dina crashed through them. Walt was certain he was going to be flattened like a pancake and crushed like peanut brittle. But then…horse whines belted through the stables and were accompanied by hooves smashing and kicking out of intense fear. Dina bellowed out of both anger and pain, her face and ribs covered in horseshoe marks, broken bones, and blood.
Walt covered up and cowered some more as the horses stormed out of their stalls, leaving a trail of shit and piss behind them, not to mention Dina’s thick blood. Speaking of Dina, she lied on the ground clutching her broken body and coughing up blood. Her horn even broke off to where it was a jagged mess rather than a clean blade.
Sheriff Magnus slowly stood up and pulled out his six shooter, aiming it at the wounded and battered Dina, who just suffered through a kung fu assault from a house full of frightened horses. “You see that, Miss Lord? That’s what happens when you try to use fear to control your enemies. When the people get scared, they do scary shit. In the case of the horses…well, we knew how that story ended. I know you don’t like being called fat and ugly. To be honest, nobody does. But if the whole town followed your example and went on a mass murdering spree…I might have an actual reason to be drunk as a skunk instead of doing my duty.”
Kneeling down beside Dina, he said, “Now listen, lady: I ain’t got cuffs big enough for them wrists of yours. No, that ain’t a fat joke, that’s god’s honest truth. I guess I’ll just have to hold your ass at gunpoint as I take you to jail.” He stood back up and motioned for her to stand up with his gun barrel.
Spitting out chunky blood and broken teeth, Dina said, “There’s no way in hell I’m going to jail before these jokers and clowns do. I don’t see you arresting the dickheads who signed their own death warrant a long fucking time ago. They didn’t have to kiss my ass. They just had to keep their damn mouths shut. Is it too much to ask? I SAID IS IT TOO MUCH TO FUCKING ASK?!” Despite aggravating her rib injuries, Dina found a way to reach Walt’s ankle. She got what she probably hoped for this whole time: suicide by cop. Walt shot her in the chest multiple times, putting an end to her reign of terror for good.
Despite having an obvious victory under his belt, Walt frowned at his handiwork. His body shook in anger as onlookers clapped for him. He couldn’t help but think there was a little bit of truth to what Dina said during her final moments. Walt spun around and confronted his admirers. “What are you fuckers cheering at?! This is your damn fault!” The clapping died down and faces sagged in somber reflection. “Hell, none of you would give me the time of day when you thought I was drunk. You were ready to vote for the other guy once you had enough of my jolly green ass. Shallow bastards!”
Walt ripped the Silver Star out of his cowboy hat and tossed it aside before marching away, his middle finger waving proudly in the air like a patriotic banner. These people were freaks too, but maybe Dina was a little too freaky even for them. Then again, so was Walt Magnus, which was why he stamped away from these ingrates in the first place.
December 27, 2019
Sit With You
Excuse me? Can I sit down with you?
Beginning again is hard for me to do
Making new friends is not my strength
My relationships have the shortest length
One minute we’re talking about nothing
The next we’re distracted by something
A new job, a new house, a new friend
An old foe, an old trauma, and no end
You’re a dinner and movie date away
We want to go, but we can’t even stay
My name is Garrison in case you care
How much of my soul should I bare?
Do my stories bore you? Make you cringe?
Should I move closer to the fringe?
Should I fake charisma I never had?
Is my awkwardness really that bad?
I gave it a shot whether I succeeded or not
Nobody can say I never even fought
On to the next one, whoever that is
Another beautiful soul I learn to miss
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
How much more pain must be felt?
Rejection is a passing thought to you
To me it hurts like a permanent bruise
It’s not your fault and it never was
It’s all on me and enough is enough
Isolation is both a gift and a curse
But at least it can’t get any worse
Loneliness isn’t something to fear
My own demons will always be here
Beginning again is hard for me to do
Making new friends is not my strength
My relationships have the shortest length
One minute we’re talking about nothing
The next we’re distracted by something
A new job, a new house, a new friend
An old foe, an old trauma, and no end
You’re a dinner and movie date away
We want to go, but we can’t even stay
My name is Garrison in case you care
How much of my soul should I bare?
Do my stories bore you? Make you cringe?
Should I move closer to the fringe?
Should I fake charisma I never had?
Is my awkwardness really that bad?
I gave it a shot whether I succeeded or not
Nobody can say I never even fought
On to the next one, whoever that is
Another beautiful soul I learn to miss
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
How much more pain must be felt?
Rejection is a passing thought to you
To me it hurts like a permanent bruise
It’s not your fault and it never was
It’s all on me and enough is enough
Isolation is both a gift and a curse
But at least it can’t get any worse
Loneliness isn’t something to fear
My own demons will always be here
December 21, 2019
Disturbing Tropes
***DISTURBING TROPES***
Yes, I know we’re two months removed from Halloween and this particular topic’s expiration date has passed. But then again, I don’t fucking care! I see a lot of Author Tubers counting down lists of their favorite/worst tropes depending on what the genre is. Jenna Moreci did a Worst Family Tropes video and the final item on her list reminds me too much of Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck” jokes. And then you have Erin Kinsella being as sweet as can be when listing off her favorite romantic tropes. I don’t have a You Tube channel, but I want to list off tropes of my own, so that’s why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds. Today I’m listing off my top six most disturbing tropes in any genre. If you agree or disagree with anything on this list, I’d love to hear it.
***LOSS OF INDIVIDUALITY***
Our minds are the last safe havens for us as human beings. Without our individuality, we are nothing. In high school, I was very protective of my individuality and I have Pink Floyd the Wall to thank for that. The school kids in that movie lose their individuality and that’s why they all wear creepy putty-faced masks: because they all look and act the same. In this case, the teacher is responsible for their conformity because he’s a bully. He reads Pink’s poetry out loud and humiliates him in front of the classroom. Therefore, every time he writes poetry, he’s going to think of that traumatic moment and not want to do poetry anymore, hence why he wears a putty-faced mask. School is just one place where a child can lose his individuality. It can also happen in church, in cults, and even in their own homes. When you lose the ability to decide for yourself, you give up what makes you special.
***ANIMAL TRANSFORMATION***
When I say animal transformation, I’m not talking about shape shifters who willingly change into other species. I’m talking about when it happens to somebody against their will. When you transform into an animal, you lose all credibility as a human being and your individuality goes up in smoke. We saw this with Disney’s version of Pinocchio when the kids were all transformed into donkeys after partaking in “sinful” behavior. Believe it or not, I can find an even more disturbing version of this trope. In Cowboy Bebop’s fourth episode, Gateway Shuffle, an eco-terrorist group creates a virus that transforms ordinary human beings into primitive monkeys. They decide to use the virus on one of their own, Harrison, after he makes a mistake during an attack. Watching Harrison locked in a small cage and transforming into a monkey was easily the most disturbing moment in Cowboy Bebop. Yes, he’s a bad guy, but even I had to have sympathy for him.
***FALSE IMPRISONMENT***
Prison by itself is a scary place to be. The guards are bullies, the prisoners are bullies, and there’s no reprieve from the constant assaults. The US has the highest prison population of any country, but that’s not what I’m talking about today. What if the imprisonment of another person was because of a civilian and not the police? What if it’s a pedophile holding a child hostage for decades at a time? What if it’s a drug cartel holding someone’s wife hostage in exchange for money or information? What if it’s a deprogrammer holding a non-brainwashed person hostage and forcing him to lose his individuality? Jaycee Dugard’s story of being raped for eighteen years straight by a complete stranger will always disturb me, so much so that I wish there was a hell just so her attacker could burn in it for all eternity.
***SPIDERS, SCORPIONS, AND SNAKES***
The three S’s, ladies and gentlemen. The three motherfucking S’s. They’re tiny, they’re creepy, and they love to bite and sting humans for virtually no reason. One of the three S’s is bad enough on its own. But just imagine the horror of being trapped in a room with hundreds of these disgusting creatures. Crawling on your walls, crawling on your body, eating you alive as you struggle to get them off. It’s the reason why I’ll never watch Something Wicked This Way Comes or Eight Legged Freaks ever again, as they both have spider scenes. What about that Indiana Jones movie where Indy is trapped underground with a bunch of snakes? Fucking forget it, man! Yuck!
***HEAD VOICES***
As a schizophrenic, I have personal experience with this. Disembodied voices telling you negative things? Creepy! Now imagine responding to them out loud in a public place. Not only will the voices grow more aggressive the more you fight them, but those who share the public space with you will either give you funny looks or they’ll back as far away from you as they possibly can. Even with those head voices, you’re the loneliest motherfucker on planet earth. Luckily, I’ve never had to be institutionalized, but if I was, that’d be yet another example of false imprisonment. Mental hospitals are prisons for the psychologically ill. They committed no crimes, yet they can’t leave whenever they want to nor do they get freedom or rights of any kind. That’s a prison in my eyes.
***HEAD SHAVING***
When I say head shaving, I’m not talking about my bimonthly visit to Hair Masters to get a buzz cut. I’m not even talking about cancer patients having their hair fall out after chemotherapy. I’m talking about when head shaving is done to an unwilling person as a way to humiliate and dehumanize them. We saw this in V For Vendetta when Natalie Portman was captured by the totalitarian government and had her head shaved completely bald. We see this in prisons all the time when newbies get their heads shaved for no other reason other than the fact that the guards are assholes. And going back to that theme of loss of individuality, yes, head shaving can be yet another way to make a large group of people look exactly the same. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being bald, but against your will at another person’s hands? Not cool. And definitely creepy as fuck.
***CONCLUSION***
So what about you guys? Do you have any tropes that you find disturbing? Let me know in the comment section. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another disturbing trope: the theme music from Tales From the Dark Side!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Over the past few days, I’ve been working on getting Beautiful Monster in tiptop shape for yet another round of editing. I’ve written a new prologue where Queen Llewellyn Xavier gives a Magetan sermon to her flock and I’ve edited the newly minted chapter one where her brother Windham Xavier has a traumatic episode prior to his stealth mission. Both chapters have something in common: the main protagonists don’t act like overdramatic babies anymore. Crying was such a common thing in my most recent draft, so much so that the characters came off as drama queens rather than people who are actually in pain. That’s something I intend to change as I’m going through these chapters. That way, when Windham finally does cry near the story’s end, it’ll be special and warranted. Wish me luck!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Before you judge me, take a good hard look at yourself. You don’t know me, but you’re draining me of mental health. A lie based on popular opinion. I want to die, ‘cause I can’t be forgiven. The world is caving in all around me. I see myself as a vulgar monstrosity. My mind collapsed into a technical mess. I can’t deal with the guilt I have to ingest. Locked in a room void of humanity. I’m in a black hole suffering endlessly. Opening my eyes is worse than death. That’s why I keep on holding my breath.”
-Alien Weaponry singing “Holding My Breath”-
Yes, I know we’re two months removed from Halloween and this particular topic’s expiration date has passed. But then again, I don’t fucking care! I see a lot of Author Tubers counting down lists of their favorite/worst tropes depending on what the genre is. Jenna Moreci did a Worst Family Tropes video and the final item on her list reminds me too much of Jeff Foxworthy’s “You Might Be a Redneck” jokes. And then you have Erin Kinsella being as sweet as can be when listing off her favorite romantic tropes. I don’t have a You Tube channel, but I want to list off tropes of my own, so that’s why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds. Today I’m listing off my top six most disturbing tropes in any genre. If you agree or disagree with anything on this list, I’d love to hear it.
***LOSS OF INDIVIDUALITY***
Our minds are the last safe havens for us as human beings. Without our individuality, we are nothing. In high school, I was very protective of my individuality and I have Pink Floyd the Wall to thank for that. The school kids in that movie lose their individuality and that’s why they all wear creepy putty-faced masks: because they all look and act the same. In this case, the teacher is responsible for their conformity because he’s a bully. He reads Pink’s poetry out loud and humiliates him in front of the classroom. Therefore, every time he writes poetry, he’s going to think of that traumatic moment and not want to do poetry anymore, hence why he wears a putty-faced mask. School is just one place where a child can lose his individuality. It can also happen in church, in cults, and even in their own homes. When you lose the ability to decide for yourself, you give up what makes you special.
***ANIMAL TRANSFORMATION***
When I say animal transformation, I’m not talking about shape shifters who willingly change into other species. I’m talking about when it happens to somebody against their will. When you transform into an animal, you lose all credibility as a human being and your individuality goes up in smoke. We saw this with Disney’s version of Pinocchio when the kids were all transformed into donkeys after partaking in “sinful” behavior. Believe it or not, I can find an even more disturbing version of this trope. In Cowboy Bebop’s fourth episode, Gateway Shuffle, an eco-terrorist group creates a virus that transforms ordinary human beings into primitive monkeys. They decide to use the virus on one of their own, Harrison, after he makes a mistake during an attack. Watching Harrison locked in a small cage and transforming into a monkey was easily the most disturbing moment in Cowboy Bebop. Yes, he’s a bad guy, but even I had to have sympathy for him.
***FALSE IMPRISONMENT***
Prison by itself is a scary place to be. The guards are bullies, the prisoners are bullies, and there’s no reprieve from the constant assaults. The US has the highest prison population of any country, but that’s not what I’m talking about today. What if the imprisonment of another person was because of a civilian and not the police? What if it’s a pedophile holding a child hostage for decades at a time? What if it’s a drug cartel holding someone’s wife hostage in exchange for money or information? What if it’s a deprogrammer holding a non-brainwashed person hostage and forcing him to lose his individuality? Jaycee Dugard’s story of being raped for eighteen years straight by a complete stranger will always disturb me, so much so that I wish there was a hell just so her attacker could burn in it for all eternity.
***SPIDERS, SCORPIONS, AND SNAKES***
The three S’s, ladies and gentlemen. The three motherfucking S’s. They’re tiny, they’re creepy, and they love to bite and sting humans for virtually no reason. One of the three S’s is bad enough on its own. But just imagine the horror of being trapped in a room with hundreds of these disgusting creatures. Crawling on your walls, crawling on your body, eating you alive as you struggle to get them off. It’s the reason why I’ll never watch Something Wicked This Way Comes or Eight Legged Freaks ever again, as they both have spider scenes. What about that Indiana Jones movie where Indy is trapped underground with a bunch of snakes? Fucking forget it, man! Yuck!
***HEAD VOICES***
As a schizophrenic, I have personal experience with this. Disembodied voices telling you negative things? Creepy! Now imagine responding to them out loud in a public place. Not only will the voices grow more aggressive the more you fight them, but those who share the public space with you will either give you funny looks or they’ll back as far away from you as they possibly can. Even with those head voices, you’re the loneliest motherfucker on planet earth. Luckily, I’ve never had to be institutionalized, but if I was, that’d be yet another example of false imprisonment. Mental hospitals are prisons for the psychologically ill. They committed no crimes, yet they can’t leave whenever they want to nor do they get freedom or rights of any kind. That’s a prison in my eyes.
***HEAD SHAVING***
When I say head shaving, I’m not talking about my bimonthly visit to Hair Masters to get a buzz cut. I’m not even talking about cancer patients having their hair fall out after chemotherapy. I’m talking about when head shaving is done to an unwilling person as a way to humiliate and dehumanize them. We saw this in V For Vendetta when Natalie Portman was captured by the totalitarian government and had her head shaved completely bald. We see this in prisons all the time when newbies get their heads shaved for no other reason other than the fact that the guards are assholes. And going back to that theme of loss of individuality, yes, head shaving can be yet another way to make a large group of people look exactly the same. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being bald, but against your will at another person’s hands? Not cool. And definitely creepy as fuck.
***CONCLUSION***
So what about you guys? Do you have any tropes that you find disturbing? Let me know in the comment section. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Hey, there’s another disturbing trope: the theme music from Tales From the Dark Side!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Over the past few days, I’ve been working on getting Beautiful Monster in tiptop shape for yet another round of editing. I’ve written a new prologue where Queen Llewellyn Xavier gives a Magetan sermon to her flock and I’ve edited the newly minted chapter one where her brother Windham Xavier has a traumatic episode prior to his stealth mission. Both chapters have something in common: the main protagonists don’t act like overdramatic babies anymore. Crying was such a common thing in my most recent draft, so much so that the characters came off as drama queens rather than people who are actually in pain. That’s something I intend to change as I’m going through these chapters. That way, when Windham finally does cry near the story’s end, it’ll be special and warranted. Wish me luck!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Before you judge me, take a good hard look at yourself. You don’t know me, but you’re draining me of mental health. A lie based on popular opinion. I want to die, ‘cause I can’t be forgiven. The world is caving in all around me. I see myself as a vulgar monstrosity. My mind collapsed into a technical mess. I can’t deal with the guilt I have to ingest. Locked in a room void of humanity. I’m in a black hole suffering endlessly. Opening my eyes is worse than death. That’s why I keep on holding my breath.”
-Alien Weaponry singing “Holding My Breath”-
December 20, 2019
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
MOVIE TITLE: How the Grinch Stole Christmas
DIRECTOR: Ron Howard
YEAR: 2000
GENRE: Holiday Fantasy
RATING: PG for comic mischief and bullying
GRADE: Pass
There’s a reason why people who hate Christmas in real life are referred to as Grinches. They’re also called Scrooges and Bah-Humbugs, but being called a Grinch is a special kind of dishonor. Not only do you not want to enjoy the Christmas spirit yourself, but you’ll do anything humanly possible to make it miserable for everybody else, whether it’s playing cruel pranks or stealing presents. That’s the story Dr. Seuss got us all used to. But in this movie, we don’t see evil for the sake of evil. Sure, the Grinch was bullied as a kid and that’s what made him hate Christmas. Adding a traumatic back story doesn’t always equal goodwill, but this time it does. A green hairy monster loved by nobody and shunned by the wicked. If we’ve learned anything from The Joker in 2019, it’s not to mess with the disenfranchised. You will feel for the Grinch. You will cheer for him. And when he causes mayhem, you’ll laugh your head off.
A lot of this sympathy for the Grinch was helped magnificently by Jim Carrey’s performance as the title character. He’s not just an angry green monster. He’s eccentric. He’s comedic. He’s delightfully villainous. Whether it’s something as simple as the way he walks, eats, and dances or his witty dialogue that rolls off the tongue naturally, Jim Carrey has you by the throat the instant you start watching the movie. If Ace Ventura, The Mask, and The Riddler were injected into The Grinch’s rotten, yet damaged soul, that’s how Jim Carrey’s version of this character would be. But he’s not just comic relief. He’s nuanced to the point where everything he says holds water. This movie is often categorized as a drama-comedy and that combination of genres embodies Jim Carrey’s character perfectly. I’m not sure if he won an Oscar for his performance, but it’d be a crime not to give him one. I know, I know, it seems laughable to do so, but is it really?
You know who else had a convincing performance in this movie? Taylor Momsen, who portrayed little Cindy Lou Who, the only character in the Who village with enough commonsense to see Christmas for what it really is: capitalism in disguise. She knows full well that Christmas should prioritize family love and friendship over materialism, which is why she nominates The Grinch to be the Cheer Meister, because if anybody needs love, it’s him. Taylor Momsen portrayed her character as a sweet, bubbly, optimistic child who wouldn’t hurt a fly. That makes her message of family love more believable than the bombastic Mayor’s “buy, buy, buy” rhetoric. Sure, she’s not taken seriously at first because she’s a child and there’s ageism running rampant. But don’t worry, because Taylor Momsen would eventually grow up to become the lead singer of The Pretty Reckless. Not bad for a little one!
Movie reboots get a bad rap for being worse than their source material, but that’s not the case with How the Grinch Stole Christmas. In fact, I’d say it surpasses the original cartoon from the 1960’s. The Grinch has a more colorful personality, Cindy Lou Who is as sweet as a bug’s ear, and everybody else is living in those two lead characters’ world. Step aside, Mayor; you’re the real Grinch around here. A passing grade will go to this holiday classic. Wow. I can’t believe I’m calling a movie made in 2000 a classic. I’m getting old! Then again, if growing old was a bad thing, there’d be no Pretty Reckless and boy, do I need my rock and roll!
DIRECTOR: Ron Howard
YEAR: 2000
GENRE: Holiday Fantasy
RATING: PG for comic mischief and bullying
GRADE: Pass
There’s a reason why people who hate Christmas in real life are referred to as Grinches. They’re also called Scrooges and Bah-Humbugs, but being called a Grinch is a special kind of dishonor. Not only do you not want to enjoy the Christmas spirit yourself, but you’ll do anything humanly possible to make it miserable for everybody else, whether it’s playing cruel pranks or stealing presents. That’s the story Dr. Seuss got us all used to. But in this movie, we don’t see evil for the sake of evil. Sure, the Grinch was bullied as a kid and that’s what made him hate Christmas. Adding a traumatic back story doesn’t always equal goodwill, but this time it does. A green hairy monster loved by nobody and shunned by the wicked. If we’ve learned anything from The Joker in 2019, it’s not to mess with the disenfranchised. You will feel for the Grinch. You will cheer for him. And when he causes mayhem, you’ll laugh your head off.
A lot of this sympathy for the Grinch was helped magnificently by Jim Carrey’s performance as the title character. He’s not just an angry green monster. He’s eccentric. He’s comedic. He’s delightfully villainous. Whether it’s something as simple as the way he walks, eats, and dances or his witty dialogue that rolls off the tongue naturally, Jim Carrey has you by the throat the instant you start watching the movie. If Ace Ventura, The Mask, and The Riddler were injected into The Grinch’s rotten, yet damaged soul, that’s how Jim Carrey’s version of this character would be. But he’s not just comic relief. He’s nuanced to the point where everything he says holds water. This movie is often categorized as a drama-comedy and that combination of genres embodies Jim Carrey’s character perfectly. I’m not sure if he won an Oscar for his performance, but it’d be a crime not to give him one. I know, I know, it seems laughable to do so, but is it really?
You know who else had a convincing performance in this movie? Taylor Momsen, who portrayed little Cindy Lou Who, the only character in the Who village with enough commonsense to see Christmas for what it really is: capitalism in disguise. She knows full well that Christmas should prioritize family love and friendship over materialism, which is why she nominates The Grinch to be the Cheer Meister, because if anybody needs love, it’s him. Taylor Momsen portrayed her character as a sweet, bubbly, optimistic child who wouldn’t hurt a fly. That makes her message of family love more believable than the bombastic Mayor’s “buy, buy, buy” rhetoric. Sure, she’s not taken seriously at first because she’s a child and there’s ageism running rampant. But don’t worry, because Taylor Momsen would eventually grow up to become the lead singer of The Pretty Reckless. Not bad for a little one!
Movie reboots get a bad rap for being worse than their source material, but that’s not the case with How the Grinch Stole Christmas. In fact, I’d say it surpasses the original cartoon from the 1960’s. The Grinch has a more colorful personality, Cindy Lou Who is as sweet as a bug’s ear, and everybody else is living in those two lead characters’ world. Step aside, Mayor; you’re the real Grinch around here. A passing grade will go to this holiday classic. Wow. I can’t believe I’m calling a movie made in 2000 a classic. I’m getting old! Then again, if growing old was a bad thing, there’d be no Pretty Reckless and boy, do I need my rock and roll!
December 16, 2019
What's So Funny?
VERSE 1
You refuse to laugh at female comedians
But you’ll laugh at those who wear above medium
You refuse to laugh at jokes actually funny
But you’ll laugh at those you consider to be ugly
A hairy body or a Buddha belly
A disfigured face or thighs of jelly
You’ve got a shallow point of view and it shows
Your sense of humor sucks, your philosophy blows
CHORUS
What’s so funny? X4
VERSE 2
You laugh when a man gets kicked in the nuts
You laugh even harder at a fat plumber’s butt
Laugh harder than that at the Hashtag Jada Pose
Laugh so fucking hard, milk comes out of your nose
You’ve got the sense of humor of a middle school bully
Yet you smile and laugh like you’re so fucking holy
The whole world thinks you’re a major asshole
So why are you next in line for a seat at the castle?
CHORUS
What’s so funny? X4
VERSE 3
You won’t share a meme unless it has a Nazi symbol
But you’ll gladly pass over Lily Singh and Jimmy Kimmel
You’ll get your comedy from the shittiest places
And then drain the smiles right off your victims’ faces
Nainan eleven, presidential erection
Attention, attention, national dissention
You’re more see through than a wet T-shirt
Your jokes are duds, but the truth will always hurt
CHORUS
What’s so funny? X4
You refuse to laugh at female comedians
But you’ll laugh at those who wear above medium
You refuse to laugh at jokes actually funny
But you’ll laugh at those you consider to be ugly
A hairy body or a Buddha belly
A disfigured face or thighs of jelly
You’ve got a shallow point of view and it shows
Your sense of humor sucks, your philosophy blows
CHORUS
What’s so funny? X4
VERSE 2
You laugh when a man gets kicked in the nuts
You laugh even harder at a fat plumber’s butt
Laugh harder than that at the Hashtag Jada Pose
Laugh so fucking hard, milk comes out of your nose
You’ve got the sense of humor of a middle school bully
Yet you smile and laugh like you’re so fucking holy
The whole world thinks you’re a major asshole
So why are you next in line for a seat at the castle?
CHORUS
What’s so funny? X4
VERSE 3
You won’t share a meme unless it has a Nazi symbol
But you’ll gladly pass over Lily Singh and Jimmy Kimmel
You’ll get your comedy from the shittiest places
And then drain the smiles right off your victims’ faces
Nainan eleven, presidential erection
Attention, attention, national dissention
You’re more see through than a wet T-shirt
Your jokes are duds, but the truth will always hurt
CHORUS
What’s so funny? X4
December 13, 2019
Dirty Laundry
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to another episode of Beneath the Surface. I am your host, Aaron Moore. Tonight we’ve got a special treat for you. It’s no secret how Dread City’s debt crisis has ravaged our poor and working class population. Many of our citizens are losing their homes, their jobs, and in many cases, their families due to not being able to pay their debts on time. Here to expose the secrets of this little known debt industry is a man who wishes to be known by the pseudonym Heath Riggs. Heath, welcome to the show.”
“Good to be here, Aaron.”
Heath parked his ass at a dimly lit studio table across from his host, while live cameras filmed the interview from every angle behind the shadows. Aaron Moore clearly enjoyed the spotlight as evidenced by the fancy gray suit and tie he wore just for this occasion. Heath Riggs, on the other hand, thrived in anonymity, his black leather jacket, sunglasses, and hood covering everything but his black face driving the point home. While Aaron leaned his body in to ask the tough questions, Heath kicked back with his fingers in a triangle position and his heel across his lap.
“Now Heath, I want to start off by addressing with you the harassing ways in which debts are collected. The late night phone calls, the vulgar speech, the contacting of family, friends, and coworkers. By your own admission, these tactics should be illegal, yet debt collection companies get away with this all the time.”
Heath cleared his throat. “Well, you’re right about the fact that these tactics should be illegal. If they came from anybody other than a collector, the police would be called in a heartbeat. But the funny thing is, the harassment doesn’t actually get us our money faster. Then again, neither does the impending lawsuit and the subsequent garnishing of wages. This isn’t about collecting money we’ll never have. It’s politics. It’s all about weeding out the poor and disenfranchised so that they can’t influence our governmental policies. It’s not a conspiracy. This shit’s as real as it gets.”
Aaron, who was drinking a mug of hot coffee during Heath’s answer, spit out his beverage and choked on whatever was left. After wiping his mouth with his expensive sleeve, he said, “Mr. Riggs, I appreciate your honesty during this interview, but I have to ask you not to swear when giving your answers. We’re on live television in over a million homes. Surely, you understand.”
“Of course I do.” Heath grinned like he was onto something. “Wouldn’t want to offend your audience’s precious Christian ears. Wouldn’t want the children to hear any of this shit. Lord knows they might grow up to become free thinkers. We know that can never happen.”
“I’m warning you, Mr. Riggs….”
Taking his sunglasses off and revealing gray mechanical eyes underneath, Heath said, “Don’t worry, Aaron, I got the message loud and clear. You can’t swear on television, but if you do it behind closed doors with an unwilling secretary, it’s A-okay. I’m not just exposing the debt industries secrets, but yours as well. I agreed to do this interview because I want a clear conscience. Fourteen years of debt collecting began to wear on my soul after a while. I figured, as long as I’m here with an alleged sexual harasser, I might as well go the full nine, you know what I’m saying?”
“Cut the camera feed! Cut it now!” demanded Aaron. Without checking to see if his orders were followed, he leaned in closer to Heath’s face and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull, but you have no proof and neither do any of my accusers. Those cases were settled a long time ago. Now do you want to discuss debt collection or do you want to keep toying with me?”
“Why can’t he talk about both? It’s not like you two don’t deserve last words,” said a robotic feminine voice from the shadowy background. While Heath remained calm, cool, and collected, Aaron went bug-eyed and his body trembled at the sight of a cyborg assassin holding two severed heads by the hair like they were cheerleader pompoms. As soon as this mysterious woman stepped into the light, headless bodies all around the studio dropped to the ground and soaked the wooden floors in human blood and cyborg oil. A bald black woman with golden earrings and a green metal suit stared her newest victims down with a mischievous grin.
While Aaron curled up in a ball on the edge of pissing himself, the assassin said, “Don’t worry, honey. None of what you or Heath said made it on the airwaves. I made sure of that. It’s probably just as well. Although, if you want to tell your mindless viewers goodbye for one last time, I suppose I could let you do that.”
“Please…I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got a family I need to get home to. Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!” quivered Aaron while Heath smiled and shook his head.
“It’s the same old excuse: think of my family so that I don’t have to when I’m trying to take the secretary to pound town. Don’t worry, Aaron, I’ve got this.” Heath cracked his knuckles before getting out of his chair and strutting towards the assassin, who tossed the cameramen’s heads off to the side like they were easily disposable to begin with.
“What are you so cocky about, Mr. Riggs? You’re not making it out alive any more than Hard-On Henry over here. In fact, you’re the reason I came here today,” said the assassin with a grin.
Heath gazed his assailant up and down and whistled. “That’s some expensive hardware you’ve got there. How much did them arm blades set you back? Hundreds? Thousands of dollars? And that metal body? Shit, man, I don’t know how you pay for all that with just a Street Ronin’s salary. If only there was somebody here who knew how to make debt disappear quicker than those cameramen you laid out. Hmm…” Heath stroked his chin as he mockingly pondered this question.
The assassin flipped one of her arm blades and held it underneath Heath’s chin. He didn’t back down from his confident demeanor, but he was all ears for his would-be killer. “When you’re as good as me, money isn’t that hard to come by. I don’t know what kind of lies you’re telling about my client, but these poor suckers don’t go into debt because of politics. They do it because they could never make it in a capitalist meritocracy. That’s my special way of saying they’re fucking lazy.”
“Sure, whatever you say…Harlock!”
Upon hearing the assassin’s name, Aaron slowly lowered his feet to the bloody floor, obviously not caring that much about his designer shoes. “Wait a minute, you know this woman?”
“Not as well as I’d like to, but when you’ve been on the job as long as I have, you learn something about these poor pathetic motherfuckers. The boss man gives you a name, an address, and how much they owe. The rest of the research is up to you, hence why we often resort to calling friends and family to collect the debt. Harlock here doesn’t care about the circumstances of others, which is ironic considering those cyborg parts didn’t come easy in this so-called meritocracy. Besides, if she was really as hot shit as she thinks she is, she wouldn’t have revealed all this information to me. We’d both be dead as fucking fried chicken right now. But as it is…”
“Shut the hell up!” said Harlock as she drew a tiny droplet of blood from Heath’s cheek. He still didn’t budge, only smiled wider as he cleaned the wound off with his finger and licked it.
“Face it, lady,” said Heath. “You don’t want to admit it, but you can see the irony of a debt-burdened assassin working for a debt collection agency. You’re desperate for cash, so you’ll whore your services to anybody who can make shit go away. But the truth is…paying those suckers off ain’t going to solve everything. You would not believe the tricks they pull out of their asses just to keep you paying up. Ever heard of zombie debt? How about fifty percent interest? How about debtor’s prison? They still have that shit.”
Harlock narrowed her bladed eyebrows and dug the weapon deeper into Heath’s skin. He flinched a little bit, but not enough to give away whatever modicum of fear he might have been burdened with. She leaned in and said, “You know nothing about me and my struggles.”
“Exactly! Debt collectors don’t know shit about you, which is why they keep calling your ass in the first place! You could come crying to them with your whole life story and it wouldn’t be enough. They got no heart. They got no soul. If a big ass mega corporation had a heart and soul, they wouldn’t be in business for very long, would they? Capitalism is a bitch.”
Harlock’s eyes slowly lowered to the soggy floor as if Heath’s words got through to her. He took this small window of opportunity to grab her by the arm and swing her blade into her own stomach. While Aaron was in the background this whole time shivering and weeping, Harlock’s mechanical guts spilled all over the ground as she coughed up oil and blood. Heath yanked the blade upwards and split the rest of her upper body in two, bloodying the floor even more than it already was.
“What the hell did you do that for?! She was cooperating!” Aaron screamed.
“Recognizing how badly you’ve fucked up isn’t a Get Out of Jail Free card. In case you hadn’t noticed what’s been going on here the past few seconds, look on the ground. That bitch is beyond redemption. Speaking of which, let’s get them cameras rolling again…”
“No! No cameras! No! I’m done with this!”
“Oh, we’re just getting started, Aaron. We’ve got a lot to discuss. Debt collection and sexual harassment all in one story, although that piss stain on your pants will be bigger ratings boost than anything we talk about.”
Aaron spread his shaky legs to see that there was indeed urine on his groin. “Goddamn it!”
Heath shushed him. “Ah, ah, ah! No swearing! There’re children watching!”
“Good to be here, Aaron.”
Heath parked his ass at a dimly lit studio table across from his host, while live cameras filmed the interview from every angle behind the shadows. Aaron Moore clearly enjoyed the spotlight as evidenced by the fancy gray suit and tie he wore just for this occasion. Heath Riggs, on the other hand, thrived in anonymity, his black leather jacket, sunglasses, and hood covering everything but his black face driving the point home. While Aaron leaned his body in to ask the tough questions, Heath kicked back with his fingers in a triangle position and his heel across his lap.
“Now Heath, I want to start off by addressing with you the harassing ways in which debts are collected. The late night phone calls, the vulgar speech, the contacting of family, friends, and coworkers. By your own admission, these tactics should be illegal, yet debt collection companies get away with this all the time.”
Heath cleared his throat. “Well, you’re right about the fact that these tactics should be illegal. If they came from anybody other than a collector, the police would be called in a heartbeat. But the funny thing is, the harassment doesn’t actually get us our money faster. Then again, neither does the impending lawsuit and the subsequent garnishing of wages. This isn’t about collecting money we’ll never have. It’s politics. It’s all about weeding out the poor and disenfranchised so that they can’t influence our governmental policies. It’s not a conspiracy. This shit’s as real as it gets.”
Aaron, who was drinking a mug of hot coffee during Heath’s answer, spit out his beverage and choked on whatever was left. After wiping his mouth with his expensive sleeve, he said, “Mr. Riggs, I appreciate your honesty during this interview, but I have to ask you not to swear when giving your answers. We’re on live television in over a million homes. Surely, you understand.”
“Of course I do.” Heath grinned like he was onto something. “Wouldn’t want to offend your audience’s precious Christian ears. Wouldn’t want the children to hear any of this shit. Lord knows they might grow up to become free thinkers. We know that can never happen.”
“I’m warning you, Mr. Riggs….”
Taking his sunglasses off and revealing gray mechanical eyes underneath, Heath said, “Don’t worry, Aaron, I got the message loud and clear. You can’t swear on television, but if you do it behind closed doors with an unwilling secretary, it’s A-okay. I’m not just exposing the debt industries secrets, but yours as well. I agreed to do this interview because I want a clear conscience. Fourteen years of debt collecting began to wear on my soul after a while. I figured, as long as I’m here with an alleged sexual harasser, I might as well go the full nine, you know what I’m saying?”
“Cut the camera feed! Cut it now!” demanded Aaron. Without checking to see if his orders were followed, he leaned in closer to Heath’s face and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull, but you have no proof and neither do any of my accusers. Those cases were settled a long time ago. Now do you want to discuss debt collection or do you want to keep toying with me?”
“Why can’t he talk about both? It’s not like you two don’t deserve last words,” said a robotic feminine voice from the shadowy background. While Heath remained calm, cool, and collected, Aaron went bug-eyed and his body trembled at the sight of a cyborg assassin holding two severed heads by the hair like they were cheerleader pompoms. As soon as this mysterious woman stepped into the light, headless bodies all around the studio dropped to the ground and soaked the wooden floors in human blood and cyborg oil. A bald black woman with golden earrings and a green metal suit stared her newest victims down with a mischievous grin.
While Aaron curled up in a ball on the edge of pissing himself, the assassin said, “Don’t worry, honey. None of what you or Heath said made it on the airwaves. I made sure of that. It’s probably just as well. Although, if you want to tell your mindless viewers goodbye for one last time, I suppose I could let you do that.”
“Please…I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got a family I need to get home to. Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!” quivered Aaron while Heath smiled and shook his head.
“It’s the same old excuse: think of my family so that I don’t have to when I’m trying to take the secretary to pound town. Don’t worry, Aaron, I’ve got this.” Heath cracked his knuckles before getting out of his chair and strutting towards the assassin, who tossed the cameramen’s heads off to the side like they were easily disposable to begin with.
“What are you so cocky about, Mr. Riggs? You’re not making it out alive any more than Hard-On Henry over here. In fact, you’re the reason I came here today,” said the assassin with a grin.
Heath gazed his assailant up and down and whistled. “That’s some expensive hardware you’ve got there. How much did them arm blades set you back? Hundreds? Thousands of dollars? And that metal body? Shit, man, I don’t know how you pay for all that with just a Street Ronin’s salary. If only there was somebody here who knew how to make debt disappear quicker than those cameramen you laid out. Hmm…” Heath stroked his chin as he mockingly pondered this question.
The assassin flipped one of her arm blades and held it underneath Heath’s chin. He didn’t back down from his confident demeanor, but he was all ears for his would-be killer. “When you’re as good as me, money isn’t that hard to come by. I don’t know what kind of lies you’re telling about my client, but these poor suckers don’t go into debt because of politics. They do it because they could never make it in a capitalist meritocracy. That’s my special way of saying they’re fucking lazy.”
“Sure, whatever you say…Harlock!”
Upon hearing the assassin’s name, Aaron slowly lowered his feet to the bloody floor, obviously not caring that much about his designer shoes. “Wait a minute, you know this woman?”
“Not as well as I’d like to, but when you’ve been on the job as long as I have, you learn something about these poor pathetic motherfuckers. The boss man gives you a name, an address, and how much they owe. The rest of the research is up to you, hence why we often resort to calling friends and family to collect the debt. Harlock here doesn’t care about the circumstances of others, which is ironic considering those cyborg parts didn’t come easy in this so-called meritocracy. Besides, if she was really as hot shit as she thinks she is, she wouldn’t have revealed all this information to me. We’d both be dead as fucking fried chicken right now. But as it is…”
“Shut the hell up!” said Harlock as she drew a tiny droplet of blood from Heath’s cheek. He still didn’t budge, only smiled wider as he cleaned the wound off with his finger and licked it.
“Face it, lady,” said Heath. “You don’t want to admit it, but you can see the irony of a debt-burdened assassin working for a debt collection agency. You’re desperate for cash, so you’ll whore your services to anybody who can make shit go away. But the truth is…paying those suckers off ain’t going to solve everything. You would not believe the tricks they pull out of their asses just to keep you paying up. Ever heard of zombie debt? How about fifty percent interest? How about debtor’s prison? They still have that shit.”
Harlock narrowed her bladed eyebrows and dug the weapon deeper into Heath’s skin. He flinched a little bit, but not enough to give away whatever modicum of fear he might have been burdened with. She leaned in and said, “You know nothing about me and my struggles.”
“Exactly! Debt collectors don’t know shit about you, which is why they keep calling your ass in the first place! You could come crying to them with your whole life story and it wouldn’t be enough. They got no heart. They got no soul. If a big ass mega corporation had a heart and soul, they wouldn’t be in business for very long, would they? Capitalism is a bitch.”
Harlock’s eyes slowly lowered to the soggy floor as if Heath’s words got through to her. He took this small window of opportunity to grab her by the arm and swing her blade into her own stomach. While Aaron was in the background this whole time shivering and weeping, Harlock’s mechanical guts spilled all over the ground as she coughed up oil and blood. Heath yanked the blade upwards and split the rest of her upper body in two, bloodying the floor even more than it already was.
“What the hell did you do that for?! She was cooperating!” Aaron screamed.
“Recognizing how badly you’ve fucked up isn’t a Get Out of Jail Free card. In case you hadn’t noticed what’s been going on here the past few seconds, look on the ground. That bitch is beyond redemption. Speaking of which, let’s get them cameras rolling again…”
“No! No cameras! No! I’m done with this!”
“Oh, we’re just getting started, Aaron. We’ve got a lot to discuss. Debt collection and sexual harassment all in one story, although that piss stain on your pants will be bigger ratings boost than anything we talk about.”
Aaron spread his shaky legs to see that there was indeed urine on his groin. “Goddamn it!”
Heath shushed him. “Ah, ah, ah! No swearing! There’re children watching!”
