Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 45

Right Here Right Now

VERSE 1
Get your ass out of bed
You ain’t fucking dead
You just want to pretend
You’re at the contract’s end
I will sue your tired ass
If you don’t get your act
Together right this minute
This fight? You can’t win it

CHORUS
Right here! Right now!
Next show! Next town!
You were born for greatness!
So I won’t accept your lateness!

VERSE 2
Chug that can of Red Bull
Until your bladder’s full
Pop those bitter pills
They help pay the bills
Sign your autographs
Share a few horse laughs
They’re your fucking fans
Treat them like your clan

EXTENDED CHORUS 1
Right here! Right now!
Next show! Next town!
You were born for greatness!
So I won’t accept your lateness!
Right here! Right now!
All smiles! No frowns!
I won’t accept mediocrity!
Or this will end in tragedy!

VERSE 3
Do it for the exposure
As you find some closure
With your corporate deal
Your pie in the sky meal
You’re stretched so thin
It’s almost like a sin
How we treat our staff
It’s all just for a laugh

EXTENDED CHORUS 2
Right here! Right now!
Next show! Next town!
You were born for greatness!
So I won’t accept your lateness!
Right here! Right now!
Make me rich! Make me proud!
You can rest when you’re dead!
But you’ll still be in my debt!

Not Worth the Pain

CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 1
What makes you worthy of my crowded mind?
What makes you worthy of my precious time?
Anybody can wear the shortest of dresses
Anybody can rock the hottest of messes
But only you can break another man down
Get your entertainment from watching me drown
Goodbye, my friend, for now and forever
I wish you the best in your future endeavors

CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 2
I’ve got enough pain in my oversized heart
And you were hardly the end or the start
I’m a sucker for only the tightest of hugs
It’s kind of like being high on opium drugs
Fool me once and the shame goes on you
Fool me twice and it’s really nothing new
I’ve got to kick this habit sometime soon
Before I get locked up like a loony toon

CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 3
Why do I keep on doing this to myself?
Why do I keep on compromising my health?
Why do I form these unhealthy crushes?
Why do I use friendship as my crutches?
Why do you keep coming back in my life?
Why do you keep on twisting the knife?
Why do you keep on breaking my heart?
Why do you like to tear my life apart?

BRIDGE
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the pain!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the shame!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the sadness!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the madness!

Kicking Me While I'm Down

VERSE 1
Cheap shot, money shot, what’s the difference?
They both chip away at someone’s innocence
Brick by brick, my foundation crumbles down
The rubble on my carcass weighs a million pounds
Even when life itself has passed me the fuck by
I keep asking myself again what’s the reason why?
Why are these steel toed boots kicking my ribs?
Why is negativity all these fuckers have to give?

CHORUS 1
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the head! In the balls!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
It’s funny as shit when I slip and fall!

VERSE 2
One final pulse beats through my broken body
Yet none of you clowns have found a new hobby
Kicking me around like you own the damn town
And here I thought this ended after the final round

CHORUS 2
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the teeth! In the ass!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
You’ve got no soul! You’ve got no class!

BRIDGE
Maybe if I pull myself up by the bootstraps
Walk a hundred more miles to fill the gaps
Stretch myself a little thinner every day
You’d kick me when I’m down anyway

CHORUS 3
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the jaw! In the gut!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
Giving me bruises! Opening cuts!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the shins! In the ribs!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
If I’m going to hell, I’m taking you with!

Coffin Crusher

VERSE 1
Wake up from the underground
Casket makes a creaking sound
Time to hunt some fuckers down
Make the Spirits of Evil proud
Step up to the hulking mummy
You ain’t got a chance, sonny
Rip the lining from your tummy
Sell your hide for big ass money

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

VERSE 2
Let’s all do the dance of death
Psychotic spirits in our heads
We all know how we’ll die
Rotten fist between the eyes
Brains turned to sloshing shit
Hearts roasting on a stick
Flesh ripped up like love letters
Viscous blood tastes much better

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

VERSE 3
The one-man killing machine
Left behind a genocidal scene
Rivers of blood down his throat
Oceans of tears, where’s the boat?
Mountains of flesh masticated
Hollow corpses exsanguinated
A meal fit for the gods themselves
Bon appetite, see you all in hell

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

FINAL VERSE
Back to the casket for a deep sleep
Pray the devil your soul to keep
If you die before you awaken
Know that you have been forsaken

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

Jealousy

***JEALOUSY***

In the age of social media, it’s easier than ever to compare and contrast yourself to other people. When you see one of your friends on Face Book getting married, you wonder why it’s not happening to you. When you see a Deviant Art buddy getting an ass-load of faves, you wonder why you don’t have any at all, let alone any views. When you see a Good Reads author achieve an average rating of 4:5 stars on one of their novels, you wonder why yours is below the 3.0 mark. The more we subject ourselves to this kind of comparative thinking, the more depressed we become. The easy solution would be to just stop comparing your life progress to your friends.

In the words of whoever sang the theme to Kingdom Hearts, “I don’t think life is quite that simple.” In the writing world, jealousy works both ways. I’ve had authors be jealous of me and I’ve been jealous of other authors. It’s perfectly natural to feel this way as long as it doesn’t consume you and turn you against the people you love. But that’s the thing: it is all consuming. It does eat away at the soul. I even have examples from my own life to prove this.

There are plenty of reasons to be jealous of another writer, but the one thing I envy above all others is the ability to write god knows how many words in the span of one day. Or one hour. Or half an hour. Or fifteen minutes. I get on Face Book all the time and see that this author is bragging about writing fifty thousand words in the span of a week, thus completing their novel. This author I speak of has an ass-load of books to their name too, each with high ratings on Good Reads and Amazon, so it’s not like any of this hard work is going to waste. Me? I consider myself lucky if I’m in the mental state to write a five-paragraph review for a forty page book. My foggy state of mind is a constant source of ire for me, so when I see other authors pumping out novels like hotcakes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.

And then there were times when other authors were jealous of me (I can’t imagine why). Those who have followed me on social media for a long time know that I like to write blog entries about vacations I’m going on or rock concerts I’m attending. Last year in 2018, I’ve been to eight different concerts. This year, I’ve already seen three and I have four more in the future. And yes, I’m as braggadocios as the Face Book author who boasts about writing a gazillion words in three days, or whatever the statistic was. Going to rock concerts is something not everyone can afford to do on a regular basis, whether it has to do with work/school schedules, family emergencies, physical disabilities, or just not having enough money for it. So I’m going to try my damnedest to keep my concert talk to a minimum. I’ll still post them as life events on Face Book, but that’s all you’ll get from me.

While it is natural to feel jealous of other people in your life, the one thing you should never wish for is to swap lives with your friends or family. The one thing we all have in common is our pain. When you ask to swap lives with someone you’re jealous of, you take the bad with the good. Suppose you’re jealous of a friend who got married during a seven day trip at Universal Studios. That sounds like a shit-load of fun, but there’s a whole lot going on with that person that you don’t know about. He could be depressed and hiding it really well. He could have mountains of college debt. He could be a pariah in his neighborhood. Just because you see the best version of another person on social media, doesn’t mean you should wish for his life. Everyone has their pain and we all deal with it in our own unique way.

I don’t talk about my personal pain a lot on social media, so when I do it this time around, I hope it’ll ease some of the jealousy you have of my concerts, vacations, or whatever else is going on. You all know by now that I’m schizophrenic, overweight, and constantly tired all the time, right? Now here are some things you probably don’t know. I’ve been unemployed all of my life (except for volunteer work). My mother is having severe mobility issues and needs a walker to get around. I don’t know how to drive a car nor do I own one myself, so I’m confined to my bedroom most of the time. I’m painfully shy in big social situations, so my friends in this town are few and far between. My brother is dealing with bipolar disorder and had a few breakdowns recently. Okay, that’s enough for now. This isn’t a pain contest, but you get what I’m saying. You don’t want my life and I don’t want yours. We all have our own stories to tell and our own destinies going forward. Let it be that way.

If you’re going to be jealous of another person, don’t let it consume your life. The one thing authors need to remember is that we’re one big family who helps each other during the toughest times. This isn’t a competitive field. This is a tag team main event. That’s why I didn’t use names when I gave examples of jealousy, because those people are my friends through and through and I don’t want to paint them in a negative light. We can get shit done together if we put our minds to it. What’s that I always say at the end of my blog entries? Oh yeah, it’s…even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You’re giving me too many things. Lately, you’re all I need. You smiled at me and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I love you, but does that mean I have to meet your father?” When we are older, you’ll understand what I meant when I said, “No, I don’t think life is quite that simple.” The daily things that keep us all busy are confusing me. That’s when you came to me and said, “Wish I could prove I love you, but does that mean I have to walk on water?” When we are older, you’ll understand it’s enough when I say so. And maybe some things are that simple. When you walk away, you don’t hear me say, “Please! Oh baby, don’t go!” Simple and clean is the way that you’re making me feel tonight. It’s hard to let it go. Hold me. Whatever lies beyond this morning is a little later on. Regardless of warnings, the future doesn’t scare me at all. Nothing’s like before.”

-“Simple and Clean” from Kingdom Hearts-

Suicide Note

Taking away our most brilliant minds
A suicide note is all you’ll ever find
More questions asked than answers given
Not one mere solution among the living
Not one necromantic spell for the night
Not one more song, not one more light
Only sadness and rage, rinse and repeat
Images of dead bodies’ dangling feet
Permanent reminder of a hangman’s rope
Only a bottle of pills to help you cope
Nothing we do can bring them back
True magic is what this world lacks
We lock each other in the tiniest cages
But it won’t tack on any extra ages
None of the tears we drop in pain
Can keep it from being all in vain
Go through the motions for another day
One more light? Who gives a shit anyway?

No Singular Goal

***NO SINGULAR GOAL***

I’ve been writing novels and short stories for a long fucking time, yet I only noticed today how almost none of my novels have singular goals within the plot. Instead the main characters accomplish smaller goals on the way to a climax that may or may not be part of the linear structure. It’s weird. There are singular goals in other stories, but not mine. In Harry Potter, the goal is to kill Voldemort. In Star Wars, it’s to kill Darth Vader and destabilize the empire. In Lord of the Rings, it’s to destroy a powerful ring by dropping it into a river of lava. In Silent Warrior, the main goal is to…um…In Beautiful Monster, Windham Xavier wants to…uh…heh…In Incelbordination…Oswald Crow wants to…oh, I give up!

Okay, let’s use Incelbordination as an example. At the beginning of the story, Oswald Crow wants a girlfriend, or to at least have sex for the very first time. But then he meets Antero Magnus and wants to rage against the world. Then he sees how coo-coo his followers are and wants to bring Antero to justice. And then once that’s out of the way, he wants to sort out his life and find a real girlfriend again, which he doesn’t do. Does this seem like a cluster fuck to you? I’m sure it does. But we’re just getting warmed up!

For the sake of argument, when I refer to Beautiful Monster, I’ll only refer to the god-awful drive-by abortion first draft, not the rewrite I’m currently working on. Windham Xavier goes on a mission to spy on Shelly Atwood. Then he wants to get away from her. Then he wants to make sweet monkey love to Tarja Rikkinen for no damn reason. Then he wants to keep his job at the formerly known Paladin Cross. Then he wants to kill Orpheus Rinehart. Then he wants to survive and start a new life with Tarja. And then…reasons?

Still not convinced of how crazy my plot structures are? Let’s do the same thing for Silent Warrior. Scott George wants to stop having traumatic visions. Then he wants to stick it to his history teacher. Then he wants to fuck the history teacher’s daughter. Then he wants to get out of jail. Then he wants to graduate high school. Then he wants to be a psychological counselor at his high school. And then he wants to…he, uh…UGH!

These plots would all sound chaotic to any sane reader. Windham Xavier, Scott George, and Oswald Crow have no singular goals that define the entire story. They’re just playing in by ear and changing their minds as new events take place. Are there a whole lot of stories out there with this kind of narrative? I’ll try to think of a few.

In A Christmas Story, Ralph wants to get a BB rifle for Christmas. Then he wants to get an A++++++ on his essay. Then he wants to decode Little Orphan Annie’s message. Then he wants to beat the shit out of Scut Farkus. Then he wants to eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant after the Christmas turkey is ruined by the Bumpus’s dogs. And then once he shoots his eye out, he wants to…he wants to…he, uh…DAH!

In Pink Floyd the Wall, Pink wants to survive life without a father. Then he wants to stick it to his Scottish teacher. Then he wants to grow up and be a rock star. Then he wants to get married. Then he wants to shut everybody out. Then he wants to have a pseudo Nazi rally and then put himself on trial when things get out of control. And then he wants to…uh…Jesus…UGH!

I’m sure there are other examples of chaotic storytelling out there, but I can’t think of anything beyond those two I just gave. Truth be told, I’m not even sure if refusing to have a singular goal in mind is the right or wrong thing to do. I suppose a case could be made that these stories of mine are slices of life, where random occurrences and constant changes of opinion are part of reality.

Think about it for a minute. Does anybody’s life really have a singular goal? And if so, what do they do when it’s achieved? Does their story end right there? Do they live the rest of their lives riding out this goal or do they miraculously have a heart attack and die at the story’s conclusion? Life is full of twists and turns. It’s not a linear path despite what these other stories tell you. If it was a linear path, the ending would be too easy to predict. But this is just my opinion and I could be missing something here.

I’d like to think that a story’s unpredictability lies within the hows, not the whats. Yes, we know the good guys will win in the end. But if you want to know how they survive these insurmountable odds, you have to read the whole fucking thing. But what if the ending is negative? Again, it’s all about the hows. How did the hero fuck it up that badly and how does life go on now that he’s no longer a factor? With a chaotic plot, you don’t have to worry about these things too much because you don’t know what to expect. You’re looking for the whats AND the hows. But again, this is just my opinion and if someone wants to prove me wrong, I’ll give you all the chances you need to do so. I could be wrong and I wouldn’t even know it until someone told me.

Are there any other examples of chaotic storytelling that I’m missing? They do exist, I’m sure, but most of my media intake comes from linear plots revolving around a singular goal. In Black Panther, the Wakandans want to defend their kingdom from evil forces. In Wonder Woman, she wants to make Ares pay for his sins against her people. In X-Men, Charles Xavier’s students want to keep Magneto from killing all humans despite the fact that humans are prejudiced against mutants.

In Occupy Wrestling (which actually is published), Mitch McLeod wants to win the KDW World Championship. Then he wants to keep it. Then he wants to put his boss in jail. Then he wants to protect his girlfriend from hideous monster wrestlers. Then he wants to bring down his boss’s monstrous empire. Then he wants to…uh…uh…damn it! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! What you do once you get to the mountaintop, that’s up to you. I certainly hope that’s not your singular goal in life!


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RANDAL: Can’t we do something about those two stoners hanging around the convenience store all the time?

DANTE: Why? What’d they do now?

RANDAL: I’m trying to watch Clash of the Titans and all I can hear is those two screaming about Morris Day at the top of their lungs.

DANTE: I thought the fat one didn’t talk much.

RANDAL: What, am I producing an A&E Biography about them?

-Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back-


***POST-SCRIPT***

While I’m playing the waiting game with Emilio and the Scratching Post (which is finished, by the way), I’ve been keeping busy with reviews of the shortest books I own. You’ll also notice a short story called Goddamn Dog. Well, I’d also like to get back to writing Beautiful Monster during this downtime. I believe it’s been at least a whole month since I’ve touched this project. That’s way too long. When it comes to chapter 17, I’m having a hard time deciding if I should tell the story through Windham’s eyes or Tarja’s. Windham is still in the Shadow Asylum basement being tortured by Kody Savage. Tarja is on her way to rescue him. Maybe I can split this chapter into two parts? Hmm…

Muse of the Year 2019

***MUSE OF THE YEAR 2019***

Last summer I wrote a blog entry about how every year I have a new muse to inspire my creative work. Why every year? Who knows? This muse is always female and can be a pro-wrestler, actress, singer, or even a fictional character. My one rule for choosing muses is not to use people I know in real life (at least by internet standards). If these people knew I was crushing on them for creativity, I’d probably get sued or slapped with a restraining order. Pretty extreme reaction, but it’s the likeliest of scenarios. Celebrities or fictional characters only. Fictional characters don’t give two shits if you’re crushing on them. And celebrities? Chances are they don’t even know who the fuck I am. You think 2013’s Muse of the Year Ronda Rousey is just randomly perusing my Deviant Art account or blog to see what I think of her? Bullshit, she ain’t going anywhere near my social media. She’s got a lot on her mind, like trying to figure out a way to get a rematch with Becky Lynch after the botched ending to their triple threat match at Wrestlemania.

Last year’s muse was of course Sarah-Jane Redmond, the woman who played Lucy Butler in the 1990’s TV show Millennium. I’m sure Sarah-Jane is a wonderful human being in real life, but her character Lucy haunted my creative daydreams for the whole fucking year in 2018. If not for her, first draft novels like Silent Warrior, Beautiful Monster, and Incelbordination wouldn’t have seen the light of day. Obsessing over seduction will do that to a creative soul. Considering I’m in the process of rewriting Beautiful Monster from the ground up, I’d say Ms. Redmond was a pretty effective muse.

And now that 2018 is in the rear-view mirror, who’s going to be my muse for 2019? Well, this particular woman has been active in burlesque performances since the early 90’s, so that’s a plus. A burlesque dancer being an effective muse? Who would’ve thunk it? In terms of physical appearances and sexual appetite, this woman shares some similarities with Lucy Butler. In terms of alignment, however, they could not be more different. Instead of seducing young men into becoming mediocre versions of themselves, this muse brings the best out of every man she meets. She exudes class, calmness, and positivity. She’s more than a pretty face. She lives her sexy gimmick in her everyday life. She even joked about bathing in her lingerie. She’d totally do that. Without further ado, let me introduce you all to Garrison Kelly’s 2019 Muse of the Year: Dita Von Teese.

For some this is a controversial decision on my part. I accept that. I’ve heard the stories about her relationship with Marilyn Manson. I’ve heard stories about alleged arrogance. I’ve even heard something about her being proud of having her image painted on a drone bomb. I don’t know the intricate details of those stories and quite frankly I’m not going to try and find out. The Dita Von Teese I know and love is calm in the face of sleazy interview questions. She exits her relationships without lusting after her ex’s money or possessions. Just watching her give interviews on You Tube makes me want to up my creative game. Yes, her negative stories could be true, but before I even have the chance to find out, I’m going to enjoy her image for what it is: classic beauty that never goes out of style.

And as long as we’re talking about blog entries from yesteryear, I’m sure most of you remember one I’ve posted about fan fiction group therapy, where fictional characters talk about their feelings while rocking out to heavy metal and eating high calorie foods. Well, I thought it’d be a crazy, yet good idea to have sex therapy as part of this healing process. Whether this fictional character needs a cuddle session, a back massage, or something more, I’m sure it’ll serve a greater purpose beyond me fantasizing about weird shit. Guess who will be the chief sex therapist at Crystal Mountain, as I’ve called the mental health center? You guessed it: Dita Von Teese. Except her character won’t be called that. Her character will named after a little known Pink Floyd song from the early 70’s. No, it’s not Arnold Layne, you dumb shits! It’s Julia Dream! Mmmmmm, Julia Dream. Dreamboat queen. Queen of all my dreams. She’d make an awesome sex therapist.

So what kinds of works could she inspire with her positive and loving aura? What kinds of stories could I write that would exude happiness, lightheartedness, or at the very least psychological recovery? Well, I’m not so sure using Dita Von Teese as inspiration would have been appropriate for this, but Emilio and the Scratching Post is one such positive story. I plan on submitting it to an anthology called Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim. That title alone should be enough to clue you in on how lighthearted these stories are. And of course, it doesn’t get more lighthearted than a cuddly old man kitty looking for permanent love.

But until I get that story cleaned up spic and span, there’s no reason why Dita Von Teese can’t be the inspiration for continuing the new version of Beautiful Monster. I can’t picture her being in the same shadow as Shelly Atwood, though. Shelly seduces men (and women) to their own doom, Dita seduces them to greatness. She could be in the same shadow as either Tarja Rikkinen or Llewellyn Xavier. Well, more likely Tarja because Llewellyn is Windham’s sister and it’d be weird if the elf queen tried to seduce her own brother. This ain’t Game of Thrones, motherfucker. It also ain’t Preacher.

I’ve wondered since last year who 2019’s Muse of the Year would be and now I have my answer: a burlesque dancer who’s more than just good looks. She turns beauty and nostalgia into an art form. And yes, she inspires me to do better in my creative work. It’s almost like I’m trying to impress Dita despite the fact that she’ll never find me online. Hmm….Anyways, I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing Crystal Mountain! And while you’re at it, chug some Crystal Mountain Dew and find your serotonin levels!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date. I’m in a cold sweat, I panic, and it makes me late. I know you never asked for this. I know my shots will always miss. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date. I get the heebie-jeebies and my panic makes me late. I break into a cold sweat reaching for the phone. I let it ring twice before I chicken out and decide you’re not at home. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I never noticed the size of my feet until I kicked you in the shins. Will you ever forgive me for the shape I’m in? Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I want to write you a sonnet, but I don’t know where to start. I’m so used to laughing at the things in my heart. Last of all, I’m sorry, ‘cause you never asked for this. I can see I’m not your type and my shots will always miss. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you.”

-The Police singing “Does Everyone Stare?”-

Goddamn Dog

As Tim Coleman laid half asleep in bed on a rainy afternoon, he kept wondering why his girlfriend Jade Quinn had “One More Light” by Linkin Park playing on repeat before she left for work in the morning. She wasn’t her usual peppy self. No smiles. No kisses. Not even a hug. Just cold, empty eyes as she left Tim in charge of dogsitting duty. The pouring rain coupled with the dour mood made him curl up against his pillow even more. A pillow was no substitute for Jade, however. He would have settled for Millie crawling up under the blankets. But then…

Something assaulted Tim’s nose like a wrecking ball to the face and had just about as much knockout power. He pulled his nostrils under the blanket, but he could still smell that rancid, god-awful odor coming from the living room. “Oh no…no, no, no…please tell me she didn’t do it…no…no…NO!”

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped out to the living room wearing just his athletic shorts. The harder he stomped, the more rage pumped through his ogre-like body. The odor set his nostrils nearly ablaze as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. And then he made it to the living room and saw that Jade’s hardwood floors had become a battlefield of landmines. Gigantic, steaming brown landmines with the general herself laying on the ground in guilt. Millie the salt n’ pepper colored Labrador mooed like a cow before unleashing a cloud of toxic gas from her already putrid bunghole.

“Goddamn it, Millie! You stupid fucking goddamn dog!” shouted Tim from the top of his lungs. “I am so sick and tired of cleaning up your fucking messes! You goddamn dog!” Fury and venom poured from the fat man’s lips with every swearing scream. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid dog!” Though he would never go through on such a threat, Millie wouldn’t have known as she guiltily tucked her head.

Tim stomped to the bathroom and fetched the necessary cleaning supplies for a job this disgusting: paper towels, a mop, and a bucket he filled with soapy water. In between retrieving these necessary items, he kept on roaring like the pissed off lion he was. “You goddamn dog! Quit shitting all over the fucking floor, asshole!”

His first course of action was to scoop up all of the dog turds with god knows how many paper towels before flushing them down the toilet separately. Every time he bent over, the odor triggered his gag reflex to where he wanted to vomit himself inside out. While that would be an instant relief to his aching and tired body, it would also mean more messes to clean up. “Goddamn stupid ass fucking dog!” he screamed.

After flushing the turds down the drain, he sat on the toilet seat for a while and wiped the sweat from his body, which poured like the rainy weather outside. Tim took several deep breaths not only to recover his lost energy, but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “Stupid dog…stupid goddamn dog!” he screamed, completely destroying his ambitions of nirvana.

Step two of this ultimate cleaning job was to mop the floors as vigorously as he could. A few strokes in and he was already sucking wind. Wind, by the way, that was broken by a sixteen-year-old dog huddling in the corner. “Stupid dog!” Tim screamed again as he scrubbed the wooden floor. No matter how hard he mopped, the air thickened like he was in a burning building. At this point he was genuinely surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off during this job. “You stupid motherfucking dog! Quit making me clean up after you, you little shithead!”

Once he was certain the shit was completely cleaned up off the floor, he death-marched to the bathroom to flush the mop water down the toilet. His head ached worse than if he had been beaten with hammers. His heart pounded as if a Mortal Kombat character was trying to rip it out. His lower back flared with pain like he had taken a body slam over a pile of razorblades. Tim sat on the toilet and sucked some more wind, confident that his job was finally over.

He had recovered a modicum of his energy before he put the cleaning supplies back in the bathroom closet. Slowly and languidly, he waddled out to the living room and took care not to slip on the wet surface. The only wet surface he had to deal with it that moment was the one on Jade Quinn’s horrified face, an intensification of what she felt when she left for work this morning.

There she was in her business skirt, high heels, and wrinkled dress shirt. She dropped her purse by her feet and stared down Tim’s guilty soul with wetness in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a sentence. “T…Tim…did I just…hear you…yelling at Millie?” No response, only a saggy frown to match his guilt. “Answer me!” she cried.

Tim’s own face quivered as he too tried to muster up the words he needed. “Jade, I’m sorry. She…she shit all over the floor and…I panicked…I would never do anything to hurt Millie, you know that, right?”

Pointing her manicured finger at Tim, Jade fought back the rest of her tears in vain as she mumbled, “You…would never…hurt Millie?” Silence hung between the two lovers like a yawning, fiery chasm. “You just did, you insensitive asshole!” Jade dropped to her knees and held her long blond hair in her hands, emptying her eyes of emotional fluids. Millie slowly edged towards her and got a scratch behind the ears from her one true master.

Tim gingerly approached his girlfriend and knelt down to put his massive hand on her shoulder. Jade swatted him away instantly. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “You’ve done enough damage today!” She hugged Millie around her neck and cried into her salt and pepper fur. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m sorry he yelled at you like that.”

Tim stood back up not knowing what else to say. Apologizing didn’t work. Explaining his actions didn’t work. Not even a gentle touch of the shoulder could bring his girlfriend out of her sorrowful abyss. He knew he fucked up badly and could do nothing but sit on the leather couch with his pudgy face in his hands.

“You can’t sit there anymore, Tim,” blubbered Jade. “Not after what you did. This was supposed to be Millie’s special day. I was going to take her to the park and get her ice cream after I got off work. And now…all she’s going to remember is you yelling at her…How could you, Tim?”

“Wha…What do you mean all she’s going to remember? Is that why you played that Linkin Park song this morning? Jade, you can tell me what’s going on.”

Wiping away tears even though they wouldn’t stop coming, Jade lifted her face from her hug with the dog and said, “Millie has stomach cancer. That’s why she’s been going to the bathroom on the floor a lot. And you react to this mild inconvenience by yelling those awful things at her?!”

Tim didn’t notice it when he was cleaning, but now that he thought about it, there were small traces of red in Millie’s stool. The guilt choked him up like a noose around the neck. His eyes grew sore, but he did a better job of hiding his sadness than his girlfriend. Even during this dark time he was too proud to fall apart in front of her. But he couldn’t help it. One tear rolled down his cheek while many more cascaded from Jade’s eyes.

“You know, Jade…there’s no reason…why we can’t still get Millie ice cream.” His voice trembled as he etched out those words.

“Yes, there is!” shouted Jade as she stood back up. “She’ll just shit all over the floor and you’ll scream like a little child again as you clean it up! The only reason why you’re sorry is because you got caught! You don’t care about my dog! You don’t care about my emotions! In fact, get your fat ass off my couch and get dressed! I don’t want you here anymore!”

Tim didn’t get up. He sat there and let another tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jade.”

“No, you’re not!” cried Jade as she grabbed Tim’s arm and tried in vain to jerk him to a standing position. When he wouldn’t budge, she just crumpled to a pile on the floor and cried some more, prompting Millie to lick her face dry.

“Jade…if you give me the keys to your car…I will go to the supermarket and buy vanilla ice cream for Millie. She loves vanilla, right?”

“Go to hell, Tim!”

“Listen to me!” urged Tim as he cupped Jade’s shoulders in his hands. “If you still want me gone from here, I’ll go. But please let me get the ice cream for Millie. She deserves that much. Right, old lady?” Tim petted Millie’s head and talked cutely to her about what a good dog she was, even planting a kiss on her wet nose. Millie returned a puppy kiss for his efforts.

Tim then held Jade’s hand in his own and begged, “Please…let me get the ice cream. You can even come with me if you want and we’ll listen to One More Light for as long as you want. I love that song too. And Millie can come ride with us. She can stick her head out the window and…”

“Tim, enough,” said Jade while a holding a hand in front of her boyfriend. She wiped away a tear and sniffed snot up her nose. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s just going to shit in the car again and you’ll go on another yelling spree. If anybody’s going to get the ice cream, it’s me.”

With that said, Jade and Millie walked out of the house together for a ride in the car while Tim sat on the couch in his shorts sulking it up. A few tears escaped his eyes and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. It was over. It was all over. Not just for him, but for Millie as well. The puppy kiss didn’t even feel like true forgiveness. Knowing his hands were unclean (in more ways than one), Tim Coleman pulled himself off the couch and trudged back to the bedroom, presumably to get his things and go.

And then…he walked past the kitchen and saw something magnetized to the refrigerator door. He pulled down a familiar sheet of glossy paper and studied it for a while before making his final attempt at goodwill towards Jade and Millie. Wasting no more time, he picked up the phone and dialed a number on the sheet of paper. A few rings later, he was patched in.

“Thank you for choosing Pizza Hut. How can I help you tonight?”

“Yes, I’d like an extra large meat lover’s pizza with stuffed crust.” Tim couldn’t contain his sorrow over the phone and it was noticeable.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Not really. But I’m sure my dog will be happy to see you once you get here with that pizza.”

Special

VERSE 1
Everybody thinks they’re special
Thinks they’re on a godly level
Thinks that they’re the chosen one
Has an ego that weighs twelve tons
You can’t brainwash me, you bastard
You’re not my undisputed master
You have no logic of your own
You’re just another fucking clone

CHORUS
You’re not special in any damn way
Too much sameness in what you say
Too much sameness in what you do
Words hurt, especially when they’re true

VERSE 2
Intimidation tactics, steel cage matches
Try to cut me down like a war hatchet
Long-winded talking, internet stalking
Everything of mine is worth mocking
There’s just one problem with your plan
It’s been done before, you stupid man
Over and over again, it gets so old
I shrug you off with a heart so cold

CHORUS
You’re not special in any damn way
Too much sameness in what you say
Too much sameness in what you do
Words hurt, especially when they’re true

VERSE 3
I never asked to be a politician
Someone else’s cannibal nutrition
Someone else’s bitch of submission
Someone else’s act of sedition
All I wanted to do was live my life
Any way I want whether wrong or right
You think you’re coming for my crown
You’re the court jester, a fucking clown

EXTENDED CHORUS
You’re not special in any damn way
Too much sameness in what you say
Too much sameness in what you do
Words hurt, especially when they’re true
You’re not special in your diction
Everything you say is fucking fiction
Everything you do fucks up your mission
Defeat is your own damn admission