Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 49
January 15, 2019
Panic Attack
Like stage fright, except on the city streets
Hyper aware of the death-marching feet
Hyper aware of your own perspiration
Hyper aware of your own condensation
You wish your heart would slow down
As you blindly navigate this neon-lit town
Where’s your car? Did you walk too far?
Did you park too close to the rowdy bar?
Deep breaths in and out, you’ve got this
And then insanity takes off like a rocket
Too many people with judgmental voices
Too many cars with horn-honking noises
A dark alley is better than any of this
A fast food restaurant would be bliss
A hotel lobby to stay for this one night
Until you overcome this crippling fright
Float in the pool, let the water calm you
Watch TV, whatever show you choose
Do you feel safe to go back outside?
Feel comfortable to lock up and hide?
A working day is around the corner
No days off, it’s what the boss orders
Pulling yourself together yet again
Is hard when comfort is easier to defend
Where are your pills? Back at your house?
Only one way to truly find the fuck out
Trapped in a cage like a common thief
Trapped in a mind with paranoid beliefs
Do you need a visit to the emergency room?
Or are you forever trapped in your own doom?
The phone is right there, pull it off the cradle
Put an end to this medieval Grim Dark fable
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m dying inside! It’s of utmost urgency!”
“I’m sending an ambulance to your location”
“Thank you for being good at your vocation”
Counting down the minutes and hours
Until you one day recharge your power
You never know when you’re coming back
Remember the name: it’s called a panic attack
Hyper aware of the death-marching feet
Hyper aware of your own perspiration
Hyper aware of your own condensation
You wish your heart would slow down
As you blindly navigate this neon-lit town
Where’s your car? Did you walk too far?
Did you park too close to the rowdy bar?
Deep breaths in and out, you’ve got this
And then insanity takes off like a rocket
Too many people with judgmental voices
Too many cars with horn-honking noises
A dark alley is better than any of this
A fast food restaurant would be bliss
A hotel lobby to stay for this one night
Until you overcome this crippling fright
Float in the pool, let the water calm you
Watch TV, whatever show you choose
Do you feel safe to go back outside?
Feel comfortable to lock up and hide?
A working day is around the corner
No days off, it’s what the boss orders
Pulling yourself together yet again
Is hard when comfort is easier to defend
Where are your pills? Back at your house?
Only one way to truly find the fuck out
Trapped in a cage like a common thief
Trapped in a mind with paranoid beliefs
Do you need a visit to the emergency room?
Or are you forever trapped in your own doom?
The phone is right there, pull it off the cradle
Put an end to this medieval Grim Dark fable
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m dying inside! It’s of utmost urgency!”
“I’m sending an ambulance to your location”
“Thank you for being good at your vocation”
Counting down the minutes and hours
Until you one day recharge your power
You never know when you’re coming back
Remember the name: it’s called a panic attack
January 14, 2019
No Filter
***NO FILTER***
You wouldn’t know this from some of the politically liberal short stories and poems I post on a regular basis…but I fucking hate debating. I told you all before about the woes of my opponent having more talking points than me. I might have even mentioned something about scrambling for an answer and getting nothing. But here’s something you probably didn’t know about me until now: I have no filter for the bullshit that enters my mind. It could be an autistic thing. It could be a schizophrenic thing. Maybe I’m just really fucking sensitive. But whenever an opposing talking point enters my mind, the most important organ in my body doesn’t seem to want to do its job of filtering out the horseshit. It stays with me just like any other stimulus, because my mind takes in everything all at once and doesn’t quiet the fuck down for just one minute.
It’s because of this that I purposefully go out of my way to avoid watching conservative or religious videos on You Tube. I also skip over conservative memes on Face Book by averting my eyes and scrolling down as fast as I can. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the titles of the You Tube videos by now:
“Ben Shapiro DESTROYS transgender teenager with just one Tweet!”
“Ronda Rousey SHUTS DOWN feminist in just one minute!”
“Jordan Peterson DESTROYS this and that! He DESTROYS Mickey Mouse! He DESTROYS Hulk Hogan! He DESTROYS EVERYTHING!”
You’d think with all of this destruction going on that there’d be more settled debates in this world. Nope. They just keep talking…and talking…and talking…and talking. They keep talking because they have stronger filters than I do. Me? I have to constantly be on my toes when it comes to brainwashing and loss of individuality, so I scroll by the DESTROY videos as quickly as possible.
“But, Garrison! You have to challenge yourself! You can’t live in an echo chamber!”
For all intents and purposes, both of those phrases are correct. However, when you consider the source of that compound quote, you begin to realize that whoever said it probably lives in an echo chamber of his own. Open-mindedness is supposed to be a two way street. If I have to be open to the other side’s ideas, they have to be open to mine too. But being open-minded doesn’t mean agreeing with everything the other side says with one-hundred percent submission. Open-mindedness simply means giving the debater a chance. What he does with that chance is beyond your control, but if he blows his chance, that’s it.
I’ve given a thousand chances to a thousand debaters. Any stubbornness I showed towards them had to be worked for, because my filter for BS is weak as shit. Some talking points are easier to resist than others, but the lazy-ass filter is the common denominator. It’s amazing that I didn’t become a cultist right away. Actually, I probably would have resisted joining a cult, but I wouldn’t have the debating skills or quick answers necessary to strike down their talking points. That’s the thing with debates: if you don’t answer in, let’s say, five seconds or less, you automatically lose. You don’t get to think about it. You don’t get to mull it over and come back with a completed homework assignment. It’s now or never.
If you’re reading this and you think I’m ripe for the picking for your zealous cause, do me a favor: don’t even try. Just give up. Because my filter sucks ass, I’m more prone to shut you out despite not giving you a chance. You won’t get philosophical talking points from me, just curse words and waves goodbye. I know this seems close-minded and that’s generally considered a bad thing. I know my responsibility as a pundit is to research my arguments and use my knowledge to shut down opposing talking points. But I don’t have it in me to DESTROY anybody, at least not within the five-second timeframe required to respond in a debate. The natural answer for me would be to just stop writing poems and stories about politics, but…that’s just not going to happen. I care too much.
If I refuse to engage in a debate with you, it’s nothing personal and it’s not an indication of surrender. It’s because my filter for BS can’t be bothered to work overtime for the Ben Shapiros, Charlie Kirks, and Milo Yiannopouloses of the world. Even if I promised my filter a private jet, healthcare benefits, and a vacation in Hawaii, I wouldn’t be able to convince it to work for me the way it does for the Cenk Uygurs and Rachel Maddows of the world. In other words, you won’t see You Tube videos with any of these titles…
“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS the establishment!”
“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS the corporations!”
“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS EVERYTHING IN SIGHT! RAAAAAAAAAWR!!”
What is this, a fucking Godzilla movie? Does everything have to be destroyed?
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
My next assignment for this ongoing rewrite is chapter nine, where Windham and Tarja walk through the forest together for more thought-provoking conversations (they won’t need their weak-ass filters, though). The day’s topic of choice: dreams and ambitions. Windham wants to be an artist of all genres while Tarja wants to care for fuzzy animal babies. There’s even going to be a scene where Tarja feeds walnuts to the squirrels and she offers Windham a carrot to give to a rabbit. If you’re wondering where the hell all the action is, keep in mind that Beautiful Monster is a drama first and a historical fantasy second. But if it’s action you want…you’ll have to wait until the end of the chapter! No, not that kind of action, you perv! They’re just friends! Jesus Christ, man!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I’m just a-wandering on the face of this earth meeting so many people who are trying to be free. And while I’m traveling, I hear so many words. Language barriers broken, now we’ve found the key. And if you want the winds of change to blow around you and you’re the only other person to know, please tell me. I’m just a singer in a rock n’ roll band. A thousand pictures can be drawn from one word, only who is the artist? We’ve got to agree. A thousand miles can lead so many ways. Just to know who is driving, what a help it would be. And if you want this world of yours to turn around you and you can see exactly what to do, don’t tell me. I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band. Why can’t we understand? Riots by the people for the people who are only destroying themselves. And if you see a frightened person who was frightened by the people who are scorching this earth. Music is the traveler crossing our world, meeting so many people, bridging the seas. I’m just a singer in a rock n’ roll band. We’re all just singers in a rock n’ roll band.”
-The Moody Blues singing “I’m Just a Singer in a Rock n’ Roll Band”-
You wouldn’t know this from some of the politically liberal short stories and poems I post on a regular basis…but I fucking hate debating. I told you all before about the woes of my opponent having more talking points than me. I might have even mentioned something about scrambling for an answer and getting nothing. But here’s something you probably didn’t know about me until now: I have no filter for the bullshit that enters my mind. It could be an autistic thing. It could be a schizophrenic thing. Maybe I’m just really fucking sensitive. But whenever an opposing talking point enters my mind, the most important organ in my body doesn’t seem to want to do its job of filtering out the horseshit. It stays with me just like any other stimulus, because my mind takes in everything all at once and doesn’t quiet the fuck down for just one minute.
It’s because of this that I purposefully go out of my way to avoid watching conservative or religious videos on You Tube. I also skip over conservative memes on Face Book by averting my eyes and scrolling down as fast as I can. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the titles of the You Tube videos by now:
“Ben Shapiro DESTROYS transgender teenager with just one Tweet!”
“Ronda Rousey SHUTS DOWN feminist in just one minute!”
“Jordan Peterson DESTROYS this and that! He DESTROYS Mickey Mouse! He DESTROYS Hulk Hogan! He DESTROYS EVERYTHING!”
You’d think with all of this destruction going on that there’d be more settled debates in this world. Nope. They just keep talking…and talking…and talking…and talking. They keep talking because they have stronger filters than I do. Me? I have to constantly be on my toes when it comes to brainwashing and loss of individuality, so I scroll by the DESTROY videos as quickly as possible.
“But, Garrison! You have to challenge yourself! You can’t live in an echo chamber!”
For all intents and purposes, both of those phrases are correct. However, when you consider the source of that compound quote, you begin to realize that whoever said it probably lives in an echo chamber of his own. Open-mindedness is supposed to be a two way street. If I have to be open to the other side’s ideas, they have to be open to mine too. But being open-minded doesn’t mean agreeing with everything the other side says with one-hundred percent submission. Open-mindedness simply means giving the debater a chance. What he does with that chance is beyond your control, but if he blows his chance, that’s it.
I’ve given a thousand chances to a thousand debaters. Any stubbornness I showed towards them had to be worked for, because my filter for BS is weak as shit. Some talking points are easier to resist than others, but the lazy-ass filter is the common denominator. It’s amazing that I didn’t become a cultist right away. Actually, I probably would have resisted joining a cult, but I wouldn’t have the debating skills or quick answers necessary to strike down their talking points. That’s the thing with debates: if you don’t answer in, let’s say, five seconds or less, you automatically lose. You don’t get to think about it. You don’t get to mull it over and come back with a completed homework assignment. It’s now or never.
If you’re reading this and you think I’m ripe for the picking for your zealous cause, do me a favor: don’t even try. Just give up. Because my filter sucks ass, I’m more prone to shut you out despite not giving you a chance. You won’t get philosophical talking points from me, just curse words and waves goodbye. I know this seems close-minded and that’s generally considered a bad thing. I know my responsibility as a pundit is to research my arguments and use my knowledge to shut down opposing talking points. But I don’t have it in me to DESTROY anybody, at least not within the five-second timeframe required to respond in a debate. The natural answer for me would be to just stop writing poems and stories about politics, but…that’s just not going to happen. I care too much.
If I refuse to engage in a debate with you, it’s nothing personal and it’s not an indication of surrender. It’s because my filter for BS can’t be bothered to work overtime for the Ben Shapiros, Charlie Kirks, and Milo Yiannopouloses of the world. Even if I promised my filter a private jet, healthcare benefits, and a vacation in Hawaii, I wouldn’t be able to convince it to work for me the way it does for the Cenk Uygurs and Rachel Maddows of the world. In other words, you won’t see You Tube videos with any of these titles…
“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS the establishment!”
“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS the corporations!”
“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS EVERYTHING IN SIGHT! RAAAAAAAAAWR!!”
What is this, a fucking Godzilla movie? Does everything have to be destroyed?
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
My next assignment for this ongoing rewrite is chapter nine, where Windham and Tarja walk through the forest together for more thought-provoking conversations (they won’t need their weak-ass filters, though). The day’s topic of choice: dreams and ambitions. Windham wants to be an artist of all genres while Tarja wants to care for fuzzy animal babies. There’s even going to be a scene where Tarja feeds walnuts to the squirrels and she offers Windham a carrot to give to a rabbit. If you’re wondering where the hell all the action is, keep in mind that Beautiful Monster is a drama first and a historical fantasy second. But if it’s action you want…you’ll have to wait until the end of the chapter! No, not that kind of action, you perv! They’re just friends! Jesus Christ, man!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I’m just a-wandering on the face of this earth meeting so many people who are trying to be free. And while I’m traveling, I hear so many words. Language barriers broken, now we’ve found the key. And if you want the winds of change to blow around you and you’re the only other person to know, please tell me. I’m just a singer in a rock n’ roll band. A thousand pictures can be drawn from one word, only who is the artist? We’ve got to agree. A thousand miles can lead so many ways. Just to know who is driving, what a help it would be. And if you want this world of yours to turn around you and you can see exactly what to do, don’t tell me. I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band. Why can’t we understand? Riots by the people for the people who are only destroying themselves. And if you see a frightened person who was frightened by the people who are scorching this earth. Music is the traveler crossing our world, meeting so many people, bridging the seas. I’m just a singer in a rock n’ roll band. We’re all just singers in a rock n’ roll band.”
-The Moody Blues singing “I’m Just a Singer in a Rock n’ Roll Band”-
January 13, 2019
Climate Change
Rain is sadness and thunder is anger
The sunshine is all yours to savor
Snow is magic and ice is dreadful
Tornadoes are the be-all and end-all
Earthquakes are Lovecraftian horror
Tsunamis bring chaos and disorder
Wildfires turn forests into ashes
Turn living treasures into trashes
Apocalyptic rage on the front page
Zombies walk the earth, newfound birth
You’ve heard it all before on your TV
You’ve got the classics on a DVD
It looks silly sitting on your shelf
Until the ice caps begin to melt
Water gets warm, rises over land
Washes away more than just sand
Knocks over buildings, wrecks homes
Destroys every single car you own
Murders families from all walks of life
Every last kid, your husband or wife
Politicians keep sitting on their asses
Ignoring cries for help from the masses
The top one percent has nothing to lose
Think they have the right to choose
Who lives, who dies, who benefits
We don’t get to hear the end of it
Wish the tide would eat these rich jerks
And every golf course, go fucking berserk
A redwood tree falling on a limousine
Wouldn’t be enough or so it seems
But a lightning bolt to the mansion
Would put their asses into action
A hurricane throwing fat cats around
Up into the skies, crash to the ground
Only an emergency when privilege is threatened
Now do I have your motherfucking attention?
The sunshine is all yours to savor
Snow is magic and ice is dreadful
Tornadoes are the be-all and end-all
Earthquakes are Lovecraftian horror
Tsunamis bring chaos and disorder
Wildfires turn forests into ashes
Turn living treasures into trashes
Apocalyptic rage on the front page
Zombies walk the earth, newfound birth
You’ve heard it all before on your TV
You’ve got the classics on a DVD
It looks silly sitting on your shelf
Until the ice caps begin to melt
Water gets warm, rises over land
Washes away more than just sand
Knocks over buildings, wrecks homes
Destroys every single car you own
Murders families from all walks of life
Every last kid, your husband or wife
Politicians keep sitting on their asses
Ignoring cries for help from the masses
The top one percent has nothing to lose
Think they have the right to choose
Who lives, who dies, who benefits
We don’t get to hear the end of it
Wish the tide would eat these rich jerks
And every golf course, go fucking berserk
A redwood tree falling on a limousine
Wouldn’t be enough or so it seems
But a lightning bolt to the mansion
Would put their asses into action
A hurricane throwing fat cats around
Up into the skies, crash to the ground
Only an emergency when privilege is threatened
Now do I have your motherfucking attention?
2019
My intentions for the brand new year
Have never been so crystalline clear
Drop a hundred pounds as I walk this town
While listening to favorite heavy metal sounds
Publish a new book full of action and drama
Edit that bitch down to the very last comma
Find a girl who loves me for my soul
Who’ll pull me out of my blackest hole
Read more books and clear my shelves
I’ll review them all, but read for yourselves
Learn how to drive some clunky machinery
Eat less junk food and eat more greenery
See Tarja Turunen perform at a show
Even if the destination is one I don’t know
Buy a T-shirt that says Ego Kills Talent
Vote for justice on the November ballot
Glide my fingers across the piano again
Play some funky music that never ends
Be the best kitty father I can possibly be
Emilio the snuggle buddy sleeping with me
Write more often while being wide awake
Write every day if that’s what it takes
If these dreams and goals sound unrealistic
You’re obviously part of this division
You might as well stand right in my path
Can’t guarantee your safety in the aftermath
You say I can’t do it, I tell you to screw it
You’ve got too much attitude; lose it
This year is mine to grab by the horns
This life is mine, it shall never be torn
Have never been so crystalline clear
Drop a hundred pounds as I walk this town
While listening to favorite heavy metal sounds
Publish a new book full of action and drama
Edit that bitch down to the very last comma
Find a girl who loves me for my soul
Who’ll pull me out of my blackest hole
Read more books and clear my shelves
I’ll review them all, but read for yourselves
Learn how to drive some clunky machinery
Eat less junk food and eat more greenery
See Tarja Turunen perform at a show
Even if the destination is one I don’t know
Buy a T-shirt that says Ego Kills Talent
Vote for justice on the November ballot
Glide my fingers across the piano again
Play some funky music that never ends
Be the best kitty father I can possibly be
Emilio the snuggle buddy sleeping with me
Write more often while being wide awake
Write every day if that’s what it takes
If these dreams and goals sound unrealistic
You’re obviously part of this division
You might as well stand right in my path
Can’t guarantee your safety in the aftermath
You say I can’t do it, I tell you to screw it
You’ve got too much attitude; lose it
This year is mine to grab by the horns
This life is mine, it shall never be torn
January 11, 2019
America's Funniest Hardcore Violence
“Warning: the following program is rated TV-MA-LV. It contains strong language and graphic violence. It is intended for a mature audience. Good Intentions Productions does not endorse nor condone the displays of violence shown in this program and discourages the audience from recreating them. Enjoy the show!”
Good Intentions, my ass, thought Vanessa Rollins as she sat in the audience with folded arms and a death stare.
After the narrator got his disclaimers out of the way, two stage lights danced in front of the audience while a timpani drum-roll sounded off across the studio. The narrator’s voice boomed once again over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, who will take home the grand prize of one hundred thousand dollars? Who is the funniest? Who is the nastiest? Who is the goriest? Find out tonight! Live from the Preparation H Pavilion in Paulson City, it’s America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence!”
Everyone sans Vanessa (who shook her head) applauded once the happy trumpet music blasted and the stage illuminated. “And now, here is the host of AFHV: Colin “The Thrill” McGill!” The audience rose to their feet and applauded at their loudest when Colin McGill ran out onstage in his goofiest plaid suit and his cheesiest shit-eating grin.
“Thank you, thank you, everyone! Welcome, welcome, welcome!” greeted Colin as the audience sat back down. “Welcome to America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence: the show where everything is made up and the screams for help don’t matter. The screams are like…steak sauce in India!” The audience let out an “ooo” while Vanessa cradled her face in disgust.
“We’re not going to waste any more time, we’re going to get right to the final three entries in our AFHV tournament. Which one of these videos will take home the big money and fabulous prizes? Will it be…Fire in the Hulk?”
The video wall behind Colin McGill featured a look alike of WWE Hall of Famer Hulk Hogan bent over an ottoman, cheesy blond moustache, red and yellow latex suit, and dark sunglasses to boot. “Well, let me tell you something, brother!” shouted the impersonator. “Whatcha gonna do when Hulkamania blows his fecal matter all over you!”
With Hulk’s pants around his ankles and a dynamite stick poking out of his ass crack, the cameraman lit the fuse while the audience grinned widely with anticipation. Vanessa’s saucer-eyed horror seemed justified when the dynamite exploded. Hogan’s eyes crossed, he screamed in a gruff macho voice, and shit flooded from the brand new hole in his ass like a mudslide. The audience laughed their asses off while Vanessa Rollins held her hand over her mouth in shock. What the hell is wrong with these people? she thought.
“Our second entry of the night…”
Oh god, please no…
“Dead Motherfucker!” beamed Colin as the video wall came to life once again.
A young man stepped down from the sidewalk only to be slammed into by a honking car, sending him flying across the road…only to be hit by another car and sent flying again…only to be hit by a train and sent flying again…only to have his nose cut off by an in-transit helicopter’s propellers. The laughing audience was bad enough, but the money line came when the pilot smiled and said, “That’s one dead motherfucker!”
Vanessa held her ears closed to try in vain to block out the obnoxious chuckling among her fellow audience members.
“And our third entry for the night…Saw Blade! Meet the Saw Blade!”
The video wall showed a Fred Flintstone look alike bound to a torture table with a ball gag in his mouth. He was awakened by the grinding sound of a circular saw overhead, spinning and lowering towards the cartoon caveman. The audience hee-hawed while Fred struggled in his bindings and screamed in his He-Man voice. He managed to chew through the ball gag and yell, “WILMA!” like only he could. It was too late. The saw blade cut open Fred Flintstone’s stomach and revealed that he had blood in his Fruity Pebbles stream.
“And here I thought Fruity Pebbles was the nickname for his balls!” joked Colin McGill, which had the audience dying of laughter quicker than Fred Flintstone died of mutilation.
The one person who refused to laugh at all of this “dark comedy” was Vanessa Rollins, who after a while of tucking her head in her hands stood right up and yelled, “Is this what you people call comedy?! Watching people die in front of you makes you laugh?!” That quickly shut up the audience, watching her seethe with face-reddening anger.
“Well, look who’s come to spoil the fun for everyone. It’s the Sheriff of the PC Police! It’s the New York Time Waster! It’s the fake journalist from Cancer News Network also known as CNN! Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Buzz Kill Feed herself, Vanessa Rollins!” mocked Colin, which earned a round of boos directed toward the journalist.
Vanessa threw down her notepad and pen and bellowed, “This isn’t about political correctness! This is about basic human decency! People are dying so that you can have a ratings spike in your little show! That’s not comedy! That’s exploitation and it’s wrong! How have the police not arrested you and your production crew yet?!”
Straightening the breasts on his plaid jacket, Colin said, “Well, for starters, Miss MSNBC-Section, it’s not like I’m the one murdering these people. All I do is show the footage on the screen. Is it disgusting? Probably. But is broadcasting it illegal? Far from it. You media motherfuckers get away with it all the time when you show soldiers getting their limbs blown off overseas. Yeah, and I’m the one who needs a TV-MA rating. And speaking of which, Miss FCC-You-Next-Tuesday, a TV-MA rating is all I need to make sure nothing illegal is going on.”
Flailing her arms about in frustration, Vanessa said, “So that’s it? You need a TV rating to tell you what you can and can’t do on the air, let alone in the real world? How about if I punch you in the face and you can put an MA rating on that! It’s no worse than what you’re showing these people, if you want to call them that. Plus, since violence is so fucking hilarious, how about I help boost your ratings with a good clean shot right to your face?!”
Colin’s face transformed from comedic lightheartedness to sour anger as he threw his jacket on the floor and waved Vanessa over. “Go ahead, sweetheart! Come at me, Cluster Fox! Let’s see what you’re made of!”
Vanessa threw her own jacket down and fought her way through the audience to the side stairwell. She even kicked off her high heels knowing they would give her a disadvantage in a fight, although that didn’t stop some redneck from shouting, “Nice feet, bitch!” Before the journalist could respond, a child’s foot hooked her ankle and she tumbled down the stairs to the audience’s laughter as well as Colin’s.
Every part of Vanessa’s body ached with slash marks from hitting the stair corners and bruises from hitting the ground at such a high speed. The audience’s laughter buzzed in and out of her slogging mind, but the sadistic grin on the child’s face was what kept her awake through it all. “Is this…what…you’re teaching…your kids?” she managed to sputter out.
The tiny kid stood up in his seat and said, “Hey, I only tripped you! I didn’t take your clothes off!” Another burst of laughter poured from the audience’s sewer holes while Colin was slapping his thighs with comedic gold.
Tears welled up in Vanessa’s eyes while she grabbed the stair railing and poorly attempted to lift herself to her feet. She could have sworn her legs and ankles were broken, judging from how much agony wiggling her toes put her in. Every time she would grab the railing, she would fall off again and that would make the audience’s laughter even more grating than before. One last hurrah and she collapsed onto the floor ready to give up.
The laughter ended when a device fell out of Vanessa’s jacket pocket. Everyone thought she felt around her torso for broken ribs, but it was really to pull out something that stayed intact this whole time: a microphone and a wire. Instead of laughing, the studio went deathly silent with shock and awe.
“I…I…” Colin pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t understand. There’s no way my security team would let you in with that.”
Vanessa lifted her mangled head and smiled through crooked teeth. Spitting one of them out, she said, “Security? You mean the wanted thugs with criminal records a mile long? The ones I recorded feeling me up before I entered the building? Yeah, they’re taking the night off tonight…and the night after that…and the night after that…and the night after that…”
With the wire gathering enough information, Vanessa could finally plop her face down and allow the sounds of police boots to trample across the studio. To her it was like new age music putting her to sleep at night. She actually could sleep at night hearing the one sentence no criminal like Colin McGill wanted to hear: “You have the right to remain silent.” Except he didn’t remain silent. He bawled like a bitch on his way to the police van.
Good Intentions, my ass, thought Vanessa Rollins as she sat in the audience with folded arms and a death stare.
After the narrator got his disclaimers out of the way, two stage lights danced in front of the audience while a timpani drum-roll sounded off across the studio. The narrator’s voice boomed once again over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, who will take home the grand prize of one hundred thousand dollars? Who is the funniest? Who is the nastiest? Who is the goriest? Find out tonight! Live from the Preparation H Pavilion in Paulson City, it’s America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence!”
Everyone sans Vanessa (who shook her head) applauded once the happy trumpet music blasted and the stage illuminated. “And now, here is the host of AFHV: Colin “The Thrill” McGill!” The audience rose to their feet and applauded at their loudest when Colin McGill ran out onstage in his goofiest plaid suit and his cheesiest shit-eating grin.
“Thank you, thank you, everyone! Welcome, welcome, welcome!” greeted Colin as the audience sat back down. “Welcome to America’s Funniest Hardcore Violence: the show where everything is made up and the screams for help don’t matter. The screams are like…steak sauce in India!” The audience let out an “ooo” while Vanessa cradled her face in disgust.
“We’re not going to waste any more time, we’re going to get right to the final three entries in our AFHV tournament. Which one of these videos will take home the big money and fabulous prizes? Will it be…Fire in the Hulk?”
The video wall behind Colin McGill featured a look alike of WWE Hall of Famer Hulk Hogan bent over an ottoman, cheesy blond moustache, red and yellow latex suit, and dark sunglasses to boot. “Well, let me tell you something, brother!” shouted the impersonator. “Whatcha gonna do when Hulkamania blows his fecal matter all over you!”
With Hulk’s pants around his ankles and a dynamite stick poking out of his ass crack, the cameraman lit the fuse while the audience grinned widely with anticipation. Vanessa’s saucer-eyed horror seemed justified when the dynamite exploded. Hogan’s eyes crossed, he screamed in a gruff macho voice, and shit flooded from the brand new hole in his ass like a mudslide. The audience laughed their asses off while Vanessa Rollins held her hand over her mouth in shock. What the hell is wrong with these people? she thought.
“Our second entry of the night…”
Oh god, please no…
“Dead Motherfucker!” beamed Colin as the video wall came to life once again.
A young man stepped down from the sidewalk only to be slammed into by a honking car, sending him flying across the road…only to be hit by another car and sent flying again…only to be hit by a train and sent flying again…only to have his nose cut off by an in-transit helicopter’s propellers. The laughing audience was bad enough, but the money line came when the pilot smiled and said, “That’s one dead motherfucker!”
Vanessa held her ears closed to try in vain to block out the obnoxious chuckling among her fellow audience members.
“And our third entry for the night…Saw Blade! Meet the Saw Blade!”
The video wall showed a Fred Flintstone look alike bound to a torture table with a ball gag in his mouth. He was awakened by the grinding sound of a circular saw overhead, spinning and lowering towards the cartoon caveman. The audience hee-hawed while Fred struggled in his bindings and screamed in his He-Man voice. He managed to chew through the ball gag and yell, “WILMA!” like only he could. It was too late. The saw blade cut open Fred Flintstone’s stomach and revealed that he had blood in his Fruity Pebbles stream.
“And here I thought Fruity Pebbles was the nickname for his balls!” joked Colin McGill, which had the audience dying of laughter quicker than Fred Flintstone died of mutilation.
The one person who refused to laugh at all of this “dark comedy” was Vanessa Rollins, who after a while of tucking her head in her hands stood right up and yelled, “Is this what you people call comedy?! Watching people die in front of you makes you laugh?!” That quickly shut up the audience, watching her seethe with face-reddening anger.
“Well, look who’s come to spoil the fun for everyone. It’s the Sheriff of the PC Police! It’s the New York Time Waster! It’s the fake journalist from Cancer News Network also known as CNN! Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Buzz Kill Feed herself, Vanessa Rollins!” mocked Colin, which earned a round of boos directed toward the journalist.
Vanessa threw down her notepad and pen and bellowed, “This isn’t about political correctness! This is about basic human decency! People are dying so that you can have a ratings spike in your little show! That’s not comedy! That’s exploitation and it’s wrong! How have the police not arrested you and your production crew yet?!”
Straightening the breasts on his plaid jacket, Colin said, “Well, for starters, Miss MSNBC-Section, it’s not like I’m the one murdering these people. All I do is show the footage on the screen. Is it disgusting? Probably. But is broadcasting it illegal? Far from it. You media motherfuckers get away with it all the time when you show soldiers getting their limbs blown off overseas. Yeah, and I’m the one who needs a TV-MA rating. And speaking of which, Miss FCC-You-Next-Tuesday, a TV-MA rating is all I need to make sure nothing illegal is going on.”
Flailing her arms about in frustration, Vanessa said, “So that’s it? You need a TV rating to tell you what you can and can’t do on the air, let alone in the real world? How about if I punch you in the face and you can put an MA rating on that! It’s no worse than what you’re showing these people, if you want to call them that. Plus, since violence is so fucking hilarious, how about I help boost your ratings with a good clean shot right to your face?!”
Colin’s face transformed from comedic lightheartedness to sour anger as he threw his jacket on the floor and waved Vanessa over. “Go ahead, sweetheart! Come at me, Cluster Fox! Let’s see what you’re made of!”
Vanessa threw her own jacket down and fought her way through the audience to the side stairwell. She even kicked off her high heels knowing they would give her a disadvantage in a fight, although that didn’t stop some redneck from shouting, “Nice feet, bitch!” Before the journalist could respond, a child’s foot hooked her ankle and she tumbled down the stairs to the audience’s laughter as well as Colin’s.
Every part of Vanessa’s body ached with slash marks from hitting the stair corners and bruises from hitting the ground at such a high speed. The audience’s laughter buzzed in and out of her slogging mind, but the sadistic grin on the child’s face was what kept her awake through it all. “Is this…what…you’re teaching…your kids?” she managed to sputter out.
The tiny kid stood up in his seat and said, “Hey, I only tripped you! I didn’t take your clothes off!” Another burst of laughter poured from the audience’s sewer holes while Colin was slapping his thighs with comedic gold.
Tears welled up in Vanessa’s eyes while she grabbed the stair railing and poorly attempted to lift herself to her feet. She could have sworn her legs and ankles were broken, judging from how much agony wiggling her toes put her in. Every time she would grab the railing, she would fall off again and that would make the audience’s laughter even more grating than before. One last hurrah and she collapsed onto the floor ready to give up.
The laughter ended when a device fell out of Vanessa’s jacket pocket. Everyone thought she felt around her torso for broken ribs, but it was really to pull out something that stayed intact this whole time: a microphone and a wire. Instead of laughing, the studio went deathly silent with shock and awe.
“I…I…” Colin pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t understand. There’s no way my security team would let you in with that.”
Vanessa lifted her mangled head and smiled through crooked teeth. Spitting one of them out, she said, “Security? You mean the wanted thugs with criminal records a mile long? The ones I recorded feeling me up before I entered the building? Yeah, they’re taking the night off tonight…and the night after that…and the night after that…and the night after that…”
With the wire gathering enough information, Vanessa could finally plop her face down and allow the sounds of police boots to trample across the studio. To her it was like new age music putting her to sleep at night. She actually could sleep at night hearing the one sentence no criminal like Colin McGill wanted to hear: “You have the right to remain silent.” Except he didn’t remain silent. He bawled like a bitch on his way to the police van.
January 6, 2019
Hope Punk
VERSE 1
Worldwide genocide, national pride
Taking the sheep for a nickel ride
Insanity is the brand new reason
Jingoism is the brand new treason
Thinking hate is something great
It’s sealing this world’s final fate
Dictators pop up in every country
I don’t find this shit normal or funny
CHORUS
Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!
Let’s show them we can win this one!
Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!
No more living like mindless slaves!
Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!
Let love conquer this unjust system!
VERSE 2
Refuse, resist, stay fucking pissed
No one tells us how to fucking live
Never tell us to sit down and take it
Dystopian bullshit will never make it
Build utopia from our hearts and souls
Everybody matters in these new roles
Be an activist, the fucking catalyst
Worldwide change can be arranged
CHORUS
Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!
Let’s show them we can win this one!
Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!
No more living like mindless slaves!
Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!
Let love conquer this unjust system!
VERSE 3
Democracy doesn’t have to die
To say otherwise is a blatant lie
Some doubters will never even try
Content to let their lives pass them by
The countdown clock is ticking away
Won’t settle for less for another day
Won’t settle for mediocre or just okay
We’ve got the power, we’re here to stay
CHORUS
Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!
Let’s show them we can win this one!
Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!
No more living like mindless slaves!
Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!
Let love conquer this unjust system!
FINAL WORDS
Hey, Hope Punk!
Hey, victim!
Hey, Hope Punk!
Time to bring the loudest funk!
Worldwide genocide, national pride
Taking the sheep for a nickel ride
Insanity is the brand new reason
Jingoism is the brand new treason
Thinking hate is something great
It’s sealing this world’s final fate
Dictators pop up in every country
I don’t find this shit normal or funny
CHORUS
Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!
Let’s show them we can win this one!
Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!
No more living like mindless slaves!
Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!
Let love conquer this unjust system!
VERSE 2
Refuse, resist, stay fucking pissed
No one tells us how to fucking live
Never tell us to sit down and take it
Dystopian bullshit will never make it
Build utopia from our hearts and souls
Everybody matters in these new roles
Be an activist, the fucking catalyst
Worldwide change can be arranged
CHORUS
Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!
Let’s show them we can win this one!
Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!
No more living like mindless slaves!
Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!
Let love conquer this unjust system!
VERSE 3
Democracy doesn’t have to die
To say otherwise is a blatant lie
Some doubters will never even try
Content to let their lives pass them by
The countdown clock is ticking away
Won’t settle for less for another day
Won’t settle for mediocre or just okay
We’ve got the power, we’re here to stay
CHORUS
Hey, Hope Punk! Let’s rise up!
Let’s show them we can win this one!
Hey, victim! Rise from the grave!
No more living like mindless slaves!
Hey, Hope Punk! Hey, victim!
Let love conquer this unjust system!
FINAL WORDS
Hey, Hope Punk!
Hey, victim!
Hey, Hope Punk!
Time to bring the loudest funk!
January 3, 2019
Comedic Obligations
***COMEDIC OBLIGATIONS***
When you’re a writer and you feel obligated to include certain elements in your story, you can often find yourself not knowing what the hell you’re doing. For example, there’re a lot of TV shows, movies, and books out there that have shoehorned romances, so you feel like in order to stand a chance of being above average, you too have to have a romance despite not having the necessary experience or interest. The same thing is true with comedy. Although George Carlin remains one of my strongest comedic influences, not even his material is capable of making me into a carbon copy of him, which he wouldn’t want anyways because of his strong individuality. I can be funny sometimes, but when I feel obligated to make a joke in my stories, the writing suffers badly and I have to go through yet another round of editing. Tonight I’m counting down the three cringiest examples of jokes or cleverness gone badly in my stories. Why three? Because that’s three cringes too many.
I should go ahead and say that all three major examples come from Poison Tongue Tales, the first drafts at least. You won’t find the jokes there now, thank god. Let’s begin with the major money line from Stone Cold, a short story within that tome about a barbarian (surprise, surprise, surprise) who wants revenge on a warthog sorcerer and a female dark paladin for killing his wife. The barbarian wins the battle, but not without feeling like his heart is going to explode and a vein in his brain is going to pop like a balloon. While the female dark paladin is laying on the ground on her way to the afterlife, the barbarian leans down and says to her in a sexy voice…”Maybe I’ll get some practice on you before I meet my wife in heaven.” Practice doing what, you say? Well, if you can’t figure that out, I’m not going to tell you. Either way, you should be appalled at that, which is why that line no longer occupies my story.
And then the other two examples come from the same story within PTT. That story is called Streetwalker and that title alone should already have you feeling anxiety bubble up in the pit of your stomach. The main villain, another barbarian (what a goddamn shock), wants to buy the services of a wizard prostitute to celebrate a major victory in battle. The prostitute turns him down, so instead of paying the full price, he tries to get it for free by attempting to rape her. Being that she’s a wizard and that she’s using her prostitution money to fund her magical education, the hooker throws every kind of elemental spell at the barbarian’s way. Fireballs, lightning bolts, poison bubbles, shadow spears, glacial spikes, you name it, she’s throwing it. She thinks she’s won the fight, but the spells have absolutely no effect on the barbarian. So what does the would-be rapist say? He says…”In order to cast the spells properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!” In the words of my beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps, “Why doesn’t he just shoot her already? I’d rather get raped than listen to another one of his bad jokes.” You and me both, Babe-a-Licious Mondo. You and me both.
That Emmy Award-winning zinger should have been the end of it for Streetwalker, but it wasn’t. Instead the audience was treated to yet another “clever” piece of writing. It wasn’t really a joke nor was it intended to be misogynistic. It was just my obligations creeping through yet again. So what happens in Streetwalker (SPOILER ALERT) is that the barbarian has his way with the prostitute and leaves her bloody and bruised in a dark alleyway. Yes, she managed to knock is money bag loose (his actual money bag, not his testicles, you fools!), but even with all of that gold at her disposal, she still feels guilty for “allowing herself” to be raped in the first place. As part of this self-imposed guilt trip, I, the narrator, describe her ordeal as…(gulp)…I’m not sure if I should say this, but I’m going to if it means proving my point…the prostitute’s rape was…”a permanent part of her resume”. I can hear the dry heaves coming from miles away. Absolutely barferrific. No call for that. It got so bad that when Marie was writing her critique notes, she said, “Let’s keep this between you and me.” I couldn’t agree more, but here it is out in the open.
I didn’t count down those three examples because I wanted a laugh track to magically appear in my room. I counted them down because I wanted to be free from my obligations of putting comedy and/or clever lines in my writing. Yes, comedy is nice every once and a while, but only when done by a true master. Whenever I get into a heated argument with someone, my brain shuts down, so I can’t quickly access a savage one-liner to defeat my opponent. Why should I expect the same thing from my characters? Because Hollywood told me to do it? Because they do it so well in the WWE (which I still don’t watch anymore)? Why can’t two people just have a passionate conversation full of vitriol and curse words? Why does everything have to be funny all the time?
Now that I think about it, the funnier a movie or book tries to be, the more it comes off as bathos to an otherwise emotional moment. Bathos is defined as a descent from emotional highs and it’s usually achieved through comedy. Marvel movies have been accused of doing this a lot, especially with anything featuring Iron Man and his actor Robert Downey, Jr. When you rob your audience of an emotional high, you’re stealing a major part of the movie-watching experience. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I get hit in the feels, I don’t want my attacker to use kid gloves. That’s why I like books like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and The Savior’s Champion. Sure, they have witty dialogue peppered here and there, but it doesn’t diminish the dramatic action of their respective stories.
I have not yet mastered the balance between (good) comedy and punches to the feels. I’ve been an amateur/professional author since 2001 and I still can’t do it. Is this something I should work on or should I abandon it altogether? Is comedy really that important or should I emancipate myself from the chains of obligation? See? Even that last line sounded too over-the-top to be considered comedic gold. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like laughing at bad jokes, keep climbing the mountain!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Chapter seven of this ongoing rewrite is edging towards the horizon. Windham managed to free himself from the shackles and now he needs to not only escape Shelly’s castle, but beforehand has to draw blueprints from the inside and collect a handsome payday from Shadow Asylum. Can he keep his emotions in check long enough to not spoil his escape? Can he watch one of his own being sold to a paying aristocrat without snapping again? Whatever the case may be, I’m free from the chains of comedic obligations, so there won’t be any jokes about Nickelodeon Slime Cannons or some shit like that (some of Shelly’s sex slaves are teenagers).
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
If Fred Durst started his own airline company, would he call it Air Bizkit? It makes me worry about the cabbage and broccoli platters he’d serve to the coach passengers. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about the plane running out of fuel, although the weather would always be cloudy up there.
***POST-SCRIPT***
Okay, so I’m not completely emancipated.
When you’re a writer and you feel obligated to include certain elements in your story, you can often find yourself not knowing what the hell you’re doing. For example, there’re a lot of TV shows, movies, and books out there that have shoehorned romances, so you feel like in order to stand a chance of being above average, you too have to have a romance despite not having the necessary experience or interest. The same thing is true with comedy. Although George Carlin remains one of my strongest comedic influences, not even his material is capable of making me into a carbon copy of him, which he wouldn’t want anyways because of his strong individuality. I can be funny sometimes, but when I feel obligated to make a joke in my stories, the writing suffers badly and I have to go through yet another round of editing. Tonight I’m counting down the three cringiest examples of jokes or cleverness gone badly in my stories. Why three? Because that’s three cringes too many.
I should go ahead and say that all three major examples come from Poison Tongue Tales, the first drafts at least. You won’t find the jokes there now, thank god. Let’s begin with the major money line from Stone Cold, a short story within that tome about a barbarian (surprise, surprise, surprise) who wants revenge on a warthog sorcerer and a female dark paladin for killing his wife. The barbarian wins the battle, but not without feeling like his heart is going to explode and a vein in his brain is going to pop like a balloon. While the female dark paladin is laying on the ground on her way to the afterlife, the barbarian leans down and says to her in a sexy voice…”Maybe I’ll get some practice on you before I meet my wife in heaven.” Practice doing what, you say? Well, if you can’t figure that out, I’m not going to tell you. Either way, you should be appalled at that, which is why that line no longer occupies my story.
And then the other two examples come from the same story within PTT. That story is called Streetwalker and that title alone should already have you feeling anxiety bubble up in the pit of your stomach. The main villain, another barbarian (what a goddamn shock), wants to buy the services of a wizard prostitute to celebrate a major victory in battle. The prostitute turns him down, so instead of paying the full price, he tries to get it for free by attempting to rape her. Being that she’s a wizard and that she’s using her prostitution money to fund her magical education, the hooker throws every kind of elemental spell at the barbarian’s way. Fireballs, lightning bolts, poison bubbles, shadow spears, glacial spikes, you name it, she’s throwing it. She thinks she’s won the fight, but the spells have absolutely no effect on the barbarian. So what does the would-be rapist say? He says…”In order to cast the spells properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!” In the words of my beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps, “Why doesn’t he just shoot her already? I’d rather get raped than listen to another one of his bad jokes.” You and me both, Babe-a-Licious Mondo. You and me both.
That Emmy Award-winning zinger should have been the end of it for Streetwalker, but it wasn’t. Instead the audience was treated to yet another “clever” piece of writing. It wasn’t really a joke nor was it intended to be misogynistic. It was just my obligations creeping through yet again. So what happens in Streetwalker (SPOILER ALERT) is that the barbarian has his way with the prostitute and leaves her bloody and bruised in a dark alleyway. Yes, she managed to knock is money bag loose (his actual money bag, not his testicles, you fools!), but even with all of that gold at her disposal, she still feels guilty for “allowing herself” to be raped in the first place. As part of this self-imposed guilt trip, I, the narrator, describe her ordeal as…(gulp)…I’m not sure if I should say this, but I’m going to if it means proving my point…the prostitute’s rape was…”a permanent part of her resume”. I can hear the dry heaves coming from miles away. Absolutely barferrific. No call for that. It got so bad that when Marie was writing her critique notes, she said, “Let’s keep this between you and me.” I couldn’t agree more, but here it is out in the open.
I didn’t count down those three examples because I wanted a laugh track to magically appear in my room. I counted them down because I wanted to be free from my obligations of putting comedy and/or clever lines in my writing. Yes, comedy is nice every once and a while, but only when done by a true master. Whenever I get into a heated argument with someone, my brain shuts down, so I can’t quickly access a savage one-liner to defeat my opponent. Why should I expect the same thing from my characters? Because Hollywood told me to do it? Because they do it so well in the WWE (which I still don’t watch anymore)? Why can’t two people just have a passionate conversation full of vitriol and curse words? Why does everything have to be funny all the time?
Now that I think about it, the funnier a movie or book tries to be, the more it comes off as bathos to an otherwise emotional moment. Bathos is defined as a descent from emotional highs and it’s usually achieved through comedy. Marvel movies have been accused of doing this a lot, especially with anything featuring Iron Man and his actor Robert Downey, Jr. When you rob your audience of an emotional high, you’re stealing a major part of the movie-watching experience. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I get hit in the feels, I don’t want my attacker to use kid gloves. That’s why I like books like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and The Savior’s Champion. Sure, they have witty dialogue peppered here and there, but it doesn’t diminish the dramatic action of their respective stories.
I have not yet mastered the balance between (good) comedy and punches to the feels. I’ve been an amateur/professional author since 2001 and I still can’t do it. Is this something I should work on or should I abandon it altogether? Is comedy really that important or should I emancipate myself from the chains of obligation? See? Even that last line sounded too over-the-top to be considered comedic gold. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like laughing at bad jokes, keep climbing the mountain!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Chapter seven of this ongoing rewrite is edging towards the horizon. Windham managed to free himself from the shackles and now he needs to not only escape Shelly’s castle, but beforehand has to draw blueprints from the inside and collect a handsome payday from Shadow Asylum. Can he keep his emotions in check long enough to not spoil his escape? Can he watch one of his own being sold to a paying aristocrat without snapping again? Whatever the case may be, I’m free from the chains of comedic obligations, so there won’t be any jokes about Nickelodeon Slime Cannons or some shit like that (some of Shelly’s sex slaves are teenagers).
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
If Fred Durst started his own airline company, would he call it Air Bizkit? It makes me worry about the cabbage and broccoli platters he’d serve to the coach passengers. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about the plane running out of fuel, although the weather would always be cloudy up there.
***POST-SCRIPT***
Okay, so I’m not completely emancipated.
Valentine's Day Comes Early
***VALENTINE’S DAY COMES EARLY***
I’ve got to be honest with you guys. My past few blog entries have been rife with negativity and that’s not who I want to be. With Valentine’s Day only a month and a half away, my heartache will only get worse. But we’re not going to spend that special occasion pining over stupid shit. We’re going to celebrate VD (in January) by playing one of my favorite games of all time. It’s America’s game, but it ain’t Squeal of Fortune or Geo-Parody. This game is called…ARE…YOU….SHIPPING…ME?! And now, here are the stars of our special game: Pat Sajak and Vanna White! Actually, Pat Sajak can get the fuck off the stage, but I’ll gladly keep Vanna around. Hehe!
If you’re not familiar with the rules of this game, don’t worry, because I’ve got them right here. Create a roster of as many fictional characters as you want, but I recommend an equal balance of females and males. Randomly select two names from that list and discuss their potential as a couple. Pay no mind to gender preferences or gender identities, because under these rules, anybody can be a couple with anybody. You’ll get some odd combinations before you get any that actually make sense. Maybe they don’t even have to be a romantic couple. Maybe they’re just platonic? Or family? Or tag team partners? Either way, we’re going to have a lot of fun tonight! I assembled my roster using my Read list from Good Reads. There are twenty names on this list, so that means there’ll be ten couples.
1. Arnold Spirit (“The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian” by Sherman Alexie)
2. Bob (“A Street Cat Named Bob” by James Bowen)
3. Chris Jericho (Former WWE wrestler who wrote three memoirs)
4. Dr. Manhattan (Watchmen)
5. Evan McGann (“The Blade Itself” by Marcus Sakey)
6. Gloria Cavalera (“My Bloody Roots” by Max Cavalera)
7. Homer Simpson (The Simpsons comic books)
8. Jack Tagger (“Basket Case” by Carl Hiaasen)
9. Joker (Batman comic books)
10. Kat Colorado (“Alley Kat Blues” by Karen Kijewski)
11. Kelly Carlin (George Carlin’s daughter and author of “A Carlin Home Companion”)
12. Piper (“The Blood Files” by Marie Krepps and BJ Taylor)
13. Polly Duncan (“Cat Who” series by Lilian Jackson Braun)
14. Saber (“The Benevolent Slayers” by Marie Krepps)
15. Sleeping Beauty (“The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty” by Anne Rice)
16. The Hunter (Andy Peloquin’s books)
17. Trevor’s Mother (“Born a Crime” by Trevor Noah)
18. Tuna (“Chomp” by Carl Hiaasen)
19. Unemployed Man (“The Adventures of Unemployed Man” by Gan Golan and Erich Origen)
20. Viola (“Child of the Night Guild” by Andy Peloquin)
Let’s spin the wheel and win some fabulous prizes! I’d like to buy an R, Pat! Oh wait, I already told you to fuck off. Never mind!
***JACK TAGGER X KAT COLORADO (TAGGERADO)***
Well, what do you know? Our first randomly assembled couple actually makes at least a wee bit of sense! Jack and Kat are both investigators in their respective novels, though Jack is a journalist and Kat is a private detective. Age difference aside, these two could actually help each other through their cases. They’re both witty, smart as hell, sarcastic, and can get the job done no matter how hard the odds are stacked against them. They’re also faithful lovers, so there’s no worry about them breaking up too soon. Yes, this is perfect! This is beautiful! THIS…IS…LOVE!
***THE HUNTER X BOB (BUNTER)***
Okay, I was not expecting this, which was dumb on my part. Hehe! We’ve got a ruthless contract killer and a stray cat who just wants to laze around the space heater. Would The Hunter even have the time to take care of an uncontrollable pet with his merciless killing schedule? Better question is, would he have the heart to do it? Does he respect animals or would he use Bob to feed his Blood Hunger dagger? You would think that because cats are stealthy, they would make good partners in crime for slick rogues like The Hunter. But no…not Bob. Bob just wants to cuddle and lay about. Not good for business.
***DR. MANHATTAN X TUNA (MANHATTUNA)***
Nope, nope, nope, absolutely fucking not. Dr. Manhattan is a billion years old and Tuna is a teenaged girl. No nookie for them! A father-daughter relationship, on the other hand, is a little more realistic. Tuna, in her story, wants to get as far away from her abusive father as possible, lest she get another black eye, or worse. Who better to tell the father to fuck off than a nuclear superhero who can manipulate atoms ever so magically? Jared (the father) wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance. I don’t care how drunk and trigger happy he is; he’s no match for superhero brutality. In addition to providing protection, Dr. Manhattan’s wisdom can also be an educational experience for young Tuna Gordon. I can’t think of a better way to complete childhood!
***POLLY DUNCAN X TREVOR NOAH’S MOTHER (DUNCOAH)***
Maybe not as a lesbian romance, but as best friends, this would actually make sense. Both of them are voracious readers, highly educated, and hardworking. Mrs. Noah could find some peace in Pickaxe County, away from her abusive ex-husband Abel in South Africa. At least Polly Duncan has kitties. I’ll take a comfy kitty over a wife-beater any day of the week. But the question now becomes, how would Mrs. Noah and Polly find common ground religiously? Mrs. Noah is extremely religious while Polly’s faith isn’t well established in the Cat Who books. Would they clash over that or would they find other common ground, such as good books and good food? I want to believe these two would get along just fine…so that’s the conclusion I’ll come to!
***PIPER X ARNOLD SPIRIT (SPIPER)***
Let’s see…how would a love sick Native American teenager get along with a vampire seductress? Not very well, I would assume. Sure, Arnold would be desperate to find love after all the trauma he endured on the reservation, but would he have at least a shred of wisdom to keep his distance from Piper? I don’t know, man. Hormones can be a fickle bitch. Testicular chemicals can make a kid do crazy shit. Anything to get away from the reservation, right? It’s like choosing between death and Unga-Bunga. Get bullied by older kids or get drained and force fucked by Piper and her vampire cohorts. Hmm…decisions, decisions.
***CHRIS JERICHO X VIOLA (JERICHOLA)***
Good god almighty, another adult/teenager couple? Really? In order for this to work, they’d have to be tag team partners and not lovers. Throughout his wrestling career, Chris Jericho has been both a babyface (hero) and heel (villain). He prefers to be a villain and Viola has been brainwashed into being a cutthroat thief. Yep, these two would snatch Tag Team Championship gold in no time at all. I may have stopped watching WWE, but I still know who the Tag Team Champs on both Raw and Smackdown are and neither of them stand a chance against Jerichola, which sounds like the name of a delicious soft drink. Bobby Roode wouldn’t stop saying “Glorious!” all the time. Chad Gable would be too busy finishing Bobby’s catch phrase for him. And Sheamus and Cesaro? Fucking forget it, man! A multi-decade wrestler like Jericho and a stealthy thief like Viola have money written all over them, whether they pickpocket it or earn it by winning matches.
***EVAN MCGANN X SLEEPING BEAUTY (MCBEAUTY)***
Talk about a one-sided, abusive, toxic relationship in the making! Evan McGann is a manipulative criminal with muscles on top of muscles and a psychotic streak a mile long. Sleeping Beauty is a sex slave by nature, having been attached to whoever gives her the kiss that wakes her up. In her story, it’s not a kiss, but a fuck that wakes her up. You think a sick freak like Evan would pass up on that opportunity? Not a chance. The idea of McBeauty makes me want to spit up, which is weird because the couple name sounds like a burger at a fast food restaurant. I should be eager to eat McDonald’s food! But not this kind. This relationship is more poisonous than the pink slime they put in McNuggets.
***THE JOKER X HOMER SIMPSON (HOKER)***
These two don’t have a prayer on planet earth of getting along as a couple, let alone as partners in crime. The Joker would be busy formulating an intricate plot to kill Batman while Homer would be stupidly messing things up, by virtue of his clumsiness or his endless appetite. If The Joker baked a batch of poisoned cookies for Bruce Wayne’s business conference, Homer would eat them. All of them. And he wouldn’t die from it, but he’d shit out Joker gas and put permanent grins on everyone. This…(sigh)…This’ll never work. Ever.
***SABER X KELLY CARLIN (CARLABER)***
A badass sorceress and a badass comedienne? Oh, this is fucking perfect! You talk about girl power? You talk about strong female characters? These two bitches are unstoppable! They’ve got quick wit, unbreakable spirits, and enough emotional baggage to get each other through the hardest times. They’ll have their ups and downs, but as long as they have each other, there’s nothing they can’t achieve. Maybe they can sit around together and listen to old George Carlin routines while laughing their asses off. I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday night than that! They can also even each other out since Saber is the hothead and Kelly is the calmer one (she practices Zen). Plus, Carlaber sounds like they’re doing something good for the economy! It’s perfect! It’s fucking perfect!
***GLORIA CAVALERA X UNEMPLOYED MAN (UH…I GOT NOTHING)***
The wife of a heavy metal icon and a superhero who preaches personal responsibility? Gee, what could possibly go wrong? What could go right is Unemployed Man finally finding a job as a roadie for Soulfly. If he’s so fucking responsible, he should be able to ace that job no problem. Or maybe structural unemployment isn’t as simplified as everyone’s making it out to be. Maybe there are outside forces at work. Maybe…just maybe…the system is rigged? Max Cavalera has been telling you that shit for years, but did Unemployed Man listen? Obviously not.
***CONCLUSION***
This is Charlie O’Donnell’s dead body speaking. Are You Shipping Me is produced by Merv Griffin and distributed by Charles King, both of whom are also necromantic spirits haunting Garrison Kelly’s blog. Even when you feel like dying (on Valentine’s Day), keep climbing the mountain, bitches!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I like to eat my friends and make no bones about it. I like to eat my friends, I wouldn’t do without it. Ain’t a man or poet, friend, I know just how you’ll taste. Your limbs go sliding down my throat and never go to waste. Your death of course will sadden me until I drop your essence. I know your life was not in vain when digestion is commencing. Consider this a celebration and the deepest pact of friends. I hope that you will dine on me when I come to an end. Even friends may come to you with a newfound revelation. But think of it as life renewed and not the termination. “To know you is to eat you” should be the code of lovers. Death brings the highest act of love reserved for one another. People say that what you are is only what you eat. My friends become a part of me, it’s then that life’s complete. To know you is to eat you, the act of love supreme. Each one of us inside himself can appetize the dream.”
-The Police singing “Friends”-
I’ve got to be honest with you guys. My past few blog entries have been rife with negativity and that’s not who I want to be. With Valentine’s Day only a month and a half away, my heartache will only get worse. But we’re not going to spend that special occasion pining over stupid shit. We’re going to celebrate VD (in January) by playing one of my favorite games of all time. It’s America’s game, but it ain’t Squeal of Fortune or Geo-Parody. This game is called…ARE…YOU….SHIPPING…ME?! And now, here are the stars of our special game: Pat Sajak and Vanna White! Actually, Pat Sajak can get the fuck off the stage, but I’ll gladly keep Vanna around. Hehe!
If you’re not familiar with the rules of this game, don’t worry, because I’ve got them right here. Create a roster of as many fictional characters as you want, but I recommend an equal balance of females and males. Randomly select two names from that list and discuss their potential as a couple. Pay no mind to gender preferences or gender identities, because under these rules, anybody can be a couple with anybody. You’ll get some odd combinations before you get any that actually make sense. Maybe they don’t even have to be a romantic couple. Maybe they’re just platonic? Or family? Or tag team partners? Either way, we’re going to have a lot of fun tonight! I assembled my roster using my Read list from Good Reads. There are twenty names on this list, so that means there’ll be ten couples.
1. Arnold Spirit (“The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian” by Sherman Alexie)
2. Bob (“A Street Cat Named Bob” by James Bowen)
3. Chris Jericho (Former WWE wrestler who wrote three memoirs)
4. Dr. Manhattan (Watchmen)
5. Evan McGann (“The Blade Itself” by Marcus Sakey)
6. Gloria Cavalera (“My Bloody Roots” by Max Cavalera)
7. Homer Simpson (The Simpsons comic books)
8. Jack Tagger (“Basket Case” by Carl Hiaasen)
9. Joker (Batman comic books)
10. Kat Colorado (“Alley Kat Blues” by Karen Kijewski)
11. Kelly Carlin (George Carlin’s daughter and author of “A Carlin Home Companion”)
12. Piper (“The Blood Files” by Marie Krepps and BJ Taylor)
13. Polly Duncan (“Cat Who” series by Lilian Jackson Braun)
14. Saber (“The Benevolent Slayers” by Marie Krepps)
15. Sleeping Beauty (“The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty” by Anne Rice)
16. The Hunter (Andy Peloquin’s books)
17. Trevor’s Mother (“Born a Crime” by Trevor Noah)
18. Tuna (“Chomp” by Carl Hiaasen)
19. Unemployed Man (“The Adventures of Unemployed Man” by Gan Golan and Erich Origen)
20. Viola (“Child of the Night Guild” by Andy Peloquin)
Let’s spin the wheel and win some fabulous prizes! I’d like to buy an R, Pat! Oh wait, I already told you to fuck off. Never mind!
***JACK TAGGER X KAT COLORADO (TAGGERADO)***
Well, what do you know? Our first randomly assembled couple actually makes at least a wee bit of sense! Jack and Kat are both investigators in their respective novels, though Jack is a journalist and Kat is a private detective. Age difference aside, these two could actually help each other through their cases. They’re both witty, smart as hell, sarcastic, and can get the job done no matter how hard the odds are stacked against them. They’re also faithful lovers, so there’s no worry about them breaking up too soon. Yes, this is perfect! This is beautiful! THIS…IS…LOVE!
***THE HUNTER X BOB (BUNTER)***
Okay, I was not expecting this, which was dumb on my part. Hehe! We’ve got a ruthless contract killer and a stray cat who just wants to laze around the space heater. Would The Hunter even have the time to take care of an uncontrollable pet with his merciless killing schedule? Better question is, would he have the heart to do it? Does he respect animals or would he use Bob to feed his Blood Hunger dagger? You would think that because cats are stealthy, they would make good partners in crime for slick rogues like The Hunter. But no…not Bob. Bob just wants to cuddle and lay about. Not good for business.
***DR. MANHATTAN X TUNA (MANHATTUNA)***
Nope, nope, nope, absolutely fucking not. Dr. Manhattan is a billion years old and Tuna is a teenaged girl. No nookie for them! A father-daughter relationship, on the other hand, is a little more realistic. Tuna, in her story, wants to get as far away from her abusive father as possible, lest she get another black eye, or worse. Who better to tell the father to fuck off than a nuclear superhero who can manipulate atoms ever so magically? Jared (the father) wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance. I don’t care how drunk and trigger happy he is; he’s no match for superhero brutality. In addition to providing protection, Dr. Manhattan’s wisdom can also be an educational experience for young Tuna Gordon. I can’t think of a better way to complete childhood!
***POLLY DUNCAN X TREVOR NOAH’S MOTHER (DUNCOAH)***
Maybe not as a lesbian romance, but as best friends, this would actually make sense. Both of them are voracious readers, highly educated, and hardworking. Mrs. Noah could find some peace in Pickaxe County, away from her abusive ex-husband Abel in South Africa. At least Polly Duncan has kitties. I’ll take a comfy kitty over a wife-beater any day of the week. But the question now becomes, how would Mrs. Noah and Polly find common ground religiously? Mrs. Noah is extremely religious while Polly’s faith isn’t well established in the Cat Who books. Would they clash over that or would they find other common ground, such as good books and good food? I want to believe these two would get along just fine…so that’s the conclusion I’ll come to!
***PIPER X ARNOLD SPIRIT (SPIPER)***
Let’s see…how would a love sick Native American teenager get along with a vampire seductress? Not very well, I would assume. Sure, Arnold would be desperate to find love after all the trauma he endured on the reservation, but would he have at least a shred of wisdom to keep his distance from Piper? I don’t know, man. Hormones can be a fickle bitch. Testicular chemicals can make a kid do crazy shit. Anything to get away from the reservation, right? It’s like choosing between death and Unga-Bunga. Get bullied by older kids or get drained and force fucked by Piper and her vampire cohorts. Hmm…decisions, decisions.
***CHRIS JERICHO X VIOLA (JERICHOLA)***
Good god almighty, another adult/teenager couple? Really? In order for this to work, they’d have to be tag team partners and not lovers. Throughout his wrestling career, Chris Jericho has been both a babyface (hero) and heel (villain). He prefers to be a villain and Viola has been brainwashed into being a cutthroat thief. Yep, these two would snatch Tag Team Championship gold in no time at all. I may have stopped watching WWE, but I still know who the Tag Team Champs on both Raw and Smackdown are and neither of them stand a chance against Jerichola, which sounds like the name of a delicious soft drink. Bobby Roode wouldn’t stop saying “Glorious!” all the time. Chad Gable would be too busy finishing Bobby’s catch phrase for him. And Sheamus and Cesaro? Fucking forget it, man! A multi-decade wrestler like Jericho and a stealthy thief like Viola have money written all over them, whether they pickpocket it or earn it by winning matches.
***EVAN MCGANN X SLEEPING BEAUTY (MCBEAUTY)***
Talk about a one-sided, abusive, toxic relationship in the making! Evan McGann is a manipulative criminal with muscles on top of muscles and a psychotic streak a mile long. Sleeping Beauty is a sex slave by nature, having been attached to whoever gives her the kiss that wakes her up. In her story, it’s not a kiss, but a fuck that wakes her up. You think a sick freak like Evan would pass up on that opportunity? Not a chance. The idea of McBeauty makes me want to spit up, which is weird because the couple name sounds like a burger at a fast food restaurant. I should be eager to eat McDonald’s food! But not this kind. This relationship is more poisonous than the pink slime they put in McNuggets.
***THE JOKER X HOMER SIMPSON (HOKER)***
These two don’t have a prayer on planet earth of getting along as a couple, let alone as partners in crime. The Joker would be busy formulating an intricate plot to kill Batman while Homer would be stupidly messing things up, by virtue of his clumsiness or his endless appetite. If The Joker baked a batch of poisoned cookies for Bruce Wayne’s business conference, Homer would eat them. All of them. And he wouldn’t die from it, but he’d shit out Joker gas and put permanent grins on everyone. This…(sigh)…This’ll never work. Ever.
***SABER X KELLY CARLIN (CARLABER)***
A badass sorceress and a badass comedienne? Oh, this is fucking perfect! You talk about girl power? You talk about strong female characters? These two bitches are unstoppable! They’ve got quick wit, unbreakable spirits, and enough emotional baggage to get each other through the hardest times. They’ll have their ups and downs, but as long as they have each other, there’s nothing they can’t achieve. Maybe they can sit around together and listen to old George Carlin routines while laughing their asses off. I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday night than that! They can also even each other out since Saber is the hothead and Kelly is the calmer one (she practices Zen). Plus, Carlaber sounds like they’re doing something good for the economy! It’s perfect! It’s fucking perfect!
***GLORIA CAVALERA X UNEMPLOYED MAN (UH…I GOT NOTHING)***
The wife of a heavy metal icon and a superhero who preaches personal responsibility? Gee, what could possibly go wrong? What could go right is Unemployed Man finally finding a job as a roadie for Soulfly. If he’s so fucking responsible, he should be able to ace that job no problem. Or maybe structural unemployment isn’t as simplified as everyone’s making it out to be. Maybe there are outside forces at work. Maybe…just maybe…the system is rigged? Max Cavalera has been telling you that shit for years, but did Unemployed Man listen? Obviously not.
***CONCLUSION***
This is Charlie O’Donnell’s dead body speaking. Are You Shipping Me is produced by Merv Griffin and distributed by Charles King, both of whom are also necromantic spirits haunting Garrison Kelly’s blog. Even when you feel like dying (on Valentine’s Day), keep climbing the mountain, bitches!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I like to eat my friends and make no bones about it. I like to eat my friends, I wouldn’t do without it. Ain’t a man or poet, friend, I know just how you’ll taste. Your limbs go sliding down my throat and never go to waste. Your death of course will sadden me until I drop your essence. I know your life was not in vain when digestion is commencing. Consider this a celebration and the deepest pact of friends. I hope that you will dine on me when I come to an end. Even friends may come to you with a newfound revelation. But think of it as life renewed and not the termination. “To know you is to eat you” should be the code of lovers. Death brings the highest act of love reserved for one another. People say that what you are is only what you eat. My friends become a part of me, it’s then that life’s complete. To know you is to eat you, the act of love supreme. Each one of us inside himself can appetize the dream.”
-The Police singing “Friends”-
December 31, 2018
New Years Goals 2019
***NEW YEARS GOALS 2019***
I’m fully aware of how useless New Years resolutions can be. You make one promise and break it a day later. It’s almost a universal certainty that fucking up a New Years resolution will be paramount to 2019 and every year for the rest of our lives. But just for the sake of being in the holiday spirit, I’m going to make my own personal list of New Years goals for 2019. I have no idea how I’m going to tackle them or how long it’ll be before I eventually get sidetracked. All I know is that I have goals and they’ll be on display for all of my readers to see. Starting with…
***LOSING ONE HUNDRED POUNDS***
No, I’m not talking about British money, I’m talking about the units of fat weighing me down and keeping me from achieving full cardio potential. Truth is, I have no idea how much I weigh and I’m not eager to find out. Looking at the numbers on a weight scale has always been intimidating for me. I think I’m doing great and suddenly the scale says I’m three hundred fucking pounds. Not very encouraging. So in order to shed some of those pounds, I’m going on longer outdoor walks and I’m going to increase my distance once my current distance gets too easy to do, which won’t be for a while I assume. I might also have to stop eating at the restaurants in the Fred Meyer plaza even though it’s technically lunch hour by the time I get to where I’m going. Little Caesar’s, Quizno’s, a Mexican restaurant I can’t remember the name of, and the Fred Meyer deli are all very tempting during my calorie burning walks. Maybe I can just get a drink from Fred Meyer and eat something nutritious at home. Maybe…
***PUBLISH BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Even though I have an entire year to rewrite and edit this novel again and again, something tells me that I’ll need more than a year. I don’t want Beautiful Monster to become a flop like Occupy Wrestling is turning out to be. I want Beautiful Monster to be the novel that recharges my career. I want it to be something that can be loved by a wider audience, trigger warnings aside. I want Book Tubers to discuss it at length and not accuse me of having flat characters or too-fast of a pace or whatnot. Thankfully, I have the services of Hollow Hills Books by my side. I’ll pay them whatever they want to help me iron the kinks out of it. I’ll gladly put in the work if it means this novel will save my career. Does it even need saving? I’m not sure.
***FIND A GIRLFRIEND***
…Yeah…um…about that…how do I…I mean…yeah, I’ve got nothing. No solutions, no tactics, no nothing. Maybe if I watch enough flirty Psych 2 Go videos, a girlfriend will magically appear. But if not…well, there’s always next year…and the year after that…and the year after that.
***CURE MY CHRONIC TIREDNESS***
This is another tough one, but I have more to say about it. Truth is, there’s no one cause that’s making my sleepy almost all of the time. It’s a bunch of different factors congregating together at once. Being overweight, being schizophrenic, being autistic, quite possibly being depressed, not having enough of a social life, not getting enough good nutrition, I could go on forever. I currently use a CPAP machine to help me breathe at night and it has done wonders for my constant sleepiness, but it’s not an end-all solution. There’s a lot I could be doing for myself, but even then there’s no guarantee that I’ll be the 24/7 or 48/14 workhorse that I was in college and high school. If I told my professors that I was too tired to do homework, they wouldn’t sympathize with me; they’d give me an F. Not that I’d want to go back to school for any reason, but you get what I’m saying. If sleepiness is unacceptable in my early 20’s, it’s unacceptable in my early 30’s.
***SEE TARJA TURUNEN IN CONCERT***
There are a lot of bands I like that I haven’t seen perform live yet and Tarja Turunen is at the top of my list. She’s been my college crush from 2007 to 2009 and making a trip to see her in concert would be like a religious pilgrimage to Mecca. I know she doesn’t come to the US very often, let alone anywhere in Washington State, but if she played in a foreign country and I had a plane ticket to see her, I’ll gladly take that. I know nobody asked and it wouldn’t be wise to anyways, but no, I have no plans to flirt with Tarja if she does a fan meet-and-greet. She’s a happily married woman with a beautiful little daughter. Besides, I don’t flirt with anybody these days no matter who they are. It’s creepy if you’re like me and you have no idea what you’re doing.
***CONCLUSION***
I have a bunch of smaller goals too such as reading certain books and owning a T-shirt that says “Ego Kills Talent”, but why delve into those when I don’t have much to say about them? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I know that you’re hiding things, using gentle words to shelter me. Your words were like a dream, but dreams could never fool me, not that easily. I acted so distant then. Didn’t say goodbye before you left. But I was listening. You’ll fight your battles far from me, far too easily. “Save your tears, ‘cause I’ll come back,” I could hear that you whispered as you walked through that door. But still I swore to hide the pain when I turn back the pages. Shouting might’ve been the answer. What if I cried my eyes out and begged you not to depart? But now I’m not afraid to say what’s in my heart. Though a thousand words have never been spoken. They’ll fly to you even though you can’t see. I know they’re reaching you, suspended on silver wings. Oh, a thousand words, one thousand embraces will cradle you, making all of your weary days seem far away. They’ll hold you forever.”
-“1,000 Words” from Final Fantasy X-2-
I’m fully aware of how useless New Years resolutions can be. You make one promise and break it a day later. It’s almost a universal certainty that fucking up a New Years resolution will be paramount to 2019 and every year for the rest of our lives. But just for the sake of being in the holiday spirit, I’m going to make my own personal list of New Years goals for 2019. I have no idea how I’m going to tackle them or how long it’ll be before I eventually get sidetracked. All I know is that I have goals and they’ll be on display for all of my readers to see. Starting with…
***LOSING ONE HUNDRED POUNDS***
No, I’m not talking about British money, I’m talking about the units of fat weighing me down and keeping me from achieving full cardio potential. Truth is, I have no idea how much I weigh and I’m not eager to find out. Looking at the numbers on a weight scale has always been intimidating for me. I think I’m doing great and suddenly the scale says I’m three hundred fucking pounds. Not very encouraging. So in order to shed some of those pounds, I’m going on longer outdoor walks and I’m going to increase my distance once my current distance gets too easy to do, which won’t be for a while I assume. I might also have to stop eating at the restaurants in the Fred Meyer plaza even though it’s technically lunch hour by the time I get to where I’m going. Little Caesar’s, Quizno’s, a Mexican restaurant I can’t remember the name of, and the Fred Meyer deli are all very tempting during my calorie burning walks. Maybe I can just get a drink from Fred Meyer and eat something nutritious at home. Maybe…
***PUBLISH BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Even though I have an entire year to rewrite and edit this novel again and again, something tells me that I’ll need more than a year. I don’t want Beautiful Monster to become a flop like Occupy Wrestling is turning out to be. I want Beautiful Monster to be the novel that recharges my career. I want it to be something that can be loved by a wider audience, trigger warnings aside. I want Book Tubers to discuss it at length and not accuse me of having flat characters or too-fast of a pace or whatnot. Thankfully, I have the services of Hollow Hills Books by my side. I’ll pay them whatever they want to help me iron the kinks out of it. I’ll gladly put in the work if it means this novel will save my career. Does it even need saving? I’m not sure.
***FIND A GIRLFRIEND***
…Yeah…um…about that…how do I…I mean…yeah, I’ve got nothing. No solutions, no tactics, no nothing. Maybe if I watch enough flirty Psych 2 Go videos, a girlfriend will magically appear. But if not…well, there’s always next year…and the year after that…and the year after that.
***CURE MY CHRONIC TIREDNESS***
This is another tough one, but I have more to say about it. Truth is, there’s no one cause that’s making my sleepy almost all of the time. It’s a bunch of different factors congregating together at once. Being overweight, being schizophrenic, being autistic, quite possibly being depressed, not having enough of a social life, not getting enough good nutrition, I could go on forever. I currently use a CPAP machine to help me breathe at night and it has done wonders for my constant sleepiness, but it’s not an end-all solution. There’s a lot I could be doing for myself, but even then there’s no guarantee that I’ll be the 24/7 or 48/14 workhorse that I was in college and high school. If I told my professors that I was too tired to do homework, they wouldn’t sympathize with me; they’d give me an F. Not that I’d want to go back to school for any reason, but you get what I’m saying. If sleepiness is unacceptable in my early 20’s, it’s unacceptable in my early 30’s.
***SEE TARJA TURUNEN IN CONCERT***
There are a lot of bands I like that I haven’t seen perform live yet and Tarja Turunen is at the top of my list. She’s been my college crush from 2007 to 2009 and making a trip to see her in concert would be like a religious pilgrimage to Mecca. I know she doesn’t come to the US very often, let alone anywhere in Washington State, but if she played in a foreign country and I had a plane ticket to see her, I’ll gladly take that. I know nobody asked and it wouldn’t be wise to anyways, but no, I have no plans to flirt with Tarja if she does a fan meet-and-greet. She’s a happily married woman with a beautiful little daughter. Besides, I don’t flirt with anybody these days no matter who they are. It’s creepy if you’re like me and you have no idea what you’re doing.
***CONCLUSION***
I have a bunch of smaller goals too such as reading certain books and owning a T-shirt that says “Ego Kills Talent”, but why delve into those when I don’t have much to say about them? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I know that you’re hiding things, using gentle words to shelter me. Your words were like a dream, but dreams could never fool me, not that easily. I acted so distant then. Didn’t say goodbye before you left. But I was listening. You’ll fight your battles far from me, far too easily. “Save your tears, ‘cause I’ll come back,” I could hear that you whispered as you walked through that door. But still I swore to hide the pain when I turn back the pages. Shouting might’ve been the answer. What if I cried my eyes out and begged you not to depart? But now I’m not afraid to say what’s in my heart. Though a thousand words have never been spoken. They’ll fly to you even though you can’t see. I know they’re reaching you, suspended on silver wings. Oh, a thousand words, one thousand embraces will cradle you, making all of your weary days seem far away. They’ll hold you forever.”
-“1,000 Words” from Final Fantasy X-2-
December 30, 2018
Cry If I Want To
VERSE 1
Whoever said that men shouldn’t cry
Doesn’t know what it’s like to die inside
Macho madness trumps endless sadness
Tough talk trumps worldwide badness
I never bought that and I never will
These emotions were never mine to kill
Here comes the flood of biblical proportions
You can have my tears, it’s your extortion
CHORUS
It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to wish death upon me
I’m free to let my emotions be
VERSE 2
A romance gone sour can drain one’s power
And then Valentine’s Day will never be okay
A favorite song can tear me apart for so long
Who knew these emotions could be so strong?
Watching death unfold before my own eyes
Is more than enough reason for a good cry
Here comes the river that’ll make me shiver
Here come the tears that’ll make me quiver
CHORUS
It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to wish death upon me
I’m free to let my emotions be
VERSE 3
They can call me a baby, but it’s a lie
Since when did it become illegal to cry?
Am I under arrest or is this a torture test?
Is the orange uniform the way I’ll dress?
Fuck that! This was never a stupid game
Life itself will never ever be the same
Here comes the ocean of raw emotion
Another day of going through the motions
EXTENDED CHORUS
It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to wish death upon me
I’m free to let my emotions be
I’m an American and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to be my judge
I’m free to seek out my strongest love
Whoever said that men shouldn’t cry
Doesn’t know what it’s like to die inside
Macho madness trumps endless sadness
Tough talk trumps worldwide badness
I never bought that and I never will
These emotions were never mine to kill
Here comes the flood of biblical proportions
You can have my tears, it’s your extortion
CHORUS
It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to wish death upon me
I’m free to let my emotions be
VERSE 2
A romance gone sour can drain one’s power
And then Valentine’s Day will never be okay
A favorite song can tear me apart for so long
Who knew these emotions could be so strong?
Watching death unfold before my own eyes
Is more than enough reason for a good cry
Here comes the river that’ll make me shiver
Here come the tears that’ll make me quiver
CHORUS
It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to wish death upon me
I’m free to let my emotions be
VERSE 3
They can call me a baby, but it’s a lie
Since when did it become illegal to cry?
Am I under arrest or is this a torture test?
Is the orange uniform the way I’ll dress?
Fuck that! This was never a stupid game
Life itself will never ever be the same
Here comes the ocean of raw emotion
Another day of going through the motions
EXTENDED CHORUS
It’s my country and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to wish death upon me
I’m free to let my emotions be
I’m an American and I’ll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
If you’re free to be my judge
I’m free to seek out my strongest love
