Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 58
July 17, 2018
Skin On Skin
VERSE 1
A squeeze of her shoulder, a ruffle of her hair
Let her know that you’ll always be there
A scratch of her back, a hold of her hand
Comfort your lover any way that you can
A kiss of her face, the gentlest of hugs
Gets her high like the strongest of drugs
It’s better than spending another minute alone
No such connection can be found on your phone
CHORUS
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
VERSE 2
I know you’re scared, somewhat unprepared
I know it’s not fair when it’s truth or dare
I know you think what you touch turns to ash
I know that mirror is all but yours to smash
What do you do when she calls your name?
Walk away? It’s just like more of the same?
What do you do when she wants your touch?
Can you find it within you to love and trust?
CHORUS
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
VERSE 3
Take a walk together on the beach’s dockside
Lose track of the time as it passes clockwise
You can talk for hours on what love truly is
Sooner or later, she’ll want to sneak a kiss
Will you curl on the ground as your heart pounds?
Or will you listen to her voice’s sweet sounds?
Make the right call, your back’s against the wall
When it comes to love, how hard will you fall?
CHORUS
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
A squeeze of her shoulder, a ruffle of her hair
Let her know that you’ll always be there
A scratch of her back, a hold of her hand
Comfort your lover any way that you can
A kiss of her face, the gentlest of hugs
Gets her high like the strongest of drugs
It’s better than spending another minute alone
No such connection can be found on your phone
CHORUS
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
VERSE 2
I know you’re scared, somewhat unprepared
I know it’s not fair when it’s truth or dare
I know you think what you touch turns to ash
I know that mirror is all but yours to smash
What do you do when she calls your name?
Walk away? It’s just like more of the same?
What do you do when she wants your touch?
Can you find it within you to love and trust?
CHORUS
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
VERSE 3
Take a walk together on the beach’s dockside
Lose track of the time as it passes clockwise
You can talk for hours on what love truly is
Sooner or later, she’ll want to sneak a kiss
Will you curl on the ground as your heart pounds?
Or will you listen to her voice’s sweet sounds?
Make the right call, your back’s against the wall
When it comes to love, how hard will you fall?
CHORUS
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
Skin on skin is never a sin
Her heart is yours to win
July 15, 2018
Incelbordination, Chapter 4
Oswald wiped the rainy weather from his face long enough to see another reason to cry his eyes out if he so chose: Antero Magnus with a book of matches. Clearly, a compromise had to be made. Or did it? “Why the fuck do you keep following me everywhere I go? Are you some kind of lost puppy dog or some shit?” In a brazen move reminiscent of last night, Antero swiped the ready roll from Oswald’s hand and lit it himself before taking a few puffs. “Excuse me?!” said Oswald with big red eyes. “That’s not yours to smoke! I need that shit for my depression!”
Handing the marijuana roll back to its rightful owner, Antero spit out a cloud of green and said, “Let me ask you something, Oswald. How many times have you puffed the shit out of that roll and found permanent happiness afterwards? The answer is zero, because as powerful as that shit is, it’s only a temporary fix to a much bigger problem.” The incel took a seat next to his charge and patted him on the shoulder. “You already know what the bigger problem is, don’t you?”
Taking a puff and spitting out an even bigger cloud than his lungs would allow, Oswald said, “Yeah, I know what it is. It has something to do with a weirdo in a trench coat taking hits of my Mary-Jane. Seriously, what could you possibly see in me? I’m not what you’re looking for. I don’t blame my insecurities on other people.”
“Which is precisely why you punched a muscle jock in the dick and why you ran away from a smooth-legged English teacher.”
Wide-eyed yet again, Oswald exclaimed, “Dude! You’ve got to stop following me everywhere! That’s fucking creepy!” Antero chuckled and removed his sunglasses, revealing those horrifying cyan-colored eyes. “Ah! Put your glasses back on! Put ‘em back on!” screamed Oswald while shielding his face with his hands.
“As you wish,” said Antero before complying with his “friend’s” request. “But I must warn you, there are scarier things in this world than weirdly-colored eyes. There’s a conspiracy against us. And when I say us, I mean you, me, and every other Supreme Gentlemen who’s had the deck stacked against them their whole lives. We don’t look like the normies. We don’t talk like the normies. We don’t wear the same kind of hats they do either. That bothers them. So what do they do? They commit social genocide.”
“Okay, okay, okay, this is getting fucked up,” said Oswald with his hands raised. “Social genocide? You’re using the G-word to describe not being able to get laid? How in the hell do you…”
“I don’t expect you to understand right away,” said Antero while readjusting his sunglasses. “Some lessons take longer to learn than others. But to answer your question, the G-word isn’t all about getting laid. Anybody can get laid. Surely, there are enough sex surrogates and prostitutes to go around. It’s love that we seek and can never find. We give it all away and none of it is returned. A simple thank-you would be enough for some people. Me? I want a little bit of interest with my investment.”
Oswald’s mouth became O-shaped at the statement he tried so desperately hard to digest. Antero dug through his own trench coat and pulled out his wallet. “You know what? I can tell you’re not convinced just yet. That’s okay. College is a time for learning, right? Well, you’ve got a lot to learn about the way the world works against us.” Antero handed Oswald a thirty-dollar McDonald’s gift card and said, “Two words: McDonald’s prostitute.”
Flipping the card over and over again in disbelief, Oswald stared at the meal ticket like he was holding a severed head. “Mc…Donald’s prostitute?”
“That’s right, little man,” said Antero before patting him on the back. “Everybody’s got a price tag on them. For the women down at Mickey D’s, all they ever wanted was a little bit of loving and a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. That’s how shitty our economy has gotten. When you’re too broke for a basic McDonald’s meal and you have to turn to sex to get one, that’s how you know shit’s all fucked up. Of course, I don’t know how in god’s name a Quarter Pounder could taste good when there’s splooge sloshing around in their mouths.”
“This….this…this is sick, Antero. This is fucking sick!”
“I know it’s sick, Oswald. I know. But sometimes you can’t take the highroad forever. You want someone to love you, right? You want to experience that cherry pop for the first time? All you have to do so come bearing the gifts of French fries, nuggets, greasy meat, and…well….greasy meat!” Antero chuckled at his own joke.
Finally peeling his terrified eyes away from the gift card, Oswald said, “Dude…you’re not funny. Nothing about this is comical. This is wrong. Really wrong!”
“You’re a good man, Oswald. Ordinarily, being a good human being has its rewards. But not in this Stacy-dominated world. You’re desperate enough. I can see it in those bloodshot eyes of yours. You’ll either have the most romantic night of your life in a McDonald’s parking lot…or you’ll get a lifelong lesson that no sexy-legged teacher could offer you. Either way, I just gave you the keys to the city. It’s up to you now what it is you want to do with them.”
Antero patted Oswald’s back and walked out of sight. The little guy turned his flabbergasted attention back to the gift card. It was so wrong, yet so right at the same time. There was something seductive about the way Antero talked. There was a reason he led so many people down their destined paths. He made so much sense in that one oratory.
Having those dark thoughts jolted Oswald awake, causing him to accidentally drop the gift card on the table. “What the fuck was I thinking?” he asked himself while holding his head in his hands. “I can’t do this. This isn’t right. No, no, no!” The three no’s were punctuated with the dwarf lightly banging his head against the table.
Once the forehead pain became too much to bear, he took a look around the commons for any signs that Antero might be right. Sure enough, this place was swarming with examples. Men and women holding hands while walking together. “Chads” and “Stacys” making out on the grassy lawn. Oswald even saw one guy holding his crying girlfriend’s head in his lap while he stroked her hair. What the lonely dwarf would give for the chance to be touched like that.
That Mickey D’s gift card started him straight in the face with lust and seduction. It was such an easy solution. Antero could have been his savior in that one moment. His own personal Jesus Christ, to use yet another Matrix quote. Oswald finally made the decision to scoop up the gift card and tuck it away in his wallet. If nothing else, he could at least enjoy a good meal, one that made him feel better than any roll of green ever could.
Oswald walked away from the commons huffing and puffing on his roll of weed. He kept feeling his scraggly beard and lengthy hair while contemplating if he should clean himself up for this meeting with a McDonald’s prostitute. Maybe throwing his pot-smelling coat in the wash machine would also be a good idea. Then again, did he really have to change himself for someone who was only in it for the nuggets and the burgers? There was thirty dollars on the card, which meant he could get extra goodies to make himself more enticing. The shave and haircut could wait another day…if that day ever came.
The dwarf put his headsets on and played “Bless the Wings” by The Moody Blues on his MP3 player. Was that song a little too romantic and sappy for what was about to happen that evening? Perhaps. Was Oswald expecting too much when he contemplated a potential relationship with this McDonald’s girl? He thought so. But as long as he was high on pot and already depressed from the day’s events, a little lovey-dovey psychological cinema was perhaps the right call.
Judging from the stares he got from “normies” walking by, any kind of vicarious romance would have been welcome. He certainly didn’t get it from the “Chad” he bumped into when he wasn’t paying attention. Oswald landed right on his ass while the guy said, “Hey, what the hell?!”
The dwarf picked himself up and apologized profusely to the young man and his girlfriend. He thought that would be the end of that, but then he noticed the couple walking away with their noses in their shirts, presumably from the pot smell. Oswald was tempted to go back there and punch the shit out of both of them. But it was more tempting to just take a shower and wash his clothing rather than get himself expelled for stupid shit. Maybe he did have to change himself after all. But for a McDonald’s hooker? So much debating took place in Oswald’s mind, all of which was settled with a few more puffs of Mary-Jane.
Handing the marijuana roll back to its rightful owner, Antero spit out a cloud of green and said, “Let me ask you something, Oswald. How many times have you puffed the shit out of that roll and found permanent happiness afterwards? The answer is zero, because as powerful as that shit is, it’s only a temporary fix to a much bigger problem.” The incel took a seat next to his charge and patted him on the shoulder. “You already know what the bigger problem is, don’t you?”
Taking a puff and spitting out an even bigger cloud than his lungs would allow, Oswald said, “Yeah, I know what it is. It has something to do with a weirdo in a trench coat taking hits of my Mary-Jane. Seriously, what could you possibly see in me? I’m not what you’re looking for. I don’t blame my insecurities on other people.”
“Which is precisely why you punched a muscle jock in the dick and why you ran away from a smooth-legged English teacher.”
Wide-eyed yet again, Oswald exclaimed, “Dude! You’ve got to stop following me everywhere! That’s fucking creepy!” Antero chuckled and removed his sunglasses, revealing those horrifying cyan-colored eyes. “Ah! Put your glasses back on! Put ‘em back on!” screamed Oswald while shielding his face with his hands.
“As you wish,” said Antero before complying with his “friend’s” request. “But I must warn you, there are scarier things in this world than weirdly-colored eyes. There’s a conspiracy against us. And when I say us, I mean you, me, and every other Supreme Gentlemen who’s had the deck stacked against them their whole lives. We don’t look like the normies. We don’t talk like the normies. We don’t wear the same kind of hats they do either. That bothers them. So what do they do? They commit social genocide.”
“Okay, okay, okay, this is getting fucked up,” said Oswald with his hands raised. “Social genocide? You’re using the G-word to describe not being able to get laid? How in the hell do you…”
“I don’t expect you to understand right away,” said Antero while readjusting his sunglasses. “Some lessons take longer to learn than others. But to answer your question, the G-word isn’t all about getting laid. Anybody can get laid. Surely, there are enough sex surrogates and prostitutes to go around. It’s love that we seek and can never find. We give it all away and none of it is returned. A simple thank-you would be enough for some people. Me? I want a little bit of interest with my investment.”
Oswald’s mouth became O-shaped at the statement he tried so desperately hard to digest. Antero dug through his own trench coat and pulled out his wallet. “You know what? I can tell you’re not convinced just yet. That’s okay. College is a time for learning, right? Well, you’ve got a lot to learn about the way the world works against us.” Antero handed Oswald a thirty-dollar McDonald’s gift card and said, “Two words: McDonald’s prostitute.”
Flipping the card over and over again in disbelief, Oswald stared at the meal ticket like he was holding a severed head. “Mc…Donald’s prostitute?”
“That’s right, little man,” said Antero before patting him on the back. “Everybody’s got a price tag on them. For the women down at Mickey D’s, all they ever wanted was a little bit of loving and a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. That’s how shitty our economy has gotten. When you’re too broke for a basic McDonald’s meal and you have to turn to sex to get one, that’s how you know shit’s all fucked up. Of course, I don’t know how in god’s name a Quarter Pounder could taste good when there’s splooge sloshing around in their mouths.”
“This….this…this is sick, Antero. This is fucking sick!”
“I know it’s sick, Oswald. I know. But sometimes you can’t take the highroad forever. You want someone to love you, right? You want to experience that cherry pop for the first time? All you have to do so come bearing the gifts of French fries, nuggets, greasy meat, and…well….greasy meat!” Antero chuckled at his own joke.
Finally peeling his terrified eyes away from the gift card, Oswald said, “Dude…you’re not funny. Nothing about this is comical. This is wrong. Really wrong!”
“You’re a good man, Oswald. Ordinarily, being a good human being has its rewards. But not in this Stacy-dominated world. You’re desperate enough. I can see it in those bloodshot eyes of yours. You’ll either have the most romantic night of your life in a McDonald’s parking lot…or you’ll get a lifelong lesson that no sexy-legged teacher could offer you. Either way, I just gave you the keys to the city. It’s up to you now what it is you want to do with them.”
Antero patted Oswald’s back and walked out of sight. The little guy turned his flabbergasted attention back to the gift card. It was so wrong, yet so right at the same time. There was something seductive about the way Antero talked. There was a reason he led so many people down their destined paths. He made so much sense in that one oratory.
Having those dark thoughts jolted Oswald awake, causing him to accidentally drop the gift card on the table. “What the fuck was I thinking?” he asked himself while holding his head in his hands. “I can’t do this. This isn’t right. No, no, no!” The three no’s were punctuated with the dwarf lightly banging his head against the table.
Once the forehead pain became too much to bear, he took a look around the commons for any signs that Antero might be right. Sure enough, this place was swarming with examples. Men and women holding hands while walking together. “Chads” and “Stacys” making out on the grassy lawn. Oswald even saw one guy holding his crying girlfriend’s head in his lap while he stroked her hair. What the lonely dwarf would give for the chance to be touched like that.
That Mickey D’s gift card started him straight in the face with lust and seduction. It was such an easy solution. Antero could have been his savior in that one moment. His own personal Jesus Christ, to use yet another Matrix quote. Oswald finally made the decision to scoop up the gift card and tuck it away in his wallet. If nothing else, he could at least enjoy a good meal, one that made him feel better than any roll of green ever could.
Oswald walked away from the commons huffing and puffing on his roll of weed. He kept feeling his scraggly beard and lengthy hair while contemplating if he should clean himself up for this meeting with a McDonald’s prostitute. Maybe throwing his pot-smelling coat in the wash machine would also be a good idea. Then again, did he really have to change himself for someone who was only in it for the nuggets and the burgers? There was thirty dollars on the card, which meant he could get extra goodies to make himself more enticing. The shave and haircut could wait another day…if that day ever came.
The dwarf put his headsets on and played “Bless the Wings” by The Moody Blues on his MP3 player. Was that song a little too romantic and sappy for what was about to happen that evening? Perhaps. Was Oswald expecting too much when he contemplated a potential relationship with this McDonald’s girl? He thought so. But as long as he was high on pot and already depressed from the day’s events, a little lovey-dovey psychological cinema was perhaps the right call.
Judging from the stares he got from “normies” walking by, any kind of vicarious romance would have been welcome. He certainly didn’t get it from the “Chad” he bumped into when he wasn’t paying attention. Oswald landed right on his ass while the guy said, “Hey, what the hell?!”
The dwarf picked himself up and apologized profusely to the young man and his girlfriend. He thought that would be the end of that, but then he noticed the couple walking away with their noses in their shirts, presumably from the pot smell. Oswald was tempted to go back there and punch the shit out of both of them. But it was more tempting to just take a shower and wash his clothing rather than get himself expelled for stupid shit. Maybe he did have to change himself after all. But for a McDonald’s hooker? So much debating took place in Oswald’s mind, all of which was settled with a few more puffs of Mary-Jane.
July 14, 2018
Rock and Roll Will Never Die
VERSE 1
Rock and roll will never die
No sense in spreading that lie
Stop blaming my generation
For your downward destination
Any youngster can pick up an axe
Shred that shit and kick some ass
We’ve come to invoke the spirit
You’ve got no choice but to hear it
CHORUS
Rock is immortal!
Open hell’s portal!
Rock never died!
Join the dark side!
VERSE 2
I don’t judge my fellow human
By his preference of music
Only by his obnoxious hubris
Only by his points so stupid
Don’t thumb your nose at me
For the things that I believe
For the music I love so much
The bands with the Midas touch
CHORUS
Rock is immortal!
Open hell’s portal!
Rock never died!
Join the dark side!
VERSE 3
Call it devil’s music if you choose
This fiery debate is yours to lose
Thump your bible, spread the libel
Crashing and burning is your style
Blast your bullshit through a bullhorn
You’ll never settle this age old score
Guitars and drums are here to stay
Even on the holiest of sunny Sundays
EXTENDED CHORUS
Rock is immortal!
Open hell’s portal!
Rock never died!
Join the dark side!
Rock is my savior!
For my darkest anger!
Rock is my heaven!
Rock is my weapon!
Rock and roll will never die
No sense in spreading that lie
Stop blaming my generation
For your downward destination
Any youngster can pick up an axe
Shred that shit and kick some ass
We’ve come to invoke the spirit
You’ve got no choice but to hear it
CHORUS
Rock is immortal!
Open hell’s portal!
Rock never died!
Join the dark side!
VERSE 2
I don’t judge my fellow human
By his preference of music
Only by his obnoxious hubris
Only by his points so stupid
Don’t thumb your nose at me
For the things that I believe
For the music I love so much
The bands with the Midas touch
CHORUS
Rock is immortal!
Open hell’s portal!
Rock never died!
Join the dark side!
VERSE 3
Call it devil’s music if you choose
This fiery debate is yours to lose
Thump your bible, spread the libel
Crashing and burning is your style
Blast your bullshit through a bullhorn
You’ll never settle this age old score
Guitars and drums are here to stay
Even on the holiest of sunny Sundays
EXTENDED CHORUS
Rock is immortal!
Open hell’s portal!
Rock never died!
Join the dark side!
Rock is my savior!
For my darkest anger!
Rock is my heaven!
Rock is my weapon!
July 11, 2018
Five Finger Death Punch X Breaking Benjamin Concert
***FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH X BREAKING BENJAMIN CONCERT***
These past few days have been so mentally exhausting that all I could do creatively was the easiest fucking thing in the world for me: write songs. I can only imagine how I’ll feel the morning after my upcoming concert Monday night. I’m headed back to the White River Amphitheater to see a show co-headlined by Five Finger Death Punch and Breaking Benjamin with Bad Wolves as the opening act. It’ll be my second time seeing FFDP, third time seeing BB, and first time seeing BW. That’s a lot of heavy goddamn metal.
I’ve been a fan of Five Finger Death Punch since 2012 when I first heard the song “The Bleeding” on Pandora Radio. At first I was tentative to buy any of their CD’s because of the bad reputation they have. And then I remembered that negativity is subjective and public opinion doesn’t mean everything. I purchased their “Way of the Fist” album and loved the shit out of the title track as well as songs like “Ashes”, “Death Before Dishonor”, and “A Place to Die”. From that first album, I was hooked and had to have their entire catalogue. In November 2016, I saw my first Five Finger Death Punch concert and I was blown the fuck away. I love how Ivan Moody (the lead singer) always invites small children onstage with him during one of the more intense songs. With bands like Death Punch, the future looks bright for the next generation of heavy metal!
I was first introduced to Breaking Benjamin when they opened for Korn in, I want to say, either 2003 or 2004. It wasn’t until a few years later that I discovered their “We Are Not Alone” album and was hooked on tracks like “So Cold”, “Breakdown”, and the beautifully peaceful “Rain”. Just like with Death Punch, I had to have Breaking Benjamin’s entire catalogue. I didn’t see them in concert again until 2016 when they opened for Disturbed at the Pain in the Grass festival. Now here we are two years later and they’re opening for another badass band.
Bad Wolves didn’t come out with their first album until earlier this year. Because they’re going to open for this show, I had to purchase the music in order to get better acquainted with it. Let’s just say it was a wise use of my debit card. My favorite song on that CD so far is “Officer Down”, a fast-paced, brutal track that sets the tone for the entire album. However, I’ll always remember them for their cover of “Zombie” by The Cranberries, which was supposed to be recorded with Dolores O’Riordan’s vocals before she died earlier this year. Now she’s smiling from heaven at the excellent work Bad Wolves did with her song.
I still have a few days before this concert at the White River Amphitheater begins, so I’m going to try and get as much creative work done as I can during the time I have left. That includes editing the shit out of Beautiful Monster and getting it ready to be critiqued at Hollow Hills independent publishing (Marie Krepps’s new business). I should have finished this a long time ago, but other creative projects and psychological exhaustion kept getting in the way (so what else is new?). I’ll get it done one of these fucking days. Just six more chapters to edit. Six more chapters!
I’ll be rocking out for each and every one of you! I’m Garrison fucking Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! Wait a minute, Three Days Grace lyrics in a blog entry about Five Finger Death Punch, Breaking Benjamin, and Bad Wolves? How did that happen?!
***WORD PLAY OF THE DAY***
On WWE’s NXT show, there’s a tag team consisting of Nick Miller and Shane Thorn that used to be called The Mighty Don’t Kneel. What if those two gentlemen formed a three-man group with fellow NXT wrestler Bobby Fish? They’d be called The Mighty Don’t Kneel and Bob. So much for WWE’s PG rating. Hehe!
These past few days have been so mentally exhausting that all I could do creatively was the easiest fucking thing in the world for me: write songs. I can only imagine how I’ll feel the morning after my upcoming concert Monday night. I’m headed back to the White River Amphitheater to see a show co-headlined by Five Finger Death Punch and Breaking Benjamin with Bad Wolves as the opening act. It’ll be my second time seeing FFDP, third time seeing BB, and first time seeing BW. That’s a lot of heavy goddamn metal.
I’ve been a fan of Five Finger Death Punch since 2012 when I first heard the song “The Bleeding” on Pandora Radio. At first I was tentative to buy any of their CD’s because of the bad reputation they have. And then I remembered that negativity is subjective and public opinion doesn’t mean everything. I purchased their “Way of the Fist” album and loved the shit out of the title track as well as songs like “Ashes”, “Death Before Dishonor”, and “A Place to Die”. From that first album, I was hooked and had to have their entire catalogue. In November 2016, I saw my first Five Finger Death Punch concert and I was blown the fuck away. I love how Ivan Moody (the lead singer) always invites small children onstage with him during one of the more intense songs. With bands like Death Punch, the future looks bright for the next generation of heavy metal!
I was first introduced to Breaking Benjamin when they opened for Korn in, I want to say, either 2003 or 2004. It wasn’t until a few years later that I discovered their “We Are Not Alone” album and was hooked on tracks like “So Cold”, “Breakdown”, and the beautifully peaceful “Rain”. Just like with Death Punch, I had to have Breaking Benjamin’s entire catalogue. I didn’t see them in concert again until 2016 when they opened for Disturbed at the Pain in the Grass festival. Now here we are two years later and they’re opening for another badass band.
Bad Wolves didn’t come out with their first album until earlier this year. Because they’re going to open for this show, I had to purchase the music in order to get better acquainted with it. Let’s just say it was a wise use of my debit card. My favorite song on that CD so far is “Officer Down”, a fast-paced, brutal track that sets the tone for the entire album. However, I’ll always remember them for their cover of “Zombie” by The Cranberries, which was supposed to be recorded with Dolores O’Riordan’s vocals before she died earlier this year. Now she’s smiling from heaven at the excellent work Bad Wolves did with her song.
I still have a few days before this concert at the White River Amphitheater begins, so I’m going to try and get as much creative work done as I can during the time I have left. That includes editing the shit out of Beautiful Monster and getting it ready to be critiqued at Hollow Hills independent publishing (Marie Krepps’s new business). I should have finished this a long time ago, but other creative projects and psychological exhaustion kept getting in the way (so what else is new?). I’ll get it done one of these fucking days. Just six more chapters to edit. Six more chapters!
I’ll be rocking out for each and every one of you! I’m Garrison fucking Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! Wait a minute, Three Days Grace lyrics in a blog entry about Five Finger Death Punch, Breaking Benjamin, and Bad Wolves? How did that happen?!
***WORD PLAY OF THE DAY***
On WWE’s NXT show, there’s a tag team consisting of Nick Miller and Shane Thorn that used to be called The Mighty Don’t Kneel. What if those two gentlemen formed a three-man group with fellow NXT wrestler Bobby Fish? They’d be called The Mighty Don’t Kneel and Bob. So much for WWE’s PG rating. Hehe!
Milkshake Blender
VERSE 1
Everything looks the same to me
Blended together by conformity
Every line and every rhyme
Characters who never shined
Every plot hole I couldn’t fix
Masked by phony Jedi tricks
Everything I’ve ever created
Has left me bitter and jaded
CHORUS
A milkshake blender of blood and shit
Mixing together vinegar and piss
It’s all the same, I am to blame
It’s my only claim to fame
VERSE 2
Starting over never felt so tough
My macho façade is only a bluff
A blank sheet of paper glaring at me
Stripping my heart of its self-esteem
CHORUS
A milkshake blender of blood and shit
Mixing together vinegar and piss
It’s all the same, I am to blame
It’s my only claim to fame
BRIDGE
A legacy built on repetition
Antithesis to the artist’s mission
Molded by the public opinion
I’ve taken more than I’ve given
VERSE 3
Now’s not the time to say goodbye
Now’s not the time to fucking cry
Now’s not the time for a lullaby
Pick up that pen and redefine
What it means to be creative
Instead of fearful and evasive
If at first you don’t succeed
Write until your fingers bleed
ALTERNATIVE CHORUS
A milkshake blender forever destroyed
My artistic side will never be a toy
My life is not a divine comedy
Not dictated by a capitalist economy
Everything looks the same to me
Blended together by conformity
Every line and every rhyme
Characters who never shined
Every plot hole I couldn’t fix
Masked by phony Jedi tricks
Everything I’ve ever created
Has left me bitter and jaded
CHORUS
A milkshake blender of blood and shit
Mixing together vinegar and piss
It’s all the same, I am to blame
It’s my only claim to fame
VERSE 2
Starting over never felt so tough
My macho façade is only a bluff
A blank sheet of paper glaring at me
Stripping my heart of its self-esteem
CHORUS
A milkshake blender of blood and shit
Mixing together vinegar and piss
It’s all the same, I am to blame
It’s my only claim to fame
BRIDGE
A legacy built on repetition
Antithesis to the artist’s mission
Molded by the public opinion
I’ve taken more than I’ve given
VERSE 3
Now’s not the time to say goodbye
Now’s not the time to fucking cry
Now’s not the time for a lullaby
Pick up that pen and redefine
What it means to be creative
Instead of fearful and evasive
If at first you don’t succeed
Write until your fingers bleed
ALTERNATIVE CHORUS
A milkshake blender forever destroyed
My artistic side will never be a toy
My life is not a divine comedy
Not dictated by a capitalist economy
July 10, 2018
Holy Mountains
VERSE 1
Bones and skulls scattered everywhere
Rotten flesh stinking up the fucking air
Is it a battlefield or cemetery grounds?
It’s a mass grave underneath the mounds
Torture and war have happened here
You can still hear the screams of fear
The gods above are having cold beers
As another mortal’s gutted with a spear
CHORUS 1
Holy mountains! Bloody fountains!
Shit-covered river will make you shiver!
Holy mountains! Come take a pounding!
Open wide as they skin off your hide!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
VERSE 2
Those who dare make it out alive
Can’t shake the trauma even if they try
Nightmares as bloody as the real thing
Every deep gash, every whipping sting
Your sanity belongs on the holy grounds
Mind filled with schizophrenic sounds
Such sweet music to soothe you at night
The noose on your neck gets a little tight
CHORUS 1
Holy mountains! Bloody fountains!
Shit-covered river will make you shiver!
Holy mountains! Come take a pounding!
Open wide as they skin off your hide!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
BRIDGE
Burn them down with a sadistic frown?
Laughable humor from the crazy clown
A permanent landmark of suffering and pain
A permanent reminder of pants-pissing shame
CHORUS 2
Holy mountains! Holy fucking shit!
Do cannonballs in the hellfire pit!
Holy mountains! Good god almighty!
Dance with the devil underneath lightning!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
Holy motherfucking mountains, bitch!
UGH!
Bones and skulls scattered everywhere
Rotten flesh stinking up the fucking air
Is it a battlefield or cemetery grounds?
It’s a mass grave underneath the mounds
Torture and war have happened here
You can still hear the screams of fear
The gods above are having cold beers
As another mortal’s gutted with a spear
CHORUS 1
Holy mountains! Bloody fountains!
Shit-covered river will make you shiver!
Holy mountains! Come take a pounding!
Open wide as they skin off your hide!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
VERSE 2
Those who dare make it out alive
Can’t shake the trauma even if they try
Nightmares as bloody as the real thing
Every deep gash, every whipping sting
Your sanity belongs on the holy grounds
Mind filled with schizophrenic sounds
Such sweet music to soothe you at night
The noose on your neck gets a little tight
CHORUS 1
Holy mountains! Bloody fountains!
Shit-covered river will make you shiver!
Holy mountains! Come take a pounding!
Open wide as they skin off your hide!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
BRIDGE
Burn them down with a sadistic frown?
Laughable humor from the crazy clown
A permanent landmark of suffering and pain
A permanent reminder of pants-pissing shame
CHORUS 2
Holy mountains! Holy fucking shit!
Do cannonballs in the hellfire pit!
Holy mountains! Good god almighty!
Dance with the devil underneath lightning!
Holy mountains! Holy mountains!
Holy motherfucking mountains, bitch!
UGH!
Tristan Jealous
VERSE 1
Dr. Jealous, what has become of me?
Can you give me something to set me free?
A shot of horse to keep me cheery and bright?
A can of caffeine to keep me up all night?
Laziness and comfort, my two best friends
A friendship this close rarely ever ends
Can you scrape me out of my bed?
So I can meet my goals, keep my ego fed?
VERSE 2
Dr. Jealous, I have something to prove
I need my fix to keep me on the move
I came to the protest with my cardboard sign
And a pocket of pills to make me feel fine
I can face the world one demon at a time
But all at once? That’s the steepest climb
Here comes the circus, here come the clowns
Not one safe space in this crumbling town
VERSE 3
Dr. Jealous, do you think she likes me?
Is this dangerous risk even worth trying?
Pop a Xanax or two, maybe even three
Only then will she see the best of me
I sit in the park trying to remain calm
Another day’s dosage in my shaking palm
Maybe I should turn and walk away
Save my courage for yet another day
BRIDGE
Tristan Jealous, I’m overzealous
I’m feeling a little bit rebellious
Call a medic, yes, I said it
My chart is in need of an edit
I cannot take this, I cannot fake it
I’m not sure if I can even make it
Doctor, doctor, help me out now
‘Cause I’m not ready to bow down
VERSE 4
Dr. Jealous, I can’t reach the phone
I’m trapped in this white cell all alone
The nurses told me over and over again
That I’ll be free when eternity ends
Everyone here is blending together
Washed away like stormy weather
Dr. Jealous, I’m calling your name
Please tell them that I’m not to blame
Dr. Jealous, what has become of me?
Can you give me something to set me free?
A shot of horse to keep me cheery and bright?
A can of caffeine to keep me up all night?
Laziness and comfort, my two best friends
A friendship this close rarely ever ends
Can you scrape me out of my bed?
So I can meet my goals, keep my ego fed?
VERSE 2
Dr. Jealous, I have something to prove
I need my fix to keep me on the move
I came to the protest with my cardboard sign
And a pocket of pills to make me feel fine
I can face the world one demon at a time
But all at once? That’s the steepest climb
Here comes the circus, here come the clowns
Not one safe space in this crumbling town
VERSE 3
Dr. Jealous, do you think she likes me?
Is this dangerous risk even worth trying?
Pop a Xanax or two, maybe even three
Only then will she see the best of me
I sit in the park trying to remain calm
Another day’s dosage in my shaking palm
Maybe I should turn and walk away
Save my courage for yet another day
BRIDGE
Tristan Jealous, I’m overzealous
I’m feeling a little bit rebellious
Call a medic, yes, I said it
My chart is in need of an edit
I cannot take this, I cannot fake it
I’m not sure if I can even make it
Doctor, doctor, help me out now
‘Cause I’m not ready to bow down
VERSE 4
Dr. Jealous, I can’t reach the phone
I’m trapped in this white cell all alone
The nurses told me over and over again
That I’ll be free when eternity ends
Everyone here is blending together
Washed away like stormy weather
Dr. Jealous, I’m calling your name
Please tell them that I’m not to blame
July 8, 2018
Incelbordination, Chapter 3
Even though he was only three feet tall and south of a hundred pounds, Oswald Crow sent tremors throughout the punching bag like he was Mike fucking Tyson. The boxing gloves looked ridiculously large on his little hands, and for some it was a source of cheap entertainment. Whatever laughs he received at the gym were drowned out by the sounds of Phil Anselmo screaming “Bedroom Destroyer” in his ears. There was something euphoric about heavy metal strengthening Oswald’s punches against the sandbag.
He wasn’t just punching sand for the sake of it. He actually utilized decent footwork like all boxers should have done. He came at that thing from multiple angles and didn’t go too fast for fear of gassing himself out. The fact that Oswald had to learn these brutal techniques to begin with said a lot about why he would need them in life. Maybe that was why Antero was so keen on bringing him into Incelbordination. Heh, Antero. What a joke. He became a bigger joke when Oswald imagined the Matrix nut’s face superimposed on the punching bag.
The little warrior was so lost in his exercise routine that he failed to notice even the slightest chuckle behind him. He went for an overhead rabbit punch and his headsets accidentally slid off his dome. That was when the laughs became more obvious than a forest fire. Speaking of flames, Oswald’s face glowed bright red when he collected his MP3 player, turned around, and saw the source of the southern yuk-yuks. Of course, who else would it be? It was none other than muscle-headed high school tormentor Wacey Judge, who happened to be filming Oswald this whole time on his phone.
Watching his former bully laugh his ass off brought Oswald back to those old times when he was being stuffed in a locker, pushed over, held upside-down by the ankles, and called a litany of insults. If there was ever a time for that sweet green medicine, this would have been it, if for nothing else other than stamping the lit roll out in Wacey’s face. To Oswald’s way of thinking, such a red hot scar would be an improvement to his face.
“Hey, moron!” shouted Oswald. “This ain’t high school anymore! You’ve got to grow the fuck up! Put away the goddamn phone and fuck off!”
“Grow up?” Wacey chuckled. “Isn’t that what I should be telling you? You looked like a baby back then and you look like one now! Goddamn, Infinite Elgintensity’s going to roast the shit out of you tonight!”
“I don’t think so, you fucking retard!” belted Oswald as he threw his gloves to the ground and stomped towards his bully, not a hint of fear in the dwarf’s eyes. “Give me the goddamn phone!” He tried to reach up for it, but Wacey kept pulling it higher out of reach, prompting laughs from the “innocent bystanders”.
Patting Oswald on the head, the bully said, “Don’t worry, little guy, I’m sure there’s a ladder around here somewhere. Anybody got a step stool this guy can use? How about a stripper’s pole? How about an elevator?” The bystanders got even louder laughs out of Wacey’s “comedy” and a singular tear formed in Oswald’s red puffy eyes. “What, are you going to cry, little baby? Should I give you my thumb to suck on?”
Sure enough, Wacey held out his thumb and made a mockingly sorrowful face at his little victim while the entire gym watched and did nothing. Another tear rolled down Oswald’s cheek, but this wasn’t out of sadness. This was out of pure white hot rage stemming from years of abuse from someone who didn’t deserve to be as gigantic as he was. Why couldn’t Oswald have muscles like that? Why couldn’t he be a chick magnet too? All the jealousy, all the trauma, all the sickness, they led to a do-or-die situation for the little warrior.
“Fuck you, Wacey!” shouted Oswald with more lung power than he was capable of. He then hauled back and punched his bully right in the dick, doubling the giant over and causing the audience to gasp in horror. The dwarf’s next punch was an uppercut to Wacey’s square jaw, hurting his hand in the process, but make no mistake about it, the bully got the worst of that exchange. The muscle head squatted backwards against the wall dizzy and stunned.
“Fuck yeah! You just got your ass kicked by a midget! How does that shit feel, Wacey?! I said how does that fucking feel?! This shit’s been a long time coming! Woo!” screamed Oswald triumphantly while holding his bruised knuckles in the air.
“What the hell’s going on around here?!” said an equally muscular gym teacher, who burst into the room with his hands on his hips. “I’ll be damned.”
Pointing an accusatory finger at the teacher, Oswald laid into him with, “Nice of you to show up, Spongebob Square Jaw. It’s funny how you were nowhere to be seen when this jackass was having a laugh at me. Story of my life, isn’t it?!”
The gym teacher stomped towards Oswald, knelt down, and grabbed him harshly by the shoulders. “Listen up, you sick bastard. I don’t care what names you were called as a teenager. I don’t care how rough you’ve had it. The minute you attack another gym member is when I have to step in and call the shots. You beat the holy hell out of Mr. Judge here. I have to do something about it.”
“What are you going to do, ban me for life?”
“Damn right I’m going to ban you for life! Get your violent ass out of my gym!” ordered the gym teacher while standing up and pointing towards the door.
“That’s fine with me, you six foot dip shit!” snapped Oswald. “I wasn’t planning on coming back anyways! You’re harboring this piece of shit and turning your gym into a fucking Black Site! I’d be better off at Planet Fitness eating pizza until I have a heart attack! You hear that everyone? Don’t come to this gym anymore! I heard pedophiles like to hang out in the shower areas!”
“Get out of here, you twerp!” commanded the teacher.
“And don’t eat at their smoothie bar either! There’s a big fucking rat’s nest in the kitchen!”
“Are you going to leave or do I have to toss you out of here myself?!”
Waving him off, Oswald said, “Don’t worry, Lex Luger, I’ll be out of here in a second. I just want to make sure Wacey here is awake when someone tells him that his name rhymes with Stacy.” That earned a collective gasp from the crowd and a sullen expression from the gym teacher.
The pugilist dwarf raised his bruised middle finger to the sky as he trudged out of the gym. He closed the door behind him and ran out of there as fast as he could, as if the adrenaline would be the least bit effective at masking his tear-stained face. He looked like a badass in that gym, but he felt like the little baby Wacey accused him of being this whole time.
Oswald stopped running and collected his breath in the common area near an empty stone table. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. His mask of toughness was melting like ice cream in this goddamned heat. He didn’t bother to look up to see if anybody was watching him and he didn’t care at this point. First Antero Magnus, then Valerie Sand, and now Wacey Judge could be added to the list of shit-heels who made his college career a miserable one.
The little person pulled himself onto the stone bench and laid his face in his tiny arms. If he earned any laughs from the other students, it would have been a testament to their ignorance, he was convinced. What kind of song on his MP3 player could heal his blues? The better question for him to ask was what kind of green drug was more powerful than the most emotional Pink Floyd song?
Oswald reached in his trench coat pocket and pulled out another ready roll of Mary-Jane. He smiled and wiped away his tears at the sight of this beautiful medicine he was fortunate enough to have a prescription for. He frisked himself in search of his lighter, but goddamn it, he left it in his dorm room for the second time in a row.
He pounded the stone table in frustration and let even more tears pour down his bearded face. He secretly wished this whole college would burn to the ground just so he could have something to light his ready roll with. And then a familiar voice asked him a familiar question from the night before…
“Need a light?”
He wasn’t just punching sand for the sake of it. He actually utilized decent footwork like all boxers should have done. He came at that thing from multiple angles and didn’t go too fast for fear of gassing himself out. The fact that Oswald had to learn these brutal techniques to begin with said a lot about why he would need them in life. Maybe that was why Antero was so keen on bringing him into Incelbordination. Heh, Antero. What a joke. He became a bigger joke when Oswald imagined the Matrix nut’s face superimposed on the punching bag.
The little warrior was so lost in his exercise routine that he failed to notice even the slightest chuckle behind him. He went for an overhead rabbit punch and his headsets accidentally slid off his dome. That was when the laughs became more obvious than a forest fire. Speaking of flames, Oswald’s face glowed bright red when he collected his MP3 player, turned around, and saw the source of the southern yuk-yuks. Of course, who else would it be? It was none other than muscle-headed high school tormentor Wacey Judge, who happened to be filming Oswald this whole time on his phone.
Watching his former bully laugh his ass off brought Oswald back to those old times when he was being stuffed in a locker, pushed over, held upside-down by the ankles, and called a litany of insults. If there was ever a time for that sweet green medicine, this would have been it, if for nothing else other than stamping the lit roll out in Wacey’s face. To Oswald’s way of thinking, such a red hot scar would be an improvement to his face.
“Hey, moron!” shouted Oswald. “This ain’t high school anymore! You’ve got to grow the fuck up! Put away the goddamn phone and fuck off!”
“Grow up?” Wacey chuckled. “Isn’t that what I should be telling you? You looked like a baby back then and you look like one now! Goddamn, Infinite Elgintensity’s going to roast the shit out of you tonight!”
“I don’t think so, you fucking retard!” belted Oswald as he threw his gloves to the ground and stomped towards his bully, not a hint of fear in the dwarf’s eyes. “Give me the goddamn phone!” He tried to reach up for it, but Wacey kept pulling it higher out of reach, prompting laughs from the “innocent bystanders”.
Patting Oswald on the head, the bully said, “Don’t worry, little guy, I’m sure there’s a ladder around here somewhere. Anybody got a step stool this guy can use? How about a stripper’s pole? How about an elevator?” The bystanders got even louder laughs out of Wacey’s “comedy” and a singular tear formed in Oswald’s red puffy eyes. “What, are you going to cry, little baby? Should I give you my thumb to suck on?”
Sure enough, Wacey held out his thumb and made a mockingly sorrowful face at his little victim while the entire gym watched and did nothing. Another tear rolled down Oswald’s cheek, but this wasn’t out of sadness. This was out of pure white hot rage stemming from years of abuse from someone who didn’t deserve to be as gigantic as he was. Why couldn’t Oswald have muscles like that? Why couldn’t he be a chick magnet too? All the jealousy, all the trauma, all the sickness, they led to a do-or-die situation for the little warrior.
“Fuck you, Wacey!” shouted Oswald with more lung power than he was capable of. He then hauled back and punched his bully right in the dick, doubling the giant over and causing the audience to gasp in horror. The dwarf’s next punch was an uppercut to Wacey’s square jaw, hurting his hand in the process, but make no mistake about it, the bully got the worst of that exchange. The muscle head squatted backwards against the wall dizzy and stunned.
“Fuck yeah! You just got your ass kicked by a midget! How does that shit feel, Wacey?! I said how does that fucking feel?! This shit’s been a long time coming! Woo!” screamed Oswald triumphantly while holding his bruised knuckles in the air.
“What the hell’s going on around here?!” said an equally muscular gym teacher, who burst into the room with his hands on his hips. “I’ll be damned.”
Pointing an accusatory finger at the teacher, Oswald laid into him with, “Nice of you to show up, Spongebob Square Jaw. It’s funny how you were nowhere to be seen when this jackass was having a laugh at me. Story of my life, isn’t it?!”
The gym teacher stomped towards Oswald, knelt down, and grabbed him harshly by the shoulders. “Listen up, you sick bastard. I don’t care what names you were called as a teenager. I don’t care how rough you’ve had it. The minute you attack another gym member is when I have to step in and call the shots. You beat the holy hell out of Mr. Judge here. I have to do something about it.”
“What are you going to do, ban me for life?”
“Damn right I’m going to ban you for life! Get your violent ass out of my gym!” ordered the gym teacher while standing up and pointing towards the door.
“That’s fine with me, you six foot dip shit!” snapped Oswald. “I wasn’t planning on coming back anyways! You’re harboring this piece of shit and turning your gym into a fucking Black Site! I’d be better off at Planet Fitness eating pizza until I have a heart attack! You hear that everyone? Don’t come to this gym anymore! I heard pedophiles like to hang out in the shower areas!”
“Get out of here, you twerp!” commanded the teacher.
“And don’t eat at their smoothie bar either! There’s a big fucking rat’s nest in the kitchen!”
“Are you going to leave or do I have to toss you out of here myself?!”
Waving him off, Oswald said, “Don’t worry, Lex Luger, I’ll be out of here in a second. I just want to make sure Wacey here is awake when someone tells him that his name rhymes with Stacy.” That earned a collective gasp from the crowd and a sullen expression from the gym teacher.
The pugilist dwarf raised his bruised middle finger to the sky as he trudged out of the gym. He closed the door behind him and ran out of there as fast as he could, as if the adrenaline would be the least bit effective at masking his tear-stained face. He looked like a badass in that gym, but he felt like the little baby Wacey accused him of being this whole time.
Oswald stopped running and collected his breath in the common area near an empty stone table. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. His mask of toughness was melting like ice cream in this goddamned heat. He didn’t bother to look up to see if anybody was watching him and he didn’t care at this point. First Antero Magnus, then Valerie Sand, and now Wacey Judge could be added to the list of shit-heels who made his college career a miserable one.
The little person pulled himself onto the stone bench and laid his face in his tiny arms. If he earned any laughs from the other students, it would have been a testament to their ignorance, he was convinced. What kind of song on his MP3 player could heal his blues? The better question for him to ask was what kind of green drug was more powerful than the most emotional Pink Floyd song?
Oswald reached in his trench coat pocket and pulled out another ready roll of Mary-Jane. He smiled and wiped away his tears at the sight of this beautiful medicine he was fortunate enough to have a prescription for. He frisked himself in search of his lighter, but goddamn it, he left it in his dorm room for the second time in a row.
He pounded the stone table in frustration and let even more tears pour down his bearded face. He secretly wished this whole college would burn to the ground just so he could have something to light his ready roll with. And then a familiar voice asked him a familiar question from the night before…
“Need a light?”
July 4, 2018
The Shit
Ray Hardy’s alcoholic scent could be smelled from a country mile away, yet his equilibrium and speech remained normal enough for functioning in society. Though it was hard for a cheap bottle of Thunderbird to mess up someone’s balance when none of it entered the man’s mouth. Instead the bitter liquid stained his white T-shirt to where it looked like he was sweating bullets. Coupled with the venomous expression on his face, his fists at his sides, and heaviness in his footsteps, Ray’s roommate Adam Victor was in for a rude awakening as soon as the former crossed the threshold into the apartment.
Even though Ray was one hundred percent sober, he still had a hard time fitting his key in the door on account of his trembling hands. When he finally fit the damn thing in the lock, he made his wrestler-like entrance by swinging the door open as hard as he could. Adam, who was previously channel surfing on the leather couch in his sweatpants, jumped to his feet at the sight of his roommate and best friend looking awful as fuck.
“Good god, are you alright? What happened to you?” Adam asked.
Ray sucked in his belly and released a heavy sigh upon formulating an answer. “Adam, I don’t think you give a shit how I’m doing tonight. But to answer your question…I’m not okay. In fact, I don’t think anything’s going to be okay ever again. There’s no way in hell I can show my face at that bar again, not after what Ruby did to me.”
Nervous and fidgety, Adam said, “Okay, um…so…what did she do to you? You can tell me.”
“Of course I’m going to tell you, dumb ass!” snapped Ray, causing his best friend to lean back a little bit. “But then again, you can probably find the whole thing on You Tube if you look hard enough. I finally did it, Adam. I stepped out of my comfort zone. I approached the woman I had a crush on for so long…” He pulled his glasses off and wiped a singular tear from his face. “Ruby threw a drink in my face while her friends laughed their asses off. That’s why I smell so bad.”
“Oh my god, that’s horrible! Why the hell would she do that?”
“…Because…because she thinks I’m too fat and ugly.”
“She said that to you? What the hell’s wrong with her?!” Holding his hands up defensively, Adam hurried his next words along. “Listen, I had no idea this was going to happen, okay? I genuinely thought stepping out your shell would do you some good. I didn’t anticipate her throwing a bottle of Thunderbird in your face and…”
“Shut up, Adam!” retorted Ray while pointing an accusatory finger. “You wanted this to go wrong from the start! Do you even know why they call it a comfort zone in the first place? Because nothing bad happens there! If I had just sat there staring at my shoes all damn night, I wouldn’t smell like a bottle of hobo wine!”
In response to Ray’s heavy, beastly breathing, Adam kept his hands up and said, “Calm down, buddy. The important thing here is that nobody got seriously hurt.”
“Don’t give me that shit! I’m hurting now! I’m hurting badly! And it’s all because you brainwashed me into believing that everything would be okay!” Wiping away another angry tear, Ray said, “You know what? There is one way this will all be okay. I tried my hand at talking to women and I failed miserably. I lived up to my end of our little deal. Now it’s time for you to live up to your end too. The wooden box, the one marked The Shit, where is it?”
Backing slowly away, Adam said, “Um, Ray, now you’re really going to be mad at me. There’s been a little bit of a snag with the box full of shit. You see, I didn’t get my paycheck this week and…”
“Where’s the shit?!” Ray bellowed, causing an uncomfortable silence to hang between the best friends. Adam slowly stepped to the side and waved his arm towards the wooden chest, which was sure enough marked The Shit with a permanent marker. “Yeah, I’m going to get the shit. DVD’s, gift cards, money, CD’s…yeah, I could use some shit right now!”
Ray skulked towards the wooden chest and flung the lid open as fast as he could, almost making a crack in the wall. His imagination ran wild with the kinds of surprises that could be in there. Maybe there was a gift card to McDonald’s. Maybe there was the latest Hellyeah CD. Maybe there was a wad of twenty dollar bills. But when Ray poked his head inside the box, his insane smile drooped into a saggy frown. “A mirror? A fucking mirror?! Is this a joke?! Huh?!”
“Ray, as I was saying, I didn’t get my paycheck this week, so I couldn’t buy you anything. I’m sorry.” No response, just a frozen stare into the mirror from Ray Hardy. Adam swallowed a lump of saliva and said, “If it’s any consolation to you, at least you learned something from your experience. You can’t put a price tag on that. No Double Quarter Pounder will ever replace a valuable lesson. Right?”
Ray stood up and slowly turned to face his best friend with a vicious gleam in his eyes, causing Adam to tremble and back away a little bit. “Lesson? Yeah, I learned a couple of things, actually. One, women aren’t worth the trouble anymore. And two, neither are best friends! I was counting on there being some good shit in this box! I needed these things to be there for me when I failed!” Pointing his sausage-like finger, he yelled, “I! Want! A safety net!”
“You want a safety net?!” belted Adam, sending a shockwave throughout Ray’s tense muscles. “No, you don’t get a safety net, my friend! You know why? Because safety nets are nothing more than rewards for failure! You don’t get rewarded for failing! You get rewarded for succeeding! I put a mirror in that box because I wanted you to take a good long look at yourself! I wanted you to realize that there are no participation trophies in life! But you should know that because you’re a college kid! If you get too many F’s and D’s, you don’t get gift cards and CD’s! You get kicked out! I put that mirror in the box because I didn’t want my best friend to coast through life, that’s all!”
Adam’s burst of rage muffled back into fear at the sight of his friend huffing and puffing like a rabid wolverine. Ray growled, “Coasting, huh? Do you even know what it means to coast? It means to become comfortable with your own success to where you become complacent. Let me ask you something, Mr. 4.0 GPA: how am I supposed to be comfortable with my success…when I don’t fucking have any to begin with?!”
Adam tucked his chin to his bare chest and solemnly said, “I don’t know, Ray. I just don’t know. Look, I know how much that box of shit meant to you, but…” He let out a sigh and continued. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you just now. I often forget that you didn’t have it easy growing up and you don’t have it easy now as an adult. I guess what I did doesn’t make me a very good friend, does it?”
Ray slammed the lid shut and sat down on the box, his glasses in his pocket and his head in his hands. The two friends had a cold war of silence between them for the longest time. And then Ray wiped away his few tears, sniffed mucous up his nose, and softly said, “You know what? Can we just end this night right now, please? I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I don’t give a damn about Ruby and I don’t give a damn about anything else. Tell you what, Adam, if you really want to be a good friend, do me a favor. There’s a bottle of pills in the kitchen with my name on it.”
“Wha…wait a minute…your medication? You mean the stuff for your…” Adam tapped himself on the head to signify a mental illness of some kind.
“Yes, those pills. I’d get them myself, but I don’t feel like getting up right now. I need two pills and a bottle of Perrier. If you get those things for me, I’ll completely forget that you screwed me over tonight.”
“Well, of course you will, because that’s what your medication does.”
“Don’t be a smart ass, Adam!” snapped Ray before taking a few deep breaths and calming down once again. “Just please, get me my pills and something to swallow them with. I’m not going to make any decisions about my comfort zone until the morning. Right now I just want to go numb for the rest of the night…and try to forget that I smell like the world’s worst wine.”
Adam nodded and said, “Okay” before fetching the two pills and bottle of sparkling water. He gave them to Ray and allowed the big guy to medicate himself for the evening. He shivered in disgust at the bitter taste of the pills, but otherwise remained peaceful with his head in his hand.
“How do you feel?” asked Adam.
“…A little bit better. I’m actually surprised at how quickly this stuff works.”
Adam took a seat on the wooden box next to Ray and put a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Mr. Victor then sang the lyrics to “Rx” by Theory of a Deadman, a song about taking medication and being depressed. This got a sad chuckle out of Ray, who then said, “You know what? Maybe I won’t go to bed just yet. I’d rather just sit here and listen to you sing goofy songs.”
“So in other words, me hanging out with you and being there for you during your time of need is safety net enough?”
Ray sighed, “I almost hate to admit it, but…I guess that’s what I want.”
Adam patted Ray on the shoulder and said, “Truth be told, buddy, you don’t need a woman like Ruby if she’s going to treat you like that. You can stay in the comfort zone for as long as you want. Come out only when you’re ready.”
“I probably won’t be ready for a while…but if I crash and burn again…will you be the one who gets me my pills?”
“Not only that, but I might have to fill that wooden box up with pills and call that The Shit.”
The two friends laughed and sang together for hours that night. They even sang a Pantera song whose title fit the situation perfectly: “Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills”. How convenient. Then again, safety nets usually were.
Even though Ray was one hundred percent sober, he still had a hard time fitting his key in the door on account of his trembling hands. When he finally fit the damn thing in the lock, he made his wrestler-like entrance by swinging the door open as hard as he could. Adam, who was previously channel surfing on the leather couch in his sweatpants, jumped to his feet at the sight of his roommate and best friend looking awful as fuck.
“Good god, are you alright? What happened to you?” Adam asked.
Ray sucked in his belly and released a heavy sigh upon formulating an answer. “Adam, I don’t think you give a shit how I’m doing tonight. But to answer your question…I’m not okay. In fact, I don’t think anything’s going to be okay ever again. There’s no way in hell I can show my face at that bar again, not after what Ruby did to me.”
Nervous and fidgety, Adam said, “Okay, um…so…what did she do to you? You can tell me.”
“Of course I’m going to tell you, dumb ass!” snapped Ray, causing his best friend to lean back a little bit. “But then again, you can probably find the whole thing on You Tube if you look hard enough. I finally did it, Adam. I stepped out of my comfort zone. I approached the woman I had a crush on for so long…” He pulled his glasses off and wiped a singular tear from his face. “Ruby threw a drink in my face while her friends laughed their asses off. That’s why I smell so bad.”
“Oh my god, that’s horrible! Why the hell would she do that?”
“…Because…because she thinks I’m too fat and ugly.”
“She said that to you? What the hell’s wrong with her?!” Holding his hands up defensively, Adam hurried his next words along. “Listen, I had no idea this was going to happen, okay? I genuinely thought stepping out your shell would do you some good. I didn’t anticipate her throwing a bottle of Thunderbird in your face and…”
“Shut up, Adam!” retorted Ray while pointing an accusatory finger. “You wanted this to go wrong from the start! Do you even know why they call it a comfort zone in the first place? Because nothing bad happens there! If I had just sat there staring at my shoes all damn night, I wouldn’t smell like a bottle of hobo wine!”
In response to Ray’s heavy, beastly breathing, Adam kept his hands up and said, “Calm down, buddy. The important thing here is that nobody got seriously hurt.”
“Don’t give me that shit! I’m hurting now! I’m hurting badly! And it’s all because you brainwashed me into believing that everything would be okay!” Wiping away another angry tear, Ray said, “You know what? There is one way this will all be okay. I tried my hand at talking to women and I failed miserably. I lived up to my end of our little deal. Now it’s time for you to live up to your end too. The wooden box, the one marked The Shit, where is it?”
Backing slowly away, Adam said, “Um, Ray, now you’re really going to be mad at me. There’s been a little bit of a snag with the box full of shit. You see, I didn’t get my paycheck this week and…”
“Where’s the shit?!” Ray bellowed, causing an uncomfortable silence to hang between the best friends. Adam slowly stepped to the side and waved his arm towards the wooden chest, which was sure enough marked The Shit with a permanent marker. “Yeah, I’m going to get the shit. DVD’s, gift cards, money, CD’s…yeah, I could use some shit right now!”
Ray skulked towards the wooden chest and flung the lid open as fast as he could, almost making a crack in the wall. His imagination ran wild with the kinds of surprises that could be in there. Maybe there was a gift card to McDonald’s. Maybe there was the latest Hellyeah CD. Maybe there was a wad of twenty dollar bills. But when Ray poked his head inside the box, his insane smile drooped into a saggy frown. “A mirror? A fucking mirror?! Is this a joke?! Huh?!”
“Ray, as I was saying, I didn’t get my paycheck this week, so I couldn’t buy you anything. I’m sorry.” No response, just a frozen stare into the mirror from Ray Hardy. Adam swallowed a lump of saliva and said, “If it’s any consolation to you, at least you learned something from your experience. You can’t put a price tag on that. No Double Quarter Pounder will ever replace a valuable lesson. Right?”
Ray stood up and slowly turned to face his best friend with a vicious gleam in his eyes, causing Adam to tremble and back away a little bit. “Lesson? Yeah, I learned a couple of things, actually. One, women aren’t worth the trouble anymore. And two, neither are best friends! I was counting on there being some good shit in this box! I needed these things to be there for me when I failed!” Pointing his sausage-like finger, he yelled, “I! Want! A safety net!”
“You want a safety net?!” belted Adam, sending a shockwave throughout Ray’s tense muscles. “No, you don’t get a safety net, my friend! You know why? Because safety nets are nothing more than rewards for failure! You don’t get rewarded for failing! You get rewarded for succeeding! I put a mirror in that box because I wanted you to take a good long look at yourself! I wanted you to realize that there are no participation trophies in life! But you should know that because you’re a college kid! If you get too many F’s and D’s, you don’t get gift cards and CD’s! You get kicked out! I put that mirror in the box because I didn’t want my best friend to coast through life, that’s all!”
Adam’s burst of rage muffled back into fear at the sight of his friend huffing and puffing like a rabid wolverine. Ray growled, “Coasting, huh? Do you even know what it means to coast? It means to become comfortable with your own success to where you become complacent. Let me ask you something, Mr. 4.0 GPA: how am I supposed to be comfortable with my success…when I don’t fucking have any to begin with?!”
Adam tucked his chin to his bare chest and solemnly said, “I don’t know, Ray. I just don’t know. Look, I know how much that box of shit meant to you, but…” He let out a sigh and continued. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you just now. I often forget that you didn’t have it easy growing up and you don’t have it easy now as an adult. I guess what I did doesn’t make me a very good friend, does it?”
Ray slammed the lid shut and sat down on the box, his glasses in his pocket and his head in his hands. The two friends had a cold war of silence between them for the longest time. And then Ray wiped away his few tears, sniffed mucous up his nose, and softly said, “You know what? Can we just end this night right now, please? I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I don’t give a damn about Ruby and I don’t give a damn about anything else. Tell you what, Adam, if you really want to be a good friend, do me a favor. There’s a bottle of pills in the kitchen with my name on it.”
“Wha…wait a minute…your medication? You mean the stuff for your…” Adam tapped himself on the head to signify a mental illness of some kind.
“Yes, those pills. I’d get them myself, but I don’t feel like getting up right now. I need two pills and a bottle of Perrier. If you get those things for me, I’ll completely forget that you screwed me over tonight.”
“Well, of course you will, because that’s what your medication does.”
“Don’t be a smart ass, Adam!” snapped Ray before taking a few deep breaths and calming down once again. “Just please, get me my pills and something to swallow them with. I’m not going to make any decisions about my comfort zone until the morning. Right now I just want to go numb for the rest of the night…and try to forget that I smell like the world’s worst wine.”
Adam nodded and said, “Okay” before fetching the two pills and bottle of sparkling water. He gave them to Ray and allowed the big guy to medicate himself for the evening. He shivered in disgust at the bitter taste of the pills, but otherwise remained peaceful with his head in his hand.
“How do you feel?” asked Adam.
“…A little bit better. I’m actually surprised at how quickly this stuff works.”
Adam took a seat on the wooden box next to Ray and put a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Mr. Victor then sang the lyrics to “Rx” by Theory of a Deadman, a song about taking medication and being depressed. This got a sad chuckle out of Ray, who then said, “You know what? Maybe I won’t go to bed just yet. I’d rather just sit here and listen to you sing goofy songs.”
“So in other words, me hanging out with you and being there for you during your time of need is safety net enough?”
Ray sighed, “I almost hate to admit it, but…I guess that’s what I want.”
Adam patted Ray on the shoulder and said, “Truth be told, buddy, you don’t need a woman like Ruby if she’s going to treat you like that. You can stay in the comfort zone for as long as you want. Come out only when you’re ready.”
“I probably won’t be ready for a while…but if I crash and burn again…will you be the one who gets me my pills?”
“Not only that, but I might have to fill that wooden box up with pills and call that The Shit.”
The two friends laughed and sang together for hours that night. They even sang a Pantera song whose title fit the situation perfectly: “Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills”. How convenient. Then again, safety nets usually were.
July 3, 2018
Things That Empower Me
***THINGS THAT EMPOWER ME***
I recently had a look at my most recent blog entry about things that scare me. Goddamn, did I sound like a sad sap. It could have been that the month of June was a weird one for me and I was still grieving. But July is finally here and it’s time to start over again. No going back this time around! Instead of talking about things that scare the shit out of me, I’m going to talk about things that empower me, thus turning a negative thought into a positive one. Positive thinking has been at the forefront of my happiness since December 2014, when I vacationed at Lego Land in San Diego and when I had the best goddamn Christmas I could ask for. I lost sight of that positivity somewhere in early 2018, but I’m working on bringing that shit back and it begins with this blog entry. Let’s start the list off with…
***SELF-TALK***
Dr. Phil can be full of more shit than a cow pasture sometimes, but the one thing he got right on the nose was that the words we tell ourselves are very powerful, for better or worse. When you tell yourself you’re too fat, too ugly, or not good enough, you believe those things like they’re the word of god. But what if you start sending yourself positive messages instead of negative ones? Let’s say I, for instance, repeat the mental phrase, “If you step outside your comfort zone, good things will happen.” Or what if I just imagine a good-looking version of myself with a skinny body and a sexy haircut like the one I had in my senior year of high school? Or what if I tell myself that I can afford anything I want to buy? What if I tell myself that the world loves me? You say these things often enough, you believe them and you become a happier person because of it. You know what? I’m going to have these thoughts more often, especially the one where I look like a sexy stud with a sweet ass haircut….not an ass haircut, that’s different. Hehe!
***MUSIC***
Some people call it “just noise”, but to me it’s more intoxicating and enchanting than the world’s most powerful drug. I remember being a little kid and listening to my dad’s CD’s from The Police, Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, and Toto. I loved my Pink Floyd CD’s so much that I spent the entire late 90’s listening to the shit out of them. Then the 2000’s came along and I started listening to alternative metal like Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Three Days Grace, Korn, and Papa Roach. My musical library expanded tenfold since then and I wouldn’t trade any of those bands for the world. My current favorite bands include Soulfly, Nightwish, Five Finger Death Punch, Pantera, and Halestorm among others. I love music so much that I refer to concerts as “one-day vacations” and “pilgrimages” rather than “just shows”. I went to a Roger Waters concert in 2000 and my dad referred to at as “taking us to heaven to see god”. There will be many more concerts in the future, which means more opportunities to get high on my drug of choice…which if you haven’t figured it out already is music.
***HAVING AN AUDIENCE***
I know I said in my “Things That Scare Me” blog that being in front of large amounts of people makes me want to swallow Xanax. But make no mistake about it: the fact that there are people out there who are willing to listen to me is a blessing. Whether you’re complimenting my writing or critiquing it (hopefully not trolling), I’m grateful to have you as a member of my audience. I know writing is supposed to be a business, but you can’t put a price tag on having someone’s attention and never letting go. Whether writing becomes my main source of income or not is irrelevant, because some things in life are more important than money, like love, friendship, good advice, creative fuel, and the power of a good story or poem. To everybody who has supported me throughout my career, thank you so very much. To everybody that doubts me, your creative fuel is every bit as welcome. There’s another thing to be positive about: creative fuel can literally come from anywhere, whether it’s a news story, a personal experience, or the pencil sharpener sitting on my desk, which I once used in a toy photograph of Razor Ramon doing elevated pushups.
***SPENDING MONEY ON OTHER PEOPLE***
This goes hand-in-hand with my self-talk about being able to afford anything I want. When you believe you’re good with money, you can probably afford to shell out some of it on other people. That’s why I buy birthday and Christmas gifts months in advance for the ones I love: because I can and love them…that, and buying gifts ahead of schedule is a good way to avoid the stress of things like Black Friday. I also donate some of my money to various charities whether it’s the ASPCA, Extra Life, or St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Spending money on other people, whether in a big or small way, will actually make you happy in the long-term, because you’re strengthening your relationship with that person. You don’t have to clean out your life savings just to make one person happy, but having that kind of confidence with your money and that kind of love for the one you’re spending it on, that says a lot about your mindset.
***CREATIVITY***
To paraphrase Cenk Uygur from The Young Turks, OF COURSE this was going to be a list item! Writing stories and poems gives me a sense of purpose in an economy where English majors and Millennials are frowned upon. I don’t write for the money or the fame. I do it because I fucking love it. I do it because it’s hard work that I can be proud of. I do it because having a legacy is important to me. Do I have lazy days occasionally? All the time. But lazy days are temporary while legacies are forever. I realize that not everybody will like what I have to write, but that’s the nature of subjectivity. There are people who love the shit out of Fifty Shades of Grey and despise Winnie the Pooh. Yes! People actually hate Winnie the Pooh! But if I denied my audience the right to hate my works, I’d come off as a dictator rather than a role model for individuality. Life doesn’t end because of a bad review, or even ten of them. Your career isn’t over until you say it is.
***CONCLUSION***
Goddamn, I’m taking a long time to write this blog entry. Then again, it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning and I spent most of my day in a mental fog. If you can’t concentrate, you can’t write…at least not very well. Here’s hoping my messages of empowerment are well-received by you, my lovely audience. If not, well, at least I tried. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
(In the summer of 2017…)
JAMES: Hey Garrison, what was in the Amazon package you got in the mail today?
GARRISON: Duct tape and a CD.
JAMES: Those two things do not go together! What are you going to do, bind and gag one of your Face Book women and torture her with your music?
GARRISON: That’s not what the duct tape is for!
JAMES: Uh-huh. Sure! The only thing more disturbing than that was that it came in a long and narrow package. I thought it was another one of your corporate pop metal posters.
GARRISON: Goddamn it, James!
I recently had a look at my most recent blog entry about things that scare me. Goddamn, did I sound like a sad sap. It could have been that the month of June was a weird one for me and I was still grieving. But July is finally here and it’s time to start over again. No going back this time around! Instead of talking about things that scare the shit out of me, I’m going to talk about things that empower me, thus turning a negative thought into a positive one. Positive thinking has been at the forefront of my happiness since December 2014, when I vacationed at Lego Land in San Diego and when I had the best goddamn Christmas I could ask for. I lost sight of that positivity somewhere in early 2018, but I’m working on bringing that shit back and it begins with this blog entry. Let’s start the list off with…
***SELF-TALK***
Dr. Phil can be full of more shit than a cow pasture sometimes, but the one thing he got right on the nose was that the words we tell ourselves are very powerful, for better or worse. When you tell yourself you’re too fat, too ugly, or not good enough, you believe those things like they’re the word of god. But what if you start sending yourself positive messages instead of negative ones? Let’s say I, for instance, repeat the mental phrase, “If you step outside your comfort zone, good things will happen.” Or what if I just imagine a good-looking version of myself with a skinny body and a sexy haircut like the one I had in my senior year of high school? Or what if I tell myself that I can afford anything I want to buy? What if I tell myself that the world loves me? You say these things often enough, you believe them and you become a happier person because of it. You know what? I’m going to have these thoughts more often, especially the one where I look like a sexy stud with a sweet ass haircut….not an ass haircut, that’s different. Hehe!
***MUSIC***
Some people call it “just noise”, but to me it’s more intoxicating and enchanting than the world’s most powerful drug. I remember being a little kid and listening to my dad’s CD’s from The Police, Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, and Toto. I loved my Pink Floyd CD’s so much that I spent the entire late 90’s listening to the shit out of them. Then the 2000’s came along and I started listening to alternative metal like Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Three Days Grace, Korn, and Papa Roach. My musical library expanded tenfold since then and I wouldn’t trade any of those bands for the world. My current favorite bands include Soulfly, Nightwish, Five Finger Death Punch, Pantera, and Halestorm among others. I love music so much that I refer to concerts as “one-day vacations” and “pilgrimages” rather than “just shows”. I went to a Roger Waters concert in 2000 and my dad referred to at as “taking us to heaven to see god”. There will be many more concerts in the future, which means more opportunities to get high on my drug of choice…which if you haven’t figured it out already is music.
***HAVING AN AUDIENCE***
I know I said in my “Things That Scare Me” blog that being in front of large amounts of people makes me want to swallow Xanax. But make no mistake about it: the fact that there are people out there who are willing to listen to me is a blessing. Whether you’re complimenting my writing or critiquing it (hopefully not trolling), I’m grateful to have you as a member of my audience. I know writing is supposed to be a business, but you can’t put a price tag on having someone’s attention and never letting go. Whether writing becomes my main source of income or not is irrelevant, because some things in life are more important than money, like love, friendship, good advice, creative fuel, and the power of a good story or poem. To everybody who has supported me throughout my career, thank you so very much. To everybody that doubts me, your creative fuel is every bit as welcome. There’s another thing to be positive about: creative fuel can literally come from anywhere, whether it’s a news story, a personal experience, or the pencil sharpener sitting on my desk, which I once used in a toy photograph of Razor Ramon doing elevated pushups.
***SPENDING MONEY ON OTHER PEOPLE***
This goes hand-in-hand with my self-talk about being able to afford anything I want. When you believe you’re good with money, you can probably afford to shell out some of it on other people. That’s why I buy birthday and Christmas gifts months in advance for the ones I love: because I can and love them…that, and buying gifts ahead of schedule is a good way to avoid the stress of things like Black Friday. I also donate some of my money to various charities whether it’s the ASPCA, Extra Life, or St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Spending money on other people, whether in a big or small way, will actually make you happy in the long-term, because you’re strengthening your relationship with that person. You don’t have to clean out your life savings just to make one person happy, but having that kind of confidence with your money and that kind of love for the one you’re spending it on, that says a lot about your mindset.
***CREATIVITY***
To paraphrase Cenk Uygur from The Young Turks, OF COURSE this was going to be a list item! Writing stories and poems gives me a sense of purpose in an economy where English majors and Millennials are frowned upon. I don’t write for the money or the fame. I do it because I fucking love it. I do it because it’s hard work that I can be proud of. I do it because having a legacy is important to me. Do I have lazy days occasionally? All the time. But lazy days are temporary while legacies are forever. I realize that not everybody will like what I have to write, but that’s the nature of subjectivity. There are people who love the shit out of Fifty Shades of Grey and despise Winnie the Pooh. Yes! People actually hate Winnie the Pooh! But if I denied my audience the right to hate my works, I’d come off as a dictator rather than a role model for individuality. Life doesn’t end because of a bad review, or even ten of them. Your career isn’t over until you say it is.
***CONCLUSION***
Goddamn, I’m taking a long time to write this blog entry. Then again, it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning and I spent most of my day in a mental fog. If you can’t concentrate, you can’t write…at least not very well. Here’s hoping my messages of empowerment are well-received by you, my lovely audience. If not, well, at least I tried. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
(In the summer of 2017…)
JAMES: Hey Garrison, what was in the Amazon package you got in the mail today?
GARRISON: Duct tape and a CD.
JAMES: Those two things do not go together! What are you going to do, bind and gag one of your Face Book women and torture her with your music?
GARRISON: That’s not what the duct tape is for!
JAMES: Uh-huh. Sure! The only thing more disturbing than that was that it came in a long and narrow package. I thought it was another one of your corporate pop metal posters.
GARRISON: Goddamn it, James!
