Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 66
March 16, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 21
As a handsome middle-aged gentleman in a brown ponytail stood by her side, Linda Williams took center stage of the gymnasium with a microphone in hand. She noticed the sullen expressions on her students’ faces as they filed into the bleachers one by one. Linda caught a glimpse of Adrienne Simpson sitting in the far upper corner by herself. The Principal’s heart ached for her and all of this new trauma she had to deal with. That was not to undermine the sadness of the other students filling the seats, all of which had slumped over postures and saggy frowns.
Right at the time everybody was seated where they needed to be, Linda tapped the microphone a few times and tested it for feedback. She gazed around at the audience before her with a combination of sympathy and strength in her face. She needed to be strong when others felt they had the strength sapped right out of them. Linda took a few breaths to steel her nerves and brought the microphone up to her lips to begin her oratory.
“Before I get started with this emergency school assembly, I want to get two talking points off my chest. First, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming today, students and teachers alike. I wish this was all under different circumstances, but it is what it is. And secondly,” Linda patted the ponytail-wearing gentleman on the shoulder and said, “This is Paul Corbin. He will be your new US history teacher as he’s taking over for the departed Tom Simpson. He’ll take good care of you and hopefully you’ll find him to your liking.”
Linda gazed down at her loafers to allow for a beat of silence. Reengaging the audience, she said, “I’m sure some of you heard by now what happened with Tom Simpson and why he’s not here today. For those of you who need to be brought up to speed, let’s just say he won’t be working here anymore. He made a bad decision and it cost him his job. I know that argument sounds familiar to those of you who were close to one Scott George. I know how quickly rumors can travel.”
Pacing back and forth with slowness in her step, Linda cleared her throat and said, “We can debate all day long about the morality of what Scott George did. Then again, we can also do the same thing for Mr. Simpson. And for Alan Young, another student whose name you might recognize. Varying opinions aside, I have a confession to make as it pertains to my tenure here at Perkins High.”
“I haven’t been a perfect Principal. I’ve made a few enemies here and there. But the one thing I can never forgive myself for…is allowing my own students to be victimized. I’ve been blind to the mistreatment going on around here. I thought it was just another day at the office. And then I saw a You Tube video of Scott George sobbing at his father’s grave while the so-called filmmaker Alan Young laughed in the background. That never should have been the ultimate breaking point and for that I’m sorry.”
Pointing her arm at the new teacher, she said, “As you can see from Mr. Corbin’s presence, there are going to be some changes around here. These changes are going to shake the very foundation of this once esteemed high school. No more abuses of power. No more hostile work environments. No more mediocre school lunches. Everything is going to change around here from top to bottom, left to right. Mind you, these changes aren’t going to happen overnight. Reforming a broken school takes time and effort. While I realize that patience isn’t always a virtue among everyone here today, it is needed if we’re to make these changes in a civilized and methodical way.
“To put it as delicately as possible, Scott George hit some bumps in the road during his educational experiences here. I’ve no doubt that many of you feel the same way. The only difference is, his story came to my attention first. And his story is the reason why these radical changes are happening in the first place. As long as they’re happening, I’d love know your stories as well. You know why? Because unlike what Tom Simpson had been preaching this whole time, democracy isn’t dead. Your voices matter now more than ever. You have the right to be heard and there’s not a teacher walking this earth that can take that away from you.
“Which brings me to my final talking point of the day. If you’ve been following the local news, you’d know that Scott is currently sitting in jail awaiting his final sentencing. The crime he committed had no victims, yet he currently has a five thousand dollar bail looming over his head. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before that bail will be revoked and his prison sentence will officially begin.
“Therefore, I am announcing to you all this morning that I’ve set up a Go Fund Me page to pay for his bail. The link to the page will be posted on the bulletin board outside of my office. I don’t expect any one person to fork over the full amount. In fact, I don’t want any of you to think that the new changes to this school will be contingent on how much money is donated to the cause. This isn’t extortion. This is purely optional. One dollar would be fine. A quarter. A nickel. Every little bit will help.
“If you’re wondering why you should care about a kid who was rebellious at his worst and tearful at his best, then know that I would do the same for any one of you if you were placed in a similar situation. No student deserves to be taken advantage of. No student deserves to be silenced. Every student has the right to an education should he or she decide to pursue it. I feel that way about Scott George, a kid with so much promise and so much of an upside that it breaks my heart to see him lose it all over an asinine loophole in the law he allegedly broke.
“I’m not asking you all for help. I’m pleading with you. I’m all but on my hands and knees. I’m asking for this school to be united, not torn apart by bullying or abuse of any kind. If there’s one thing Scott George will teach you all, it’s that empathy and love will go a lot further than empty disciplinary tactics and mindless conformity. He wants you all to be free thinkers. He wants you all to take advantage of the opportunities you have. He wants to see these changes to our school just as much as you all need them. I’ll close this assembly with one final plea: can you find it in your hearts to give Mr. George another chance?”
The expressions on the students’ faces spoke volumes: angry eyebrows, defeated frowns, and tense stares. One by one they left the gymnasium without waiting for Miss Williams to give permission to exit. They never said one word, presumably because for so long they had been fed the “democracy is dead” shtick like it was the worst tasting medicine imaginable, worse than any worm-infested food Scott George would eat in his new home. The only student who didn’t get up and leave was Adrienne Simpson, who pulled her knees up and tucked her head in her lap, feeling dejected and forlorn.
As soon as the bleachers were empty sans Adrienne, Paul Corbin placed a gentle hand on Linda Williams’s shoulder and said, “You did your best to convince them.”
“Did I really, Paul? Is this just another chapter of broken promises and ignorant leadership?” asked Linda in a sullen tone.
“Nobody’s perfect, Linda. Not you, not me, not Scott George himself. But that’s what makes us human. We grow, we adapt, and we learn things. Isn’t that what school is all about?”
“It’s too late for us now,” said Linda. “These changes should have been made long before Scott was taken into custody. I could have prevented all of this from happening. But instead, I sat by and did nothing. I was naïve to think everything was okay. Does anybody really tell you that everything is wrong in their world? For god’s sake, I should have never hired Tom in the first place.”
Linda’s stonewall strength had crumbled all around her and she couldn’t help but shed a few silent tears. How could she remain strong after all that’s happened? She believed it was all her fault and that she had no right to cry about it in the first place. But the tears kept coming, albeit in a silent sob that still caught the attention of Paul Corbin. The new history teacher gave the Principal a hug light enough to avoid awkwardness, but strong enough to know that he was by her side.
“Excuse me, Miss Williams?” said Adrienne, who was now standing within close range and Linda hadn’t even realized it until she picked her tear-soaked face up. The little freshman held out a twenty dollar bill and said, “I want to contribute this to Scott’s bail. It’s not much, but I hope it’s a step in the right direction. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”
A smile spread across Linda’s face despite the flowing tears. She accepted the twenty dollar bill and said, “Oh, Miss Simpson, bless your little heart. I know Scott means a lot to you. He means a lot to me too. Speaking of rainy days…” The last sadly joking sentence was punctuated by pointing at her own teary face, hence the raindrops.
“I’ve been doing that a lot lately too, Miss Williams. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re still one of the strongest women I know, next to my mom.”
Linda sighed, “I guess we all have to be strong now, don’t we? I just hope Scott feels the same way. Of course, it’s hard to be strong when you’re all alone behind those barred walls.”
Right at the time everybody was seated where they needed to be, Linda tapped the microphone a few times and tested it for feedback. She gazed around at the audience before her with a combination of sympathy and strength in her face. She needed to be strong when others felt they had the strength sapped right out of them. Linda took a few breaths to steel her nerves and brought the microphone up to her lips to begin her oratory.
“Before I get started with this emergency school assembly, I want to get two talking points off my chest. First, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming today, students and teachers alike. I wish this was all under different circumstances, but it is what it is. And secondly,” Linda patted the ponytail-wearing gentleman on the shoulder and said, “This is Paul Corbin. He will be your new US history teacher as he’s taking over for the departed Tom Simpson. He’ll take good care of you and hopefully you’ll find him to your liking.”
Linda gazed down at her loafers to allow for a beat of silence. Reengaging the audience, she said, “I’m sure some of you heard by now what happened with Tom Simpson and why he’s not here today. For those of you who need to be brought up to speed, let’s just say he won’t be working here anymore. He made a bad decision and it cost him his job. I know that argument sounds familiar to those of you who were close to one Scott George. I know how quickly rumors can travel.”
Pacing back and forth with slowness in her step, Linda cleared her throat and said, “We can debate all day long about the morality of what Scott George did. Then again, we can also do the same thing for Mr. Simpson. And for Alan Young, another student whose name you might recognize. Varying opinions aside, I have a confession to make as it pertains to my tenure here at Perkins High.”
“I haven’t been a perfect Principal. I’ve made a few enemies here and there. But the one thing I can never forgive myself for…is allowing my own students to be victimized. I’ve been blind to the mistreatment going on around here. I thought it was just another day at the office. And then I saw a You Tube video of Scott George sobbing at his father’s grave while the so-called filmmaker Alan Young laughed in the background. That never should have been the ultimate breaking point and for that I’m sorry.”
Pointing her arm at the new teacher, she said, “As you can see from Mr. Corbin’s presence, there are going to be some changes around here. These changes are going to shake the very foundation of this once esteemed high school. No more abuses of power. No more hostile work environments. No more mediocre school lunches. Everything is going to change around here from top to bottom, left to right. Mind you, these changes aren’t going to happen overnight. Reforming a broken school takes time and effort. While I realize that patience isn’t always a virtue among everyone here today, it is needed if we’re to make these changes in a civilized and methodical way.
“To put it as delicately as possible, Scott George hit some bumps in the road during his educational experiences here. I’ve no doubt that many of you feel the same way. The only difference is, his story came to my attention first. And his story is the reason why these radical changes are happening in the first place. As long as they’re happening, I’d love know your stories as well. You know why? Because unlike what Tom Simpson had been preaching this whole time, democracy isn’t dead. Your voices matter now more than ever. You have the right to be heard and there’s not a teacher walking this earth that can take that away from you.
“Which brings me to my final talking point of the day. If you’ve been following the local news, you’d know that Scott is currently sitting in jail awaiting his final sentencing. The crime he committed had no victims, yet he currently has a five thousand dollar bail looming over his head. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before that bail will be revoked and his prison sentence will officially begin.
“Therefore, I am announcing to you all this morning that I’ve set up a Go Fund Me page to pay for his bail. The link to the page will be posted on the bulletin board outside of my office. I don’t expect any one person to fork over the full amount. In fact, I don’t want any of you to think that the new changes to this school will be contingent on how much money is donated to the cause. This isn’t extortion. This is purely optional. One dollar would be fine. A quarter. A nickel. Every little bit will help.
“If you’re wondering why you should care about a kid who was rebellious at his worst and tearful at his best, then know that I would do the same for any one of you if you were placed in a similar situation. No student deserves to be taken advantage of. No student deserves to be silenced. Every student has the right to an education should he or she decide to pursue it. I feel that way about Scott George, a kid with so much promise and so much of an upside that it breaks my heart to see him lose it all over an asinine loophole in the law he allegedly broke.
“I’m not asking you all for help. I’m pleading with you. I’m all but on my hands and knees. I’m asking for this school to be united, not torn apart by bullying or abuse of any kind. If there’s one thing Scott George will teach you all, it’s that empathy and love will go a lot further than empty disciplinary tactics and mindless conformity. He wants you all to be free thinkers. He wants you all to take advantage of the opportunities you have. He wants to see these changes to our school just as much as you all need them. I’ll close this assembly with one final plea: can you find it in your hearts to give Mr. George another chance?”
The expressions on the students’ faces spoke volumes: angry eyebrows, defeated frowns, and tense stares. One by one they left the gymnasium without waiting for Miss Williams to give permission to exit. They never said one word, presumably because for so long they had been fed the “democracy is dead” shtick like it was the worst tasting medicine imaginable, worse than any worm-infested food Scott George would eat in his new home. The only student who didn’t get up and leave was Adrienne Simpson, who pulled her knees up and tucked her head in her lap, feeling dejected and forlorn.
As soon as the bleachers were empty sans Adrienne, Paul Corbin placed a gentle hand on Linda Williams’s shoulder and said, “You did your best to convince them.”
“Did I really, Paul? Is this just another chapter of broken promises and ignorant leadership?” asked Linda in a sullen tone.
“Nobody’s perfect, Linda. Not you, not me, not Scott George himself. But that’s what makes us human. We grow, we adapt, and we learn things. Isn’t that what school is all about?”
“It’s too late for us now,” said Linda. “These changes should have been made long before Scott was taken into custody. I could have prevented all of this from happening. But instead, I sat by and did nothing. I was naïve to think everything was okay. Does anybody really tell you that everything is wrong in their world? For god’s sake, I should have never hired Tom in the first place.”
Linda’s stonewall strength had crumbled all around her and she couldn’t help but shed a few silent tears. How could she remain strong after all that’s happened? She believed it was all her fault and that she had no right to cry about it in the first place. But the tears kept coming, albeit in a silent sob that still caught the attention of Paul Corbin. The new history teacher gave the Principal a hug light enough to avoid awkwardness, but strong enough to know that he was by her side.
“Excuse me, Miss Williams?” said Adrienne, who was now standing within close range and Linda hadn’t even realized it until she picked her tear-soaked face up. The little freshman held out a twenty dollar bill and said, “I want to contribute this to Scott’s bail. It’s not much, but I hope it’s a step in the right direction. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”
A smile spread across Linda’s face despite the flowing tears. She accepted the twenty dollar bill and said, “Oh, Miss Simpson, bless your little heart. I know Scott means a lot to you. He means a lot to me too. Speaking of rainy days…” The last sadly joking sentence was punctuated by pointing at her own teary face, hence the raindrops.
“I’ve been doing that a lot lately too, Miss Williams. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re still one of the strongest women I know, next to my mom.”
Linda sighed, “I guess we all have to be strong now, don’t we? I just hope Scott feels the same way. Of course, it’s hard to be strong when you’re all alone behind those barred walls.”
March 15, 2018
Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics of 2017
***MOST DISGUSTING PROMOTIONAL TACTICS OF 2017***
I said I was going to write one of these blog entries and by god I plan on delivering. It took a while, but the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards are finally released to the public. Before I get to the part where I combine my love for pro-wrestling with my love for shocking the shit out of people, I must make a few observations. Firstly, poor Bray Wyatt. Poor, poor Bray Wyatt. Worst Gimmick, Worst Feud of the Year (vs. Randy Orton), and Worst Match of the Year (also vs. Randy Orton). And secondly, I can see the irony in a wrestling machine like Daniel Bryan winning an award for Best Non-Wrestler. Yes, he’s been retired since 2016, but still, that’s kind of ironic. Now that those tidbits are out of the way, it’s time for some shock and awe…and maybe just a modicum of writing advice. A modicum may be all that you need tonight. As usual with these yearly journal entries, I’m going to start with the winner of the actual award and work my way down the list. There we eleven candidates this year: one winner, nine runner-ups, and one honorable mention. Pick your jaw up off the floor!
***WINNER (OR LOSER, DEPENDING ON HOW YOU LOOK AT IT)***
LIST ITEM: WWE promoting Jimmy Snuka as a hero in death.
THOUGHTS: What can be said about Jimmy Snuka? He was a legend. He was a high flyer. He was a Hall of Famer. You know what else he was? A suspect in the manslaughter of his former girlfriend Nancy Argentino. Of course, he was never convicted of the crime because he was declared legally incompetent to stand trial. Uh-huh. Sure he was. And what does WWE do after Snuka dies of pancreatic cancer? They play a video package of him looking like a million bucks inside the ring. The audience booed the shit out of this display and rightfully so. Jimmy Snuka didn’t remember murdering his girlfriend…but Pepperidge Farm remembers!
***SECOND PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Jinder Mahal’s racist tirade against Shinsuke Nakamura.
THOUGHTS: If you’re living in the year 2017 or beyond, it’s probably not a good idea to compare a Japanese wrestler to Mr. Miyagi while doing fake karate moves in the ring. It’s also not a good idea to say the Japanese wrestler doesn’t “rook right”. And please, oh please, don’t say Mr. Nakamura looks like Pikachu having a seizure. Is it any wonder the audience chanted “That’s too far!” over and over again during these promos? Don’t we already get enough racism from our current president and the rise of the alt-right? Next thing you know, Jinder Mahal’s going to come out in a Pepe the Frog mask.
***THIRD PLACE***
LIST ITEM: WWE using the Ultimate Warrior’s legacy to promote Susan G. Komen’s breast cancer cause.
THOUGHTS: It’s bad enough The Ultimate Warrior was once known for telling an Arab college student to “Get a towel!” It’s bad enough he said, “Queering doesn’t make the world work!” It’s bad enough he said he was happy that wrestling manager Bobby Heenan had cancer. Now you’re going to take this social pariah and put his face on breast cancer awareness campaigns? That’s like putting a climate change denier in charge of the EPA or a dumb shit in charge of the Board of Education. Oh wait…
***FOURTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Pushing Jinder Mahal has WWE Champion in order to please the Indian market.
THOUGHTS: Poor Jinder can’t catch a break, can he? He’s already the recipient of Most Overrated Wrestler in 2017 and he’s second place for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic. Now he gets fourth place on the list as well. Let’s be honest: he wasn’t a very good champion. His matches sucked, his character development was non-existent, his monologues were derailed by a blown-out voice, and the only way he could get legitimate heel heat was by being a racist asshole. Imagine if Family Guy pushed Herbert the Pervert as their top protagonist. Actually, they could very well do that one day. Bad example!
***FIFTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Rizin MMA booking Gabi Garcia in fights against older and smaller women.
THOUGHTS: I think we can all agree that super muscular women shouldn’t be beating up on grandmas. Unless you want your promoted character to be seen as a super villain, it’s probably not a good idea to book him or her this way. I once joked with my brother James and his friend Blake that The Simpsons would be disturbing if Homer choked other characters besides Bart, namely Maggie (a baby), Marge (his wife), Santa’s Little Helper (the dog), or Abe (his father). Well, do you see where I’m going with this?
***SIXTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Kevin Owens head-butting Vince McMahon.
THOUGHTS: I’m actually okay with this one since Kevin Owens is supposed to be a jerk-ass heel and this is how he earns the audience’s hatred. I know, I know, Vince is an old man and shouldn’t be taking stiff head butts, but it was his own idea, so if he’s okay with it, I’m okay with it.
***SEVENTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Sexy Star staying employed in wrestling even after intentionally breaking Rosemary’s arm.
THOUGHTS: The only way pro-wrestling works is if the contenders in the ring trust each other with their bodies. Yes, it’s supposed to look and feel as painful as possible, which is why it’s even more important to be careful in there. Well, Sexy Star wasn’t careful at all. In fact, she tore the shit out of Rosemary’s arm and blamed the victim for it. How nice. How fucking nice. There seems to be a lot of victim blaming these days, though for much worse crimes against humanity.
***EIGHTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: WWE encouraging bullying in the workplace while simultaneously pushing an anti-bullying campaign.
THOUGHTS: I already did a journal entry last year about Mauro Ranallo and his struggles with being harassed by JBL. But yeah, this is a company-wide problem that affects everybody employed. In 2011, WWE actually won the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award for pulling this shit with overweight and Bell’s Palsy-suffering announcer Jim Ross. I thought Mauro’s dilemma would be the winner in this case as well.
***NINTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Conor McGregor’s racist comments against Floyd Mayweather, Jr.
THOUGHTS: Telling a black boxer to “dance, boy” and calling his family members “dancing monkeys”? Not cool. Not cool at all. It also doesn’t help that Conor once said that he’s “black from the waist down”. If Jinder Mahal can’t get away with pulling this shit against Shinsuke Nakamura, then Conor McGregor (regardless of his popularity) has to be held to the same standard. It did make for a lucrative feud between Conor and Floyd, but that’s beside the point.
***LAST PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Promotion of Antonio “Bigfoot” Silva vs. Rico Verhoeven.
THOUGHTS: If you thought booking Gabi Garcia against grandmas was cruel and unusual, get a load of this. Rico Verhoeven had earned his moniker of King of Kickboxing. He has a great record with wins over big names and has stayed fresh as a daisy in recent years. Bigfoot Silva? Not so much. He’s only won one match in the past few years and his many defeats were mostly by KO. And now Bigfoot wants to try his hand at kickboxing? It’s no surprise that he lost miserably against Rico, so all of this hype and promotion was for nothing. Oh well.
***HONORABLE MENTION***
LIST ITEM: Bayley: This Is Your Life.
THOUGHTS: It takes a special kind of dork-a-puss to screw up a lovable character this much. As a WWE wrestler who helped pioneer the Women’s Revolution with her wild popularity and strong work ethic, Bayley seemed to be headed for big things. And then…the creative writing team, in all of the infinite wisdom, broadcast a segment called Bayley: This Is Your Life, where her opponent for a pay-per-view, Alexa Bliss, painted her as having a helicopter father who was there during her first kiss and during kindergarten class. But don’t worry, because Bayley will soon get her revenge, right? Wrong! She looked like a clown in this feud and the fans booed the shit out of her for it. Poor girl. Poor, poor girl. She deserved so much better than this.
***CONCLUSION***
Boy, that was a fucking feel-good read, wasn’t it? You’re not shocked or depressed at all, are you? That reminds me, be sure to buy a copy of my book American Darkness on Amazon and other online retailers! Oh, that was ill-timed. Feel free to shiver if you’d like. Hehe! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
I said I was going to write one of these blog entries and by god I plan on delivering. It took a while, but the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards are finally released to the public. Before I get to the part where I combine my love for pro-wrestling with my love for shocking the shit out of people, I must make a few observations. Firstly, poor Bray Wyatt. Poor, poor Bray Wyatt. Worst Gimmick, Worst Feud of the Year (vs. Randy Orton), and Worst Match of the Year (also vs. Randy Orton). And secondly, I can see the irony in a wrestling machine like Daniel Bryan winning an award for Best Non-Wrestler. Yes, he’s been retired since 2016, but still, that’s kind of ironic. Now that those tidbits are out of the way, it’s time for some shock and awe…and maybe just a modicum of writing advice. A modicum may be all that you need tonight. As usual with these yearly journal entries, I’m going to start with the winner of the actual award and work my way down the list. There we eleven candidates this year: one winner, nine runner-ups, and one honorable mention. Pick your jaw up off the floor!
***WINNER (OR LOSER, DEPENDING ON HOW YOU LOOK AT IT)***
LIST ITEM: WWE promoting Jimmy Snuka as a hero in death.
THOUGHTS: What can be said about Jimmy Snuka? He was a legend. He was a high flyer. He was a Hall of Famer. You know what else he was? A suspect in the manslaughter of his former girlfriend Nancy Argentino. Of course, he was never convicted of the crime because he was declared legally incompetent to stand trial. Uh-huh. Sure he was. And what does WWE do after Snuka dies of pancreatic cancer? They play a video package of him looking like a million bucks inside the ring. The audience booed the shit out of this display and rightfully so. Jimmy Snuka didn’t remember murdering his girlfriend…but Pepperidge Farm remembers!
***SECOND PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Jinder Mahal’s racist tirade against Shinsuke Nakamura.
THOUGHTS: If you’re living in the year 2017 or beyond, it’s probably not a good idea to compare a Japanese wrestler to Mr. Miyagi while doing fake karate moves in the ring. It’s also not a good idea to say the Japanese wrestler doesn’t “rook right”. And please, oh please, don’t say Mr. Nakamura looks like Pikachu having a seizure. Is it any wonder the audience chanted “That’s too far!” over and over again during these promos? Don’t we already get enough racism from our current president and the rise of the alt-right? Next thing you know, Jinder Mahal’s going to come out in a Pepe the Frog mask.
***THIRD PLACE***
LIST ITEM: WWE using the Ultimate Warrior’s legacy to promote Susan G. Komen’s breast cancer cause.
THOUGHTS: It’s bad enough The Ultimate Warrior was once known for telling an Arab college student to “Get a towel!” It’s bad enough he said, “Queering doesn’t make the world work!” It’s bad enough he said he was happy that wrestling manager Bobby Heenan had cancer. Now you’re going to take this social pariah and put his face on breast cancer awareness campaigns? That’s like putting a climate change denier in charge of the EPA or a dumb shit in charge of the Board of Education. Oh wait…
***FOURTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Pushing Jinder Mahal has WWE Champion in order to please the Indian market.
THOUGHTS: Poor Jinder can’t catch a break, can he? He’s already the recipient of Most Overrated Wrestler in 2017 and he’s second place for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic. Now he gets fourth place on the list as well. Let’s be honest: he wasn’t a very good champion. His matches sucked, his character development was non-existent, his monologues were derailed by a blown-out voice, and the only way he could get legitimate heel heat was by being a racist asshole. Imagine if Family Guy pushed Herbert the Pervert as their top protagonist. Actually, they could very well do that one day. Bad example!
***FIFTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Rizin MMA booking Gabi Garcia in fights against older and smaller women.
THOUGHTS: I think we can all agree that super muscular women shouldn’t be beating up on grandmas. Unless you want your promoted character to be seen as a super villain, it’s probably not a good idea to book him or her this way. I once joked with my brother James and his friend Blake that The Simpsons would be disturbing if Homer choked other characters besides Bart, namely Maggie (a baby), Marge (his wife), Santa’s Little Helper (the dog), or Abe (his father). Well, do you see where I’m going with this?
***SIXTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Kevin Owens head-butting Vince McMahon.
THOUGHTS: I’m actually okay with this one since Kevin Owens is supposed to be a jerk-ass heel and this is how he earns the audience’s hatred. I know, I know, Vince is an old man and shouldn’t be taking stiff head butts, but it was his own idea, so if he’s okay with it, I’m okay with it.
***SEVENTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Sexy Star staying employed in wrestling even after intentionally breaking Rosemary’s arm.
THOUGHTS: The only way pro-wrestling works is if the contenders in the ring trust each other with their bodies. Yes, it’s supposed to look and feel as painful as possible, which is why it’s even more important to be careful in there. Well, Sexy Star wasn’t careful at all. In fact, she tore the shit out of Rosemary’s arm and blamed the victim for it. How nice. How fucking nice. There seems to be a lot of victim blaming these days, though for much worse crimes against humanity.
***EIGHTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: WWE encouraging bullying in the workplace while simultaneously pushing an anti-bullying campaign.
THOUGHTS: I already did a journal entry last year about Mauro Ranallo and his struggles with being harassed by JBL. But yeah, this is a company-wide problem that affects everybody employed. In 2011, WWE actually won the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award for pulling this shit with overweight and Bell’s Palsy-suffering announcer Jim Ross. I thought Mauro’s dilemma would be the winner in this case as well.
***NINTH PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Conor McGregor’s racist comments against Floyd Mayweather, Jr.
THOUGHTS: Telling a black boxer to “dance, boy” and calling his family members “dancing monkeys”? Not cool. Not cool at all. It also doesn’t help that Conor once said that he’s “black from the waist down”. If Jinder Mahal can’t get away with pulling this shit against Shinsuke Nakamura, then Conor McGregor (regardless of his popularity) has to be held to the same standard. It did make for a lucrative feud between Conor and Floyd, but that’s beside the point.
***LAST PLACE***
LIST ITEM: Promotion of Antonio “Bigfoot” Silva vs. Rico Verhoeven.
THOUGHTS: If you thought booking Gabi Garcia against grandmas was cruel and unusual, get a load of this. Rico Verhoeven had earned his moniker of King of Kickboxing. He has a great record with wins over big names and has stayed fresh as a daisy in recent years. Bigfoot Silva? Not so much. He’s only won one match in the past few years and his many defeats were mostly by KO. And now Bigfoot wants to try his hand at kickboxing? It’s no surprise that he lost miserably against Rico, so all of this hype and promotion was for nothing. Oh well.
***HONORABLE MENTION***
LIST ITEM: Bayley: This Is Your Life.
THOUGHTS: It takes a special kind of dork-a-puss to screw up a lovable character this much. As a WWE wrestler who helped pioneer the Women’s Revolution with her wild popularity and strong work ethic, Bayley seemed to be headed for big things. And then…the creative writing team, in all of the infinite wisdom, broadcast a segment called Bayley: This Is Your Life, where her opponent for a pay-per-view, Alexa Bliss, painted her as having a helicopter father who was there during her first kiss and during kindergarten class. But don’t worry, because Bayley will soon get her revenge, right? Wrong! She looked like a clown in this feud and the fans booed the shit out of her for it. Poor girl. Poor, poor girl. She deserved so much better than this.
***CONCLUSION***
Boy, that was a fucking feel-good read, wasn’t it? You’re not shocked or depressed at all, are you? That reminds me, be sure to buy a copy of my book American Darkness on Amazon and other online retailers! Oh, that was ill-timed. Feel free to shiver if you’d like. Hehe! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
Silent Warrior, Chapter 20
With the sun’s gentle rays caressing their skins and the ocean’s waves to lull them into comfort, Scott and Adrienne strolled along the beach together hand in hand without a care in the world. Scott’s tan cargo shorts clung to his hips like he actually had the body of an athlete. Adrienne’s purple bikini revealed her best physical features, though none could match the beauty of her smile as she pecked her boyfriend on the cheek.
Somewhere in one of the straw huts, a portable stereo played the underrated Sting classic “When We Dance”. And by god, the couple was going to do just that. Scott spun his girlfriend around and leaned her backwards while she lifted one of her gorgeous bare feet in the air. The two lovers shared another kiss together, this one much longer and more passionate than the first.
The two hugged each other and slow-danced to Sting’s lyrics. When Adrienne asked him why his face grew serious all of the sudden, Scott said, “Can we never leave this beach? Do we have to go back to Perkins City?”
“Trust me, babe, I’d love nothing more than to spend forever with you on this beach. We have everything we’ll ever need here: good food, gentle waves, and enough sunshine to keep us warm until the end of time,” said Adrienne in a seductive voice. Her face also grew serious when she finished her sentiment with, “Unfortunately, we have to go back soon. Vacations are only temporary as we both know from going to school all the time. It seems like time is just flying by and we can’t catch up with it.”
Scott embraced his girlfriend tightly and begged, “No, I’m not going back! Please don’t make me go back. I fucking hate that place. It’s like a reverse fucking Disneyland!”
Adrienne pushed him to a close distance and said, “I know, Scott. Trust me, I know. If I go back to Perkins City, my dad is just going to make my life a living hell, just like he did yours. Reality sucks, but that’s what life is.”
“I don’t want this life anymore,” confessed Scott. “I’ve waited all this time to be free and I’m not going to just have it snatched up from underneath me.”
“But then who’s going to pay the bills, honey? What will we do for money? This beach isn’t paying our rent. It’s just an escape from our responsibilities. Whether we like it or not, we’re part of a community.”
“No, don’t say that word! Don’t say the C-word!” snapped Scott as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears. “Don’t say that fucking word! I hate that word! Oh god, oh god, oh god, I hate that word!”
“Scott, please! You’re scaring me! I didn’t mean to trigger you!” said a frightened Adrienne as he gently rested her palm on her boyfriend’s shoulder. The minute Scott’s tears splashed on the soft sand, she hugged him around the head and comforted him with, “I’m sorry. I’ll never say that word again. We can stay here if you’d like. It’s not like this island is in short supply of jobs or anything like that.”
“Jobs?” wept Scott. “Who’s going to hire me? What boss in his right mind wants to hire a guy who falls to pieces after every little thing?”
Placing both hands on her boyfriend’s shoulders and giving him a stern look, Adrienne said, “You have to take responsibility to wake up from your nightmares. You can’t live this way forever, my dear. I can only do so much for you. Now it’s your turn to fight back against the world. You can’t let these people beat you so easily. Fight for me, Scott. Fight for us. Fight for our child!”
The two of them stood up slowly together and Scott’s watery eyes were now staring lovingly into his girlfriend’s sweet face. “You’re right, babe. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry I acted the way I did. Can you do me one last favor before we leave here? Kiss me. Kiss me as hard as you can. If I’m going to fight for what’s right, then I’m going to need all the strength I can get.”
“Of course I’ll kiss you, silly. Come here.” Just as promised, the two of them locked lips and swirled their tongues in each other’s mouths. Adrienne’s lips became much more aggressive as Scott held her closer.
Scott closed his eyes and enjoyed the passionate kiss…until he felt some strange presences crawling around on his tongue. He forcefully pulled away and his eyes shot open in horror at the face he was now gazing into. The visage of Aloysius Striker sang her operatic “Good Morning” song while Scott desperately spit out worm after worm, maggot after maggot. He stuck his index finger in his mouth and barfed the last of the worms onto the sand below, turning his body nearly inside out from the deadly force.
“Good morning to you! Good morning to you! Good morning, dear Scotty! Good morning to you!” Mrs. Striker’s voice became progressively deeper and more demonic as she sang her whimsical tune. Her teeth looked more dangerous than those of a great white shark. Her evilly-slanted eyes glowed with orange neon. The worms in the back of her throat slithered down her jaw and all Scott could do about it was scream his head off.
“Order! Order in the courtroom!” commanded the judge as he smashed his gavel and awakened Scott from his nightmare. Drenched in sweat and still wearing his hospital scrubs, he found himself back in the defendant’s chair with his lawyer by his side. Scott’s breathing grew deeper and deeper while his lawyer tried to calm him down with shoulder pats.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” asked the judge.
“We have, your honor,” said the lead juror. Scott’s hazy vision was now laser focused as his heart beat quickly and adrenaline flooded his nervous system. Even though his “vacation” with Adrienne was only temporary, he had to take that lesson to heart: fight for what you believe in. Fight for what’s right. Never give up. This internal monologue steeled his raw nerves to where he could focus on the verdict. No matter what the jury decided, this fight wouldn’t be over by a long shot and Scott showed that with his eyebrows furrowed.
“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, on one count statutory rape, we find the defendant Mr. Scott George…guilty as charged.”
“No!” cried Adrienne from a far corner of the courtroom while the judge’s gavel banging restored order to a chaotic situation. No amount of mallet whacking could drain the tears from Adrienne Simpson’s eyes as she hugged her mother tightly.
“Bail set at five thousand dollars. Thank you, members of the jury. Bailiff, please take the defendant away. I’ll hand down his sentence soon enough. Case dismissed,” said the judge before banging the gavel one last time.
The bailiff grabbed Scott’s arm and brought him to his feet before cuffing his hands behind his back and pulling him away. The defendant’s eyes watered as his lawyer mouthed the words, “I’m sorry for everything.” Scott nodded at him as he was being half-dragged down the aisle.
“Scott!” shouted Adrienne as she rushed to the center, stopping the bailiff and his charge in their tracks. She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and whisper-sobbed, “Promise me this isn’t over! Promise me you’ll fight through the pain!”
“I promise you, Adrienne. We will see each other again.” He tried to kiss her, but was immediately pulled away by the scruff of his neck. He never took his eyes off of his beautiful, yet sorrowful Adrienne Simpson, even when she turned away to hug her mother once more.
Before Scott could cross the threshold leading to the outside world, he distinctly heard his girlfriend shout, “I’m not a goddamn victim, you assholes!” The uncaring judge banged the gavel even louder in order to shut her up.
The one thing that raced through Scott’s mind as he was being hauled away into the police car was anxiety over whether or not he made a promise he couldn’t keep. Maybe the two of them would see each other again…in the next life. Maybe there could finally be justice in a political climate where there was none…in the next life. Maybe the world would finally pull its head out of its ass…in the next life.
Such a funny phrase for someone as atheistic as Scott George: the next life. He had only heard about its beauty through the Pop Evil song of the same name. Even without his trusty MP3 player, he could still hear Leigh Kakaty’s golden voice crooning that lovely rock tune to him. Scott was surprised that his mind was cooperative for a change instead of trying to force-feed him worms, or worse yet, the philosophy of a conformist community.
In many ways, the prison system was a “community” of its own. Everybody wore the same clothing. Everybody did the same activities. Ate the same disgusting food. Lived with the same disgusting people. Lived by the rules of the same disgusting prison guards. Lived under the thumb of a warden who could only be described as Aloysius Striker on steroids. And to think, that woman was actually a real person instead of a traumatic Floydian ghost.
That reminded Scott of something that brought out even more wormy feelings in his stomach: would he see Alan Young in prison too? What kind of person would he become after such a short time of captivity? Alan was already a nasty son of a bitch. What would he look like in an orange jumpsuit? Would he be covered in prison tattoos? Would he look twice as ugly as when he went in? Would he actually be good at fighting this time around? Scott somehow took solace in the idea that the other prisoners wouldn’t put up with his rotten attitude. But even that modicum of solace wasn’t enough to shut up the worms in Scott’s belly and brain. Where was a gavel when he needed one?
Somewhere in one of the straw huts, a portable stereo played the underrated Sting classic “When We Dance”. And by god, the couple was going to do just that. Scott spun his girlfriend around and leaned her backwards while she lifted one of her gorgeous bare feet in the air. The two lovers shared another kiss together, this one much longer and more passionate than the first.
The two hugged each other and slow-danced to Sting’s lyrics. When Adrienne asked him why his face grew serious all of the sudden, Scott said, “Can we never leave this beach? Do we have to go back to Perkins City?”
“Trust me, babe, I’d love nothing more than to spend forever with you on this beach. We have everything we’ll ever need here: good food, gentle waves, and enough sunshine to keep us warm until the end of time,” said Adrienne in a seductive voice. Her face also grew serious when she finished her sentiment with, “Unfortunately, we have to go back soon. Vacations are only temporary as we both know from going to school all the time. It seems like time is just flying by and we can’t catch up with it.”
Scott embraced his girlfriend tightly and begged, “No, I’m not going back! Please don’t make me go back. I fucking hate that place. It’s like a reverse fucking Disneyland!”
Adrienne pushed him to a close distance and said, “I know, Scott. Trust me, I know. If I go back to Perkins City, my dad is just going to make my life a living hell, just like he did yours. Reality sucks, but that’s what life is.”
“I don’t want this life anymore,” confessed Scott. “I’ve waited all this time to be free and I’m not going to just have it snatched up from underneath me.”
“But then who’s going to pay the bills, honey? What will we do for money? This beach isn’t paying our rent. It’s just an escape from our responsibilities. Whether we like it or not, we’re part of a community.”
“No, don’t say that word! Don’t say the C-word!” snapped Scott as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears. “Don’t say that fucking word! I hate that word! Oh god, oh god, oh god, I hate that word!”
“Scott, please! You’re scaring me! I didn’t mean to trigger you!” said a frightened Adrienne as he gently rested her palm on her boyfriend’s shoulder. The minute Scott’s tears splashed on the soft sand, she hugged him around the head and comforted him with, “I’m sorry. I’ll never say that word again. We can stay here if you’d like. It’s not like this island is in short supply of jobs or anything like that.”
“Jobs?” wept Scott. “Who’s going to hire me? What boss in his right mind wants to hire a guy who falls to pieces after every little thing?”
Placing both hands on her boyfriend’s shoulders and giving him a stern look, Adrienne said, “You have to take responsibility to wake up from your nightmares. You can’t live this way forever, my dear. I can only do so much for you. Now it’s your turn to fight back against the world. You can’t let these people beat you so easily. Fight for me, Scott. Fight for us. Fight for our child!”
The two of them stood up slowly together and Scott’s watery eyes were now staring lovingly into his girlfriend’s sweet face. “You’re right, babe. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry I acted the way I did. Can you do me one last favor before we leave here? Kiss me. Kiss me as hard as you can. If I’m going to fight for what’s right, then I’m going to need all the strength I can get.”
“Of course I’ll kiss you, silly. Come here.” Just as promised, the two of them locked lips and swirled their tongues in each other’s mouths. Adrienne’s lips became much more aggressive as Scott held her closer.
Scott closed his eyes and enjoyed the passionate kiss…until he felt some strange presences crawling around on his tongue. He forcefully pulled away and his eyes shot open in horror at the face he was now gazing into. The visage of Aloysius Striker sang her operatic “Good Morning” song while Scott desperately spit out worm after worm, maggot after maggot. He stuck his index finger in his mouth and barfed the last of the worms onto the sand below, turning his body nearly inside out from the deadly force.
“Good morning to you! Good morning to you! Good morning, dear Scotty! Good morning to you!” Mrs. Striker’s voice became progressively deeper and more demonic as she sang her whimsical tune. Her teeth looked more dangerous than those of a great white shark. Her evilly-slanted eyes glowed with orange neon. The worms in the back of her throat slithered down her jaw and all Scott could do about it was scream his head off.
“Order! Order in the courtroom!” commanded the judge as he smashed his gavel and awakened Scott from his nightmare. Drenched in sweat and still wearing his hospital scrubs, he found himself back in the defendant’s chair with his lawyer by his side. Scott’s breathing grew deeper and deeper while his lawyer tried to calm him down with shoulder pats.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” asked the judge.
“We have, your honor,” said the lead juror. Scott’s hazy vision was now laser focused as his heart beat quickly and adrenaline flooded his nervous system. Even though his “vacation” with Adrienne was only temporary, he had to take that lesson to heart: fight for what you believe in. Fight for what’s right. Never give up. This internal monologue steeled his raw nerves to where he could focus on the verdict. No matter what the jury decided, this fight wouldn’t be over by a long shot and Scott showed that with his eyebrows furrowed.
“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, on one count statutory rape, we find the defendant Mr. Scott George…guilty as charged.”
“No!” cried Adrienne from a far corner of the courtroom while the judge’s gavel banging restored order to a chaotic situation. No amount of mallet whacking could drain the tears from Adrienne Simpson’s eyes as she hugged her mother tightly.
“Bail set at five thousand dollars. Thank you, members of the jury. Bailiff, please take the defendant away. I’ll hand down his sentence soon enough. Case dismissed,” said the judge before banging the gavel one last time.
The bailiff grabbed Scott’s arm and brought him to his feet before cuffing his hands behind his back and pulling him away. The defendant’s eyes watered as his lawyer mouthed the words, “I’m sorry for everything.” Scott nodded at him as he was being half-dragged down the aisle.
“Scott!” shouted Adrienne as she rushed to the center, stopping the bailiff and his charge in their tracks. She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and whisper-sobbed, “Promise me this isn’t over! Promise me you’ll fight through the pain!”
“I promise you, Adrienne. We will see each other again.” He tried to kiss her, but was immediately pulled away by the scruff of his neck. He never took his eyes off of his beautiful, yet sorrowful Adrienne Simpson, even when she turned away to hug her mother once more.
Before Scott could cross the threshold leading to the outside world, he distinctly heard his girlfriend shout, “I’m not a goddamn victim, you assholes!” The uncaring judge banged the gavel even louder in order to shut her up.
The one thing that raced through Scott’s mind as he was being hauled away into the police car was anxiety over whether or not he made a promise he couldn’t keep. Maybe the two of them would see each other again…in the next life. Maybe there could finally be justice in a political climate where there was none…in the next life. Maybe the world would finally pull its head out of its ass…in the next life.
Such a funny phrase for someone as atheistic as Scott George: the next life. He had only heard about its beauty through the Pop Evil song of the same name. Even without his trusty MP3 player, he could still hear Leigh Kakaty’s golden voice crooning that lovely rock tune to him. Scott was surprised that his mind was cooperative for a change instead of trying to force-feed him worms, or worse yet, the philosophy of a conformist community.
In many ways, the prison system was a “community” of its own. Everybody wore the same clothing. Everybody did the same activities. Ate the same disgusting food. Lived with the same disgusting people. Lived by the rules of the same disgusting prison guards. Lived under the thumb of a warden who could only be described as Aloysius Striker on steroids. And to think, that woman was actually a real person instead of a traumatic Floydian ghost.
That reminded Scott of something that brought out even more wormy feelings in his stomach: would he see Alan Young in prison too? What kind of person would he become after such a short time of captivity? Alan was already a nasty son of a bitch. What would he look like in an orange jumpsuit? Would he be covered in prison tattoos? Would he look twice as ugly as when he went in? Would he actually be good at fighting this time around? Scott somehow took solace in the idea that the other prisoners wouldn’t put up with his rotten attitude. But even that modicum of solace wasn’t enough to shut up the worms in Scott’s belly and brain. Where was a gavel when he needed one?
March 14, 2018
Black Panther
MOVIE TITLE: Black Panther
DIRECTOR: Ryan Coogler
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Superhero
RATING: PG-13 for violence and language
GRADE: Extra Credit
The secret African nation of Wakanda harvests a powerful mineral called vibranium and uses the unstable element as the basis for all of their technology. Part of their technological advancements include an impenetrable superhero suit for the king of Wakanda, T’Challa a.k.a. Black Panther. A mysterious black American soldier named Erik “Killmonger” Stevens wants the vibranium for himself so that he can carry out his own political agenda. The power struggle between Black Panther and Killmonger runs deeper than just superficial greed. Revenge, revolution, and altruism are at the heart of this battle in which loyalties will be tested on both sides of the equation.
The main reason this movie gets an extra credit grade is because of how strongly black people are portrayed. Representation matters, especially in a world where racism and classism governs every part of American life. The audience will love the Black Panther character for more reasons than just being a kick-ass superhero. There’s a struggle within him that’s more taxing than the physical battles he endures. He wants to be a good king to his people, but a small part of him wants to share his loyalty with the entire world despite protests from his own subjects. This dynamic between selfishness and altruism is something we all have to consider in our lives. We need to have empathy for each other if our world is going to know true peace and the director seems to agree with that sentiment. Blood begets more blood and love begets more love. Underneath all of the action-packed fight scenes, the truth resides, though some people aren’t ready to hear that truth, which is why we have the bloodbaths we have today.
But of course, if the power struggle is to be believed, then the villain must buy into his own hype and make a strong case for it. That’s exactly what Killmonger does and the actor’s portrayal of such is to be praised. Killmonger wants revenge on a world that looks down upon him with racist bigotry. He wants to overthrow entire governments just so he can flash a middle finger to the man. It goes to show that even in a superhero movie like this, there are shades of gray in between the two extremes. The audience actually has to think for themselves and decide what is right. I hate power hungry oligarchs as much as anybody, but do we need constant assassinations left and right? It’s easy to give into the dark side when anger becomes your driving force. Be better than that. I’m begging you.
No matter what side King T’Challa takes, he’s going to have to pay his dues with one hundred percent interest. Just because he’s a superhero, doesn’t mean he’s not vulnerable to losing every now and then. Physical strength and godlike endurance can only take a man so far. It’s what’s on the inside that will bring him to any victories he needs. Anybody can throw a spear. Anybody can shoot a machinegun. But the real enemy must be conquered from within and that takes more strength than a bullet can provide. Some people don’t have that strength and they either meet an early death or they cross the moral event horizon themselves. Can Black Panther pass his own moral test? Buy a ticket and see for yourself.
In the same way that Wonder Woman was empowering to females, Black Panther is empowering for black people. While it’s nice to live vicariously through the titular superhero, it’s what we do in the real world that will make the biggest difference. What will you do to make a change? Will your actions be more powerful than a lead bullet? Will you become superhuman by virtue of your work towards a better day? Black Panther will steer you in the right direction and for that it gets an extra credit grade.
DIRECTOR: Ryan Coogler
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Superhero
RATING: PG-13 for violence and language
GRADE: Extra Credit
The secret African nation of Wakanda harvests a powerful mineral called vibranium and uses the unstable element as the basis for all of their technology. Part of their technological advancements include an impenetrable superhero suit for the king of Wakanda, T’Challa a.k.a. Black Panther. A mysterious black American soldier named Erik “Killmonger” Stevens wants the vibranium for himself so that he can carry out his own political agenda. The power struggle between Black Panther and Killmonger runs deeper than just superficial greed. Revenge, revolution, and altruism are at the heart of this battle in which loyalties will be tested on both sides of the equation.
The main reason this movie gets an extra credit grade is because of how strongly black people are portrayed. Representation matters, especially in a world where racism and classism governs every part of American life. The audience will love the Black Panther character for more reasons than just being a kick-ass superhero. There’s a struggle within him that’s more taxing than the physical battles he endures. He wants to be a good king to his people, but a small part of him wants to share his loyalty with the entire world despite protests from his own subjects. This dynamic between selfishness and altruism is something we all have to consider in our lives. We need to have empathy for each other if our world is going to know true peace and the director seems to agree with that sentiment. Blood begets more blood and love begets more love. Underneath all of the action-packed fight scenes, the truth resides, though some people aren’t ready to hear that truth, which is why we have the bloodbaths we have today.
But of course, if the power struggle is to be believed, then the villain must buy into his own hype and make a strong case for it. That’s exactly what Killmonger does and the actor’s portrayal of such is to be praised. Killmonger wants revenge on a world that looks down upon him with racist bigotry. He wants to overthrow entire governments just so he can flash a middle finger to the man. It goes to show that even in a superhero movie like this, there are shades of gray in between the two extremes. The audience actually has to think for themselves and decide what is right. I hate power hungry oligarchs as much as anybody, but do we need constant assassinations left and right? It’s easy to give into the dark side when anger becomes your driving force. Be better than that. I’m begging you.
No matter what side King T’Challa takes, he’s going to have to pay his dues with one hundred percent interest. Just because he’s a superhero, doesn’t mean he’s not vulnerable to losing every now and then. Physical strength and godlike endurance can only take a man so far. It’s what’s on the inside that will bring him to any victories he needs. Anybody can throw a spear. Anybody can shoot a machinegun. But the real enemy must be conquered from within and that takes more strength than a bullet can provide. Some people don’t have that strength and they either meet an early death or they cross the moral event horizon themselves. Can Black Panther pass his own moral test? Buy a ticket and see for yourself.
In the same way that Wonder Woman was empowering to females, Black Panther is empowering for black people. While it’s nice to live vicariously through the titular superhero, it’s what we do in the real world that will make the biggest difference. What will you do to make a change? Will your actions be more powerful than a lead bullet? Will you become superhuman by virtue of your work towards a better day? Black Panther will steer you in the right direction and for that it gets an extra credit grade.
March 12, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 19
Scott could have spent eternity in the blackest of visions. His body could have numbed out until time itself stood still. Death was his most welcome visitor. If there was a heaven, he wanted a limousine ride to the pearly gates. If there was a hell, at least he could stay warm when everyone else’s hearts were cold as shit. In his mind, not even hell could match up to the evilness of this green and blue earth. Was the devil a cool guy to hang around? Scott banked on it since a lot of the “sinners” hung out in that fire pit apparently.
But instead of a poker game with the devil, he survived another round of Russian Roulette in the real world. As he awakened in his hospital room, his head and nose ached with explosive pain. His ribs stuck out further than his skin would allow. His depressed and anxious mood destroyed his brain like a forest wildfire. His wrist was purple with tightness as he discovered he was cuffed to his hospital bed. The pounding feeling in his head and nose was because he had an IV tube stuck in one of his nostrils (presumably because of malnourishment). To Scott the IV tube was just a clear-colored worm from a Floydian nightmare.
The judging eyes never took their gaze off of him despite the courtroom backdrop being replaced with hospital whiteness. A uniformed police officer stood over his bed and scowled at him, nearly making Scott empty his bowls of the worms that invaded his system. “Just so you know,” said the cop. “That stunt you pulled in the courtroom isn’t going to get you out of this mess. The trial is going on without you, which is smart on your part since your lawyer has advised against you taking the stand.”
“But…but…” stuttered Scott. “Don’t I get to see what’s going on at least? Don’t I have the right to defend myself?”
The cop gave a smart-assed smile and said, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Your lawyer is quite the standup guy for someone as low on the totem pole as him. Not bad for a public defender. But for every point, there’s a counterpoint. The prosecutor is running circles around him. It doesn’t help matters that all of the witnesses in this case can’t save your sorry ass no matter what they say.”
“W…witnesses?”
“Oh yes, Scott, there are plenty of witnesses to your crime even though you and that little girl were probably alone wherever it was you did the dirty deed. Some interesting characters, to say the least. Principal Linda Williams? She can’t even put a sentence together without that MSNBC bullshit filtering through her lips. Adrienne Simpson, the girl you slept with? She had so many tears in her eyes that it was amazing she didn’t flood the whole damn courtroom. Now Tom Simpson, her father, that guy’s a true character if I’ve ever seen one. He gave quite the Oscar-worthy performance. Too bad you couldn’t see it. I would have loved to see the look on you face after all the things he called you.”
Tugging on the handcuffs in vain, Scott’s expression turned angry when he said, “Why are you taking so much joy in this?”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the cop said, “Because it’s my job to take pride in my work, which is bringing justice to a place that doesn’t care about it. All these people cry and whine that you’re not getting a fair shake. Well, guess what, toots? Life is unfair. The sooner you accept that, the less disappointed you’ll be with your own failures.”
Scott clenched his fists and gritted through his teeth, “You sound just like my bastard history teacher. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you were gay lovers at one point.”
The cop wagged his finger and said, “Careful, Mr. George, you’re bordering on the edge of slander.”
“I don’t care!” shouted Scott. “And as long as I’m all out of fucks to give, let me lay some more truth on your sorry ass! You know why life is unfair?! It’s because jackasses like you intentionally make it that way! You beat the shit out of minorities and then turn around and say that they shouldn’t have broken the law, even though most of the time they fucking didn’t! The whole world is onto you and your kind! I don’t care how poorly I’m doing in history and I don’t care what generation I come from: I’m not stupid enough to believe your horseshit! I’m more than mediocre! In fact, between the two of us…I’m the only one who makes any sense at all!”
The cop gave a sarcastic golf clap and said, “That’s a pretty ballsy statement coming from someone who’s cuffed to a bed. But you know what the sad part about all that is? You’re dead on, buddy. We do keep people down. You know why? Because that’s how we maintain order around here. Without order, society would spiral into chaos and you liberal hippie rebels would only have yourselves to blame. Besides, why do you care so much about what I do to minorities? You’re a white guy. You don’t have much to hide other than the fact that you’re a fucking pedophile. Why all the fuss?”
“Fuss? Fuss?! You want to know what the fuss is all about?!” Scott’s eyes glowed with rage as he stared a hole through the cop’s soul. “It’s called having empathy. You may want to try it sometime. I know other people have hopes and dreams different from my own, so I try my best to either nurture those dreams or stay the fuck out of those people’s ways! I don’t see any benefit in conforming the population into one zombie mind. But that’s just my opinion, of course. You’re entitled to your own even though you’re an ass clown.”
The cop smiled and shook his head before saying, “You’ve got a mouth on you, pal. If I had some medical tape around here, the only letter coming out of that sewer hole would be M. Lots and lots of M’s. And then I could make a joke about how your favorite candy is M&M’s. And then I could also make a joke about how you like to say MMMMMMMMM after you’ve eaten them.”
“You have the IQ of a packet of ketchup. No wonder you hate thinking so much: it’s not your strong suit.”
The cop stood up and slammed his knight stick against the railing of the bed, sending a fearful jolt throughout Scott’s body. Instead of sarcasm and corny smiles, the uniformed “ass clown” was all business and sneers. “By the time this trial is over, you’re going to be found guilty, mark my fucking words, dip shit. And when you put on that orange jumpsuit for the very first time, it won’t be a matter of if you get your ass beaten. It’ll be a matter of when. Prisoners and CO’s alike don’t care for smart-mouthed little bitches like you, Scott. The minute you start preaching about anti-conformist BS, your bones will crack so fucking loudly that the whole world will go deaf.”
Undeterred and unafraid, Scott leaned closer to the cop’s face and said, “If you’re so certain I’m going to die, why don’t you finish the job yourself…ass clown!”
The cop backed off, smiled, and said, “Nah, I’m not going to do that. I wouldn’t deprive my colleagues at the big house of their feast of fresh meat. And that’s what you are, Scott: fresh…fucking…meat. And speaking of meals, enjoy the nose buffet you’ve got going on there.” With a final chuckle, he exited the room and left Scott in a cesspool of his own rage and hatred.
“What a fucking jerk,” Scott muttered out of earshot of the cop. He believed that statement could apply to anybody who spoke out against him in that courthouse so many blocks away. He didn’t want to dwell too much on what they were saying behind his back. After all, that was when anybody was truly safe from his wrath: when it was all behind his back.
Alan Young couldn’t hang with Scott. Aloysius Striker was a crocodile tear away from loony land. The prosecutor’s bar exam results might as well have come back negative. Tom Simpson? He couldn’t control his own daughter, let alone a classroom full of free thinkers and wild dreamers. Beth George might as well be called The Artist Formerly Known as Mom. The undertaker guarding Carter George’s grave probably related more to corpses than he did living human beings.
“Is there anybody I’m leaving out?” asked Scott to nobody in particular. “Eh, I’ll think of them later.”
Knowing he couldn’t be touched even when he was at his lowest moment, Scott closed his eyes comfortably and attempted to get some shut eye before he would eventually hear his final verdict. If there was any truth to what the cop said about a guilty verdict, then Scott might as well have taken a one of the doctor’s stitching kits and sewn his eyelids shut. No sense in waking up to another nightmare. No sense in contending with people who were and will always be full of shit.
But instead of a poker game with the devil, he survived another round of Russian Roulette in the real world. As he awakened in his hospital room, his head and nose ached with explosive pain. His ribs stuck out further than his skin would allow. His depressed and anxious mood destroyed his brain like a forest wildfire. His wrist was purple with tightness as he discovered he was cuffed to his hospital bed. The pounding feeling in his head and nose was because he had an IV tube stuck in one of his nostrils (presumably because of malnourishment). To Scott the IV tube was just a clear-colored worm from a Floydian nightmare.
The judging eyes never took their gaze off of him despite the courtroom backdrop being replaced with hospital whiteness. A uniformed police officer stood over his bed and scowled at him, nearly making Scott empty his bowls of the worms that invaded his system. “Just so you know,” said the cop. “That stunt you pulled in the courtroom isn’t going to get you out of this mess. The trial is going on without you, which is smart on your part since your lawyer has advised against you taking the stand.”
“But…but…” stuttered Scott. “Don’t I get to see what’s going on at least? Don’t I have the right to defend myself?”
The cop gave a smart-assed smile and said, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Your lawyer is quite the standup guy for someone as low on the totem pole as him. Not bad for a public defender. But for every point, there’s a counterpoint. The prosecutor is running circles around him. It doesn’t help matters that all of the witnesses in this case can’t save your sorry ass no matter what they say.”
“W…witnesses?”
“Oh yes, Scott, there are plenty of witnesses to your crime even though you and that little girl were probably alone wherever it was you did the dirty deed. Some interesting characters, to say the least. Principal Linda Williams? She can’t even put a sentence together without that MSNBC bullshit filtering through her lips. Adrienne Simpson, the girl you slept with? She had so many tears in her eyes that it was amazing she didn’t flood the whole damn courtroom. Now Tom Simpson, her father, that guy’s a true character if I’ve ever seen one. He gave quite the Oscar-worthy performance. Too bad you couldn’t see it. I would have loved to see the look on you face after all the things he called you.”
Tugging on the handcuffs in vain, Scott’s expression turned angry when he said, “Why are you taking so much joy in this?”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the cop said, “Because it’s my job to take pride in my work, which is bringing justice to a place that doesn’t care about it. All these people cry and whine that you’re not getting a fair shake. Well, guess what, toots? Life is unfair. The sooner you accept that, the less disappointed you’ll be with your own failures.”
Scott clenched his fists and gritted through his teeth, “You sound just like my bastard history teacher. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you were gay lovers at one point.”
The cop wagged his finger and said, “Careful, Mr. George, you’re bordering on the edge of slander.”
“I don’t care!” shouted Scott. “And as long as I’m all out of fucks to give, let me lay some more truth on your sorry ass! You know why life is unfair?! It’s because jackasses like you intentionally make it that way! You beat the shit out of minorities and then turn around and say that they shouldn’t have broken the law, even though most of the time they fucking didn’t! The whole world is onto you and your kind! I don’t care how poorly I’m doing in history and I don’t care what generation I come from: I’m not stupid enough to believe your horseshit! I’m more than mediocre! In fact, between the two of us…I’m the only one who makes any sense at all!”
The cop gave a sarcastic golf clap and said, “That’s a pretty ballsy statement coming from someone who’s cuffed to a bed. But you know what the sad part about all that is? You’re dead on, buddy. We do keep people down. You know why? Because that’s how we maintain order around here. Without order, society would spiral into chaos and you liberal hippie rebels would only have yourselves to blame. Besides, why do you care so much about what I do to minorities? You’re a white guy. You don’t have much to hide other than the fact that you’re a fucking pedophile. Why all the fuss?”
“Fuss? Fuss?! You want to know what the fuss is all about?!” Scott’s eyes glowed with rage as he stared a hole through the cop’s soul. “It’s called having empathy. You may want to try it sometime. I know other people have hopes and dreams different from my own, so I try my best to either nurture those dreams or stay the fuck out of those people’s ways! I don’t see any benefit in conforming the population into one zombie mind. But that’s just my opinion, of course. You’re entitled to your own even though you’re an ass clown.”
The cop smiled and shook his head before saying, “You’ve got a mouth on you, pal. If I had some medical tape around here, the only letter coming out of that sewer hole would be M. Lots and lots of M’s. And then I could make a joke about how your favorite candy is M&M’s. And then I could also make a joke about how you like to say MMMMMMMMM after you’ve eaten them.”
“You have the IQ of a packet of ketchup. No wonder you hate thinking so much: it’s not your strong suit.”
The cop stood up and slammed his knight stick against the railing of the bed, sending a fearful jolt throughout Scott’s body. Instead of sarcasm and corny smiles, the uniformed “ass clown” was all business and sneers. “By the time this trial is over, you’re going to be found guilty, mark my fucking words, dip shit. And when you put on that orange jumpsuit for the very first time, it won’t be a matter of if you get your ass beaten. It’ll be a matter of when. Prisoners and CO’s alike don’t care for smart-mouthed little bitches like you, Scott. The minute you start preaching about anti-conformist BS, your bones will crack so fucking loudly that the whole world will go deaf.”
Undeterred and unafraid, Scott leaned closer to the cop’s face and said, “If you’re so certain I’m going to die, why don’t you finish the job yourself…ass clown!”
The cop backed off, smiled, and said, “Nah, I’m not going to do that. I wouldn’t deprive my colleagues at the big house of their feast of fresh meat. And that’s what you are, Scott: fresh…fucking…meat. And speaking of meals, enjoy the nose buffet you’ve got going on there.” With a final chuckle, he exited the room and left Scott in a cesspool of his own rage and hatred.
“What a fucking jerk,” Scott muttered out of earshot of the cop. He believed that statement could apply to anybody who spoke out against him in that courthouse so many blocks away. He didn’t want to dwell too much on what they were saying behind his back. After all, that was when anybody was truly safe from his wrath: when it was all behind his back.
Alan Young couldn’t hang with Scott. Aloysius Striker was a crocodile tear away from loony land. The prosecutor’s bar exam results might as well have come back negative. Tom Simpson? He couldn’t control his own daughter, let alone a classroom full of free thinkers and wild dreamers. Beth George might as well be called The Artist Formerly Known as Mom. The undertaker guarding Carter George’s grave probably related more to corpses than he did living human beings.
“Is there anybody I’m leaving out?” asked Scott to nobody in particular. “Eh, I’ll think of them later.”
Knowing he couldn’t be touched even when he was at his lowest moment, Scott closed his eyes comfortably and attempted to get some shut eye before he would eventually hear his final verdict. If there was any truth to what the cop said about a guilty verdict, then Scott might as well have taken a one of the doctor’s stitching kits and sewn his eyelids shut. No sense in waking up to another nightmare. No sense in contending with people who were and will always be full of shit.
March 11, 2018
Anyone But You
VERSE 1
We could have had a friendly debate
One without judgment or even hate
But you attacked everything about me
You’re a predator with an ego to feed
Build yourself up, knock me down
Like you’re wearing a fucking crown
I’ll spread my wings, fly into the blue
Anyone but you, jerk, anyone but you!
VERSE 2
We could have had a nice dinner date
Ice cream and sex after finishing our plates
But you made me fear for my own safety
That’s why I haven’t been flirty lately
Your soft touch makes my blood go cold
You believe my body is yours to hold
Your so-called love was never even true
Anyone but you, babe, anyone but you!
VERSE 3
You could have taught me a new skill
I wouldn’t have minded the tuition bill
But you marked me with C’s, D’s, and F’s
The midterms hadn’t even started yet
Convince me that I’m mediocre at best
All because I couldn’t pass your test
Class dismissed, nothing more to prove
Anyone but you, prof, anyone but you!
VERSE 4
Dirty bastards come from all walks of life
They don’t always carry a gun or a knife
All they need is just a little bit of power
To turn good people into screaming cowards
Playing with your brain and with your heart
Until you want to rip your fucking skin apart
Whenever she tells you that love is blue
All you have to say is, “Anyone but you!”
VERSE 5
A dead cockroach would be just as friendly
As any role model who plays a better enemy
As any stranger who lacks true empathy
As any troll who laughs at you with anonymity
As any friend who stabs you in the front and back
As any lover who leaves you with eyes so black
As any preacher who thinks his bullshit is true
Anyone but you, fucker, anyone but you!
We could have had a friendly debate
One without judgment or even hate
But you attacked everything about me
You’re a predator with an ego to feed
Build yourself up, knock me down
Like you’re wearing a fucking crown
I’ll spread my wings, fly into the blue
Anyone but you, jerk, anyone but you!
VERSE 2
We could have had a nice dinner date
Ice cream and sex after finishing our plates
But you made me fear for my own safety
That’s why I haven’t been flirty lately
Your soft touch makes my blood go cold
You believe my body is yours to hold
Your so-called love was never even true
Anyone but you, babe, anyone but you!
VERSE 3
You could have taught me a new skill
I wouldn’t have minded the tuition bill
But you marked me with C’s, D’s, and F’s
The midterms hadn’t even started yet
Convince me that I’m mediocre at best
All because I couldn’t pass your test
Class dismissed, nothing more to prove
Anyone but you, prof, anyone but you!
VERSE 4
Dirty bastards come from all walks of life
They don’t always carry a gun or a knife
All they need is just a little bit of power
To turn good people into screaming cowards
Playing with your brain and with your heart
Until you want to rip your fucking skin apart
Whenever she tells you that love is blue
All you have to say is, “Anyone but you!”
VERSE 5
A dead cockroach would be just as friendly
As any role model who plays a better enemy
As any stranger who lacks true empathy
As any troll who laughs at you with anonymity
As any friend who stabs you in the front and back
As any lover who leaves you with eyes so black
As any preacher who thinks his bullshit is true
Anyone but you, fucker, anyone but you!
March 10, 2018
Jim Cornette's Name Test
***JIM CORNETTE’S NAME TEST***
Another blog entry about wrestling? Well, not entirely, though Jim Cornette is one of wrestling’s most recognizable personalities. This blog has a little bit more of a universal appeal since it’s about character names. Whether the genre is wrestling, fantasy, sci-fi, or even contemporary, you want your characters to have good-sounding names. A guy named Michael Hickenbottom doesn’t stand a chance in the limelight. But Shawn Michaels? Why, that’s Hall of Fame-worthy.
Here’s how the name test works. You have two opponents, the protagonist and the antagonist. When you say their names and stick the word “versus” in between them, you want it to sound like it could be a big deal. Examples from wrestling that could pass the name test include Ric Flair vs. The Undertaker. Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Makes you want to know more about this conflict. Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat vs. “Macho Man” Randy Savage. That also sounds exciting.
And like I said at the top of the journal, this logic could apply to any two sets of people. Harry Potter vs. Voldemort sounds as magical as its canon suggests. It makes you want to read the books or watch the movies, so you’ll spend top dollar to know how that story ends. Lion-O vs. Mummra also has a mystical aura to it, which makes sense coming from a cartoon called The Thundercats. Goku vs. Freiza has a martial arts feel to it. Mario vs. Bowser sounds like something that would happen in a comically mischievous world.
As much as I don’t want to toot my own horn, I’m going to use examples from my own stories to show that I’m following Jim Cornette’s advice to a fault. I’m currently writing a high school drama called Silent Warrior, so there better be a positive name test result to back up such a hot title. Scott George vs. Tom Simpson? Well, it doesn’t sound like much on the surface, but if you shortened their names to just their family names, it sounds like a Supreme Court case. George vs. Simpson? I’d say that has a Supreme Court ring to it, which is funny because chapter eighteen features a criminal case against Mr. George.
And then you have examples that not only fail the name test, but fail them on an epic scale. The Undertaker sounds like a creepy enough name on its own, but not when his opponent is named Stinky McFarts or Chilly McFreeze. Ever wonder why you never saw a main event WWE match in the 1990’s between Doink the Clown and Bastion Booger? Look at the names of those two individuals and run them through the test. Epic fucking fail!
As much as I hate to admit it, one of my back-burner novel ideas fails the name test as well. Booger the Clown vs. The Orc King. There’s nothing wrong with The Orc King. In fact, it sounds rather intimidating. But when you pair him up with a guy named Booger the Clown, you can see how the story gets dragged down by guffaws of laughter. Then again, Booger is supposed to be an ironic name to begin with considering the character is a depressed, suicidal marine who moonlights as a birthday clown and can only feel happy when he’s listening to violent gangster rap.
If you’re an author penning the next bestseller, take your naming system seriously and make sure the final conflict doesn’t feature Nut Sack McGee vs. Penis Breaker III. Of course, no self respecting author would ever do that to his or her own product, but it’s worth pointing out anyways. You want to know what sounds like a spellbinding feud? Reverend Jesse Custer vs. God. A lot of whacky shit takes place in Preacher, including that same feud I just mentioned. I don’t know much about the TV show, but I’ve read volumes one through four of the graphic novels. It’s every bit as fucked up as the feud sounds.
So that’s all I have for you today. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses and leave online reviews for your favorite indy authors. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time! But before I leave, now that we’re on a wrestling-related topic, yes, I will do a blog entry about 2017’s Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics as awarded by the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. My love for shocking the shit out of my audience hasn’t waned a bit. And goddamn, we’ve had some good ones this year! Bye!
***LEGAL QUESTION***
For the next chapter of Silent Warrior, I’m planning on having Scott George rushed to the hospital to be treated for anxiety and malnutrition. I’m not sure if court cases actually work like this, but I was thinking about having the trial broadcast to Scott’s room via satellite so that he can at least know what the hell’s going on. Would a court actually do that or do they just wait for the suspect to stand trial? You don’t have to be a member of the bar association to answer this; you just have to know more about it than I do.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Accept who you are…unless you’re a serial killer.”
-Ellen DeGeneres-
Another blog entry about wrestling? Well, not entirely, though Jim Cornette is one of wrestling’s most recognizable personalities. This blog has a little bit more of a universal appeal since it’s about character names. Whether the genre is wrestling, fantasy, sci-fi, or even contemporary, you want your characters to have good-sounding names. A guy named Michael Hickenbottom doesn’t stand a chance in the limelight. But Shawn Michaels? Why, that’s Hall of Fame-worthy.
Here’s how the name test works. You have two opponents, the protagonist and the antagonist. When you say their names and stick the word “versus” in between them, you want it to sound like it could be a big deal. Examples from wrestling that could pass the name test include Ric Flair vs. The Undertaker. Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? Makes you want to know more about this conflict. Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat vs. “Macho Man” Randy Savage. That also sounds exciting.
And like I said at the top of the journal, this logic could apply to any two sets of people. Harry Potter vs. Voldemort sounds as magical as its canon suggests. It makes you want to read the books or watch the movies, so you’ll spend top dollar to know how that story ends. Lion-O vs. Mummra also has a mystical aura to it, which makes sense coming from a cartoon called The Thundercats. Goku vs. Freiza has a martial arts feel to it. Mario vs. Bowser sounds like something that would happen in a comically mischievous world.
As much as I don’t want to toot my own horn, I’m going to use examples from my own stories to show that I’m following Jim Cornette’s advice to a fault. I’m currently writing a high school drama called Silent Warrior, so there better be a positive name test result to back up such a hot title. Scott George vs. Tom Simpson? Well, it doesn’t sound like much on the surface, but if you shortened their names to just their family names, it sounds like a Supreme Court case. George vs. Simpson? I’d say that has a Supreme Court ring to it, which is funny because chapter eighteen features a criminal case against Mr. George.
And then you have examples that not only fail the name test, but fail them on an epic scale. The Undertaker sounds like a creepy enough name on its own, but not when his opponent is named Stinky McFarts or Chilly McFreeze. Ever wonder why you never saw a main event WWE match in the 1990’s between Doink the Clown and Bastion Booger? Look at the names of those two individuals and run them through the test. Epic fucking fail!
As much as I hate to admit it, one of my back-burner novel ideas fails the name test as well. Booger the Clown vs. The Orc King. There’s nothing wrong with The Orc King. In fact, it sounds rather intimidating. But when you pair him up with a guy named Booger the Clown, you can see how the story gets dragged down by guffaws of laughter. Then again, Booger is supposed to be an ironic name to begin with considering the character is a depressed, suicidal marine who moonlights as a birthday clown and can only feel happy when he’s listening to violent gangster rap.
If you’re an author penning the next bestseller, take your naming system seriously and make sure the final conflict doesn’t feature Nut Sack McGee vs. Penis Breaker III. Of course, no self respecting author would ever do that to his or her own product, but it’s worth pointing out anyways. You want to know what sounds like a spellbinding feud? Reverend Jesse Custer vs. God. A lot of whacky shit takes place in Preacher, including that same feud I just mentioned. I don’t know much about the TV show, but I’ve read volumes one through four of the graphic novels. It’s every bit as fucked up as the feud sounds.
So that’s all I have for you today. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses and leave online reviews for your favorite indy authors. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time! But before I leave, now that we’re on a wrestling-related topic, yes, I will do a blog entry about 2017’s Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics as awarded by the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. My love for shocking the shit out of my audience hasn’t waned a bit. And goddamn, we’ve had some good ones this year! Bye!
***LEGAL QUESTION***
For the next chapter of Silent Warrior, I’m planning on having Scott George rushed to the hospital to be treated for anxiety and malnutrition. I’m not sure if court cases actually work like this, but I was thinking about having the trial broadcast to Scott’s room via satellite so that he can at least know what the hell’s going on. Would a court actually do that or do they just wait for the suspect to stand trial? You don’t have to be a member of the bar association to answer this; you just have to know more about it than I do.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Accept who you are…unless you’re a serial killer.”
-Ellen DeGeneres-
March 9, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 18
“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, how does the defendant plead?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
Every eyeball in that courtroom gazed upon Scott with judgment and scorn. Dressed in a suit and tie passed down from his father, Scott could feel their hatred radiating off of his soul. His defense lawyer said not guilty, but his mind said otherwise. His face was more readable than Mr. Simpson’s desecrated chalkboard and the message written on it over and over again. So this was what defiance was like, Scott thought to himself. This was what happened to anybody who dared to be more than mediocre and ordinary. He could feel his dreams being crushed like poison pills under the weight of this courtroom’s table knife. His face drooped with depression and self-loathing.
The judge banged his gavel and said, “We will now hear the opening arguments from both sides. Mr. Prosecutor, you have the floor.”
A lanky gentleman who towered over the rest of the courtroom personnel took the center stage and held his hands in front of him, eyeballing everyone with seething persecution. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he started. “The defense will have you believe that this is just a simple case of a vengeful teacher lording it over his pupils. But I now ask you, who is the vengeful one here? A man who gives out C-minuses like it’s Christmas or an even younger man who plays mind games of his own by having sex with that man’s daughter? That’s really all this is: mind games.
“And guess what? Judging from Miss Adrienne Simpson’s absence from this courtroom, I’d say those mind games are working. Don’t forget that she is the victim in all of this, not Mr. Scott George. She is the one who will live with this mistake for the rest of her life. Fifteen years old is not an age for losing one’s virginity. It is an age in which she should be exploring the world around her. It’s an age in which she learns from greater sources of wisdom than an 18-year-old boy posing as a grown man.
“Members of the jury, don’t let the defense minimize this incident as some kind of BS technicality. This is a serious offense Mr. George committed and he must pay for all of the damage he’s done. Thank you, your honor.”
As the prosecutor took his seat and straightened his tie, Scott absorbed his harsh words like a sponge soaking up toxic chemicals. His posture grew worse, his saggy face became less defined, and it wouldn’t be long before the floodgates underneath his eyes opened for the final time. Final seemed like an appropriate word to him, whether that meant getting stabbed in prison or doing the job himself. The not guilty plea sounded less and less genuine with every second that passed.
The defense lawyer, a stocky man who would measure up to his opponent’s chest easily, took his turn at center stage and engaged his audience with a stern tone. “And why shouldn’t I minimize it?” he asked. “Is it because the status quo needs to be satisfied? Is it because technicalities are more important to us than the real issues of today’s justice system? Let’s not forget the real reason Adrienne Simpson isn’t here today. It’s not Scott George she’s afraid to face. It’s her own father, the one who made this 9-1-1 call to begin with.
“This is HIS war. All is fair in love and war, right? No tactic is too underhanded. No victory is too minor. As a history teacher who specializes in the art of war, Mr. Simpson lives by these mantras. But let’s be honest: if Scott George was only seventeen years old and Adrienne Simpson was fourteen, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What is Mr. George supposed to do: break up with her and then start their relationship over again once she’s of age?
I know that this argument gets thrown around a lot in legitimate rape cases and for the most part it’s a valid statement. So let’s keep that statement valid by giving Mr. George a fair shake. Save your judgment and vitriol for someone who truly deserves it. Thank you, your honor.”
Scott picked his head up and wiped the sadness out of his eyes, if only for a minute. His lawyer patted him on the shoulder and assured him it would be okay. Would Scott believe such a thing was possible? Would anything be okay ever again? Would the damage continue even after the not guilty plea became an undisputed reality?
“Mr. Prosecutor, you may call your first witness to the stand,” ordered the judge.
The skyscraper of a human being took center stage once more and said in a commanding voice, “I’d like to call Ms. Aloysius Striker to the stand, please.”
Scott mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” as the living presence of his most brutal nightmares skulked to the witness box. Sure enough, there she was: no puppet strings, no puppet body, no worms, yet she still gave Scott violent shivers throughout his system. He could feel the maggots swarming in his intestines like villagers running away from a fire-breathing titan.
“Ms. Striker, I’ll start off by asking how you’re related to the defendant,” said the prosecutor.
“I’m Alan Young’s step mother,” she said in a trembling sob. The maggots grew even more restless inside Scott’s bowels. He didn’t know whether to shit himself or projectile vomit across the room.
“And who is this Alan Young you speak of?”
“He knew Scott George ever since they were in elementary school together. My step-son never got the education he wanted and it was all because of Scott’s vindictiveness. Alan never stood a chance. He was always sent to the principal’s office over minor occurrences. Scott used the system to his advantage and made sure my baby boy suffered for as long as humanly possible.” She wiped a singular tear from her eye and asked, “How is my step-son supposed to learn anything when he’s being held down?”
Scott whispered the word, “Bullshit!” and his lawyer patted him on the back to calm him down.
The prosecutor leaned on the edge of the witness box and said, “So what you’re trying to tell the jury here is that Scott George is a powerful man. He has so much power that he can use it for anything he wants, whether it’s for good grades or for making sure those he deems unworthy feel his wrath.”
“Objection, your honor.”
“Overruled. Please, Mr. Prosecutor, continue.”
“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to ask you, Ms. Striker: based on your interactions with the defendant as well as your step-son’s interactions, do you believe it’s possible for Mr. Scott George to be manipulative enough to take a young girl’s virginity out of spite?”
“Objection, your honor!”
The rest of this conversation became a cluster-fuck of gibberish to Scott as he paid more attention to what his intestinal worms were going on about. They slithered around like spitting cobras and hurled their venom about. Scott’s head felt like a balloon ready to pop. His mind was also crawling with these toxic worms. And cockroaches. And faceless cheerleaders who proudly proclaimed they wanted to, “Bring out the gimp!” Sweat drizzled down his forehead and into his eyeballs, which were already going blacker than the lungs of a coal miner, an appropriate analogy for someone who could barely breathe.
And then it happened. Scott George plopped onto the floor limp as a noodle. The cacophonic rage swirled around him some more as he overheard his lawyer shouting, “Get some paramedics! He needs help!” Scott believed no amount of medical attention could give him the help he needed. An oxygen mask was only a fashion accessory. An IV needle was more of a weapon than a bastard sword. The paramedics could flood the courtroom with all of the equipment they wanted, but he made no mistake about it: nobody was coming to save him.
If there really were maggots and worms in his system, they would cannibalize him and leave him on the side of the road as a gigantic turd. How appropriate considering he felt like the lowest form of human shit imaginable. He didn’t know whether the judge wanted to send him to prison or a bottomless toilet. Either way, the future was dead, just like the democracy Mr. Simpson always rallied against.
He could hear Adrienne’s voice in the back of his head comforting him with soft, unintelligible words. How he wished for the feel of her silky hands against his cold skin. Fuck the legality of it all: love was love. But the judges and juries didn’t care about love in the first place. To them, it was just as expendable as democracy and the future themselves. Scott wanted to awaken from his blackness and check to see if Adrienne was really there, but what was the point?
“Not guilty, your honor.”
Every eyeball in that courtroom gazed upon Scott with judgment and scorn. Dressed in a suit and tie passed down from his father, Scott could feel their hatred radiating off of his soul. His defense lawyer said not guilty, but his mind said otherwise. His face was more readable than Mr. Simpson’s desecrated chalkboard and the message written on it over and over again. So this was what defiance was like, Scott thought to himself. This was what happened to anybody who dared to be more than mediocre and ordinary. He could feel his dreams being crushed like poison pills under the weight of this courtroom’s table knife. His face drooped with depression and self-loathing.
The judge banged his gavel and said, “We will now hear the opening arguments from both sides. Mr. Prosecutor, you have the floor.”
A lanky gentleman who towered over the rest of the courtroom personnel took the center stage and held his hands in front of him, eyeballing everyone with seething persecution. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he started. “The defense will have you believe that this is just a simple case of a vengeful teacher lording it over his pupils. But I now ask you, who is the vengeful one here? A man who gives out C-minuses like it’s Christmas or an even younger man who plays mind games of his own by having sex with that man’s daughter? That’s really all this is: mind games.
“And guess what? Judging from Miss Adrienne Simpson’s absence from this courtroom, I’d say those mind games are working. Don’t forget that she is the victim in all of this, not Mr. Scott George. She is the one who will live with this mistake for the rest of her life. Fifteen years old is not an age for losing one’s virginity. It is an age in which she should be exploring the world around her. It’s an age in which she learns from greater sources of wisdom than an 18-year-old boy posing as a grown man.
“Members of the jury, don’t let the defense minimize this incident as some kind of BS technicality. This is a serious offense Mr. George committed and he must pay for all of the damage he’s done. Thank you, your honor.”
As the prosecutor took his seat and straightened his tie, Scott absorbed his harsh words like a sponge soaking up toxic chemicals. His posture grew worse, his saggy face became less defined, and it wouldn’t be long before the floodgates underneath his eyes opened for the final time. Final seemed like an appropriate word to him, whether that meant getting stabbed in prison or doing the job himself. The not guilty plea sounded less and less genuine with every second that passed.
The defense lawyer, a stocky man who would measure up to his opponent’s chest easily, took his turn at center stage and engaged his audience with a stern tone. “And why shouldn’t I minimize it?” he asked. “Is it because the status quo needs to be satisfied? Is it because technicalities are more important to us than the real issues of today’s justice system? Let’s not forget the real reason Adrienne Simpson isn’t here today. It’s not Scott George she’s afraid to face. It’s her own father, the one who made this 9-1-1 call to begin with.
“This is HIS war. All is fair in love and war, right? No tactic is too underhanded. No victory is too minor. As a history teacher who specializes in the art of war, Mr. Simpson lives by these mantras. But let’s be honest: if Scott George was only seventeen years old and Adrienne Simpson was fourteen, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What is Mr. George supposed to do: break up with her and then start their relationship over again once she’s of age?
I know that this argument gets thrown around a lot in legitimate rape cases and for the most part it’s a valid statement. So let’s keep that statement valid by giving Mr. George a fair shake. Save your judgment and vitriol for someone who truly deserves it. Thank you, your honor.”
Scott picked his head up and wiped the sadness out of his eyes, if only for a minute. His lawyer patted him on the shoulder and assured him it would be okay. Would Scott believe such a thing was possible? Would anything be okay ever again? Would the damage continue even after the not guilty plea became an undisputed reality?
“Mr. Prosecutor, you may call your first witness to the stand,” ordered the judge.
The skyscraper of a human being took center stage once more and said in a commanding voice, “I’d like to call Ms. Aloysius Striker to the stand, please.”
Scott mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” as the living presence of his most brutal nightmares skulked to the witness box. Sure enough, there she was: no puppet strings, no puppet body, no worms, yet she still gave Scott violent shivers throughout his system. He could feel the maggots swarming in his intestines like villagers running away from a fire-breathing titan.
“Ms. Striker, I’ll start off by asking how you’re related to the defendant,” said the prosecutor.
“I’m Alan Young’s step mother,” she said in a trembling sob. The maggots grew even more restless inside Scott’s bowels. He didn’t know whether to shit himself or projectile vomit across the room.
“And who is this Alan Young you speak of?”
“He knew Scott George ever since they were in elementary school together. My step-son never got the education he wanted and it was all because of Scott’s vindictiveness. Alan never stood a chance. He was always sent to the principal’s office over minor occurrences. Scott used the system to his advantage and made sure my baby boy suffered for as long as humanly possible.” She wiped a singular tear from her eye and asked, “How is my step-son supposed to learn anything when he’s being held down?”
Scott whispered the word, “Bullshit!” and his lawyer patted him on the back to calm him down.
The prosecutor leaned on the edge of the witness box and said, “So what you’re trying to tell the jury here is that Scott George is a powerful man. He has so much power that he can use it for anything he wants, whether it’s for good grades or for making sure those he deems unworthy feel his wrath.”
“Objection, your honor.”
“Overruled. Please, Mr. Prosecutor, continue.”
“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to ask you, Ms. Striker: based on your interactions with the defendant as well as your step-son’s interactions, do you believe it’s possible for Mr. Scott George to be manipulative enough to take a young girl’s virginity out of spite?”
“Objection, your honor!”
The rest of this conversation became a cluster-fuck of gibberish to Scott as he paid more attention to what his intestinal worms were going on about. They slithered around like spitting cobras and hurled their venom about. Scott’s head felt like a balloon ready to pop. His mind was also crawling with these toxic worms. And cockroaches. And faceless cheerleaders who proudly proclaimed they wanted to, “Bring out the gimp!” Sweat drizzled down his forehead and into his eyeballs, which were already going blacker than the lungs of a coal miner, an appropriate analogy for someone who could barely breathe.
And then it happened. Scott George plopped onto the floor limp as a noodle. The cacophonic rage swirled around him some more as he overheard his lawyer shouting, “Get some paramedics! He needs help!” Scott believed no amount of medical attention could give him the help he needed. An oxygen mask was only a fashion accessory. An IV needle was more of a weapon than a bastard sword. The paramedics could flood the courtroom with all of the equipment they wanted, but he made no mistake about it: nobody was coming to save him.
If there really were maggots and worms in his system, they would cannibalize him and leave him on the side of the road as a gigantic turd. How appropriate considering he felt like the lowest form of human shit imaginable. He didn’t know whether the judge wanted to send him to prison or a bottomless toilet. Either way, the future was dead, just like the democracy Mr. Simpson always rallied against.
He could hear Adrienne’s voice in the back of his head comforting him with soft, unintelligible words. How he wished for the feel of her silky hands against his cold skin. Fuck the legality of it all: love was love. But the judges and juries didn’t care about love in the first place. To them, it was just as expendable as democracy and the future themselves. Scott wanted to awaken from his blackness and check to see if Adrienne was really there, but what was the point?
March 6, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 17
“Scott Marcus George, place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for the statutory rape of Adrienne Melanie Simpson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, the state will provide you with free legal council. Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”
As chilling as those words were to hear, they couldn’t compare to the shrieks of terror from Scott’s own mother as he was dragged to the police vehicle in handcuffs. As he lay in his one-bunk jail cell with damp eyes, Scott replayed that morning in his head over and over again. He had just gotten home from serving detention. He finally had a calm moment with his only parent as they ate cereal together. And then the police obliterated that peace treaty by showing up at his house and reducing him to a convict.
Scott wiped away the tears welling up in his eyes for fear that other prisoners might see him like this and get some funny ideas. Yes, he was all alone in that cell with nothing but his thoughts, but even his own mind conspired against him in this dark time. Visions of anal penetration in the showers flooded his numbed out brain.
It hadn’t happened yet, but he could still feel Bubba’s hairy crowbar dick ripping his intestines to shreds. But instead of blood or shit coming out of his asshole, it was worms and maggots. Funny little creatures devouring his soul from the inside and leaving him with an empty shell. Scott wiped away even more tears, but the sounds of a knight stick banging against his cell bars brought him back to reality.
“Mr. George, your mother is here to see you. She don’t look happy,” said the guard.
He wasn’t lying. Beth George approached the bars looking like she saw the devil himself. Whatever tears Scott had in his eyes, his mother had an even bigger surplus of. Her hands trembled as she touched the bars and gazed deep into whatever was left of her son’s soul. “Scott…is it true? Did you really have sex with a young girl?” He just stared at her with blankness on his face, not even so much as a yes or no. “Answer me, damn it!” Beth screeched.
Scott sat up in his bunk bed and said, “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Whatever the case, I found something that neither you nor anybody else could give me: true love.”
“Scott, what the hell are you talking about?” wept Beth. “I’ve done nothing but love you this whole time. I know we haven’t been getting along lately, but that wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I’ve always loved you. But now…” She wiped away tears and snot with the back of her hand. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”
“Well, that’s funny, because you look so familiar to me,” said Scott as he approached his mother. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re someway related to Mr. Simpson. You both love to scream at the top of your lungs. You both like to intimidate your inferiors into getting what you want. You both orgasm yourselves inside out at the thought of me being sent to a military school. You say you do it all in the name of discipline and order. Well, my grades speak for themselves! I’ve got all the discipline I’ll ever need! How about some love every once and a while, huh?!”
“I’ve tried to give you love, Scott!” sobbed Beth. “I’ve tried to be easy with you! It wasn’t working! I can’t let you get complacent! And now here you are fucking little girls because you think they’re going to fill the void! Well, if you like sex so much, you’re going to get plenty of it in prison, I’ll tell you that right now! You did this to yourself, Scott! Now you’re going to live with the consequences for however long the judge says!”
“Listen to me, you crazy bitch!” shouted Scott. “If you and Mr. Simpson couldn’t get through to me, what makes you think a bunch of morons in orange jumpsuits are going to have any better luck? At least when I’m finally locked up, nobody will care if I fight back! Nobody’s coming to save the poor schmuck who gets his head kicked in by me! And if for some reason I get killed in the struggle, well, it’s been a damn good life and I’m more than ready to leave it!”
Pounding on the bars with closed fists, Beth bawled, “Stop talking like that, Scott! I don’t want you to die! I want you to realize what an asshole you are so that you can make something of yourself!”
“Oh, yeah right, like prison is going to be my ultimate education,” belted Scott. “They don’t teach things like Pythagorean Theorems and French grammar behind these walls. The prison system in this fucked up country takes innocent, damaged people like me and turns them into hardcore criminals. You can thank your conservative politicians for that one. How do I know all of this? Because I hate school and love education at the same time!”
Beth George collapsed onto the floor and soaked her knees in tears, all while Scott looked down on her with a stone cold expression. No pathetic display of emotion was going to shake his foundation that day. In his mind, he had come too far in this war against the system to be swayed by petty tears.
The mother used the jail bars to pick herself up and stared harshly into her son’s eyes while tears cascaded from her own. “If that’s how it’s going to be…then do me a favor, Scott. When your prison sentence is over, don’t even bother coming back home. You can go anywhere you want to when it’s all said and done. You can go live with that poor girl you fucked…you can live in the school’s tool shed…or better yet…you can go straight to hell!”
Beth scratched the bars and struggled to make her way down the hall when she heard her son say, “Whatever turns you on, Beth.”
She slowly turned around and hobbled back to Scott’s cell while asking in disbelief, “What did you call me?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but a few seconds ago, you just disowned me, right?” said Scott. “Well, as long as you’re throwing me away like a common piece of trash, we might as well be on a first name basis. You don’t want to be my mother anymore? You want to throw me to the wolves? Fine. Then I won’t bother calling you Mom anymore. You’re Beth now. You’re Beth fucking George!”
“You take that back, you sick bastard!” sobbed Beth as she scratched the bars yet again.
“You know what? You’re right. I do take that back. You’re not Beth George. You’re Beth Green! Green is your maiden name, right? Well, you better get used to being called that, because you’re even less of a wife than you are a mother. Dad is spinning in his grave like a pinwheel and it’s all your fault!”
“You monster!” shrieked Beth as she pounded on the jail bars like a silverback gorilla, prompting the guards to rush in and restrain her. Their tight grips on her arms and legs didn’t stop her from screaming vitriol at her now ex-son. “You bastard! You fucking piece of shit! I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your life! Hell, I hope you get sent to the gas chamber! You’re no son of mine! You’re a monster! You’re a fucking monster, Scott George!”
Just before Beth could be dragged through the doorway, Scott had a stranglehold on the bars as he roared, “I welcome the gas chamber, you stupid cunt! Hell, I’ll even settle for the electric fucking chair! There ain’t enough lightning in this world for me! I hope the state uses the whole fucking power grid against me! At least then I can get some goddamn peace and quiet for once! Fuck you, you stupid bitch!”
The white hot display of anger left Scott’s entire body juicy red. He breathed heavily as his lungs and heart worked overtime to keep him on his feet. Feeling his legs wobbling like gummy worms, he staggered back to his bunk bed and face planted onto the mattress. At this point he didn’t care if other prisoners or prison guards saw him cry. He was going to unleash his biblical flood of facial fluids into that one pillow. Drool, tears, snot, they all came rushing out of his system like a leaky oil pipeline.
His mind raced like a cheetah scurrying from rifle-wielding game hunters. He knew he would be a changed man once he got out of prison (if he was found guilty). Would he change so much that Adrienne wouldn’t recognize him anymore? Would she turn him away once he showed even once sign of aggression towards her? Would she abandon him at the thought of Scott being raped in the showers? All in all, he really felt like the world’s biggest pain in the ass, sodomy aside. To wait for him on the other side, let alone put up with his newfound outlook on life, required the patience of a saint. Adrienne, as young as she was, probably didn’t have a massive supply of that.
“I’m sorry, Adrienne…I’m so sorry!” whined Scott as he sank into a deep, haunted sleep.
As chilling as those words were to hear, they couldn’t compare to the shrieks of terror from Scott’s own mother as he was dragged to the police vehicle in handcuffs. As he lay in his one-bunk jail cell with damp eyes, Scott replayed that morning in his head over and over again. He had just gotten home from serving detention. He finally had a calm moment with his only parent as they ate cereal together. And then the police obliterated that peace treaty by showing up at his house and reducing him to a convict.
Scott wiped away the tears welling up in his eyes for fear that other prisoners might see him like this and get some funny ideas. Yes, he was all alone in that cell with nothing but his thoughts, but even his own mind conspired against him in this dark time. Visions of anal penetration in the showers flooded his numbed out brain.
It hadn’t happened yet, but he could still feel Bubba’s hairy crowbar dick ripping his intestines to shreds. But instead of blood or shit coming out of his asshole, it was worms and maggots. Funny little creatures devouring his soul from the inside and leaving him with an empty shell. Scott wiped away even more tears, but the sounds of a knight stick banging against his cell bars brought him back to reality.
“Mr. George, your mother is here to see you. She don’t look happy,” said the guard.
He wasn’t lying. Beth George approached the bars looking like she saw the devil himself. Whatever tears Scott had in his eyes, his mother had an even bigger surplus of. Her hands trembled as she touched the bars and gazed deep into whatever was left of her son’s soul. “Scott…is it true? Did you really have sex with a young girl?” He just stared at her with blankness on his face, not even so much as a yes or no. “Answer me, damn it!” Beth screeched.
Scott sat up in his bunk bed and said, “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Whatever the case, I found something that neither you nor anybody else could give me: true love.”
“Scott, what the hell are you talking about?” wept Beth. “I’ve done nothing but love you this whole time. I know we haven’t been getting along lately, but that wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I’ve always loved you. But now…” She wiped away tears and snot with the back of her hand. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”
“Well, that’s funny, because you look so familiar to me,” said Scott as he approached his mother. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re someway related to Mr. Simpson. You both love to scream at the top of your lungs. You both like to intimidate your inferiors into getting what you want. You both orgasm yourselves inside out at the thought of me being sent to a military school. You say you do it all in the name of discipline and order. Well, my grades speak for themselves! I’ve got all the discipline I’ll ever need! How about some love every once and a while, huh?!”
“I’ve tried to give you love, Scott!” sobbed Beth. “I’ve tried to be easy with you! It wasn’t working! I can’t let you get complacent! And now here you are fucking little girls because you think they’re going to fill the void! Well, if you like sex so much, you’re going to get plenty of it in prison, I’ll tell you that right now! You did this to yourself, Scott! Now you’re going to live with the consequences for however long the judge says!”
“Listen to me, you crazy bitch!” shouted Scott. “If you and Mr. Simpson couldn’t get through to me, what makes you think a bunch of morons in orange jumpsuits are going to have any better luck? At least when I’m finally locked up, nobody will care if I fight back! Nobody’s coming to save the poor schmuck who gets his head kicked in by me! And if for some reason I get killed in the struggle, well, it’s been a damn good life and I’m more than ready to leave it!”
Pounding on the bars with closed fists, Beth bawled, “Stop talking like that, Scott! I don’t want you to die! I want you to realize what an asshole you are so that you can make something of yourself!”
“Oh, yeah right, like prison is going to be my ultimate education,” belted Scott. “They don’t teach things like Pythagorean Theorems and French grammar behind these walls. The prison system in this fucked up country takes innocent, damaged people like me and turns them into hardcore criminals. You can thank your conservative politicians for that one. How do I know all of this? Because I hate school and love education at the same time!”
Beth George collapsed onto the floor and soaked her knees in tears, all while Scott looked down on her with a stone cold expression. No pathetic display of emotion was going to shake his foundation that day. In his mind, he had come too far in this war against the system to be swayed by petty tears.
The mother used the jail bars to pick herself up and stared harshly into her son’s eyes while tears cascaded from her own. “If that’s how it’s going to be…then do me a favor, Scott. When your prison sentence is over, don’t even bother coming back home. You can go anywhere you want to when it’s all said and done. You can go live with that poor girl you fucked…you can live in the school’s tool shed…or better yet…you can go straight to hell!”
Beth scratched the bars and struggled to make her way down the hall when she heard her son say, “Whatever turns you on, Beth.”
She slowly turned around and hobbled back to Scott’s cell while asking in disbelief, “What did you call me?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but a few seconds ago, you just disowned me, right?” said Scott. “Well, as long as you’re throwing me away like a common piece of trash, we might as well be on a first name basis. You don’t want to be my mother anymore? You want to throw me to the wolves? Fine. Then I won’t bother calling you Mom anymore. You’re Beth now. You’re Beth fucking George!”
“You take that back, you sick bastard!” sobbed Beth as she scratched the bars yet again.
“You know what? You’re right. I do take that back. You’re not Beth George. You’re Beth Green! Green is your maiden name, right? Well, you better get used to being called that, because you’re even less of a wife than you are a mother. Dad is spinning in his grave like a pinwheel and it’s all your fault!”
“You monster!” shrieked Beth as she pounded on the jail bars like a silverback gorilla, prompting the guards to rush in and restrain her. Their tight grips on her arms and legs didn’t stop her from screaming vitriol at her now ex-son. “You bastard! You fucking piece of shit! I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your life! Hell, I hope you get sent to the gas chamber! You’re no son of mine! You’re a monster! You’re a fucking monster, Scott George!”
Just before Beth could be dragged through the doorway, Scott had a stranglehold on the bars as he roared, “I welcome the gas chamber, you stupid cunt! Hell, I’ll even settle for the electric fucking chair! There ain’t enough lightning in this world for me! I hope the state uses the whole fucking power grid against me! At least then I can get some goddamn peace and quiet for once! Fuck you, you stupid bitch!”
The white hot display of anger left Scott’s entire body juicy red. He breathed heavily as his lungs and heart worked overtime to keep him on his feet. Feeling his legs wobbling like gummy worms, he staggered back to his bunk bed and face planted onto the mattress. At this point he didn’t care if other prisoners or prison guards saw him cry. He was going to unleash his biblical flood of facial fluids into that one pillow. Drool, tears, snot, they all came rushing out of his system like a leaky oil pipeline.
His mind raced like a cheetah scurrying from rifle-wielding game hunters. He knew he would be a changed man once he got out of prison (if he was found guilty). Would he change so much that Adrienne wouldn’t recognize him anymore? Would she turn him away once he showed even once sign of aggression towards her? Would she abandon him at the thought of Scott being raped in the showers? All in all, he really felt like the world’s biggest pain in the ass, sodomy aside. To wait for him on the other side, let alone put up with his newfound outlook on life, required the patience of a saint. Adrienne, as young as she was, probably didn’t have a massive supply of that.
“I’m sorry, Adrienne…I’m so sorry!” whined Scott as he sank into a deep, haunted sleep.
Thurgood
PLAY TITLE: Thurgood
PLAYWRIGHT: George Stevens, Jr.
OPENING YEAR: 2006
GENRE: Historical One-Man Show
MATURE CONTENT: Racial Slurs
GRADE: Extra Credit
Thurgood Marshall reflects on his life from impoverished beginnings to becoming a well-known civil rights activist and Supreme Court justice. His budding wisdom was needed more than ever since he grew up during the Jim Crow era, when racism against black Americans came in the form of lynching, segregation, and an instilled feeling of inferiority. Through poignant debating skills, tireless research, and undying commitment to his cause, Thurgood Marshall paved the way for younger generations of black Americans by giving them a sense of pride and urgency. They need it now more than ever in the wake of Trump’s presidency, police brutality, and the rise of the alternative right.
I saw this play on February 25th, 2018 and the actor who played Thurgood was spot-on in his performance that afternoon. He spoke with candid authority, undying passion, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. When he said that the law will be his only weapon, you believed him, not just because of beforehand research, but because it felt organic coming out of this actor’s mouth. There were a few times when he stumbled over his words, but he was able to pick himself back up and keep going with his oratory as if nothing slowed him down. Even if you had the attention span of a five year old, you’d still be laser focused on this one-man show.
The actor’s body language was every bit as poignant as his debating skills and speech patterns. He recalled one time when he worked as a waiter in a predominantly white café. The way he served his racist customer’s food and danced around all smiles was the perfect mask for hiding his anger on the inside. He knew being constantly called the N-word was wrong, but he put up with it because he was getting twenty dollar tips during a time when he was flat broke. It wasn’t until after being fired by his black boss that he realized there were more important things in this world than money. That’s a lesson we all need to learn if we’re to move forward. If you’re not paying attention to this lesson, you’re already waiting to be screwed.
But even the Murphy’s Law-style life story and emotional acting couldn’t prepare me for the doll comparison angle. When arguing against segregation, Thurgood had two dolls on the bench: a white doll and a black doll. He recalled research where he asked children questions like, “Which doll would you like to play with?”, “Which doll is better looking?” and “Which doll is evil?” The black children answered positively for the white doll and negatively for the black doll. That broke my goddamn heart. Taking self-esteem away from children no matter what color is disgusting as hell. But without this heart-wrenching scene, Thurgood wouldn’t have been able to make a strong case against Plessey vs. Ferguson. It hurts. It hurts badly. But it’s a truth that we all must be exposed to if we are to make progress. This part of the story was executed perfectly.
We need this kind of peak-performance acting in today’s far-right society. We need this kind of inspiration. We need this kind of message. I have no idea when this one-man play will be performed again, but if your city is hosting it, go see it without missing a beat. Even for those who are already on the correct side of history, your eyes will be opened much wider than before. Thurgood Marshall did a lot for this country, but we still have a long way to go until we reach perfect harmony. An extra credit grade will go to this excellently-acted show with an undeniable message.
PLAYWRIGHT: George Stevens, Jr.
OPENING YEAR: 2006
GENRE: Historical One-Man Show
MATURE CONTENT: Racial Slurs
GRADE: Extra Credit
Thurgood Marshall reflects on his life from impoverished beginnings to becoming a well-known civil rights activist and Supreme Court justice. His budding wisdom was needed more than ever since he grew up during the Jim Crow era, when racism against black Americans came in the form of lynching, segregation, and an instilled feeling of inferiority. Through poignant debating skills, tireless research, and undying commitment to his cause, Thurgood Marshall paved the way for younger generations of black Americans by giving them a sense of pride and urgency. They need it now more than ever in the wake of Trump’s presidency, police brutality, and the rise of the alternative right.
I saw this play on February 25th, 2018 and the actor who played Thurgood was spot-on in his performance that afternoon. He spoke with candid authority, undying passion, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. When he said that the law will be his only weapon, you believed him, not just because of beforehand research, but because it felt organic coming out of this actor’s mouth. There were a few times when he stumbled over his words, but he was able to pick himself back up and keep going with his oratory as if nothing slowed him down. Even if you had the attention span of a five year old, you’d still be laser focused on this one-man show.
The actor’s body language was every bit as poignant as his debating skills and speech patterns. He recalled one time when he worked as a waiter in a predominantly white café. The way he served his racist customer’s food and danced around all smiles was the perfect mask for hiding his anger on the inside. He knew being constantly called the N-word was wrong, but he put up with it because he was getting twenty dollar tips during a time when he was flat broke. It wasn’t until after being fired by his black boss that he realized there were more important things in this world than money. That’s a lesson we all need to learn if we’re to move forward. If you’re not paying attention to this lesson, you’re already waiting to be screwed.
But even the Murphy’s Law-style life story and emotional acting couldn’t prepare me for the doll comparison angle. When arguing against segregation, Thurgood had two dolls on the bench: a white doll and a black doll. He recalled research where he asked children questions like, “Which doll would you like to play with?”, “Which doll is better looking?” and “Which doll is evil?” The black children answered positively for the white doll and negatively for the black doll. That broke my goddamn heart. Taking self-esteem away from children no matter what color is disgusting as hell. But without this heart-wrenching scene, Thurgood wouldn’t have been able to make a strong case against Plessey vs. Ferguson. It hurts. It hurts badly. But it’s a truth that we all must be exposed to if we are to make progress. This part of the story was executed perfectly.
We need this kind of peak-performance acting in today’s far-right society. We need this kind of inspiration. We need this kind of message. I have no idea when this one-man play will be performed again, but if your city is hosting it, go see it without missing a beat. Even for those who are already on the correct side of history, your eyes will be opened much wider than before. Thurgood Marshall did a lot for this country, but we still have a long way to go until we reach perfect harmony. An extra credit grade will go to this excellently-acted show with an undeniable message.
