Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 67
March 2, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 16
Linda Williams sat comfortably on her couch enjoying a bowl of wheat cereal while watching her daily dose of MSNBC. While her “pet project” Scott George no doubt spent his Saturday in misery, Linda felt guilty about being able to enjoy hers, so much so that she could barely concentrate on the world news. “I sure hope Tom is enjoying his little triumph,” she said softly to herself before taking another bite of cereal.
The rampant pounding on her front door jolted her so much that she spilled her food on the hardwood floors. Her spine tingled at the sounds of a familiar voice screaming, “Linda! Open the damn door! We need to talk!” The pounding grew progressively louder with every second Tom Simpson was forced to wait. “I know you’re in there! No sense in hiding from me!”
“Oh, for god’s sake!” belted Linda as she marched over to the front door in bare feet and a nightgown. Sure enough, Tom stood there with his fists balled up and his teeth gnashed together like a venomous snake waiting to pounce. “This better not be what I think it’s about.”
Taking labored breaths, Tom let himself in the house much to Linda’s confused dismay. He said, “You need to have a little chat with Scott George. Oh, he showed up to detention like he said he would. It’s what he did after that made me so...UGH!”
“Two things,” said Linda with her arms crossed. “One, you don’t come barging into my house without me letting you in first. And two, once you’re in my home, you don’t demand things from me like you own the damn place. Both of those things could have gotten you arrested today and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a cage, quite frankly.”
With a sickening smile, Tom said, “Arrested? You’re going to have me arrested? Well, you better bring the entire police force and the SWAT team, because you’re going to fucking need them!”
“Well, look at you, tough guy. The same Tom Simpson who’s so anal retentive about swearing is suddenly unleashing some nasty words at me. If hypocrisy was against the law, your ass would have been gone a long time ago.” Linda pointed at her front door and barked, “Seriously, you’d better get out of my home before things go south. Get a massage. Sit in a hot tub. Meditate. Do something relaxing for the first time in your life and quit acting like a small child!”
“Speaking of small children, guess what your teacher’s pet did to my daughter,” said Tom while grabbing his boss’s arms. “They had sex behind my back. Lots and lots of sex! Can you imagine that slimy little creature Scott putting his lips and other body parts on someone else?” Tom shivered for extra dramatic effect.
Linda ripped her arms away from Tom and said, “That’s not my problem, Tom, so quit trying to make it mine. While I don’t condone underage sex, there’s not really much we can do about it. If Scott and Adrienne are in love, so be it. Don’t forget: you were in love at one point in your life. And then you threw it all away in a disgraceful divorce. Is that where you’re getting this attitude from?”
Tom pulled his glasses off and shouted, “You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage!”
Linda remained stone-faced as she stood up to her employee. “So why don’t you educate me about why you’re so upset. You are an educator, after all. That’s part of your job description. Tell me why you suddenly care about your daughter’s life now that she’s completely out of yours.” Tom’s haunted face stared off into the distance as he refused to respond. “Tom! Tom! Ground control to Major Tom! Hello?!”
“How old is Scott?” asked Tom.
“Eighteen. Why?”
Tom’s insane smile widened and was accompanied by clownish chuckles. “I got him! I got him by the balls!” He grabbed Linda’s arms once again and excitedly explained his viewpoint to her. “Think about this for a minute: Scott George is eighteen years old and Adrienne is only fifteen. The two of them openly confessed to having sex. That means…Scott just broke the law! Oh, this is too good! This is too fucking good!”
Once again shoving Tom away, Linda said, “Give me a break, you sick freak. Scott’s no more of a pedophile than you are a good history teacher. Three years difference between them doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world.” Shoving a finger in his face, Linda said in a low, angry tone, “I’m warning you, Tom, don’t you go through with this so-called case of yours. This is beyond vindictiveness. You’re talking about ruining a young man’s life before it even has the chance to begin, all because of a stupid technicality that shouldn’t be there!”
“Oh, Linda, you’re just as naïve as Scott. For better or worse, the justice system in this country doesn’t care about circumstances. It doesn’t matter when young people are applying for a job. It doesn’t matter when they get suspended from school. It won’t matter when they’re sitting in the defendant’s chair with all eyes of the world judging them. The law is the law and it will be enforced. If you don’t believe me, ask any war protestor who’s sitting in jail over causing a traffic jam.”
Arms folded and death stare locked on her target, Linda sneered, “I’m warning you, Tom, if you press charges against Scott and turn his life upside down, I will fire you. I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to give you a pink slip. I think I may have just found it.”
“Well, look at you, Miss Social Justice Warrior,” said Tom with his hands on his hips. “You’re all about getting justice for women on college campuses who get gang raped at frat parties. You’re all about sending Alan Young to jail for trying to get away with less. But the minute statutory rape takes place and it involves one of your favorite students, you’re so quick to cover it up. Who’s the hypocrite now?”
“There are degrees, Tom!” shouted Linda. “There are circumstances! I don’t give a damn what the law says! Everybody is different! Every case is different! You can’t just paint them all with the same brush! Lord knows what else you’re applying that twisted logic to! Is that how you teach slavery in your history class?! By painting all black slaves with the same brush?!”
“Wow, your naivety really does astound me, Linda,” chuckled Tom while shaking his head. “Don’t you get it by now? This country has gone through the ugliest history imaginable and not a goddamn thing has changed. The ugliness never went away, Linda. It just showed itself in a different way. The same applies to the law, for better or worse. Unless Scott has the debating skills to back it up, he’s not going to make it with the wolves in that courtroom. I’ve tried to toughen him up to the world around him, but he’d rather be sheltered. Well, they don’t shelter people in the darkest parts of prison, I’ll tell you that right now!”
“Just know this, Tom…” said Linda with a trembling voice. “You will not have the support of this school or any of its officials. And just like your classes, you won’t have the support of your own pupils. You want to win this war? You’re going to win it on your own. Clean your belongings out of your office first thing Monday morning. You’re fired, Tom. Get out of my house!”
Tom’s maniacal chuckling caused him to double over before he said, “That’s okay, Linda. I don’t need anybody’s help to win this case. The law is on my side and that’s the only ally I’ll ever need. I don’t need you. I don’t need my ex-wife. I sure as hell don’t need my daughter’s help. Scott George is going to crash and burn because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants like our sex ed program says to do.”
Before Tom could cross the threshold to the outside world, Linda stopped him with one last thing to say. “No matter how this court case turns out, whether you’re triumphant or defeated, just know that you’ll have nothing you want by the time it’s all over. Once Scott George is behind bars, there will be another rebellious and open-minded student to take his place. And another. And another. You’re not going to send a good message to your students by going through with this petty trial. One of these days, Tom, the hate alone will be enough to give you a stress-induced heart attack.”
Fiddling with the door knob, Tom looked down at his feet and said, “You know, Linda, some people prefer to die while having the best sex of their lives or doing some kind of extreme sports activity. Me? I think you just gave me an idea of how I’d like to die someday. See you soon!” Tom closed the door behind him and walked back to his car, leaving Linda Williams in a cataclysm of her own tears.
The rampant pounding on her front door jolted her so much that she spilled her food on the hardwood floors. Her spine tingled at the sounds of a familiar voice screaming, “Linda! Open the damn door! We need to talk!” The pounding grew progressively louder with every second Tom Simpson was forced to wait. “I know you’re in there! No sense in hiding from me!”
“Oh, for god’s sake!” belted Linda as she marched over to the front door in bare feet and a nightgown. Sure enough, Tom stood there with his fists balled up and his teeth gnashed together like a venomous snake waiting to pounce. “This better not be what I think it’s about.”
Taking labored breaths, Tom let himself in the house much to Linda’s confused dismay. He said, “You need to have a little chat with Scott George. Oh, he showed up to detention like he said he would. It’s what he did after that made me so...UGH!”
“Two things,” said Linda with her arms crossed. “One, you don’t come barging into my house without me letting you in first. And two, once you’re in my home, you don’t demand things from me like you own the damn place. Both of those things could have gotten you arrested today and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a cage, quite frankly.”
With a sickening smile, Tom said, “Arrested? You’re going to have me arrested? Well, you better bring the entire police force and the SWAT team, because you’re going to fucking need them!”
“Well, look at you, tough guy. The same Tom Simpson who’s so anal retentive about swearing is suddenly unleashing some nasty words at me. If hypocrisy was against the law, your ass would have been gone a long time ago.” Linda pointed at her front door and barked, “Seriously, you’d better get out of my home before things go south. Get a massage. Sit in a hot tub. Meditate. Do something relaxing for the first time in your life and quit acting like a small child!”
“Speaking of small children, guess what your teacher’s pet did to my daughter,” said Tom while grabbing his boss’s arms. “They had sex behind my back. Lots and lots of sex! Can you imagine that slimy little creature Scott putting his lips and other body parts on someone else?” Tom shivered for extra dramatic effect.
Linda ripped her arms away from Tom and said, “That’s not my problem, Tom, so quit trying to make it mine. While I don’t condone underage sex, there’s not really much we can do about it. If Scott and Adrienne are in love, so be it. Don’t forget: you were in love at one point in your life. And then you threw it all away in a disgraceful divorce. Is that where you’re getting this attitude from?”
Tom pulled his glasses off and shouted, “You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage!”
Linda remained stone-faced as she stood up to her employee. “So why don’t you educate me about why you’re so upset. You are an educator, after all. That’s part of your job description. Tell me why you suddenly care about your daughter’s life now that she’s completely out of yours.” Tom’s haunted face stared off into the distance as he refused to respond. “Tom! Tom! Ground control to Major Tom! Hello?!”
“How old is Scott?” asked Tom.
“Eighteen. Why?”
Tom’s insane smile widened and was accompanied by clownish chuckles. “I got him! I got him by the balls!” He grabbed Linda’s arms once again and excitedly explained his viewpoint to her. “Think about this for a minute: Scott George is eighteen years old and Adrienne is only fifteen. The two of them openly confessed to having sex. That means…Scott just broke the law! Oh, this is too good! This is too fucking good!”
Once again shoving Tom away, Linda said, “Give me a break, you sick freak. Scott’s no more of a pedophile than you are a good history teacher. Three years difference between them doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world.” Shoving a finger in his face, Linda said in a low, angry tone, “I’m warning you, Tom, don’t you go through with this so-called case of yours. This is beyond vindictiveness. You’re talking about ruining a young man’s life before it even has the chance to begin, all because of a stupid technicality that shouldn’t be there!”
“Oh, Linda, you’re just as naïve as Scott. For better or worse, the justice system in this country doesn’t care about circumstances. It doesn’t matter when young people are applying for a job. It doesn’t matter when they get suspended from school. It won’t matter when they’re sitting in the defendant’s chair with all eyes of the world judging them. The law is the law and it will be enforced. If you don’t believe me, ask any war protestor who’s sitting in jail over causing a traffic jam.”
Arms folded and death stare locked on her target, Linda sneered, “I’m warning you, Tom, if you press charges against Scott and turn his life upside down, I will fire you. I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to give you a pink slip. I think I may have just found it.”
“Well, look at you, Miss Social Justice Warrior,” said Tom with his hands on his hips. “You’re all about getting justice for women on college campuses who get gang raped at frat parties. You’re all about sending Alan Young to jail for trying to get away with less. But the minute statutory rape takes place and it involves one of your favorite students, you’re so quick to cover it up. Who’s the hypocrite now?”
“There are degrees, Tom!” shouted Linda. “There are circumstances! I don’t give a damn what the law says! Everybody is different! Every case is different! You can’t just paint them all with the same brush! Lord knows what else you’re applying that twisted logic to! Is that how you teach slavery in your history class?! By painting all black slaves with the same brush?!”
“Wow, your naivety really does astound me, Linda,” chuckled Tom while shaking his head. “Don’t you get it by now? This country has gone through the ugliest history imaginable and not a goddamn thing has changed. The ugliness never went away, Linda. It just showed itself in a different way. The same applies to the law, for better or worse. Unless Scott has the debating skills to back it up, he’s not going to make it with the wolves in that courtroom. I’ve tried to toughen him up to the world around him, but he’d rather be sheltered. Well, they don’t shelter people in the darkest parts of prison, I’ll tell you that right now!”
“Just know this, Tom…” said Linda with a trembling voice. “You will not have the support of this school or any of its officials. And just like your classes, you won’t have the support of your own pupils. You want to win this war? You’re going to win it on your own. Clean your belongings out of your office first thing Monday morning. You’re fired, Tom. Get out of my house!”
Tom’s maniacal chuckling caused him to double over before he said, “That’s okay, Linda. I don’t need anybody’s help to win this case. The law is on my side and that’s the only ally I’ll ever need. I don’t need you. I don’t need my ex-wife. I sure as hell don’t need my daughter’s help. Scott George is going to crash and burn because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants like our sex ed program says to do.”
Before Tom could cross the threshold to the outside world, Linda stopped him with one last thing to say. “No matter how this court case turns out, whether you’re triumphant or defeated, just know that you’ll have nothing you want by the time it’s all over. Once Scott George is behind bars, there will be another rebellious and open-minded student to take his place. And another. And another. You’re not going to send a good message to your students by going through with this petty trial. One of these days, Tom, the hate alone will be enough to give you a stress-induced heart attack.”
Fiddling with the door knob, Tom looked down at his feet and said, “You know, Linda, some people prefer to die while having the best sex of their lives or doing some kind of extreme sports activity. Me? I think you just gave me an idea of how I’d like to die someday. See you soon!” Tom closed the door behind him and walked back to his car, leaving Linda Williams in a cataclysm of her own tears.
Millennium X Otherwise: Beautiful Monster
***MILLENNIUM X OTHERWISE: BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Raise your hand if you at least have a surface level understanding of the 1990’s horror TV series Millennium. I didn’t watch it on a regular basis when it was on TV, but there was one episode in particular that disturbed the shit out of me. The title is creepy on its own: “A Room with No View”. Gee, I wonder what kind of room they could be referring to. No windows, no balcony, just walls and darkness. This wouldn’t be the kind of room where kidnapping victims are kept, would it?
After seeing news stories on TV about pedophiles kidnapping children and keeping them in captivity for decades at a time, you’d be right to think that kidnapping is a disgusting topic to approach. If a creepy guy kidnaps an innocent girl, there’d be no debate at all as to how sickening that is. We’d all be clamoring for the creepy guy to be locked up. But in “A Room with No View”, the gender roles are reversed. A drop-dead gorgeous young woman named Lucy Butler kidnaps a high school student named Landon Bryce.
The minute Lucy has Landon under lock and key, she goes right into lovey-dovey mode. She tells him she loves him, she cuddles with him, and “comforts” him after he tries to get away and is recaptured. Attempting to escape the compound and getting caught again is something that happens over and over in this episode. And who’s there to give him love and sugar when he returns? Lucy Butler, of course. Oh, and Landon also is told to believe that he’s mediocre and ordinary. So when the FBI eventually raids the compound and rescues him, not only does he have sexual trauma to deal with, but also self-esteem issues. How nice.
If a story is creepy on its own and that’s the only emotion it dabbles with, then we’ve got an open and shut case no doubt. But then this episode of Millennium fuses the creepy feeling with sexual desires and lovey-dovey romance. That makes the creepy feeling even worse. The more emotions you can mix with creepiness, the more intense said creepiness becomes. Landon Bryce is probably going to be fucked up for the rest of the Millennium canon. Society loves to judge male victims as “pussies” and “fags”, so it’s not like he can get away from that stigma after becoming free from the femme fatale known as Lucy Butler.
When I first saw this episode back in the late 90’s, the timing couldn’t have been worse for me. I was already a middle school kid who was turning down dates with girls left and right because I was in constant fear that they’d screw me over in court. My own father had divorce issues of his own and was paying out the ass for it, so that’s where my irrational fear of romance came from. And now I see this episode of Millennium and think, “Is that what relationships are really all about?!” Obviously, the answer is no. But at the time, it seemed reasonable to me.
I wrote this blog entry for two reasons and not one of them is so that Men’s Rights Activists could rejoice. I have lots of love for feminist culture and know full well that there’s only one Lucy Butler in the world (on top of that, she’s not even real!). Would you like to know what my two reasons really are? One of them is to announce that I’ve come up with a fantasy novel idea based on the motif of women kidnapping men. The other reason is because I’ve found the perfect song to go with this novel (should I decide to write it). It’s called “Beautiful Monster” by Otherwise and it’s my current favorite song from that hard rock band from Vegas. If you read the lyrics to the song, you’ll find out just how much Lucy Butler and the villainess of my own novel idea have in common with Otherwise’s beautiful monster in question.
VERSE 1
Something about the way that she makes me hate myself
I could run away but I don't want no one else
So say what you want, it's already done
It's Russian Roulette and love is the gun
You don't know her, you don't know her like I do
CHORUS
Looking like an angel so divine
You can see the devil in those eyes
She's a monster by my side baby
Taking me six feet down tonight
Cause dancing with the devil gets me high
She's a monster, a beautiful monster
(A beautiful monster)
VERSE 2
Something about the way that she tears me up inside
Is it wrong that I love it when I know she'll bleed me dry
So say what you want, it's already done
It's Russian Roulette and love is the gun
You don't know her, you don't know her like I do
CHORUS
Looking like an angel so divine
You can see the devil in those eyes
She's a monster by my side baby
Taking me six feet down tonight
Cause dancing with the devil gets me high
She's a monster, a beautiful monster
BRIDGE
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
CHORUS
Looking like an angel so divine
You can see the devil in those eyes
She's a monster by my side baby
Taking me six feet down tonight
Cause dancing with the devil gets me high
She's a monster, a beautiful monster
A beautiful monster
Are you scared yet? You should be! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
LEMONHEAD: We’re all going to crash and burn because of you! Amy’s not even that hot, man!
SHANE VENDRELL: Oh, thanks for the support, asshole!
-The Shield-
Raise your hand if you at least have a surface level understanding of the 1990’s horror TV series Millennium. I didn’t watch it on a regular basis when it was on TV, but there was one episode in particular that disturbed the shit out of me. The title is creepy on its own: “A Room with No View”. Gee, I wonder what kind of room they could be referring to. No windows, no balcony, just walls and darkness. This wouldn’t be the kind of room where kidnapping victims are kept, would it?
After seeing news stories on TV about pedophiles kidnapping children and keeping them in captivity for decades at a time, you’d be right to think that kidnapping is a disgusting topic to approach. If a creepy guy kidnaps an innocent girl, there’d be no debate at all as to how sickening that is. We’d all be clamoring for the creepy guy to be locked up. But in “A Room with No View”, the gender roles are reversed. A drop-dead gorgeous young woman named Lucy Butler kidnaps a high school student named Landon Bryce.
The minute Lucy has Landon under lock and key, she goes right into lovey-dovey mode. She tells him she loves him, she cuddles with him, and “comforts” him after he tries to get away and is recaptured. Attempting to escape the compound and getting caught again is something that happens over and over in this episode. And who’s there to give him love and sugar when he returns? Lucy Butler, of course. Oh, and Landon also is told to believe that he’s mediocre and ordinary. So when the FBI eventually raids the compound and rescues him, not only does he have sexual trauma to deal with, but also self-esteem issues. How nice.
If a story is creepy on its own and that’s the only emotion it dabbles with, then we’ve got an open and shut case no doubt. But then this episode of Millennium fuses the creepy feeling with sexual desires and lovey-dovey romance. That makes the creepy feeling even worse. The more emotions you can mix with creepiness, the more intense said creepiness becomes. Landon Bryce is probably going to be fucked up for the rest of the Millennium canon. Society loves to judge male victims as “pussies” and “fags”, so it’s not like he can get away from that stigma after becoming free from the femme fatale known as Lucy Butler.
When I first saw this episode back in the late 90’s, the timing couldn’t have been worse for me. I was already a middle school kid who was turning down dates with girls left and right because I was in constant fear that they’d screw me over in court. My own father had divorce issues of his own and was paying out the ass for it, so that’s where my irrational fear of romance came from. And now I see this episode of Millennium and think, “Is that what relationships are really all about?!” Obviously, the answer is no. But at the time, it seemed reasonable to me.
I wrote this blog entry for two reasons and not one of them is so that Men’s Rights Activists could rejoice. I have lots of love for feminist culture and know full well that there’s only one Lucy Butler in the world (on top of that, she’s not even real!). Would you like to know what my two reasons really are? One of them is to announce that I’ve come up with a fantasy novel idea based on the motif of women kidnapping men. The other reason is because I’ve found the perfect song to go with this novel (should I decide to write it). It’s called “Beautiful Monster” by Otherwise and it’s my current favorite song from that hard rock band from Vegas. If you read the lyrics to the song, you’ll find out just how much Lucy Butler and the villainess of my own novel idea have in common with Otherwise’s beautiful monster in question.
VERSE 1
Something about the way that she makes me hate myself
I could run away but I don't want no one else
So say what you want, it's already done
It's Russian Roulette and love is the gun
You don't know her, you don't know her like I do
CHORUS
Looking like an angel so divine
You can see the devil in those eyes
She's a monster by my side baby
Taking me six feet down tonight
Cause dancing with the devil gets me high
She's a monster, a beautiful monster
(A beautiful monster)
VERSE 2
Something about the way that she tears me up inside
Is it wrong that I love it when I know she'll bleed me dry
So say what you want, it's already done
It's Russian Roulette and love is the gun
You don't know her, you don't know her like I do
CHORUS
Looking like an angel so divine
You can see the devil in those eyes
She's a monster by my side baby
Taking me six feet down tonight
Cause dancing with the devil gets me high
She's a monster, a beautiful monster
BRIDGE
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
A beautiful monster
I don't want to be saved
CHORUS
Looking like an angel so divine
You can see the devil in those eyes
She's a monster by my side baby
Taking me six feet down tonight
Cause dancing with the devil gets me high
She's a monster, a beautiful monster
A beautiful monster
Are you scared yet? You should be! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
LEMONHEAD: We’re all going to crash and burn because of you! Amy’s not even that hot, man!
SHANE VENDRELL: Oh, thanks for the support, asshole!
-The Shield-
February 28, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 15
The fact that Mr. Simpson didn’t get a speeding ticket or a smashed up car on the drive to his daughter’s house was nothing short of miraculous. His hands squeezed the steering wheel like it was the throat of Scott George. His eyes burned brightly like a fiery orphanage. His veins bulged and pulsated while his teeth were so tightly clamped that he could easily max out his dental insurance. When he finally pulled up to Adrienne’s house, he slammed on the brakes and nearly smashed his forehead against the windshield (another miracle that he didn’t).
The history teacher huffed and wheezed in an attempt to reason with himself. He didn’t want to go in there guns blazing (because he still loved his daughter), but that message scrawled across his blackboard did no favors for his boiling rage. It played over and over in his head like a scratchy record of cacophonic screaming. He got out of the car and slammed the driver’s door shut before marching with authority to the front door of Adrienne’s house.
Taking a few more deep breaths to steady his pulsating nerves, he noticed his ex-wife’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Adrienne must have been home alone. Or maybe not. Maybe he was with someone a little more familiar to her. Mr. Simpson clutched his agonized face and scraped his fingernails across his cheeks in a raw attempt to push that thought to the back of his mind. He opened the door without knocking and bolted straight for Adrienne’s room. A few more whirlwinds of anxiety-crushing breaths later, he barged into his daughter’s room and caught her painting her toenails bright pink.
Adrienne crab walked across her bed and allowed her nail polish to spill all over her carpeted floor. “D…Dad? What are you doing here? Don’t you know how to knock?” she stuttered.
With a sinister visage and clenched fists, Mr. Simpson took a few more hard breaths before stating his business in the house that was once his. “Your mother and I may be divorced. It may have been one of the worst experiences in the Simpson family history. But I am still your father, Adrienne. I still love you very much. That’s why I must insist that you stay away from Scott George.”
Her jaw quivering, Adrienne said, “W…why? I love him, Dad. He loves me too.”
“That’s not love!” belted Mr. Simpson, causing his daughter to jump out of her skin. “Scott George doesn’t give a damn about anybody but himself. He’s dating you to get back at me. I may be a rotten bastard at times, but at least I’d never hurt you the way he’s going to.”
Sobbing and breathing heavily at the same time, Adrienne said, “Bullshit! You’ve done nothing but hurt me and my mom ever since you married her! All the yelling, all the rules, all the arguments…I remember everything, Dad. I’ll always remember those no matter how many times I see my therapist. Yeah, Dad: you put me in therapy. That must be a proud moment in your life. So much yelling. I can still hear it in my head!”
Crossing his arms, Mr. Simpson said, “I didn’t yell at you and your mom because I wanted to cause you pain. I did it because I wanted order. That was something this household was lacking for a long time. Your grades weren’t always the best and your mother was complacent at her job. Sometimes yelling is the best way to get through to someone. You’ll understand one day when you’re a mother, hopefully not with Scott’s child.”
“Order?” cried Adrienne as she shot up from her bed and shoved her father. “I call bullshit! I had you figured out a long time ago, Dad! In fact, I want to show you something that you’ll never be able to deny.” She reached in her underwear drawer and pulled out a stack of magazines before slamming them on her computer desk for Mr. Simpson’s perusal.
The teacher’s heart thumped deafeningly in his chest as he thumbed through the magazines and saw pictures of athletically gifted men with chiseled frames. “Heh…your porn collection? Does your mom know you have this?”
“They’re not my magazines, Dad. They’re yours.”
Mr. Simpson’s blood froze into a solid block of anxiety. His nerves tingled as he took one more look at these “beautiful” men. “Where did you find these?”
“Under your bed, Dad. I’ve known about them for a long time now, but I didn’t want to say anything because I was too interested in keeping this family together,” confessed Adrienne, who held her father’s hands in hers with a tender loving touch. “Dad…” she sobbed. “I don’t care that you’re gay. I would have loved you anyways. You didn’t have to keep it locked inside you this whole time. Hell, I would have helped you find a nice boyfriend. You’re angry at everyone because you don’t feel accepted. You didn’t have to take it out on your own family. You don’t have to take it out on your students either. Dad…let me help you! Please!”
Mr. Simpson pulled his hands out of his daughter’s loving grasp and angrily whispered, “I’m beyond help, Adrienne. There’s no turning back for me or this family. And there’s certainly no turning back for Scott George. It’s like I said to him in detention this morning: I’m definitely going to hell for all of the disgusting things I’ve done. But if I’m going to hell, I’m taking the whole world with me. Every homophobe, every bigot, and everybody in between…they’re all going down in flames. I don’t know how I’m going to get back at Scott, but it’s going to happen. Detention isn’t good enough for him. I need something a little extra!”
Adrienne dropped to her knees and begged her father, “Please! Don’t hurt my boyfriend! I love him!”
Petting his daughter’s hair with fake comfort, Mr. Simpson said, “Don’t worry, my darling. I’m not going to get physical with him. I can’t even afford a pistol on my teacher’s salary. Like I said, I don’t know what I’m going to do to him yet, but when I do…I’m going to make it hurt!”
“No…no…NO!” wept Adrienne while pounding her father’s chest with clenched fists. “Don’t do it! Leave him alone! He’s mine, goddamn it! He’s mine!”
To end the assault, Mr. Simpson shoved Adrienne on her ass and caused her to bawl even louder than before. Realizing what he just did, he clutched his scalp and sighed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Adrienne. I didn’t mean to do that. Here, let me help you up.”
He offered his hand for Adrienne to grab, but instead of accepting it, she screamed, “Get out! Get out of my house and don’t come back! You’re not a father! You’re a glorified sperm donor! I hate you, Dad! I fucking hate you! Get out of my house before I call the police! Move it!”
Holding up his hands defensively, Mr. Simpson backed off and silently said, “Okay, I’m leaving. It’s okay, dear. It’s okay.”
As the teacher turned around to leave, he overheard Adrienne screaming at him some more. “No! It’s not okay! It’ll never be okay again! Get the fuck out of my house, you pig! You wanted this divorce! Now you’ve got it!” That last sentence was punctuated by Adrienne throwing a hardcover book at her dad and nailing him in the back of the neck, to which the teacher just flinched and shrugged it off. He ran out of the house and back into the driver’s seat of his car.
Mr. Simpson clutched the steering wheel tightly while tears poured from his eyes. Adrienne’s words stung him like a thousand scorpion tails. He almost considered backing off from Scott just out of respect for her. He still wanted to love his daughter. He still wanted to make things right. But she wouldn’t let him. Nobody would. He even damned his own sexual chemistry for getting in the way of what could have been a beautiful family love.
He screamed like a gorilla and wailed on the steering wheel with closed fists. His assault could have easily disabled his own vehicle if it hadn’t been for one lingering thought interrupting his moment of rage. He still had one more person to talk to that morning. There was somebody out there who could make things right even though they were on less agreeable terms than him and Adrienne.
Mr. Simpson smiled maniacally and breathed heavily as he said to himself, “Miss Williams…guess who’s coming to breakfast!” He laughed like a loony toon as he started his car and peeled out onto the empty suburban street, once again evading a speeding ticket through the kindness and mercy of the universe.
The history teacher huffed and wheezed in an attempt to reason with himself. He didn’t want to go in there guns blazing (because he still loved his daughter), but that message scrawled across his blackboard did no favors for his boiling rage. It played over and over in his head like a scratchy record of cacophonic screaming. He got out of the car and slammed the driver’s door shut before marching with authority to the front door of Adrienne’s house.
Taking a few more deep breaths to steady his pulsating nerves, he noticed his ex-wife’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Adrienne must have been home alone. Or maybe not. Maybe he was with someone a little more familiar to her. Mr. Simpson clutched his agonized face and scraped his fingernails across his cheeks in a raw attempt to push that thought to the back of his mind. He opened the door without knocking and bolted straight for Adrienne’s room. A few more whirlwinds of anxiety-crushing breaths later, he barged into his daughter’s room and caught her painting her toenails bright pink.
Adrienne crab walked across her bed and allowed her nail polish to spill all over her carpeted floor. “D…Dad? What are you doing here? Don’t you know how to knock?” she stuttered.
With a sinister visage and clenched fists, Mr. Simpson took a few more hard breaths before stating his business in the house that was once his. “Your mother and I may be divorced. It may have been one of the worst experiences in the Simpson family history. But I am still your father, Adrienne. I still love you very much. That’s why I must insist that you stay away from Scott George.”
Her jaw quivering, Adrienne said, “W…why? I love him, Dad. He loves me too.”
“That’s not love!” belted Mr. Simpson, causing his daughter to jump out of her skin. “Scott George doesn’t give a damn about anybody but himself. He’s dating you to get back at me. I may be a rotten bastard at times, but at least I’d never hurt you the way he’s going to.”
Sobbing and breathing heavily at the same time, Adrienne said, “Bullshit! You’ve done nothing but hurt me and my mom ever since you married her! All the yelling, all the rules, all the arguments…I remember everything, Dad. I’ll always remember those no matter how many times I see my therapist. Yeah, Dad: you put me in therapy. That must be a proud moment in your life. So much yelling. I can still hear it in my head!”
Crossing his arms, Mr. Simpson said, “I didn’t yell at you and your mom because I wanted to cause you pain. I did it because I wanted order. That was something this household was lacking for a long time. Your grades weren’t always the best and your mother was complacent at her job. Sometimes yelling is the best way to get through to someone. You’ll understand one day when you’re a mother, hopefully not with Scott’s child.”
“Order?” cried Adrienne as she shot up from her bed and shoved her father. “I call bullshit! I had you figured out a long time ago, Dad! In fact, I want to show you something that you’ll never be able to deny.” She reached in her underwear drawer and pulled out a stack of magazines before slamming them on her computer desk for Mr. Simpson’s perusal.
The teacher’s heart thumped deafeningly in his chest as he thumbed through the magazines and saw pictures of athletically gifted men with chiseled frames. “Heh…your porn collection? Does your mom know you have this?”
“They’re not my magazines, Dad. They’re yours.”
Mr. Simpson’s blood froze into a solid block of anxiety. His nerves tingled as he took one more look at these “beautiful” men. “Where did you find these?”
“Under your bed, Dad. I’ve known about them for a long time now, but I didn’t want to say anything because I was too interested in keeping this family together,” confessed Adrienne, who held her father’s hands in hers with a tender loving touch. “Dad…” she sobbed. “I don’t care that you’re gay. I would have loved you anyways. You didn’t have to keep it locked inside you this whole time. Hell, I would have helped you find a nice boyfriend. You’re angry at everyone because you don’t feel accepted. You didn’t have to take it out on your own family. You don’t have to take it out on your students either. Dad…let me help you! Please!”
Mr. Simpson pulled his hands out of his daughter’s loving grasp and angrily whispered, “I’m beyond help, Adrienne. There’s no turning back for me or this family. And there’s certainly no turning back for Scott George. It’s like I said to him in detention this morning: I’m definitely going to hell for all of the disgusting things I’ve done. But if I’m going to hell, I’m taking the whole world with me. Every homophobe, every bigot, and everybody in between…they’re all going down in flames. I don’t know how I’m going to get back at Scott, but it’s going to happen. Detention isn’t good enough for him. I need something a little extra!”
Adrienne dropped to her knees and begged her father, “Please! Don’t hurt my boyfriend! I love him!”
Petting his daughter’s hair with fake comfort, Mr. Simpson said, “Don’t worry, my darling. I’m not going to get physical with him. I can’t even afford a pistol on my teacher’s salary. Like I said, I don’t know what I’m going to do to him yet, but when I do…I’m going to make it hurt!”
“No…no…NO!” wept Adrienne while pounding her father’s chest with clenched fists. “Don’t do it! Leave him alone! He’s mine, goddamn it! He’s mine!”
To end the assault, Mr. Simpson shoved Adrienne on her ass and caused her to bawl even louder than before. Realizing what he just did, he clutched his scalp and sighed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Adrienne. I didn’t mean to do that. Here, let me help you up.”
He offered his hand for Adrienne to grab, but instead of accepting it, she screamed, “Get out! Get out of my house and don’t come back! You’re not a father! You’re a glorified sperm donor! I hate you, Dad! I fucking hate you! Get out of my house before I call the police! Move it!”
Holding up his hands defensively, Mr. Simpson backed off and silently said, “Okay, I’m leaving. It’s okay, dear. It’s okay.”
As the teacher turned around to leave, he overheard Adrienne screaming at him some more. “No! It’s not okay! It’ll never be okay again! Get the fuck out of my house, you pig! You wanted this divorce! Now you’ve got it!” That last sentence was punctuated by Adrienne throwing a hardcover book at her dad and nailing him in the back of the neck, to which the teacher just flinched and shrugged it off. He ran out of the house and back into the driver’s seat of his car.
Mr. Simpson clutched the steering wheel tightly while tears poured from his eyes. Adrienne’s words stung him like a thousand scorpion tails. He almost considered backing off from Scott just out of respect for her. He still wanted to love his daughter. He still wanted to make things right. But she wouldn’t let him. Nobody would. He even damned his own sexual chemistry for getting in the way of what could have been a beautiful family love.
He screamed like a gorilla and wailed on the steering wheel with closed fists. His assault could have easily disabled his own vehicle if it hadn’t been for one lingering thought interrupting his moment of rage. He still had one more person to talk to that morning. There was somebody out there who could make things right even though they were on less agreeable terms than him and Adrienne.
Mr. Simpson smiled maniacally and breathed heavily as he said to himself, “Miss Williams…guess who’s coming to breakfast!” He laughed like a loony toon as he started his car and peeled out onto the empty suburban street, once again evading a speeding ticket through the kindness and mercy of the universe.
February 26, 2018
Thanks For the Creative Fuel, Asshole
CHORUS 1
While you’re ruling everything in your castle
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!
VERSE 1
Every time you lay hands on me
Every time you haunt my TV
Every time my broken heart bleeds
You’re planting another artistic seed
I’m not in the business of staying down
I’m in the business of running the town
If it’s pen to paper or fist to chin
I’m already the favorite to win
CHORUS 2
While you’re making the whole world sick
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, dick!
VERSE 2
Art is a weapon and I’m the warrior, bitch
My words will leave you dead in the ditch
A traumatized mind and a body of bruises?
They mean nothing if my enemy loses
CHORUS 3
While you’re shopping for discount caskets
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, jackass!
VERSE 3
I don’t need a sword or automatic rifle
To leave my enemies in the highest pile
You do the work for me by being a clown
Lower than bathroom stains so brown
Lower than a sewer rat guzzling piss
Lower than the target you’re sure to miss
Lower than the ball bag of a venomous snake
I celebrate your doom with ice cream and cake
CHORUS 4
While you’re gifting me a number one hit
For every time you throw a fucking fit
For every throat that I want to slit
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, you little shit!
I’ve got to say one more time
Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!
While you’re ruling everything in your castle
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!
VERSE 1
Every time you lay hands on me
Every time you haunt my TV
Every time my broken heart bleeds
You’re planting another artistic seed
I’m not in the business of staying down
I’m in the business of running the town
If it’s pen to paper or fist to chin
I’m already the favorite to win
CHORUS 2
While you’re making the whole world sick
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, dick!
VERSE 2
Art is a weapon and I’m the warrior, bitch
My words will leave you dead in the ditch
A traumatized mind and a body of bruises?
They mean nothing if my enemy loses
CHORUS 3
While you’re shopping for discount caskets
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, jackass!
VERSE 3
I don’t need a sword or automatic rifle
To leave my enemies in the highest pile
You do the work for me by being a clown
Lower than bathroom stains so brown
Lower than a sewer rat guzzling piss
Lower than the target you’re sure to miss
Lower than the ball bag of a venomous snake
I celebrate your doom with ice cream and cake
CHORUS 4
While you’re gifting me a number one hit
For every time you throw a fucking fit
For every throat that I want to slit
I’ve got to say
Thanks for the creative fuel, you little shit!
I’ve got to say one more time
Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!
Run Like Hell
CHORUS
Run like hell from the perfume smell
Run like hell from the wedding bells
Get your ass home before you turn to stone
Find another place to bury your bone
VERSE 1
Locked in a contract like Christian Grey
This newfound prison is your wedding day
Shotgun loaded and pressed to your head
Say the words “I do” lest you end up dead
Run like the wind, it’s your only chance
To get your ass out of this toxic romance
A hellish honeymoon in a seaside resort?
Time to cut that shit so fucking short
CHORUS
Run like hell from the perfume smell
Run like hell from the wedding bells
Get your ass home before you turn to stone
Find another place to bury your bone
VERSE 2
She screams like a demon, bites like a vampire
A virgin sacrifice is what she will require
You’re strapped to a cross naked as a baby
Gagged with a sex toy, screaming like a lady
Your heart beats fast as the seconds pass
Sweat pours down, you start to drown
Here comes the blade, the pact is made
I now pronounce you lonely and afraid
CHORUS
Run like hell from the perfume smell
Run like hell from the wedding bells
Get your ass home before you turn to stone
Find another place to bury your bone
VERSE 3
Get the fuck out like a scared little mouse
Get your ass free and run like the breeze
Never turn back for a heart so black
Suck down air to calm your standing hairs
Take your ring off and give it a toss
An instant divorce is what you get of course
I know you’re tired, I know you’re scared
I know the trauma will never be fair
FINAL LINES
Run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, run! X3
Run! Like! Hell!
Run like hell from the perfume smell
Run like hell from the wedding bells
Get your ass home before you turn to stone
Find another place to bury your bone
VERSE 1
Locked in a contract like Christian Grey
This newfound prison is your wedding day
Shotgun loaded and pressed to your head
Say the words “I do” lest you end up dead
Run like the wind, it’s your only chance
To get your ass out of this toxic romance
A hellish honeymoon in a seaside resort?
Time to cut that shit so fucking short
CHORUS
Run like hell from the perfume smell
Run like hell from the wedding bells
Get your ass home before you turn to stone
Find another place to bury your bone
VERSE 2
She screams like a demon, bites like a vampire
A virgin sacrifice is what she will require
You’re strapped to a cross naked as a baby
Gagged with a sex toy, screaming like a lady
Your heart beats fast as the seconds pass
Sweat pours down, you start to drown
Here comes the blade, the pact is made
I now pronounce you lonely and afraid
CHORUS
Run like hell from the perfume smell
Run like hell from the wedding bells
Get your ass home before you turn to stone
Find another place to bury your bone
VERSE 3
Get the fuck out like a scared little mouse
Get your ass free and run like the breeze
Never turn back for a heart so black
Suck down air to calm your standing hairs
Take your ring off and give it a toss
An instant divorce is what you get of course
I know you’re tired, I know you’re scared
I know the trauma will never be fair
FINAL LINES
Run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, run! X3
Run! Like! Hell!
February 24, 2018
Pop Evil and Starset
***POP EVIL AND STARSET***
Tomorrow night I’m headed over to Seattle to see a Pop Evil concert at El Corazon and the following Wednesday I’m going back to that same venue to see Starset. With only two days of recuperation in between the two shows, I’m glad I got all of my creative work done today and the night before. Chapter fourteen of Silent Warrior is live and in color while my reading commitments are all caught up. I’m definitely ready to rock out in Seattle with two of my favorite rock bands.
The first time I heard Pop Evil’s music was when they opened for Papa Roach in 2013. The second time I saw them was at the Pain in the Grass festival in 2016. If you like explosive hard rock that can occasionally dip into sensitive territory, you’ll like Pop Evil. They have five albums to their name and their most recent self-titled project came out just a week ago. I bought “War of Angels” and “Lipstick On the Mirror” for my niece Reina on her fourteenth birthday back in January and she was grateful to say the least. I’m anticipating an awesome fucking show tomorrow night!
The first time I heard Starset was in 2014 on one of the Music Choice radio stations and it was their single “My Demons”. By the time they unleashed their next single “Carnivore”, I knew I had to have their Transmissions album, which is their first CD as a band. A year ago they came out with their sophomore effort Vessels and they’ve been going strong ever since. Starset has the gimmick of being space explorers warning humanity about the demise of mankind. It’s not meant to be cute or funny; the music and gimmick are actually quite emotional and can draw in a huge crowd on any given night.
I like to jokingly refer to rock concerts as one-day vacations, which is why I list them as life events on my Face Book page. It seems like I’m stroking myself when I do that, but I really do consider these concerts to be that important to me since the bands rarely visit my home state. I don’t do this with movies or books, because I can get that kind of experience at home without making any kind of pilgrimage to a stadium. Concerts? You have to get your ass out in public for those.
But just like with any pilgrimage to the city of rock, I will return safe, sound, and in perfect condition to continue my creative endeavors. I’m not fond of memes that say writers never take vacations. While it is true that not writing for a while makes us feel homesick, getting out and experiencing life is paramount to our creativity. You can’t have one without the other. That’s what makes Silent Warrior so special to me: because some of it (not all of it) is based on true experiences I’ve had as a teenager in high school. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***SILENT WARRIOR, CHAPTER 15***
I know one audience member in particular has been waiting patiently for a chapter told from the point of view of Mr. Simpson. Ask and you shall receive. In this chapter, the aloof history teacher barges into his daughter’s bedroom and confronts her about having sex with Scott. During this heated exchange, Adrienne (the daughter in question) exposes a secret to the reader that will give some insight into why Mr. Simpson is as insufferable as he is. What’s that secret? You’ll figure it out when the rest of the world does! No spoilers for you!
***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“There are a lot of fine-looking women all over the world today. They don’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”
-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-
Tomorrow night I’m headed over to Seattle to see a Pop Evil concert at El Corazon and the following Wednesday I’m going back to that same venue to see Starset. With only two days of recuperation in between the two shows, I’m glad I got all of my creative work done today and the night before. Chapter fourteen of Silent Warrior is live and in color while my reading commitments are all caught up. I’m definitely ready to rock out in Seattle with two of my favorite rock bands.
The first time I heard Pop Evil’s music was when they opened for Papa Roach in 2013. The second time I saw them was at the Pain in the Grass festival in 2016. If you like explosive hard rock that can occasionally dip into sensitive territory, you’ll like Pop Evil. They have five albums to their name and their most recent self-titled project came out just a week ago. I bought “War of Angels” and “Lipstick On the Mirror” for my niece Reina on her fourteenth birthday back in January and she was grateful to say the least. I’m anticipating an awesome fucking show tomorrow night!
The first time I heard Starset was in 2014 on one of the Music Choice radio stations and it was their single “My Demons”. By the time they unleashed their next single “Carnivore”, I knew I had to have their Transmissions album, which is their first CD as a band. A year ago they came out with their sophomore effort Vessels and they’ve been going strong ever since. Starset has the gimmick of being space explorers warning humanity about the demise of mankind. It’s not meant to be cute or funny; the music and gimmick are actually quite emotional and can draw in a huge crowd on any given night.
I like to jokingly refer to rock concerts as one-day vacations, which is why I list them as life events on my Face Book page. It seems like I’m stroking myself when I do that, but I really do consider these concerts to be that important to me since the bands rarely visit my home state. I don’t do this with movies or books, because I can get that kind of experience at home without making any kind of pilgrimage to a stadium. Concerts? You have to get your ass out in public for those.
But just like with any pilgrimage to the city of rock, I will return safe, sound, and in perfect condition to continue my creative endeavors. I’m not fond of memes that say writers never take vacations. While it is true that not writing for a while makes us feel homesick, getting out and experiencing life is paramount to our creativity. You can’t have one without the other. That’s what makes Silent Warrior so special to me: because some of it (not all of it) is based on true experiences I’ve had as a teenager in high school. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***SILENT WARRIOR, CHAPTER 15***
I know one audience member in particular has been waiting patiently for a chapter told from the point of view of Mr. Simpson. Ask and you shall receive. In this chapter, the aloof history teacher barges into his daughter’s bedroom and confronts her about having sex with Scott. During this heated exchange, Adrienne (the daughter in question) exposes a secret to the reader that will give some insight into why Mr. Simpson is as insufferable as he is. What’s that secret? You’ll figure it out when the rest of the world does! No spoilers for you!
***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“There are a lot of fine-looking women all over the world today. They don’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”
-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-
Silent Warrior, Chapter 14
“Trust me, Mr. George, there’s a variety of other places I’d rather be than here in my classroom: an Afghan war zone, a rape dungeon, a slaughterhouse, or maybe even hell itself,” joked Mr. Simpson as he sipped his hot coffee. “I’m sure scrubbing boogers and leftover food isn’t your idea of a fun Saturday morning either. We have all of these janitors in our school, yet they never seem to want to scrub down desks. So basically, you’re taking the job that nobody else wants to do, Mr. George. For that, you should be proud.”
Scott’s gag reflex worked overtime for a slave’s wages as he scrubbed the underside of the desks with a damp sponge. Mr. Simpson seemed sure that his pupil was going to unload landslide of stomach acids into the soapy bucket. “Yes, I know it’s not the most pleasant work I can find for you, but it needs to get done. I’m sure your fellow students will appreciate having a clean place to sit. Of course, they’re just going to stick disgusting crap under there again, but at least it’ll be good in the short term.”
After wringing out the sponge in the bucket and gagging again, Scott looked up at his teacher with bloodshot eyes and said, “This will probably earn me more detention, but you’re a monster Mr. Simpson.”
The history teacher chuckled, shook his head, and held his hands up defensively while saying, “Nah, I won’t penalize you for that. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Plus, you make a strong argument. I’m definitely going to hell for what I’m making you do today. But I have to ask…is it really that disgusting underneath there? Who knows? Maybe you’re trying to make yourself sick so that you can get out early.” He leaned to the side to get a better view of the underbelly and said, “Please do me a solid and tell me I’m wrong.”
Scott wrung out the sponge again and said, “I’ve been doing that for the past semester, Mr. Simpson. I’ve called you out on your BS and you laughed in my face every single time. For a guy who’s supposed to instill knowledge and wisdom to the next generation, you seem to not give a damn about the kids in your class.”
Mr. Simpson took a sip of his coffee and said, “Well, I guess there’s no fooling you, is there. I try hard every day to give a hoot about my students, but let’s be honest, they’re not making it easy for me. You’re hardly the worst offender when it comes to this, Scott. I’ve been hit in the face with spitballs, I’ve been called homophobic slurs even though I’m not gay, and I even had one student tell me that he was going to stab me in the chest with a butcher knife. Great stuff, huh? But through it all, I keep soldiering on.”
“But why?” asked Scott as he continued scrubbing. “If you don’t like what you do for a living, why don’t you just do something else?”
With a wag of his index finger and a blunt smile, Mr. Simpson said, “You see? That’s what everybody tells me these days. I’m sure you’d love to see me hand in my resignation and walk out those front doors to a life of rainbows and unicorns.” The teacher took off his glasses and stunned Scott with a look of hard seriousness, “But the truth is, there are no rainbows and unicorns. This is the real world, kid. And in the real world, sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do. I happen to be knowledgeable in history, so I teach history for a living. Is it everything I thought it was going to be? Not even close. But then again, nothing really is. You’ve got depressed rock stars and starving painters all around the world who thought they were going to waltz into happyville the day that they graduated.”
Though taken aback by his teacher’s steel eyes, Scott threw his sponge in the soapy bucket and stood up to meet them with a vengeful scowl. “So basically what you’re trying to tell me is that because you’re a miserable sack of shit, everybody else has to be too? I don’t buy that crap for one minute.”
“Speaking of being miserable,” said Mr. Simpson as he set his coffee mug on one of the now cleaned desks. “Never forget why you’re here today in the first place. Trash can violence aside, you swore in a place where it isn’t allowed. Whether you agree with that rule or not, it is the law of the land. We encourage a professional environment between these walls. That way, when you take your so-called dream job, you’ll be better equipped to thrive in it.”
“Really?” said Scott with a cocked head and raised eyebrow. “You’re taking away my self-esteem so that I can blindly follow orders and embrace my misery? This sounds like the plot of a Pink Floyd music video, if you ask me.”
Mr. Simpson slammed his fist against one of the desks and caused Scott to jump out of his skin. “No, young man. That’s not classic rock. That’s real life. You think your employers are going to care about your precious little self-esteem? That’s if you have any employers at all! This world wasn’t built on cutesy-wutesy feelings. It was built on toughness. It was built on efficiency. History’s legends didn’t build entire nations out of precious and pretty dreams.”
“No! They built entire nations on slavery and genocide!” shouted Scott, bringing the heated debate to a dead silence. These fiery seconds were spent gazing into each other’s eyes to see who would flinch first. Scott broke the stalemate by angrily whispering, “But you’re right about one thing: those conquerors don’t care about self-esteem and personal ambitions…just like you don’t care about mine! I guess you’re fit to be a history teacher after all. You relate so well to those European settlers.”
With his sour expression trembling, Mr. Simpson said, “Ouch, Scott. That hurt. That hurt badly. You know what? Forget the desks. Forget the sponge, forget the bucket, forget the boogers, forget everything! I’ve got a new assignment for you, my friend.” He approached the blackboard and pointed at it with a piece of chalk. “What was I thinking? Cleaning desks isn’t going to make the message sink in. But saying it often enough will. I want you to take this piece of chalk and write a single sentence so many times that it fills the blackboard. And no taking shortcuts by writing in huge letters!”
Arms folded and stone faced, Scott asked, “And what exactly is it you want me to write?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Mr. Simpson. “My job as a teacher is to impart wisdom on the next generation. You seem to believe that once you graduate the world is going to welcome you with open arms and a bowl of rainbow ice cream with sprinkles. You need to learn that things don’t work out that way. You need to learn…to ‘Embrace the suck’. It’s the mantra military personnel live by on a day-to-day basis. It’s the iron that sharpens their iron. It’s the basic building blocks for toughness. Conquering bad situations that keep getting worse will build your character, not living in a jobless fantasy.”
Scott maintained his death stare as he yanked the piece of chalk out of Mr. Simpson’s hand and placed it to the top edge of the blackboard. The teacher grabbed his mug and told him, “I’m going to get more coffee. It’s 8:45 right now, so that means you have fifteen minutes to complete your new assignment. If you try to leave early, you’ll get another hour of detention, this time tomorrow morning. Remember, Scott…’Embrace the suck!’”
As soon as Mr. Simpson exited the classroom, Scott slowly scraped the chalk across the board, little squeaking sounds piercing his eardrums. He took a deep breath and tried again, but the squeaks pounded his tired brain even more. He wanted to just throw the piece of chalk across the room and bail, but that would have been yet another victory for Tom Simpson. “If the guy has any more victories, his head will be bigger than Alan Young’s ass,” Scott said to himself in a low voice.
The very mention of the A word brought a piece of sagely advice from a beautiful fifteen year old girl to mind. For the first time since he got here, Scott had a shit-eating grin on his face. He erased the original text on the board and wrote something entirely different from embracing the suck. As the poetic words danced across the canvas, Scott’s smile became more obvious than the annoying squeaks. He even gave a goofy giggle every now and then.
Nine o’clock reared its supermodel head and Mr. Simpson finally found a bag of coffee he really liked: stronger than his own authority. He even whistled as he moseyed back to his classroom. Before he could cross the threshold, Scott beat him to it and threw his piece of chalk in the air, which landed in Mr. Simpson’s coffee mug. “Hey!” the teacher shouted as Scott strolled out into the hallway. He ultimately thought nothing of it and shook his head.
Upon seeing Scott’s tapestry of nonconformity on the blackboard, Mr. Simpson’s eyes widened and he dropped his coffee on the ground. “No…no…no…!” he whimpered over and over again while rushing up to get a better look. Sure enough, the chalkboard was filled from top to bottom, left to right with, “Scott and Adrienne sitting in a tree / F-U-C-K-I-N-G!” The teacher’s heart and mind raced at the speed of light as he slowly dropped to his knees. He then let out a primal war cry and pounded the blackboard with his fists. He even raked his nails across the board for extra ear punishment. “I’m going to…I’m going to…I’m going to kill that little bastard!”
In this nonstop assault on his own wall, Mr. Simpson could empathize with the swear-word laced rage of his own students now, but not in the way he wanted and certainly not in a way that made him rethink his conformist edge. He was a hypocrite alright, but even history’s most dangerous warriors couldn’t keep a straight story from time to time. The teacher bathed in his white hot rage. His pounds became so powerful that cracks formed on the chalkboard. Upon seeing the damage he did, he slammed his back against the wall and sat there breathing throatily while holding his sweaty head in his hands. “This war’s not over…it’s not going to fly away like a little birdie…this war…is just getting started, you little piece of shit!”
Scott’s gag reflex worked overtime for a slave’s wages as he scrubbed the underside of the desks with a damp sponge. Mr. Simpson seemed sure that his pupil was going to unload landslide of stomach acids into the soapy bucket. “Yes, I know it’s not the most pleasant work I can find for you, but it needs to get done. I’m sure your fellow students will appreciate having a clean place to sit. Of course, they’re just going to stick disgusting crap under there again, but at least it’ll be good in the short term.”
After wringing out the sponge in the bucket and gagging again, Scott looked up at his teacher with bloodshot eyes and said, “This will probably earn me more detention, but you’re a monster Mr. Simpson.”
The history teacher chuckled, shook his head, and held his hands up defensively while saying, “Nah, I won’t penalize you for that. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Plus, you make a strong argument. I’m definitely going to hell for what I’m making you do today. But I have to ask…is it really that disgusting underneath there? Who knows? Maybe you’re trying to make yourself sick so that you can get out early.” He leaned to the side to get a better view of the underbelly and said, “Please do me a solid and tell me I’m wrong.”
Scott wrung out the sponge again and said, “I’ve been doing that for the past semester, Mr. Simpson. I’ve called you out on your BS and you laughed in my face every single time. For a guy who’s supposed to instill knowledge and wisdom to the next generation, you seem to not give a damn about the kids in your class.”
Mr. Simpson took a sip of his coffee and said, “Well, I guess there’s no fooling you, is there. I try hard every day to give a hoot about my students, but let’s be honest, they’re not making it easy for me. You’re hardly the worst offender when it comes to this, Scott. I’ve been hit in the face with spitballs, I’ve been called homophobic slurs even though I’m not gay, and I even had one student tell me that he was going to stab me in the chest with a butcher knife. Great stuff, huh? But through it all, I keep soldiering on.”
“But why?” asked Scott as he continued scrubbing. “If you don’t like what you do for a living, why don’t you just do something else?”
With a wag of his index finger and a blunt smile, Mr. Simpson said, “You see? That’s what everybody tells me these days. I’m sure you’d love to see me hand in my resignation and walk out those front doors to a life of rainbows and unicorns.” The teacher took off his glasses and stunned Scott with a look of hard seriousness, “But the truth is, there are no rainbows and unicorns. This is the real world, kid. And in the real world, sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do. I happen to be knowledgeable in history, so I teach history for a living. Is it everything I thought it was going to be? Not even close. But then again, nothing really is. You’ve got depressed rock stars and starving painters all around the world who thought they were going to waltz into happyville the day that they graduated.”
Though taken aback by his teacher’s steel eyes, Scott threw his sponge in the soapy bucket and stood up to meet them with a vengeful scowl. “So basically what you’re trying to tell me is that because you’re a miserable sack of shit, everybody else has to be too? I don’t buy that crap for one minute.”
“Speaking of being miserable,” said Mr. Simpson as he set his coffee mug on one of the now cleaned desks. “Never forget why you’re here today in the first place. Trash can violence aside, you swore in a place where it isn’t allowed. Whether you agree with that rule or not, it is the law of the land. We encourage a professional environment between these walls. That way, when you take your so-called dream job, you’ll be better equipped to thrive in it.”
“Really?” said Scott with a cocked head and raised eyebrow. “You’re taking away my self-esteem so that I can blindly follow orders and embrace my misery? This sounds like the plot of a Pink Floyd music video, if you ask me.”
Mr. Simpson slammed his fist against one of the desks and caused Scott to jump out of his skin. “No, young man. That’s not classic rock. That’s real life. You think your employers are going to care about your precious little self-esteem? That’s if you have any employers at all! This world wasn’t built on cutesy-wutesy feelings. It was built on toughness. It was built on efficiency. History’s legends didn’t build entire nations out of precious and pretty dreams.”
“No! They built entire nations on slavery and genocide!” shouted Scott, bringing the heated debate to a dead silence. These fiery seconds were spent gazing into each other’s eyes to see who would flinch first. Scott broke the stalemate by angrily whispering, “But you’re right about one thing: those conquerors don’t care about self-esteem and personal ambitions…just like you don’t care about mine! I guess you’re fit to be a history teacher after all. You relate so well to those European settlers.”
With his sour expression trembling, Mr. Simpson said, “Ouch, Scott. That hurt. That hurt badly. You know what? Forget the desks. Forget the sponge, forget the bucket, forget the boogers, forget everything! I’ve got a new assignment for you, my friend.” He approached the blackboard and pointed at it with a piece of chalk. “What was I thinking? Cleaning desks isn’t going to make the message sink in. But saying it often enough will. I want you to take this piece of chalk and write a single sentence so many times that it fills the blackboard. And no taking shortcuts by writing in huge letters!”
Arms folded and stone faced, Scott asked, “And what exactly is it you want me to write?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Mr. Simpson. “My job as a teacher is to impart wisdom on the next generation. You seem to believe that once you graduate the world is going to welcome you with open arms and a bowl of rainbow ice cream with sprinkles. You need to learn that things don’t work out that way. You need to learn…to ‘Embrace the suck’. It’s the mantra military personnel live by on a day-to-day basis. It’s the iron that sharpens their iron. It’s the basic building blocks for toughness. Conquering bad situations that keep getting worse will build your character, not living in a jobless fantasy.”
Scott maintained his death stare as he yanked the piece of chalk out of Mr. Simpson’s hand and placed it to the top edge of the blackboard. The teacher grabbed his mug and told him, “I’m going to get more coffee. It’s 8:45 right now, so that means you have fifteen minutes to complete your new assignment. If you try to leave early, you’ll get another hour of detention, this time tomorrow morning. Remember, Scott…’Embrace the suck!’”
As soon as Mr. Simpson exited the classroom, Scott slowly scraped the chalk across the board, little squeaking sounds piercing his eardrums. He took a deep breath and tried again, but the squeaks pounded his tired brain even more. He wanted to just throw the piece of chalk across the room and bail, but that would have been yet another victory for Tom Simpson. “If the guy has any more victories, his head will be bigger than Alan Young’s ass,” Scott said to himself in a low voice.
The very mention of the A word brought a piece of sagely advice from a beautiful fifteen year old girl to mind. For the first time since he got here, Scott had a shit-eating grin on his face. He erased the original text on the board and wrote something entirely different from embracing the suck. As the poetic words danced across the canvas, Scott’s smile became more obvious than the annoying squeaks. He even gave a goofy giggle every now and then.
Nine o’clock reared its supermodel head and Mr. Simpson finally found a bag of coffee he really liked: stronger than his own authority. He even whistled as he moseyed back to his classroom. Before he could cross the threshold, Scott beat him to it and threw his piece of chalk in the air, which landed in Mr. Simpson’s coffee mug. “Hey!” the teacher shouted as Scott strolled out into the hallway. He ultimately thought nothing of it and shook his head.
Upon seeing Scott’s tapestry of nonconformity on the blackboard, Mr. Simpson’s eyes widened and he dropped his coffee on the ground. “No…no…no…!” he whimpered over and over again while rushing up to get a better look. Sure enough, the chalkboard was filled from top to bottom, left to right with, “Scott and Adrienne sitting in a tree / F-U-C-K-I-N-G!” The teacher’s heart and mind raced at the speed of light as he slowly dropped to his knees. He then let out a primal war cry and pounded the blackboard with his fists. He even raked his nails across the board for extra ear punishment. “I’m going to…I’m going to…I’m going to kill that little bastard!”
In this nonstop assault on his own wall, Mr. Simpson could empathize with the swear-word laced rage of his own students now, but not in the way he wanted and certainly not in a way that made him rethink his conformist edge. He was a hypocrite alright, but even history’s most dangerous warriors couldn’t keep a straight story from time to time. The teacher bathed in his white hot rage. His pounds became so powerful that cracks formed on the chalkboard. Upon seeing the damage he did, he slammed his back against the wall and sat there breathing throatily while holding his sweaty head in his hands. “This war’s not over…it’s not going to fly away like a little birdie…this war…is just getting started, you little piece of shit!”
February 21, 2018
Loser
VERSE 1
You can’t use your past as an excuse
To put everybody through verbal abuse
To blow like dynamite with a short fuse
To cry like a bitch for every time you lose
I don’t care how much money you make
It doesn’t give you the right to forsake
The ones who look up to you for guidance
You bullied them right into dead silence
CHORUS
You’re a loser
Acting so tough like a bruiser
You’re a loser
Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer
You’re a loser
Drunk off your power like a boozer
You’re a loser
You’re a loser!
VERSE 2
The day you left, I partied like a rock star
Cranked up the music, fucking rocked hard
Ate the biggest slice of cake I could find
So glad to leave your monster ass behind
CHORUS
You’re a loser
Acting so tough like a bruiser
You’re a loser
Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer
You’re a loser
Drunk off your power like a boozer
You’re a loser
You’re a loser!
BRIDGE
I tried to help, but you’re beyond redemption
I tried to talk, but you’re not worth the mention
I tried to love, but you could still cut the tension
I tried to leave, but you locked me in detention
VERSE 3
The memory remains even if it’s so distant
Exorcising you has been my adulthood mission
If it was really that easy, I’d have done it already
Ripped up your pictures into party confetti
Deleted your words from my darkest places
Put some paper bags over your angriest faces
Your history is mine to permanently erase
So why are you still getting on my fucking case?
CHORUS
You’re a loser
Acting so tough like a bruiser
You’re a loser
Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer
You’re a loser
Drunk off your power like a boozer
You’re a loser
You’re a loser!
You can’t use your past as an excuse
To put everybody through verbal abuse
To blow like dynamite with a short fuse
To cry like a bitch for every time you lose
I don’t care how much money you make
It doesn’t give you the right to forsake
The ones who look up to you for guidance
You bullied them right into dead silence
CHORUS
You’re a loser
Acting so tough like a bruiser
You’re a loser
Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer
You’re a loser
Drunk off your power like a boozer
You’re a loser
You’re a loser!
VERSE 2
The day you left, I partied like a rock star
Cranked up the music, fucking rocked hard
Ate the biggest slice of cake I could find
So glad to leave your monster ass behind
CHORUS
You’re a loser
Acting so tough like a bruiser
You’re a loser
Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer
You’re a loser
Drunk off your power like a boozer
You’re a loser
You’re a loser!
BRIDGE
I tried to help, but you’re beyond redemption
I tried to talk, but you’re not worth the mention
I tried to love, but you could still cut the tension
I tried to leave, but you locked me in detention
VERSE 3
The memory remains even if it’s so distant
Exorcising you has been my adulthood mission
If it was really that easy, I’d have done it already
Ripped up your pictures into party confetti
Deleted your words from my darkest places
Put some paper bags over your angriest faces
Your history is mine to permanently erase
So why are you still getting on my fucking case?
CHORUS
You’re a loser
Acting so tough like a bruiser
You’re a loser
Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer
You’re a loser
Drunk off your power like a boozer
You’re a loser
You’re a loser!
February 19, 2018
Not My God
VERSE 1
What kind of god would tell me to kill?
And send their families the funeral bill?
What kind of god would tell me to hate?
Believe every sinner gets a hellish fate?
What kind of god would promise me heaven?
Use fear as a conqueror, the ultimate weapon?
Never will I kneel down and pray to the skies
You’d never save me, not even if you tried
CHORUS
You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!
You’re not the answer that I have to find!
You’re not my king! You’re not my master!
You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!
You’re! Not! My! God!
VERSE 2
A prophet’s word is a false prediction
A prophet’s book is science fiction
A prophet’s orders fall on deaf ears
A prophet’s stuck in medieval years
CHORUS
You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!
You’re not the answer that I have to find!
You’re not my king! You’re not my master!
You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!
You’re! Not! My! God!
VERSE 3
A theomancer is a free man’s cancer
A theocrat lives off stolen cash
A theocosm has nothing in common
With our three worlds and our problems
The bottom level is home to the devil
I call bullshit so you should just quit
I don’t need your thoughts or prayers
In the fucking end, you just don’t care
EXTENDED CHORUS
You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!
You’re not the answer that I have to find!
You’re not my king! You’re not my master!
You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!
You’re not my savior! You’re not my flavor!
You won’t punish my sinful behavior!
I’m not your slave! I’m not your zealot!
My soul is not yours, you cannot sell it!
You’re! Not! My! God!
What kind of god would tell me to kill?
And send their families the funeral bill?
What kind of god would tell me to hate?
Believe every sinner gets a hellish fate?
What kind of god would promise me heaven?
Use fear as a conqueror, the ultimate weapon?
Never will I kneel down and pray to the skies
You’d never save me, not even if you tried
CHORUS
You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!
You’re not the answer that I have to find!
You’re not my king! You’re not my master!
You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!
You’re! Not! My! God!
VERSE 2
A prophet’s word is a false prediction
A prophet’s book is science fiction
A prophet’s orders fall on deaf ears
A prophet’s stuck in medieval years
CHORUS
You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!
You’re not the answer that I have to find!
You’re not my king! You’re not my master!
You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!
You’re! Not! My! God!
VERSE 3
A theomancer is a free man’s cancer
A theocrat lives off stolen cash
A theocosm has nothing in common
With our three worlds and our problems
The bottom level is home to the devil
I call bullshit so you should just quit
I don’t need your thoughts or prayers
In the fucking end, you just don’t care
EXTENDED CHORUS
You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!
You’re not the answer that I have to find!
You’re not my king! You’re not my master!
You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!
You’re not my savior! You’re not my flavor!
You won’t punish my sinful behavior!
I’m not your slave! I’m not your zealot!
My soul is not yours, you cannot sell it!
You’re! Not! My! God!
Don't Wake the Baby
VERSE 1
Dreaming of scratches behind her ears
Sleeping on my bed for the rest of her years
Such a sweet little fuzzy lady
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
VERSE 2
Dreaming of a buffet table of tuna fish
A quart of milk in her favorite dish
Is this reality? Well, just maybe
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
VERSE 3
Dreaming of gentle warmth from the heater
Drooling like a fountain, her dreams get sweeter
A kitty kiss on the cheek is what she gave me
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
FINAL VERSE
Waking up to a brand new day
Only to fall asleep again anyways
She needs every hour of beauty rest
Her forever home is truly the best
She gives me the biggest goofy grin
Every time I scratch her under the chin
She purrs like the sweetest kitty lady
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
Dreaming of scratches behind her ears
Sleeping on my bed for the rest of her years
Such a sweet little fuzzy lady
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
VERSE 2
Dreaming of a buffet table of tuna fish
A quart of milk in her favorite dish
Is this reality? Well, just maybe
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
VERSE 3
Dreaming of gentle warmth from the heater
Drooling like a fountain, her dreams get sweeter
A kitty kiss on the cheek is what she gave me
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
FINAL VERSE
Waking up to a brand new day
Only to fall asleep again anyways
She needs every hour of beauty rest
Her forever home is truly the best
She gives me the biggest goofy grin
Every time I scratch her under the chin
She purrs like the sweetest kitty lady
Shh! Don’t wake the baby!
