Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 68
February 17, 2018
The Thunder Eagles
***THE THUNDER EAGLES***
How about we take a break from the high school drama known as Silent Warrior so that I can tell you a little story about my childhood. I promise you we’ll get back to our regularly scheduled program after these messages. Although, chapter thirteen will contain graphic sexual content, so if you want to look for it when it’s up, go to Wattpad. Until the day I write that chapter, you’re getting a story from my past.
In spite of the fact that I was raised on WWF, WCW, and ECW, I didn’t have much love for sports or exercise of any kind growing up. I’m paying for it now that I’m north of three hundred pounds, but even back when I was a skinny little string bean, athletic competition was hard for me. I’d gas out after the first few minutes. Imagine this kind of negative attitude applied to elementary school-level soccer.
In the early to mid-90’s, I lived in Elk Grove, California and achieved success in my third, fourth, and fifth grade academics. Athletic achievements? Not so much. My parents signed me and my brother James up for soccer, albeit different teams. James’s team, the Laguna Lasers, was successful and happy to be so. My team, The Thunder Eagles (not to be confused with the Thunderbirds), were an intergalactic disaster. We only won two games out of god knows how many and one of those two games was against a team of children who were much younger and smaller than us. For all of you wrestling nerds out there, it’s basically Bone Soldier beating the shit out of James Ellsworth.
As a child, I’ve always been a sore loser no matter what the game was. When I brother beat me at Connect Four, I threw a hissyfit like no other. When I played Hero Quest and my barbarian was killed, I threw game pieces across the living room in frustration. When the Thunder Eagles lost over and over again, I wanted to beat something up. It didn’t help matters that I was always getting knocked down (accidentally) or hit with the ball (accidentally) by the other players. Whenever one of them would hit me, I’d chase after them and throw hammer fists until I was benched for the rest of the game. And then when both of our teams formed lines to high five each other, I withdrew my hand. Hell, as angry as I was, I might as well have flipped them off instead. Vinny Jones would be so proud of me.
It also didn’t help matters that my own teammates were conspiring against me most of the time. I remember during practice how they would play keep away with a soccer ball I brought myself. I never could get the ball back from them, but every time someone kicked it away, I’d either shove them to the ground or kick them in the legs. I also remember a time when a fellow teammate named Jorge kept bouncing the ball off my legs, so I ran up to him, kicked him in the asshole, and made him cry. I’d later recall these stories as an adult to James, who kept asking me why I took everything so personally back then. I’d jokingly respond with, “They tried to kill me!”
If I had been an adult and committed these violent and vengeful acts against other players, I’d probably be in jail right now. But as a kid, you can get away with pretty much anything and the worst you’ll get is detention or a suspension (which is really just a nice vacation away from the stresses of school). In the case of soccer, my mom bribed me with a trip to McDonald’s after each game on the condition that I didn’t clobber anybody who accidentally bumped me down. One particular game, I got smacked in the thigh with the ball and it stung like hell. But instead of beating the shit out of another kid, I cried my eyes out. Needless to say, I earned my Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese that day.
The lesson I learned from all of this soccer immersion was that if at first you don’t succeed, cry and cry again. As I said before, the Thunder Eagles lost every game except for two. Plus, I was getting sick and tired of being smashed around and gassing out after only a few seconds of activity. While my brother James continues to enjoy an athletic lifestyle, I’ve resigned myself to a life of videogames and have remained injury free since then. That reminds me of another lesson I learned from soccer: if you get hit in what’s supposed to be a no-contact sport, the admins might as well make it as violent as possible. I would have loved to bring steel chairs and kendo sticks onto the soccer field with me, maybe even a barbed wire bat. Extreme Championship Soccer! ECS! ECS! ECS! ECS!
I’d like to think that this is why I continue to watch wrestling and MMA as an adult: because violent sports don’t try to hide behind the façade of being safe and conscientious about self-esteem. I guess football could be considered violent because of all the concussions the players get, but I have yet to see any of them whip out some martial arts moves on the gridiron, so football doesn’t count in the end. And now that we’re on the topic of violent sports, when, oh when are the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards going to come out already?! That Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award is ripe for the picking this year! Come on, Meltzer! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I’ll hypnotize you like a vampire. Bite your neck and set your head on fire. Shoot me with silver bullets, okay. I’ll pull ‘em out, pawn ‘em, and get paid!”
-Violent J from Insane Clown Posse rapping “Bring It On”-
How about we take a break from the high school drama known as Silent Warrior so that I can tell you a little story about my childhood. I promise you we’ll get back to our regularly scheduled program after these messages. Although, chapter thirteen will contain graphic sexual content, so if you want to look for it when it’s up, go to Wattpad. Until the day I write that chapter, you’re getting a story from my past.
In spite of the fact that I was raised on WWF, WCW, and ECW, I didn’t have much love for sports or exercise of any kind growing up. I’m paying for it now that I’m north of three hundred pounds, but even back when I was a skinny little string bean, athletic competition was hard for me. I’d gas out after the first few minutes. Imagine this kind of negative attitude applied to elementary school-level soccer.
In the early to mid-90’s, I lived in Elk Grove, California and achieved success in my third, fourth, and fifth grade academics. Athletic achievements? Not so much. My parents signed me and my brother James up for soccer, albeit different teams. James’s team, the Laguna Lasers, was successful and happy to be so. My team, The Thunder Eagles (not to be confused with the Thunderbirds), were an intergalactic disaster. We only won two games out of god knows how many and one of those two games was against a team of children who were much younger and smaller than us. For all of you wrestling nerds out there, it’s basically Bone Soldier beating the shit out of James Ellsworth.
As a child, I’ve always been a sore loser no matter what the game was. When I brother beat me at Connect Four, I threw a hissyfit like no other. When I played Hero Quest and my barbarian was killed, I threw game pieces across the living room in frustration. When the Thunder Eagles lost over and over again, I wanted to beat something up. It didn’t help matters that I was always getting knocked down (accidentally) or hit with the ball (accidentally) by the other players. Whenever one of them would hit me, I’d chase after them and throw hammer fists until I was benched for the rest of the game. And then when both of our teams formed lines to high five each other, I withdrew my hand. Hell, as angry as I was, I might as well have flipped them off instead. Vinny Jones would be so proud of me.
It also didn’t help matters that my own teammates were conspiring against me most of the time. I remember during practice how they would play keep away with a soccer ball I brought myself. I never could get the ball back from them, but every time someone kicked it away, I’d either shove them to the ground or kick them in the legs. I also remember a time when a fellow teammate named Jorge kept bouncing the ball off my legs, so I ran up to him, kicked him in the asshole, and made him cry. I’d later recall these stories as an adult to James, who kept asking me why I took everything so personally back then. I’d jokingly respond with, “They tried to kill me!”
If I had been an adult and committed these violent and vengeful acts against other players, I’d probably be in jail right now. But as a kid, you can get away with pretty much anything and the worst you’ll get is detention or a suspension (which is really just a nice vacation away from the stresses of school). In the case of soccer, my mom bribed me with a trip to McDonald’s after each game on the condition that I didn’t clobber anybody who accidentally bumped me down. One particular game, I got smacked in the thigh with the ball and it stung like hell. But instead of beating the shit out of another kid, I cried my eyes out. Needless to say, I earned my Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese that day.
The lesson I learned from all of this soccer immersion was that if at first you don’t succeed, cry and cry again. As I said before, the Thunder Eagles lost every game except for two. Plus, I was getting sick and tired of being smashed around and gassing out after only a few seconds of activity. While my brother James continues to enjoy an athletic lifestyle, I’ve resigned myself to a life of videogames and have remained injury free since then. That reminds me of another lesson I learned from soccer: if you get hit in what’s supposed to be a no-contact sport, the admins might as well make it as violent as possible. I would have loved to bring steel chairs and kendo sticks onto the soccer field with me, maybe even a barbed wire bat. Extreme Championship Soccer! ECS! ECS! ECS! ECS!
I’d like to think that this is why I continue to watch wrestling and MMA as an adult: because violent sports don’t try to hide behind the façade of being safe and conscientious about self-esteem. I guess football could be considered violent because of all the concussions the players get, but I have yet to see any of them whip out some martial arts moves on the gridiron, so football doesn’t count in the end. And now that we’re on the topic of violent sports, when, oh when are the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards going to come out already?! That Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award is ripe for the picking this year! Come on, Meltzer! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I’ll hypnotize you like a vampire. Bite your neck and set your head on fire. Shoot me with silver bullets, okay. I’ll pull ‘em out, pawn ‘em, and get paid!”
-Violent J from Insane Clown Posse rapping “Bring It On”-
February 16, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 12
If there was ever a time for the genre of robot-zombie apocalypse, it was right after lunch period. Everybody’s faces blended together. Scott George’s brain numbed out to where he couldn’t think straight. And the apocalypse part? That was an easy one: his world crashed all around him. Every once and a while, he would look up at the digital clocks of his respective classrooms waiting impatiently for the day to be over. His incessant foot tapping and jittery fingers made him easier to read than a baby’s first book.
After hours and hours of having Novocain rubbed on his brain, the final buzzer sounded and Scott’s wobbly legs brought him to an upright position and out the front door in a slow death march. He couldn’t even remember what day it was, but even his explosive mind could tell that Saturday was just around the corner. Saturday was supposed to be an exciting time in an overworked student’s life. A time to party. A time to play videogames. A time to hang out with friends. Scott might as well have walked straight to the gallows instead of home that day.
He needed a new song on his MP3 player. “After the Rain” by Nickelback? Nah, too positive. How about “Lullaby” from that same group? Nope, hits too close to home with its themes of suicide. Considering Scott’s brain was a scarier place to be than a battlefield full of dead bodies, maybe music wasn’t what he needed at the moment. Not even the hard rock guitars and golden voice of Chad Kroeger would be enough to wake up the corpses in his mind.
“Scott!” called out a familiar feminine voice. “Scott! Over here!” Still no response from the creature whose diet consisted only of brains healthier than his own. And then his world went black with a pair of soft, silky hands covering his eyes. “Guess who, sweetie pie!” Not even the perky voice of his own girlfriend could snap Scott out of his depressive slouch. “Come on, Scott! Rise and shine!”
With the energy of someone who just got out of an apnea-induced slumber, Scott wrapped Adrienne’s arm around his own neck and absentmindedly kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, babe. Today’s been a massive bucket of suck. I just want to go home.”
“Every day is a massive bucket of suck for you,” said Adrienne as the two lovers walked down the street together. “But something’s really getting to you, isn’t it? You can tell me what it is. I won’t judge you.”
“It’s…it’s your goddamn father again.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Adrienne flatly. “He has that kind of effect on people. What did he do this time?”
Scott sighed deeply as a way of clearing the clutter in his head. “He gave me an hour detention to serve on Saturday morning. I guess that’s his way of getting back at me for bailing on him.”
“Saturday morning? That’s tomorrow!”
The realization hit Scott like a cannonball to the gut. He crouched down on the ground and coughed violently while Adrienne comforted him with pats and rubs on the shoulders. “Sorry,” he said while breathing heavily. “I completely forgot today was Friday. Holy shit…I’m dead…I’m fucking dead! He wants me to clean the desks in his classroom for him. All that nasty shit that’s under there…just thinking about it killed my appetite…I’m so hungry, damn it!”
Adrienne hugged him around his upper arms and said, “It’ll be alright, Scott. It’s just an hour of your life. After that, you’ll have a fresh start. My dad may be the world’s biggest asshole, but he’s not going to do anything to you that you can’t handle.”
“Where were you, Adrienne?” asked Scott in a raspy voice. “I looked everywhere for you and you didn’t show up to school today.”
“I would have been there to walk with you, but I had a panic attack this morning. I don’t know what triggered it, but it probably means I’m going to be spending longer than usual in my therapist’s office on Sunday. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, Scott. I really am. Come on, let’s walk you home.” The two of them stood up and proceeded to do just that.
Upon standing up, a piece of paper fell out of Scott’s backpack and Adrienne bent over to pick it up. She stared at it with wide-eyed amazement and an angelic smile. “Scott, did you draw this? It’s beautiful! Gee, I wonder who that lovely girl in the middle could be!” She kissed him on the cheek and his face lit up like a neon sign. Then Adrienne’s smile turned to a confused frown when she saw the oral stain on the bottom of the picture. “Scott, did you…?”
“I puked up my breakfast and lunch when your dad brought up the fact that there were gummy worms stuck to the bottom of the desks….among other disgusting things. That’s why I said I was hungry earlier.” He lifted up his shirt and ran his own fingers across his visible ribcage. “This isn’t working, Adrienne. This needs to change.”
“I think I might have a package of Oreos in my backpack, hang on,” said Adrienne as she rifled through her belongings. Sure enough, there was a small bag of double-stuffed Oreo cookies, which she licked her lips over. “Go ahead, Scott. Eat up!”
His fingers convulsed as he struggled to open the package. He almost dropped one of the cookies, but caught it just in time. As he stared at the frosty treat, he wondered if the cream filling had been stuck under those desks too. He stuck his tongue out in disgust and shivered violently before Adrienne patted him on the back to assure him it was okay.
Scott breathed deeply and settled down some knowing his girlfriend loved him despite his obvious flaws. She cared enough about him that she wanted him to eat everyday. She cared about his pain. She wanted to protect him from the evils of her own bloodline. Scott’s inside warmed up at these positive thoughts as he took a smile bite of the Oreo cookie.
The sweetness of the treat and the sweetness of Adrienne’s love were powerful enough to counteract the visions of boogers and chewed bubblegum underneath the desks. Scott took another bite. And another. And another. His stomach didn’t care about his psychological traumas; it wanted food and it wanted it now. Scott devoured the entire bag and licked his fingers afterwards.
“Not the most nutritious thing you could be eating, but it’s a damn good start,” said Adrienne with a cute grin. Scott couldn’t help but get a goofy grin on his own face as well, that was until his girlfriend looked down at his trousers and…it happened again. “Uh, Scott? You’ve got a…little problem…down there.”
Scott snapped out of his romanticized trance long enough to see that little Scotty was standing at attention once more. With both hands covering his groin, he profusely apologized to his girlfriend and tried to run away in shame. But then she grabbed hold of his arm and said, “It’s okay, honey-bunny! There’s nobody here to see you.”
“You mean…you’re not offended? You don’t want to get a restraining order against me or some shit like that?”
Adrienne sighed and shook her head with a smile, “No, Scott, I’m not going to file a sexual harassment claim just because you got a little…overzealous. As a matter of fact, I think the two of us should go somewhere a little more intimate and…do something about your little problem.”
Scott swallowed hard as he figured out what his girlfriend meant by that. They’d only known each other for a few days at best and she already wanted to have sex with him. It came with the territory of being a hormone-driven teenager, sure, but something about all of this didn’t feel right to him. “I don’t know, babe, I just…”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Adrienne while resting her chin on his shoulder and hugging him around his waist. “I just thought maybe you’d like to…you know…Heh! Sorry, I’m not the best at this kind of thing. It’s just that, if we did do…well, that…it would be my first time. Have you ever made love before, Scott?”
“Um…yeah, sure…I guess…if you want to call it that…”
Adrienne giggled, “Wow, this is awkward as fuck. Looks like we’re both going to have to go easy on each other. Do you still want to?”
“Well…uh…where would we go? I can’t go back to my place because my mom’s a fucking bitch. We can’t go to your place either, though I don’t know your mom very well. She probably wouldn’t like it if we…did that in her house.”
Adrienne held Scott’s hand and skipped away with him. “I know of a place where we can get some privacy.” Scott’s eyes widened with horror when he realized that they were heading into the forest. Adrienne giggled some more and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you to my Cabin in the Woods. And I’m not going to take you to my cottage in the forest, either, though that sounds more cozy and less creepy, oddly enough. It’s all about context, right?”
“So…where are we going exactly?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Hell, I’ll even make it a nice surprise for you,” she said while covering Scott’s eyes with her hands like she did before. “You trust me, right? Well, don’t worry, we’re not going to bump into any trees. I’ll take you to where we’re going in just a minute.”
Though he didn’t have to worry about other people despite his covered eyes, Scott still felt the need to hide his erection during this trek into the forest. No matter how hard he pushed down on it, it wouldn’t go away. Adrienne slapped his hands and said, “Don’t do that; that’s a good way to break it.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Don’t call me mother. That’s creepy as hell.”
“Yes, dear.”
After hours and hours of having Novocain rubbed on his brain, the final buzzer sounded and Scott’s wobbly legs brought him to an upright position and out the front door in a slow death march. He couldn’t even remember what day it was, but even his explosive mind could tell that Saturday was just around the corner. Saturday was supposed to be an exciting time in an overworked student’s life. A time to party. A time to play videogames. A time to hang out with friends. Scott might as well have walked straight to the gallows instead of home that day.
He needed a new song on his MP3 player. “After the Rain” by Nickelback? Nah, too positive. How about “Lullaby” from that same group? Nope, hits too close to home with its themes of suicide. Considering Scott’s brain was a scarier place to be than a battlefield full of dead bodies, maybe music wasn’t what he needed at the moment. Not even the hard rock guitars and golden voice of Chad Kroeger would be enough to wake up the corpses in his mind.
“Scott!” called out a familiar feminine voice. “Scott! Over here!” Still no response from the creature whose diet consisted only of brains healthier than his own. And then his world went black with a pair of soft, silky hands covering his eyes. “Guess who, sweetie pie!” Not even the perky voice of his own girlfriend could snap Scott out of his depressive slouch. “Come on, Scott! Rise and shine!”
With the energy of someone who just got out of an apnea-induced slumber, Scott wrapped Adrienne’s arm around his own neck and absentmindedly kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, babe. Today’s been a massive bucket of suck. I just want to go home.”
“Every day is a massive bucket of suck for you,” said Adrienne as the two lovers walked down the street together. “But something’s really getting to you, isn’t it? You can tell me what it is. I won’t judge you.”
“It’s…it’s your goddamn father again.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Adrienne flatly. “He has that kind of effect on people. What did he do this time?”
Scott sighed deeply as a way of clearing the clutter in his head. “He gave me an hour detention to serve on Saturday morning. I guess that’s his way of getting back at me for bailing on him.”
“Saturday morning? That’s tomorrow!”
The realization hit Scott like a cannonball to the gut. He crouched down on the ground and coughed violently while Adrienne comforted him with pats and rubs on the shoulders. “Sorry,” he said while breathing heavily. “I completely forgot today was Friday. Holy shit…I’m dead…I’m fucking dead! He wants me to clean the desks in his classroom for him. All that nasty shit that’s under there…just thinking about it killed my appetite…I’m so hungry, damn it!”
Adrienne hugged him around his upper arms and said, “It’ll be alright, Scott. It’s just an hour of your life. After that, you’ll have a fresh start. My dad may be the world’s biggest asshole, but he’s not going to do anything to you that you can’t handle.”
“Where were you, Adrienne?” asked Scott in a raspy voice. “I looked everywhere for you and you didn’t show up to school today.”
“I would have been there to walk with you, but I had a panic attack this morning. I don’t know what triggered it, but it probably means I’m going to be spending longer than usual in my therapist’s office on Sunday. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, Scott. I really am. Come on, let’s walk you home.” The two of them stood up and proceeded to do just that.
Upon standing up, a piece of paper fell out of Scott’s backpack and Adrienne bent over to pick it up. She stared at it with wide-eyed amazement and an angelic smile. “Scott, did you draw this? It’s beautiful! Gee, I wonder who that lovely girl in the middle could be!” She kissed him on the cheek and his face lit up like a neon sign. Then Adrienne’s smile turned to a confused frown when she saw the oral stain on the bottom of the picture. “Scott, did you…?”
“I puked up my breakfast and lunch when your dad brought up the fact that there were gummy worms stuck to the bottom of the desks….among other disgusting things. That’s why I said I was hungry earlier.” He lifted up his shirt and ran his own fingers across his visible ribcage. “This isn’t working, Adrienne. This needs to change.”
“I think I might have a package of Oreos in my backpack, hang on,” said Adrienne as she rifled through her belongings. Sure enough, there was a small bag of double-stuffed Oreo cookies, which she licked her lips over. “Go ahead, Scott. Eat up!”
His fingers convulsed as he struggled to open the package. He almost dropped one of the cookies, but caught it just in time. As he stared at the frosty treat, he wondered if the cream filling had been stuck under those desks too. He stuck his tongue out in disgust and shivered violently before Adrienne patted him on the back to assure him it was okay.
Scott breathed deeply and settled down some knowing his girlfriend loved him despite his obvious flaws. She cared enough about him that she wanted him to eat everyday. She cared about his pain. She wanted to protect him from the evils of her own bloodline. Scott’s inside warmed up at these positive thoughts as he took a smile bite of the Oreo cookie.
The sweetness of the treat and the sweetness of Adrienne’s love were powerful enough to counteract the visions of boogers and chewed bubblegum underneath the desks. Scott took another bite. And another. And another. His stomach didn’t care about his psychological traumas; it wanted food and it wanted it now. Scott devoured the entire bag and licked his fingers afterwards.
“Not the most nutritious thing you could be eating, but it’s a damn good start,” said Adrienne with a cute grin. Scott couldn’t help but get a goofy grin on his own face as well, that was until his girlfriend looked down at his trousers and…it happened again. “Uh, Scott? You’ve got a…little problem…down there.”
Scott snapped out of his romanticized trance long enough to see that little Scotty was standing at attention once more. With both hands covering his groin, he profusely apologized to his girlfriend and tried to run away in shame. But then she grabbed hold of his arm and said, “It’s okay, honey-bunny! There’s nobody here to see you.”
“You mean…you’re not offended? You don’t want to get a restraining order against me or some shit like that?”
Adrienne sighed and shook her head with a smile, “No, Scott, I’m not going to file a sexual harassment claim just because you got a little…overzealous. As a matter of fact, I think the two of us should go somewhere a little more intimate and…do something about your little problem.”
Scott swallowed hard as he figured out what his girlfriend meant by that. They’d only known each other for a few days at best and she already wanted to have sex with him. It came with the territory of being a hormone-driven teenager, sure, but something about all of this didn’t feel right to him. “I don’t know, babe, I just…”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Adrienne while resting her chin on his shoulder and hugging him around his waist. “I just thought maybe you’d like to…you know…Heh! Sorry, I’m not the best at this kind of thing. It’s just that, if we did do…well, that…it would be my first time. Have you ever made love before, Scott?”
“Um…yeah, sure…I guess…if you want to call it that…”
Adrienne giggled, “Wow, this is awkward as fuck. Looks like we’re both going to have to go easy on each other. Do you still want to?”
“Well…uh…where would we go? I can’t go back to my place because my mom’s a fucking bitch. We can’t go to your place either, though I don’t know your mom very well. She probably wouldn’t like it if we…did that in her house.”
Adrienne held Scott’s hand and skipped away with him. “I know of a place where we can get some privacy.” Scott’s eyes widened with horror when he realized that they were heading into the forest. Adrienne giggled some more and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you to my Cabin in the Woods. And I’m not going to take you to my cottage in the forest, either, though that sounds more cozy and less creepy, oddly enough. It’s all about context, right?”
“So…where are we going exactly?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Hell, I’ll even make it a nice surprise for you,” she said while covering Scott’s eyes with her hands like she did before. “You trust me, right? Well, don’t worry, we’re not going to bump into any trees. I’ll take you to where we’re going in just a minute.”
Though he didn’t have to worry about other people despite his covered eyes, Scott still felt the need to hide his erection during this trek into the forest. No matter how hard he pushed down on it, it wouldn’t go away. Adrienne slapped his hands and said, “Don’t do that; that’s a good way to break it.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Don’t call me mother. That’s creepy as hell.”
“Yes, dear.”
February 13, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 11
A clear mind was all Scott George ever wanted. Clear of Mr. Simpson’s condescension. Clear of Alan Young’s brand of “humor”. Clear of worms that had no business being there in the first place. While his brainwaves weren’t a complete heavenly paradise, he was able to dry his eyes long enough to get through art class in one piece. The whispers of his classmates weren’t obtrusive enough to hold his attention. Instead his focus was pinpointed on a drawing he had been working on since the opening buzzer.
Rainbow colored flowers decorated the borders of Scott’s drawing. Pink clouds filled the negative spaces in between with a crisp golden sunshine lingering in the background. In the center of this latest masterpiece was heaven’s most beautiful angel. Instead of a radiating golden light, she brightened the picture with green flames and a purple haze. Rather than looking at the subject, her face turned slightly away with shyness, her hair down to her chest and her face a brilliant shade of red.
Unfortunately for the cloud nine-residing Scott, his one true love wouldn’t be in English class to see this marvelous masterpiece he created. Her desk remained empty throughout the entire hour and that brought a disappointed frown to his face. Where could she be? Did somebody figure out that she and Scott were dating? He hid his face as much as he could that day, fearing the absolute worst. It could have been a simple case of her coming down with a fever, but Scott’s mind wasn’t a place where rational adult thinking took place.
By the time lunch period rolled around, Scott still tried looking for Adrienne, even going back to the spot they sat at yesterday. He even visited the salad bar, which was slightly better than the spongy chicken nuggets, but not by much. He wanted to follow her advice as much as humanly possible and not worry about some stupid worms crawling in his meal. He took his Caesar dressing-covered greenery and sat at the same empty spot he took yesterday, hoping Adrienne would miraculously show up.
A few nibbles of spinach later, nothing. A few more nibbles, still nothing. A half hour of rabbit bites and Adrienne still hadn’t shown up. With nobody coming to save him this time, Scott’s stomach began to ache and flare up as he felt funny little creatures crawling around in his intestines. He felt as though an alien was going to pop out of his body and latch onto his face at any moment. And then an oddly comforting hand touched his shoulders and he was back to reality. When he saw who the hand belonged to, Scott’s comfort died down like a wounded animal.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.
“Long enough to see you writhe around in pain for whatever reason. My history class isn’t that bad, you know,” said Mr. Simpson with an unfunny smirk. “Mind if I sit here? Of course you don’t. We have much to discuss.” The history teacher took a seat across from Scott and folded his hands across the table. “I’m assuming that the reason you didn’t show up to my class today was because Miss Williams had a little chat with you.”
“Where’s Adrienne?” asked Scott pointblank before covering his mouth quickly.
“That’s none of your business,” said Mr. Simpson. “Besides, I wouldn’t know her whereabouts anyways. We haven’t talked in such a long time. Kind of like the way you and I never talk anymore except to breathe fire down each other’s necks. Actually, you’re the one who insists on not talking, which is why your grade is currently standing at a C- when it could be much higher.”
“if you came here to make fun of my introversion, then I’m going to go sit somewhere else,” said Scott, who tried to stand up only to have Mr. Simpson grab him by the wrist and sit him down again.
“Trust me, Scott, I didn’t come here for amateur comedy night. We really do have a lot to talk about, especially as it pertains to your punishment for not showing up to after-school detention. You didn’t think there’d be an easy way out, did you? There never is, my little silent warrior. But you should at least be thankful that this wasn’t a court appearance instead. If it had been, you’d be in jail. At least with school, some of the harsh punishment is easy to serve.”
Scott leaned his face closer to his teacher’s as a way to suppress his deepest fears. “Principal Williams basically told me that my fate was in your hands. If that’s the case, then stop wasting my goddamn time and tell me what’s going on.”
“I had no idea your ‘goddamn’ time was so valuable to you, Mr. George. You certainly didn’t feel that way about me when you left me hanging for thirty minutes straight. Isn’t my time valuable as well? Considering I’m several decades older than you, I’d say that’s the case. Well, you’re not going to waste my time anymore, buddy-boy. You want to learn your fate? Here it is. If you have any plans this weekend, cancel them. You’re going to serve an hour of detention bright and early Saturday morning.”
“What?!”
Cleaning his glasses with the waist of his shirt, Mr. Simpson said, “I believe I made myself abundantly clear. Since we’re spending an hour of quality time together, I’ll have to think of something for you to do other than clean off the desks, thought that can be pretty time consuming. Students love to leave unspeakable objects underneath the desks whether it’s chewed bubblegum, nose goblins, graffiti, god knows what else. One time I caught a student sticking gummy worms underneath the desk.”
The gummy worm trigger caused Scott to gag and lurch as he fought desperately to hold his salad down. He could feel the adrenaline sewage bubble up in his stomach…then to his chest…then to the back of his throat where he could taste it. He swallowed a massive tidal wave of saliva to keep the burst of bile down. He breathed heavily with his tongue hanging out, like a dog locked in a hot car.
“Listen,” said Mr. Simpson while holding his hands up in mock defense. “I know cleaning off dirty desks isn’t the most pleasant way to spend an hour of detention, but for the first time in your young life, it isn’t your fault, Scott. Kids today have no respect for public property. They think a desk is their own personal toilet.”
Scott’s violent breathing muffled most of his words when he said, “F…fuck this shit…I’m not coming.”
Mr. Simpson let out a sarcastic laugh and leaned in closer so that his diabolic eyes could shoot straight fire into Scott’s already burning pupils. “Oh, you’re going to show up alright. You’re not getting away with anything this time around. Eight o’clock in the morning sharp, not a second late. If you even think about bailing on me again, you might as well stay at home for the rest of your life, because you won’t be allowed back on school grounds. I’ll have you expelled from this place so fast your head will spin. And then what’ll you do with your life? Treat sewage? Clean toilets? Dig ditches? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be a lot more fun than taking another history class from me. Compared to those disgusting jobs, cleaning off desks doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”
The teacher stood up and allowed Scott to keep choking down whatever was boiling in his throat. Mr. Simpson pointed a finger at his student and said, “Remember: eight o’clock on the dot. I’ll be waiting with a fresh cup of coffee, though you’ll probably won’t want to put anything in your mouth after the grungy work you’ll have to do. See you soon!” He gave a two finger salute and walked out of sight.
Scott’s mind raced with schizophrenic banter and a crippling headache. His stomach felt as though he had endured gyroscopic torture. His throat, eyes, and face burned worse than if he stuck his head in the same deep fryer the kitchen used to make those awful nuggets. Not being able to fight the good fight against his own body much longer, he rushed towards a garbage can and unleashed a waterfall of vomit that stunk to high hell. He could hear the other students backing away in a hurry. Some of them laughed. Some of them made disgusted “eww” sounds. A few of the girls gave off a shriek of horror. Scott didn’t care. He unloaded his weapon of mass disgust all over the inside of the garbage can.
He then slid down on the floor on his ass and breathed so heavily that the remaining students held their noses at his oral stench. If he had taken a diarrhea dump in that garbage can, it would have smelled like a bed of roses compared to this mess. Speaking of roses…
“Are you done, Mr. George?” asked Mr. Simpson while holding a piece of paper. “I wanted to give this to you before you forgot it. Nice work, if I do say so myself. It’s no history essay, but it’s still pretty good. You should be proud of yourself.” He handed Scott the drawing he made from art class and patted him on the shoulder before attempting once more to walk out of sight.
Scott gazed deeply into the drawing and wiped off a stream of chunky spittle that hit the page. He banged his own head backwards into the soft garbage can repeatedly while the buzzer for the next class echoed throughout his agonizing head. It might as well have been a room full of babies crying instead of a buzzer. He felt like he could be one of those babies right now. How simple life would have been at that moment.
Rainbow colored flowers decorated the borders of Scott’s drawing. Pink clouds filled the negative spaces in between with a crisp golden sunshine lingering in the background. In the center of this latest masterpiece was heaven’s most beautiful angel. Instead of a radiating golden light, she brightened the picture with green flames and a purple haze. Rather than looking at the subject, her face turned slightly away with shyness, her hair down to her chest and her face a brilliant shade of red.
Unfortunately for the cloud nine-residing Scott, his one true love wouldn’t be in English class to see this marvelous masterpiece he created. Her desk remained empty throughout the entire hour and that brought a disappointed frown to his face. Where could she be? Did somebody figure out that she and Scott were dating? He hid his face as much as he could that day, fearing the absolute worst. It could have been a simple case of her coming down with a fever, but Scott’s mind wasn’t a place where rational adult thinking took place.
By the time lunch period rolled around, Scott still tried looking for Adrienne, even going back to the spot they sat at yesterday. He even visited the salad bar, which was slightly better than the spongy chicken nuggets, but not by much. He wanted to follow her advice as much as humanly possible and not worry about some stupid worms crawling in his meal. He took his Caesar dressing-covered greenery and sat at the same empty spot he took yesterday, hoping Adrienne would miraculously show up.
A few nibbles of spinach later, nothing. A few more nibbles, still nothing. A half hour of rabbit bites and Adrienne still hadn’t shown up. With nobody coming to save him this time, Scott’s stomach began to ache and flare up as he felt funny little creatures crawling around in his intestines. He felt as though an alien was going to pop out of his body and latch onto his face at any moment. And then an oddly comforting hand touched his shoulders and he was back to reality. When he saw who the hand belonged to, Scott’s comfort died down like a wounded animal.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.
“Long enough to see you writhe around in pain for whatever reason. My history class isn’t that bad, you know,” said Mr. Simpson with an unfunny smirk. “Mind if I sit here? Of course you don’t. We have much to discuss.” The history teacher took a seat across from Scott and folded his hands across the table. “I’m assuming that the reason you didn’t show up to my class today was because Miss Williams had a little chat with you.”
“Where’s Adrienne?” asked Scott pointblank before covering his mouth quickly.
“That’s none of your business,” said Mr. Simpson. “Besides, I wouldn’t know her whereabouts anyways. We haven’t talked in such a long time. Kind of like the way you and I never talk anymore except to breathe fire down each other’s necks. Actually, you’re the one who insists on not talking, which is why your grade is currently standing at a C- when it could be much higher.”
“if you came here to make fun of my introversion, then I’m going to go sit somewhere else,” said Scott, who tried to stand up only to have Mr. Simpson grab him by the wrist and sit him down again.
“Trust me, Scott, I didn’t come here for amateur comedy night. We really do have a lot to talk about, especially as it pertains to your punishment for not showing up to after-school detention. You didn’t think there’d be an easy way out, did you? There never is, my little silent warrior. But you should at least be thankful that this wasn’t a court appearance instead. If it had been, you’d be in jail. At least with school, some of the harsh punishment is easy to serve.”
Scott leaned his face closer to his teacher’s as a way to suppress his deepest fears. “Principal Williams basically told me that my fate was in your hands. If that’s the case, then stop wasting my goddamn time and tell me what’s going on.”
“I had no idea your ‘goddamn’ time was so valuable to you, Mr. George. You certainly didn’t feel that way about me when you left me hanging for thirty minutes straight. Isn’t my time valuable as well? Considering I’m several decades older than you, I’d say that’s the case. Well, you’re not going to waste my time anymore, buddy-boy. You want to learn your fate? Here it is. If you have any plans this weekend, cancel them. You’re going to serve an hour of detention bright and early Saturday morning.”
“What?!”
Cleaning his glasses with the waist of his shirt, Mr. Simpson said, “I believe I made myself abundantly clear. Since we’re spending an hour of quality time together, I’ll have to think of something for you to do other than clean off the desks, thought that can be pretty time consuming. Students love to leave unspeakable objects underneath the desks whether it’s chewed bubblegum, nose goblins, graffiti, god knows what else. One time I caught a student sticking gummy worms underneath the desk.”
The gummy worm trigger caused Scott to gag and lurch as he fought desperately to hold his salad down. He could feel the adrenaline sewage bubble up in his stomach…then to his chest…then to the back of his throat where he could taste it. He swallowed a massive tidal wave of saliva to keep the burst of bile down. He breathed heavily with his tongue hanging out, like a dog locked in a hot car.
“Listen,” said Mr. Simpson while holding his hands up in mock defense. “I know cleaning off dirty desks isn’t the most pleasant way to spend an hour of detention, but for the first time in your young life, it isn’t your fault, Scott. Kids today have no respect for public property. They think a desk is their own personal toilet.”
Scott’s violent breathing muffled most of his words when he said, “F…fuck this shit…I’m not coming.”
Mr. Simpson let out a sarcastic laugh and leaned in closer so that his diabolic eyes could shoot straight fire into Scott’s already burning pupils. “Oh, you’re going to show up alright. You’re not getting away with anything this time around. Eight o’clock in the morning sharp, not a second late. If you even think about bailing on me again, you might as well stay at home for the rest of your life, because you won’t be allowed back on school grounds. I’ll have you expelled from this place so fast your head will spin. And then what’ll you do with your life? Treat sewage? Clean toilets? Dig ditches? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be a lot more fun than taking another history class from me. Compared to those disgusting jobs, cleaning off desks doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”
The teacher stood up and allowed Scott to keep choking down whatever was boiling in his throat. Mr. Simpson pointed a finger at his student and said, “Remember: eight o’clock on the dot. I’ll be waiting with a fresh cup of coffee, though you’ll probably won’t want to put anything in your mouth after the grungy work you’ll have to do. See you soon!” He gave a two finger salute and walked out of sight.
Scott’s mind raced with schizophrenic banter and a crippling headache. His stomach felt as though he had endured gyroscopic torture. His throat, eyes, and face burned worse than if he stuck his head in the same deep fryer the kitchen used to make those awful nuggets. Not being able to fight the good fight against his own body much longer, he rushed towards a garbage can and unleashed a waterfall of vomit that stunk to high hell. He could hear the other students backing away in a hurry. Some of them laughed. Some of them made disgusted “eww” sounds. A few of the girls gave off a shriek of horror. Scott didn’t care. He unloaded his weapon of mass disgust all over the inside of the garbage can.
He then slid down on the floor on his ass and breathed so heavily that the remaining students held their noses at his oral stench. If he had taken a diarrhea dump in that garbage can, it would have smelled like a bed of roses compared to this mess. Speaking of roses…
“Are you done, Mr. George?” asked Mr. Simpson while holding a piece of paper. “I wanted to give this to you before you forgot it. Nice work, if I do say so myself. It’s no history essay, but it’s still pretty good. You should be proud of yourself.” He handed Scott the drawing he made from art class and patted him on the shoulder before attempting once more to walk out of sight.
Scott gazed deeply into the drawing and wiped off a stream of chunky spittle that hit the page. He banged his own head backwards into the soft garbage can repeatedly while the buzzer for the next class echoed throughout his agonizing head. It might as well have been a room full of babies crying instead of a buzzer. He felt like he could be one of those babies right now. How simple life would have been at that moment.
February 10, 2018
Shipping Meme
***SHIPPING MEME***
During the past few days, I’ve been having conversations with my friends Zero Urrea and Marie Krepps about how much fun it is to link two things together with the letter X (a practice commonly found in Japanese anime). Would you go to a concert that was featured as Korn X Starset? You’re damn right you would! Would you ever play a videogame that featured the team of Super Mario X M. Bison? Sure, why not? And of course, the X link is used to signify collaboration between two romantic partners. Cloud X Tifa, Mario X Peach, and Squall X Rinoa are all mainstream examples of this. You could also mix and match between genres and canons…and genders. Would you ever read an erotic fan fiction that featured Tifa Lockhart X Stephanie McMahon? You bet your sweet ass!
Which brings me to something authors might have to deal with if their work becomes famous enough: shipping. If you write a novel that’s highly enjoyable, your readers are definitely going to want to tinker with various combinations of characters as romantic couples, for better or worse. You know who’s not okay with this? Anne Rice, who went to great legal lengths to make sure her fans don’t do that to her books. Some people are okay with this, others are not. More important is how you feel about your own fans doing this to your books. Me personally? I think it’d be flattering no matter what the combinations ended up being.
Unfortunately, I only have one edited and published novel to my name and it’s not even a full length book, so I don’t have a wide roster of characters to work with. Then again, if I include minor characters, this meme could actually be lots of fun. So here’s how this works: I’m going to make a list of Occupy Wrestling characters, use a number generator to randomly pick two of them from that list, and discuss how they’d work as a couple. I won’t use the same character twice and I’ll only generate five different couples. Are you ready? I know I am!
1. Debra Winter, Human Valet
2. Desilu McCourt, Amazonian Knight
3. Dovald, Superhuman Knight
4. Garra, Superhuman Knight
5. Hall Markata, Undead Necromancer
6. Jason Finnegan, Human Wrestler
7. Keegan Day, Human CEO
8. Mitch McLeod, Human Wrestler
9. Monzo Bleeder, Orc Wrestler
10. Nina Jordan, Human Cop
11. Riley Warpthroat, Skeleton Knight
12. Rosie Rogers, Human Referee
13. Snake of Jehovah, Skeleton Monk
14. Stephanie McMillan, Human Wrestler
15. Teiji Roughhouse, Rat Wrestler
FIRST COUPLE: Riley X Keegan
THOUGHTS: Keegan’s blatant bigotry aside, these two would be perfect for each other. They’re both hell-bent on dominating the wrestling scene. They’re both sadistic. They can intimidate the hell out of anyone. And lastly (and this is the most important part), they both look like they were just brought to life by a necromancer. Maybe when these two are in the bedroom, Keegan can use the Day Family Gem as a ball gag for Riley. Keegan does control his minions with that magical MacGuffin, after all.
SECOND COUPLE: Snake of Jehovah X Dovald
THOUGHTS: Another pair of viciously monstrous villains? Sure, why not? Though considering the fact that all Snakes of Jehovah look the same covered up with monk robes and snake masks, Dovald could end up accidentally cheating with another minion. But if that were to happen, how exactly would they initiate the cheating? Snakes of Jehovah are skeletal minions, with no sexual orifices or genitalia, so the closest Dovald could get to achieving sexual pleasure is to take the snake mask off and go through the eye sockets.
THIRD COUPLE: Jason X Stephanie
THOUGHTS: At least we’re back into normal territory since they’re both humans. Plus, they actually have things in common that they could bond over. They’re wrestlers. They’re despicable heels. They’re both championship material. Ship them, damn it! There’s just one curiosity I have: if Jason is a three hundred pounder who suffers a heart attack in the first chapter, even if he lived through it, would he be healthy enough for sexual activity? Would he have to be on bottom while Stephanie was on top? Would he fall asleep halfway through and lose his erection? So many burning questions.
FOURTH COUPLE: Hall X Nina
THOUGHTS: Spoiler alert: Hall ends up using his necromantic powers to raise Nina from the dead as an ash-covered zombie. I’m more curious about what you, the readers, didn’t get to see when all that happened. You think Hall is into that kinky shit? Does he forgo apps like Tinder and Grinder and just settle for a trip to the cemetery? Well, he doesn’t have to anymore if he’s got Nina as his minion. While Nina isn’t the most attractive woman in my book, there’s something sexy about a woman in uniform.
FINAL COUPLE: Desilu X Debra
THOUGHTS: If it wasn’t for the fact that Desilu tried to snap Debra’s spine in two with a camel clutch, this could actually be somewhat normal. Debra is a bisexual who appreciates both masculine and feminine features in both genders. Desilu is a big fucking Amazonian who knows how to wrestle (not just in the ring). Hell, she could probably do a better job of protecting her than Mitch ever could. That, and Desilu is happy to train Debra in wrestling herself since that’s all Miss Winter really wants: to be self-reliant. Of course, if Debra is that desperate for wrestling lessons, she might have to take a serious beating at the hand of Keegan’s minions. Oh wait, that already happened.
Okay, I must admit that I had fun doing this. Maybe I can do it again when I publish another novel. Hell, even my unpublished first drafts could use some love and war. What if I took Mario Bryan from Watch You Burn and paired him up with Daniel Mercer from Demon Axe? Or as the Japanese would say, Mario X Daniel. They’re both mentally ill, so they could help each other through their toughest episodes. Mario is schizophrenic and Daniel has PTSD. The two illnesses are similar to each other, but schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder and PTSD is an anxious disorder. This could actually work! But that’s a story for another day. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Fifty Shades of Grey is to literature what candy corn is to vegetables.”
-Bill Maher-
During the past few days, I’ve been having conversations with my friends Zero Urrea and Marie Krepps about how much fun it is to link two things together with the letter X (a practice commonly found in Japanese anime). Would you go to a concert that was featured as Korn X Starset? You’re damn right you would! Would you ever play a videogame that featured the team of Super Mario X M. Bison? Sure, why not? And of course, the X link is used to signify collaboration between two romantic partners. Cloud X Tifa, Mario X Peach, and Squall X Rinoa are all mainstream examples of this. You could also mix and match between genres and canons…and genders. Would you ever read an erotic fan fiction that featured Tifa Lockhart X Stephanie McMahon? You bet your sweet ass!
Which brings me to something authors might have to deal with if their work becomes famous enough: shipping. If you write a novel that’s highly enjoyable, your readers are definitely going to want to tinker with various combinations of characters as romantic couples, for better or worse. You know who’s not okay with this? Anne Rice, who went to great legal lengths to make sure her fans don’t do that to her books. Some people are okay with this, others are not. More important is how you feel about your own fans doing this to your books. Me personally? I think it’d be flattering no matter what the combinations ended up being.
Unfortunately, I only have one edited and published novel to my name and it’s not even a full length book, so I don’t have a wide roster of characters to work with. Then again, if I include minor characters, this meme could actually be lots of fun. So here’s how this works: I’m going to make a list of Occupy Wrestling characters, use a number generator to randomly pick two of them from that list, and discuss how they’d work as a couple. I won’t use the same character twice and I’ll only generate five different couples. Are you ready? I know I am!
1. Debra Winter, Human Valet
2. Desilu McCourt, Amazonian Knight
3. Dovald, Superhuman Knight
4. Garra, Superhuman Knight
5. Hall Markata, Undead Necromancer
6. Jason Finnegan, Human Wrestler
7. Keegan Day, Human CEO
8. Mitch McLeod, Human Wrestler
9. Monzo Bleeder, Orc Wrestler
10. Nina Jordan, Human Cop
11. Riley Warpthroat, Skeleton Knight
12. Rosie Rogers, Human Referee
13. Snake of Jehovah, Skeleton Monk
14. Stephanie McMillan, Human Wrestler
15. Teiji Roughhouse, Rat Wrestler
FIRST COUPLE: Riley X Keegan
THOUGHTS: Keegan’s blatant bigotry aside, these two would be perfect for each other. They’re both hell-bent on dominating the wrestling scene. They’re both sadistic. They can intimidate the hell out of anyone. And lastly (and this is the most important part), they both look like they were just brought to life by a necromancer. Maybe when these two are in the bedroom, Keegan can use the Day Family Gem as a ball gag for Riley. Keegan does control his minions with that magical MacGuffin, after all.
SECOND COUPLE: Snake of Jehovah X Dovald
THOUGHTS: Another pair of viciously monstrous villains? Sure, why not? Though considering the fact that all Snakes of Jehovah look the same covered up with monk robes and snake masks, Dovald could end up accidentally cheating with another minion. But if that were to happen, how exactly would they initiate the cheating? Snakes of Jehovah are skeletal minions, with no sexual orifices or genitalia, so the closest Dovald could get to achieving sexual pleasure is to take the snake mask off and go through the eye sockets.
THIRD COUPLE: Jason X Stephanie
THOUGHTS: At least we’re back into normal territory since they’re both humans. Plus, they actually have things in common that they could bond over. They’re wrestlers. They’re despicable heels. They’re both championship material. Ship them, damn it! There’s just one curiosity I have: if Jason is a three hundred pounder who suffers a heart attack in the first chapter, even if he lived through it, would he be healthy enough for sexual activity? Would he have to be on bottom while Stephanie was on top? Would he fall asleep halfway through and lose his erection? So many burning questions.
FOURTH COUPLE: Hall X Nina
THOUGHTS: Spoiler alert: Hall ends up using his necromantic powers to raise Nina from the dead as an ash-covered zombie. I’m more curious about what you, the readers, didn’t get to see when all that happened. You think Hall is into that kinky shit? Does he forgo apps like Tinder and Grinder and just settle for a trip to the cemetery? Well, he doesn’t have to anymore if he’s got Nina as his minion. While Nina isn’t the most attractive woman in my book, there’s something sexy about a woman in uniform.
FINAL COUPLE: Desilu X Debra
THOUGHTS: If it wasn’t for the fact that Desilu tried to snap Debra’s spine in two with a camel clutch, this could actually be somewhat normal. Debra is a bisexual who appreciates both masculine and feminine features in both genders. Desilu is a big fucking Amazonian who knows how to wrestle (not just in the ring). Hell, she could probably do a better job of protecting her than Mitch ever could. That, and Desilu is happy to train Debra in wrestling herself since that’s all Miss Winter really wants: to be self-reliant. Of course, if Debra is that desperate for wrestling lessons, she might have to take a serious beating at the hand of Keegan’s minions. Oh wait, that already happened.
Okay, I must admit that I had fun doing this. Maybe I can do it again when I publish another novel. Hell, even my unpublished first drafts could use some love and war. What if I took Mario Bryan from Watch You Burn and paired him up with Daniel Mercer from Demon Axe? Or as the Japanese would say, Mario X Daniel. They’re both mentally ill, so they could help each other through their toughest episodes. Mario is schizophrenic and Daniel has PTSD. The two illnesses are similar to each other, but schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder and PTSD is an anxious disorder. This could actually work! But that’s a story for another day. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Fifty Shades of Grey is to literature what candy corn is to vegetables.”
-Bill Maher-
The Fun Police
VERSE 1
They’re coming for your offensive jokes
Every guitar riff, every musical note
Every novel with the blackest of magic
Every love story with an ending so tragic
Keeping it clean like an overworked janitor
Keeping it lawful like an overpowered senator
The fun police are coming for your ass
They’ve got you cuffed, face down in the grass
CHORUS
Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!
Censoring anything they damn well please!
Stripping you naked of your individuality!
Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!
VERSE 2
Don’t say those words; they’re bad for the ears
It’s been that way since the medieval years
Don’t play with yourself; it’s a mortal sin
Even though you’re the owner of your skin
Don’t question authority; it’s against the law
Listen only to your bible-thumping grandpa
The fun police? More like the fun SWAT Team
Invading your deep desires and sweet dreams
CHORUS
Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!
Censoring anything they damn well please!
Stripping you naked of your individuality!
Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!
VERSE 3
A squeaky clean world is boring as shit
All because you couldn’t help throwing a fit
All because you got offended by one little tit
All because you can’t handle the mosh pit
Keep your hands off of my fucking fun
Stop whining about everything under the sun
Being miserable is not really an excuse
For all of the power you’ve come to abuse
EXTENDED CHORUS
Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!
Censoring anything they damn well please!
Stripping you naked of your individuality!
Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!
Sound the alarm! It’s the fun militia!
They’re going berserk and fucking ballistic!
They claim to want a smaller government!
No obstacles for their forced covenant!
They’re coming for your offensive jokes
Every guitar riff, every musical note
Every novel with the blackest of magic
Every love story with an ending so tragic
Keeping it clean like an overworked janitor
Keeping it lawful like an overpowered senator
The fun police are coming for your ass
They’ve got you cuffed, face down in the grass
CHORUS
Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!
Censoring anything they damn well please!
Stripping you naked of your individuality!
Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!
VERSE 2
Don’t say those words; they’re bad for the ears
It’s been that way since the medieval years
Don’t play with yourself; it’s a mortal sin
Even though you’re the owner of your skin
Don’t question authority; it’s against the law
Listen only to your bible-thumping grandpa
The fun police? More like the fun SWAT Team
Invading your deep desires and sweet dreams
CHORUS
Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!
Censoring anything they damn well please!
Stripping you naked of your individuality!
Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!
VERSE 3
A squeaky clean world is boring as shit
All because you couldn’t help throwing a fit
All because you got offended by one little tit
All because you can’t handle the mosh pit
Keep your hands off of my fucking fun
Stop whining about everything under the sun
Being miserable is not really an excuse
For all of the power you’ve come to abuse
EXTENDED CHORUS
Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!
Censoring anything they damn well please!
Stripping you naked of your individuality!
Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!
Sound the alarm! It’s the fun militia!
They’re going berserk and fucking ballistic!
They claim to want a smaller government!
No obstacles for their forced covenant!
Twitter Tough Guy
VERSE 1
Seven feet tall, built like a brick wall
Tougher opponents can’t be found at all
A black belt or higher in every martial art
Military training so you can do your part
But your greatest weapon isn’t a pistol
Or a flamethrower to make me sizzle
You pack a punch with a Twitter account
Talk in all caps just to make shit loud
CHORUS
Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!
Twitter badass! Take us all to class!
Ballsy statements in so few sentences
Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments
VERSE 2
Lift five hundred pounds at the gym
Flirt with a chick in shorts named Kim
Eat protein bars, drive gas-guzzling cars
Take your selfies like a Twitter rock star
Send your dick pics to random women
Show them the erection you’ve been given
You talk so much, yet have nothing to say
The schedule of your meaningless days
CHORUS
Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!
Twitter badass! Take us all to class!
Ballsy statements in so few sentences
Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments
VERSE 3
Shoot your favorite gun just for fucking fun
Mounted on a jeep that weighs a hundred tons
Take a picture that will last until forever
Dare the Twitterverse to find something better
How about buckwheat pancakes with agave nectar?
Especially when they shoot right out of my rectum?
Rebecca Black songs are more exciting than you
You face your victims and don’t know what to do
EXTENDED CHORUS
Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!
Twitter badass! Take us all to class!
Ballsy statements in so few sentences
Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments
Twitter boy toy! Who shall you annoy?!
Twitter Romeo! Why don’t you blow me-o!
Twitter Casanova! This is your magnum opus!
Twitter tough guy! Your whole life is a lie!
Seven feet tall, built like a brick wall
Tougher opponents can’t be found at all
A black belt or higher in every martial art
Military training so you can do your part
But your greatest weapon isn’t a pistol
Or a flamethrower to make me sizzle
You pack a punch with a Twitter account
Talk in all caps just to make shit loud
CHORUS
Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!
Twitter badass! Take us all to class!
Ballsy statements in so few sentences
Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments
VERSE 2
Lift five hundred pounds at the gym
Flirt with a chick in shorts named Kim
Eat protein bars, drive gas-guzzling cars
Take your selfies like a Twitter rock star
Send your dick pics to random women
Show them the erection you’ve been given
You talk so much, yet have nothing to say
The schedule of your meaningless days
CHORUS
Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!
Twitter badass! Take us all to class!
Ballsy statements in so few sentences
Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments
VERSE 3
Shoot your favorite gun just for fucking fun
Mounted on a jeep that weighs a hundred tons
Take a picture that will last until forever
Dare the Twitterverse to find something better
How about buckwheat pancakes with agave nectar?
Especially when they shoot right out of my rectum?
Rebecca Black songs are more exciting than you
You face your victims and don’t know what to do
EXTENDED CHORUS
Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!
Twitter badass! Take us all to class!
Ballsy statements in so few sentences
Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments
Twitter boy toy! Who shall you annoy?!
Twitter Romeo! Why don’t you blow me-o!
Twitter Casanova! This is your magnum opus!
Twitter tough guy! Your whole life is a lie!
February 8, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 10
Scott George could have stayed locked up in his own imagination for a thousand years and he would’ve been happy. Even in a fictional dream, holding Adrienne Simpson in his arms was a warm experience that made him tingle all over his body. But eventually the real world caught up to him and it was time once again to go to Perkins High School a.k.a. hell on earth. Not even fictional escapism could free him from his responsibilities. At eighteen years old, he wasn’t a kid anymore. This shit had to be done.
But instead of catching the school bus and surrounding himself with laughing troglodytes, Scott woke up just before dawn and walked the whole way in solitude. Instead of starving his already pencil-thin body even further, he grabbed two unheated Pop Tarts and nibbled on them gently like a hamster. And instead of looking like a homeless Power Ranger with a rat’s nest for hair, he combed his hair backwards and wore blue jeans and combat boots with his obligatory black shirt.
He toed the line between love and war with his new dress code and eating habits. If he wanted to make his dream a reality, he had to fight for what he wanted. “Heart Shaped Box” by Nirvana wasn’t exactly war music, but the MP3 soundtrack powered Scott through his early morning walk to school. Not one shitty human being bumped his shoulders or cursed him out the whole way. Either that was a good sign or the calm before the storm.
Scott had taken his last hamster bite of breakfast by the time the sun bloomed in the sky and he arrived at school. To his surprise, not one student locked eyes with him or even gave off a hint of a mocking smile. Still, he had a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t stop pounding. He had to swallow hard to keep his Pop Tarts in his stomach, but he finally trudged up the stone stairs and past the front door. So far, so good. A sigh of relief escaped his frosting-covered lips.
“Mr. George. Can I have a word with you in my office,” said Principal Williams, who stood at the entrance with her arms folded, probably expecting Scott this whole time.
“Uh…,” stammered Scott as he looked like a deer in the headlights. “Can it wait until after history class?”
“Are you really that eager to put up with Mr. Simpson for another day? You didn’t seem to mind bailing out on him yesterday when you crept out of detention. What makes you so happy to see him this time around?” Lingering students let out their “ooo’s” and Miss Williams barked at them to shut up and keep walking. She then motioned for Scott to join her in her office before shutting the door behind her and instructing him to have a seat.
Scott’s face was aimed low at his boot laces, studying the various patterns as some kind of excuse to avoid eye contact with yet another authority figure. “Listen, Miss Williams, if you’re going to punish me, do it already and spare me the lecture. I know what I did was wrong and the sooner I get this crap over with, the better.”
Miss Williams lifted Scott’s head with a singular finger underneath his chin and said, “There’s more to it than that, my friend. Skipping detention is a serious offense on its own, but I’m more interested in the whys than the whats. I know about your lack of love with Mr. Simpson. I know this because pretty much every student he has says the same thing about him: that he’s senselessly cruel and doesn’t care one way or another about their fates.”
As soon as the Principal removed her finger from Scott’s chin, he asked, “If he’s really that much of a pain in the ass, why don’t you just fire him already? I don’t think there’s a single person in this building who would miss his sorry ass.”
“Duly noted, Mr. George,” said Miss Williams as she folded her hands across her chest. “Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to tell him not to let the door hit him on the ass on his way out. But it’s not that easy. It never has been. Teachers and other authority figures can’t just get fired over disagreements with the students. In other words, you don’t have to be a friendly person in order to qualify for the job. It’s screwed up, but that’s the way things go sometimes.”
A frustrated Scott slapped his own thighs and said, “It’s beyond screwed up, Miss Williams. School is supposed to be a place where kids can grow and learn things. What are they supposed to learn from having a bad teacher? That’s not a rhetorical question. I’d actually like to know the answer to that. Sure, there are bosses out there who never get their comeuppance, but that’s the very thing we should be avoiding when we have the chance.”
“I’m sorry, Scott. It’s out of my hands. What happens to you from this point on is up to Mr. Simpson since he’s the one who assigned you to detention in the first place. If you stiff him again, I’ll have no choice but to expel you.”
Scott folded his arms and said, “That’s right, Miss Williams. Punish the victim. Punish the guy who’s been laughed at for his whole high school career. Punish the guy who has few opportunities to stand up for himself. Punish the guy who actually knows what justice is supposed to mean. I knew it. I have no fucking allies in this school. Nobody really does. That’s why they’re acting out the way they do.”
“There’s no joy in this for me, Scott,” said Miss Williams as she leaned forward in her chair. “Even with students who deserve punishment the most, there’s no happiness in dishing it out to them. I also know what justice is, but I’m also wise enough to know that justice doesn’t always get served. Whatever Mr. Simpson has planned for you as punishment for ditching him yesterday, you’d better follow through with it.”
“Got it,” said Scott while sarcastically nodding his head. “Any other dreams of mine you want to crush while you have me here?”
“No, not particularly. But in order to make one of them come true, you have to endure a little bit of the suck for just a few minutes.” When Scott formed a confused look on his face, the Principal explained, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but there’s a video of you being circulated on You Tube. It has thousands of hits already and the comments are cringe-worthy at best.”
Reality smashed Scott in the stomach with a sack of bricks. He bent over in his seat and fought like hell to suppress vomit. Principal Williams rushed to get a trash bucket underneath his face, but after moments of intense breathing and body pulsations, it turned out Scott didn’t need it. He leaned back in his chair with pinprick feelings in his face and chest. He swallowed more saliva and it tasted like warm, bitter tea. Tears barbecued his stinging eyes as he struggled even harder to keep himself together.
“You already know about it, don’t you, Scott,” said Principal Williams with a hand on her student’s shoulder. The two of them hugged it out while Scott’s fiery tears bathed the Principal’s suit jacket. “You don’t have to tell us any more about it. We know who filmed that video.”
Scott broke the embrace and shouted, “So what?! You said yourself justice doesn’t always get served! So what the fuck are you going to do to that bitch-ass Alan Young?! Does he get to slip through the cracks or do only teachers get preferential treatment?!”
“If you’d stop bawling for a moment and see for yourself, you’d have the answer!” Miss Williams retorted while pointing her finger towards her office window.
Scott’s waterworks were cut short as confusion took over. Miss Williams pointed again and again until he pulled himself together and humored her this one time. His eyes widened as he watched two police officers talking to Alan Young. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but whatever it was, it couldn’t have been friendly. The two cops spun Alan around and slammed him against the wall while cuffing his thick wrists behind his back. Straggling students screamed in horror at what they were witnessing. Even Alan himself couldn’t help but shed a few tears as he was being hauled away.
“Invasion of privacy, cyber harassment, you name it, this kid has done it all in that one video,” said Miss Williams. “If the other kids can pay attention to a stupid video, then they’ll damn sure pay attention to Alan’s arrest. He needed to be made an example of, Scott. Sooner or later, Mr. Simpson will get his. I can’t tell you when or how, but the domino effect is already in place.”
For the first time in what seemed like ages, Scott’s tearful smile seemed genuine instead of looking like a psychotic killer. He spun around and embraced Principal Williams once more while thanking her over and over again in a high pitched squeal. Feeling awkward, the authority figure returned the hug ever so slowly and noncommittally. “You’re welcome, Scott,” she said. “Please let go of me and get back to your classes. I believe second period is about to begin anytime soon.”
But instead of catching the school bus and surrounding himself with laughing troglodytes, Scott woke up just before dawn and walked the whole way in solitude. Instead of starving his already pencil-thin body even further, he grabbed two unheated Pop Tarts and nibbled on them gently like a hamster. And instead of looking like a homeless Power Ranger with a rat’s nest for hair, he combed his hair backwards and wore blue jeans and combat boots with his obligatory black shirt.
He toed the line between love and war with his new dress code and eating habits. If he wanted to make his dream a reality, he had to fight for what he wanted. “Heart Shaped Box” by Nirvana wasn’t exactly war music, but the MP3 soundtrack powered Scott through his early morning walk to school. Not one shitty human being bumped his shoulders or cursed him out the whole way. Either that was a good sign or the calm before the storm.
Scott had taken his last hamster bite of breakfast by the time the sun bloomed in the sky and he arrived at school. To his surprise, not one student locked eyes with him or even gave off a hint of a mocking smile. Still, he had a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t stop pounding. He had to swallow hard to keep his Pop Tarts in his stomach, but he finally trudged up the stone stairs and past the front door. So far, so good. A sigh of relief escaped his frosting-covered lips.
“Mr. George. Can I have a word with you in my office,” said Principal Williams, who stood at the entrance with her arms folded, probably expecting Scott this whole time.
“Uh…,” stammered Scott as he looked like a deer in the headlights. “Can it wait until after history class?”
“Are you really that eager to put up with Mr. Simpson for another day? You didn’t seem to mind bailing out on him yesterday when you crept out of detention. What makes you so happy to see him this time around?” Lingering students let out their “ooo’s” and Miss Williams barked at them to shut up and keep walking. She then motioned for Scott to join her in her office before shutting the door behind her and instructing him to have a seat.
Scott’s face was aimed low at his boot laces, studying the various patterns as some kind of excuse to avoid eye contact with yet another authority figure. “Listen, Miss Williams, if you’re going to punish me, do it already and spare me the lecture. I know what I did was wrong and the sooner I get this crap over with, the better.”
Miss Williams lifted Scott’s head with a singular finger underneath his chin and said, “There’s more to it than that, my friend. Skipping detention is a serious offense on its own, but I’m more interested in the whys than the whats. I know about your lack of love with Mr. Simpson. I know this because pretty much every student he has says the same thing about him: that he’s senselessly cruel and doesn’t care one way or another about their fates.”
As soon as the Principal removed her finger from Scott’s chin, he asked, “If he’s really that much of a pain in the ass, why don’t you just fire him already? I don’t think there’s a single person in this building who would miss his sorry ass.”
“Duly noted, Mr. George,” said Miss Williams as she folded her hands across her chest. “Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to tell him not to let the door hit him on the ass on his way out. But it’s not that easy. It never has been. Teachers and other authority figures can’t just get fired over disagreements with the students. In other words, you don’t have to be a friendly person in order to qualify for the job. It’s screwed up, but that’s the way things go sometimes.”
A frustrated Scott slapped his own thighs and said, “It’s beyond screwed up, Miss Williams. School is supposed to be a place where kids can grow and learn things. What are they supposed to learn from having a bad teacher? That’s not a rhetorical question. I’d actually like to know the answer to that. Sure, there are bosses out there who never get their comeuppance, but that’s the very thing we should be avoiding when we have the chance.”
“I’m sorry, Scott. It’s out of my hands. What happens to you from this point on is up to Mr. Simpson since he’s the one who assigned you to detention in the first place. If you stiff him again, I’ll have no choice but to expel you.”
Scott folded his arms and said, “That’s right, Miss Williams. Punish the victim. Punish the guy who’s been laughed at for his whole high school career. Punish the guy who has few opportunities to stand up for himself. Punish the guy who actually knows what justice is supposed to mean. I knew it. I have no fucking allies in this school. Nobody really does. That’s why they’re acting out the way they do.”
“There’s no joy in this for me, Scott,” said Miss Williams as she leaned forward in her chair. “Even with students who deserve punishment the most, there’s no happiness in dishing it out to them. I also know what justice is, but I’m also wise enough to know that justice doesn’t always get served. Whatever Mr. Simpson has planned for you as punishment for ditching him yesterday, you’d better follow through with it.”
“Got it,” said Scott while sarcastically nodding his head. “Any other dreams of mine you want to crush while you have me here?”
“No, not particularly. But in order to make one of them come true, you have to endure a little bit of the suck for just a few minutes.” When Scott formed a confused look on his face, the Principal explained, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but there’s a video of you being circulated on You Tube. It has thousands of hits already and the comments are cringe-worthy at best.”
Reality smashed Scott in the stomach with a sack of bricks. He bent over in his seat and fought like hell to suppress vomit. Principal Williams rushed to get a trash bucket underneath his face, but after moments of intense breathing and body pulsations, it turned out Scott didn’t need it. He leaned back in his chair with pinprick feelings in his face and chest. He swallowed more saliva and it tasted like warm, bitter tea. Tears barbecued his stinging eyes as he struggled even harder to keep himself together.
“You already know about it, don’t you, Scott,” said Principal Williams with a hand on her student’s shoulder. The two of them hugged it out while Scott’s fiery tears bathed the Principal’s suit jacket. “You don’t have to tell us any more about it. We know who filmed that video.”
Scott broke the embrace and shouted, “So what?! You said yourself justice doesn’t always get served! So what the fuck are you going to do to that bitch-ass Alan Young?! Does he get to slip through the cracks or do only teachers get preferential treatment?!”
“If you’d stop bawling for a moment and see for yourself, you’d have the answer!” Miss Williams retorted while pointing her finger towards her office window.
Scott’s waterworks were cut short as confusion took over. Miss Williams pointed again and again until he pulled himself together and humored her this one time. His eyes widened as he watched two police officers talking to Alan Young. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but whatever it was, it couldn’t have been friendly. The two cops spun Alan around and slammed him against the wall while cuffing his thick wrists behind his back. Straggling students screamed in horror at what they were witnessing. Even Alan himself couldn’t help but shed a few tears as he was being hauled away.
“Invasion of privacy, cyber harassment, you name it, this kid has done it all in that one video,” said Miss Williams. “If the other kids can pay attention to a stupid video, then they’ll damn sure pay attention to Alan’s arrest. He needed to be made an example of, Scott. Sooner or later, Mr. Simpson will get his. I can’t tell you when or how, but the domino effect is already in place.”
For the first time in what seemed like ages, Scott’s tearful smile seemed genuine instead of looking like a psychotic killer. He spun around and embraced Principal Williams once more while thanking her over and over again in a high pitched squeal. Feeling awkward, the authority figure returned the hug ever so slowly and noncommittally. “You’re welcome, Scott,” she said. “Please let go of me and get back to your classes. I believe second period is about to begin anytime soon.”
February 7, 2018
The Shape of Water
MOVIE TITLE: The Shape of Water
DIRECTOR: Guillermo Del Toro
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Dark Fantasy Romance
RATING: R for sexual content, language, and violence
GRADE: Pass
During the Cold War in 1960’s America, Elisa Esposito is a lonely, mute janitor at a top secret military base whose only true friends in the world are a fellow janitor named Zelda and a gay advertising artist named Giles. Elisa finds additional friendship in the unlikeliest place when the military captures a South American merman and keeps him in captivity for the purpose of sending him into space. The more time Elisa spends with the merman, the more she identifies with him since they both communicate in strange ways and are both outcasts in their respective worlds. Her eventual plan is to break the sea creature out of captivity before he can be tortured any further for “scientific reasons”.
The fact that any movie can introduce a romantic plot to us without sounding like a shallow Harlequin romance novel is always impressive to me. As strange as it may seem, Elisa and the merman are perfect for each other. Nobody in the world understands them. Few people want to be within arm’s length of them. They may not be beautiful to the superficial population at large, but they’re beautiful to each other and that’s what true love is all about. They don’t need to argue with each other over stupid things. They don’t need to fight over pretentious jealousy. While those last two things are realistic in most relationships, they’re not found in this love story, because we all know at the end of the day such petty things are foolish anyways. Let this delightfully unique couple enjoy their moments together.
On the opposite end of the love spectrum, you have a vile and disgusting villain named Colonel Richard Strickland. As the chief bad guy, he’s believable in every sense of the word. His dialogue is slick and hard-boiled without dipping into bathos territory. His obsession with defeating the Russians in the space race will lead him to do and say horrible things to get what he wants. His methods of torture are brutal even by pre-Bush Administration standards. When he psychotically breaks down, you’d better run like you’ve got rocket fuel pouring out of your butt. Although, I don’t know how much good running will do considering he’s driving around in a smug teal Cadillac. The worst part about him? He’s in a position of power and can throw it around whenever he wants. If it wasn’t for all that power, he would have been taken out long before the movie even had the chance to start.
While this movie is deserving of all of its Academy Award nominations and victories, it’s not without flaws (at least for me). The opening exposition into the movie’s plot seemed a little slower than it had any right to be. The merman devouring an innocent kitty was disturbing as hell (I get that he’s a wild creature, but it knocks a few points down for him as a lover). Those two flaws may seem like small potatoes on the surface, but one series of scenes that sticks out to me is when Giles’s art is turned down by his boss and he’s banned from a pie café by the homophobic and racist owner. Before these two scenes happened, Elisa wanted to recruit Giles in breaking the merman free from the military base and he was adamantly against it. Now that Giles is friendless, only then does he want to get back in the good graces of Elisa. That’s like a high school kid who rejects his uncool friends in favor of the popular jocks, gets kicked out by said jocks, and then tries to get his uncool friends back. I know this series of scenes was necessary in Giles’s character development, but they still seemed a little suspect to me.
All in all, The Shape of Water is a cinematic masterpiece that earned all of its universal acclaim. The acting was spot-on. The plot was unique. The cinematography was breathtaking. And yes, there are sex scenes in this movie that are quite lovely, but that by no means makes The Shape of Water pornographic. These scenes have a purpose in developing characters and actually get us past their surface levels. If you get a chance to see this movie, do it. You’ll have no regrets and will have to dig deep to find flaws (like I did). How does a passing grade sound to everybody here?
DIRECTOR: Guillermo Del Toro
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Dark Fantasy Romance
RATING: R for sexual content, language, and violence
GRADE: Pass
During the Cold War in 1960’s America, Elisa Esposito is a lonely, mute janitor at a top secret military base whose only true friends in the world are a fellow janitor named Zelda and a gay advertising artist named Giles. Elisa finds additional friendship in the unlikeliest place when the military captures a South American merman and keeps him in captivity for the purpose of sending him into space. The more time Elisa spends with the merman, the more she identifies with him since they both communicate in strange ways and are both outcasts in their respective worlds. Her eventual plan is to break the sea creature out of captivity before he can be tortured any further for “scientific reasons”.
The fact that any movie can introduce a romantic plot to us without sounding like a shallow Harlequin romance novel is always impressive to me. As strange as it may seem, Elisa and the merman are perfect for each other. Nobody in the world understands them. Few people want to be within arm’s length of them. They may not be beautiful to the superficial population at large, but they’re beautiful to each other and that’s what true love is all about. They don’t need to argue with each other over stupid things. They don’t need to fight over pretentious jealousy. While those last two things are realistic in most relationships, they’re not found in this love story, because we all know at the end of the day such petty things are foolish anyways. Let this delightfully unique couple enjoy their moments together.
On the opposite end of the love spectrum, you have a vile and disgusting villain named Colonel Richard Strickland. As the chief bad guy, he’s believable in every sense of the word. His dialogue is slick and hard-boiled without dipping into bathos territory. His obsession with defeating the Russians in the space race will lead him to do and say horrible things to get what he wants. His methods of torture are brutal even by pre-Bush Administration standards. When he psychotically breaks down, you’d better run like you’ve got rocket fuel pouring out of your butt. Although, I don’t know how much good running will do considering he’s driving around in a smug teal Cadillac. The worst part about him? He’s in a position of power and can throw it around whenever he wants. If it wasn’t for all that power, he would have been taken out long before the movie even had the chance to start.
While this movie is deserving of all of its Academy Award nominations and victories, it’s not without flaws (at least for me). The opening exposition into the movie’s plot seemed a little slower than it had any right to be. The merman devouring an innocent kitty was disturbing as hell (I get that he’s a wild creature, but it knocks a few points down for him as a lover). Those two flaws may seem like small potatoes on the surface, but one series of scenes that sticks out to me is when Giles’s art is turned down by his boss and he’s banned from a pie café by the homophobic and racist owner. Before these two scenes happened, Elisa wanted to recruit Giles in breaking the merman free from the military base and he was adamantly against it. Now that Giles is friendless, only then does he want to get back in the good graces of Elisa. That’s like a high school kid who rejects his uncool friends in favor of the popular jocks, gets kicked out by said jocks, and then tries to get his uncool friends back. I know this series of scenes was necessary in Giles’s character development, but they still seemed a little suspect to me.
All in all, The Shape of Water is a cinematic masterpiece that earned all of its universal acclaim. The acting was spot-on. The plot was unique. The cinematography was breathtaking. And yes, there are sex scenes in this movie that are quite lovely, but that by no means makes The Shape of Water pornographic. These scenes have a purpose in developing characters and actually get us past their surface levels. If you get a chance to see this movie, do it. You’ll have no regrets and will have to dig deep to find flaws (like I did). How does a passing grade sound to everybody here?
February 5, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 9
Out of one dark abyss, into another. The George household bathed in blackness while Beth’s snoring rattled the walls. She didn’t even wake up when Scott walked through the door. He never had to be light on his toes when he entered the kitchen looking for a bite to eat. Through all of the fury, tears, and insanity, Scott just now realized he had only eaten one meal that day. His ribs were sore for more reasons than the constant use of his diaphragm.
Every Tupperware meal in the refrigerator was crawling with worms and maggots, at least in Scott’s mind. He shook his head to try and free his mind of that image, but the little bastards slithered even more and grew as big as snakes. He slammed the refrigerator door shoot and there was a slight disturbance in his mother’s obtrusive snoring. And then the tiny motor in her closed throat wailed once again. Scott breathed a sigh of relief and reopened the fridge door.
Still they crawled with worms. Slime and shit covered the mashed potatoes and gravy. The macaroni and cheese moved by itself, as if the little pasta bites were necrovores themselves. The milk jug had more worms at the bottom than a bottle of tequila. Scott knew this was just an illusion and took a deep breath to calm himself. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what Adrienne told him: replace the worms with something more pleasant. Something delicious. Something that made eating enjoyable again.
With his eyelids still clamped shut, Scott pulled out a Tupperware container of meatloaf and ate it cold. As he slowly chewed and suppressed his gag reflex, he could feel something moving around between his maulers. The thought of worms moving around wouldn’t be allowed to surface and instead the little creatures were replaced with gummy worms. Meatloaf and gummy worms: the dinner of champions. He took another bite. And another. His eating speed became so rapid that he bit down on his tongue and suppressed a scream.
For the first time since having those Aloysius Striker dreams, Scott finished a meal without getting the urge to vomit himself inside out. He breathed heavily after taking the last bite of meatloaf, his appetite satisfied only until he realized it was bedtime. The thought of going back into his subconscious theater made Scott lightly bang his head against the fridge door repeatedly. If biology was truly up to him, he’d drink Red Bull until the end of time and never fall asleep again.
But reality was always worse than the dream world. Scott’s day had been an exhausting one where he dealt with all sorts of jerk-off characters: Aloysius Striker, Alan Young, Tom Simpson, Beth George, and an undertaker and football jock who both went unnamed None of these people deserved names in Scott’s mind; they were all just part of a community of worms.
But Adrienne was different from all of those conformists. She was beautiful in more ways than just her physical appearance. She too was hurting badly. She too loved creativity. She too resisted any attempts at breaking her spirit and bending her to the will of the corporate overlords. Those things made her the most beautiful woman on the planet. And yet, Scott wondered what she even saw in a man like him anyways. It wasn’t as though he had the dashing looks of a Hollywood actor or the charisma of a rock star. He was just Scott George. Plain old Scott George. Even his own name was boring to him.
All of these racing thoughts in his head blinded him to the fact that his mother’s footsteps were pitter-pattering across the wooden floor. He quickly closed the fridge door, dropped the meatloaf container in the sink, and bolted upstairs to his bedroom. One stupid fight was one too many for Scott, so he took the role of diplomat and tucked himself in bed, not even bothering to change into more suitable sleepwear.
Scott’s ribs ached like a motherfucker. His head exploded with pain and trauma. His blood was lukewarm. His eyes still burned hotly enough to make closing them a painful experience. Scott didn’t stand a chance when it came to fighting the forces of sleep. His eyelids burned like shooting stars, but his lids were heavier than a grand piano. He could have used such a gentle instrument to sooth his battered soul. Laziness took over to where he didn’t want to press play on his stereo. One slip and down the rabbit hole he fell…
Just a few moments of uninterrupted darkness was what Scott needed. His tortured mind rebuilt itself from a rock bottom foundation. His pain was numbed to the very last nerve. He forgot that a world of a shit existed outside of his aching brain. And it felt good. It felt more heavenly than an hour-long chair massage. It felt more soothing than a harp concert serenading his pounding ears. The nothing consumed every last bit of his body.
And then his temporary peace was shattered as he found himself on a football field with lightning and grayness in the sky. The rain poured down and smacked his skin like bamboo canes. Then the rain thickened into dreaded fucking worms and Scott danced around shivering in disgust. Rows of puppet cheerleaders, so flawless, yet so ugly by virtue of their perfection, twirled and flipped in the air with worm infested pom-poms. Scott swore he heard their chant somewhere before.
“Bring out the gimp! Bring out the gimp! Come on, everybody, let’s bring out the gimp!”
Scott tried to shout back at them, but his mouth was obstructed by a rubber object. He touched his face and scalp and sensed a leather presence covering his Sideshow Bob hair. He also felt a heavy dog chain digging deeply into his neck. He could panic, kick, and scream all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that Aloysius Striker owned him and was dragging him to the top of an Olympic-style platform. The puppets formed a semi-circle around the enslaved Scott and listened intently to Mrs. Striker’s oratory.
“You see this, everyone?!” she shouted in her signature ham voice. “This young man is an example of someone who doesn’t want to be part of our community! He wants to go his own way and leave his neighbors to drown in the worms! Well, if he must leave this community, it’s only fair that we give him a going away present!”
Mrs. Striker lifted up her own dress and pulled out a handful of the slimiest, nastiest worms she could, much to the cheerleaders’ giddy delights. The worms oozed with black oil, red blood, and white…whatever the fuck it was. The teacher unzipped the mouth on Scott’s gimp hood and prepared to shove the filthy fuckers down his throat.
“Stop!” shouted a female voice for a prolonged period of time. The cheerleaders and teacher alike stared down the one member of their “community” who dared defy them. The lone cheerleader threw down her pom-poms and ripped off her own head to reveal she was Adrienne Simpson underneath. The puppets and Mrs. Striker gasped in unison like good little conformists when Adrienne sprouted metal angel wings that shot flames in either direction.
“Don’t just stand there, you dolts! Get her!” shouted Mrs. Striker, to which the cheerleaders threw their pom-poms down and attempted to cannibalize the metal angel with shark-like teeth. Adrienne was one step ahead of them when she pointed the tips of her wings at her assailants and shot streams of fire at them. The cheerleaders squealed in agony as their wooden, worm-infested bodies warped and twisted into piles of ashes.
“What the…what have you done to my community? My poor, poor community!” cried Mrs. Striker while holding her dimply cheeks. Scott used this distraction to rip off his gimp hood and shove his “teacher” into the gigantic football field fire, barbecuing the bitch nice and crispy. Her screams were more music to his ears than anything he listened to on his MP3 player that day.
Adrienne flew over to Scott and scooped him up in her arms before floating into the heavenly sunrise of a newly pink morning. The rain had stopped, but the thunder remained, sending crashes of lightning onto the burning field of dead puppets. Scott didn’t want to relish on this recent war and instead relaxed in the arms of his beautiful angel. She sang to him lyrics that were once familiar in his dead father’s music collection.
“I bless the wings that bring you back across the shore. If I could touch you now, my darling, I’d love you just once more. If I could hold you…hold you…hold you…I know you’d understand…I know you’d understand…”
Her soothing soprano tones would have made the Moody Blues proud, but they made Scott relax even further in his girlfriend’s arms. She leaned her face down and kissed his mouth, no taste of worms, no embarrassing boner on Scott’s part, no awkwardness or disgust at all, just a moment of love that would last longer than any haunting trauma. Too bad Scott had to eventually wake up to go to school the next day. But if it meant Adrienne would be there and walk him home again, it would be worth all the heartache.
What would she think of the You Tube video that Alan Young posted in the graveyard? Would she see him as a weakling? Would she take pity on him? Would she break up with him before their relationship even got started? Scott tried not to think too hard about these circling questions and just enjoyed a moment in the pink and orange sunshine with his angelic girlfriend…while he still could.
Every Tupperware meal in the refrigerator was crawling with worms and maggots, at least in Scott’s mind. He shook his head to try and free his mind of that image, but the little bastards slithered even more and grew as big as snakes. He slammed the refrigerator door shoot and there was a slight disturbance in his mother’s obtrusive snoring. And then the tiny motor in her closed throat wailed once again. Scott breathed a sigh of relief and reopened the fridge door.
Still they crawled with worms. Slime and shit covered the mashed potatoes and gravy. The macaroni and cheese moved by itself, as if the little pasta bites were necrovores themselves. The milk jug had more worms at the bottom than a bottle of tequila. Scott knew this was just an illusion and took a deep breath to calm himself. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what Adrienne told him: replace the worms with something more pleasant. Something delicious. Something that made eating enjoyable again.
With his eyelids still clamped shut, Scott pulled out a Tupperware container of meatloaf and ate it cold. As he slowly chewed and suppressed his gag reflex, he could feel something moving around between his maulers. The thought of worms moving around wouldn’t be allowed to surface and instead the little creatures were replaced with gummy worms. Meatloaf and gummy worms: the dinner of champions. He took another bite. And another. His eating speed became so rapid that he bit down on his tongue and suppressed a scream.
For the first time since having those Aloysius Striker dreams, Scott finished a meal without getting the urge to vomit himself inside out. He breathed heavily after taking the last bite of meatloaf, his appetite satisfied only until he realized it was bedtime. The thought of going back into his subconscious theater made Scott lightly bang his head against the fridge door repeatedly. If biology was truly up to him, he’d drink Red Bull until the end of time and never fall asleep again.
But reality was always worse than the dream world. Scott’s day had been an exhausting one where he dealt with all sorts of jerk-off characters: Aloysius Striker, Alan Young, Tom Simpson, Beth George, and an undertaker and football jock who both went unnamed None of these people deserved names in Scott’s mind; they were all just part of a community of worms.
But Adrienne was different from all of those conformists. She was beautiful in more ways than just her physical appearance. She too was hurting badly. She too loved creativity. She too resisted any attempts at breaking her spirit and bending her to the will of the corporate overlords. Those things made her the most beautiful woman on the planet. And yet, Scott wondered what she even saw in a man like him anyways. It wasn’t as though he had the dashing looks of a Hollywood actor or the charisma of a rock star. He was just Scott George. Plain old Scott George. Even his own name was boring to him.
All of these racing thoughts in his head blinded him to the fact that his mother’s footsteps were pitter-pattering across the wooden floor. He quickly closed the fridge door, dropped the meatloaf container in the sink, and bolted upstairs to his bedroom. One stupid fight was one too many for Scott, so he took the role of diplomat and tucked himself in bed, not even bothering to change into more suitable sleepwear.
Scott’s ribs ached like a motherfucker. His head exploded with pain and trauma. His blood was lukewarm. His eyes still burned hotly enough to make closing them a painful experience. Scott didn’t stand a chance when it came to fighting the forces of sleep. His eyelids burned like shooting stars, but his lids were heavier than a grand piano. He could have used such a gentle instrument to sooth his battered soul. Laziness took over to where he didn’t want to press play on his stereo. One slip and down the rabbit hole he fell…
Just a few moments of uninterrupted darkness was what Scott needed. His tortured mind rebuilt itself from a rock bottom foundation. His pain was numbed to the very last nerve. He forgot that a world of a shit existed outside of his aching brain. And it felt good. It felt more heavenly than an hour-long chair massage. It felt more soothing than a harp concert serenading his pounding ears. The nothing consumed every last bit of his body.
And then his temporary peace was shattered as he found himself on a football field with lightning and grayness in the sky. The rain poured down and smacked his skin like bamboo canes. Then the rain thickened into dreaded fucking worms and Scott danced around shivering in disgust. Rows of puppet cheerleaders, so flawless, yet so ugly by virtue of their perfection, twirled and flipped in the air with worm infested pom-poms. Scott swore he heard their chant somewhere before.
“Bring out the gimp! Bring out the gimp! Come on, everybody, let’s bring out the gimp!”
Scott tried to shout back at them, but his mouth was obstructed by a rubber object. He touched his face and scalp and sensed a leather presence covering his Sideshow Bob hair. He also felt a heavy dog chain digging deeply into his neck. He could panic, kick, and scream all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that Aloysius Striker owned him and was dragging him to the top of an Olympic-style platform. The puppets formed a semi-circle around the enslaved Scott and listened intently to Mrs. Striker’s oratory.
“You see this, everyone?!” she shouted in her signature ham voice. “This young man is an example of someone who doesn’t want to be part of our community! He wants to go his own way and leave his neighbors to drown in the worms! Well, if he must leave this community, it’s only fair that we give him a going away present!”
Mrs. Striker lifted up her own dress and pulled out a handful of the slimiest, nastiest worms she could, much to the cheerleaders’ giddy delights. The worms oozed with black oil, red blood, and white…whatever the fuck it was. The teacher unzipped the mouth on Scott’s gimp hood and prepared to shove the filthy fuckers down his throat.
“Stop!” shouted a female voice for a prolonged period of time. The cheerleaders and teacher alike stared down the one member of their “community” who dared defy them. The lone cheerleader threw down her pom-poms and ripped off her own head to reveal she was Adrienne Simpson underneath. The puppets and Mrs. Striker gasped in unison like good little conformists when Adrienne sprouted metal angel wings that shot flames in either direction.
“Don’t just stand there, you dolts! Get her!” shouted Mrs. Striker, to which the cheerleaders threw their pom-poms down and attempted to cannibalize the metal angel with shark-like teeth. Adrienne was one step ahead of them when she pointed the tips of her wings at her assailants and shot streams of fire at them. The cheerleaders squealed in agony as their wooden, worm-infested bodies warped and twisted into piles of ashes.
“What the…what have you done to my community? My poor, poor community!” cried Mrs. Striker while holding her dimply cheeks. Scott used this distraction to rip off his gimp hood and shove his “teacher” into the gigantic football field fire, barbecuing the bitch nice and crispy. Her screams were more music to his ears than anything he listened to on his MP3 player that day.
Adrienne flew over to Scott and scooped him up in her arms before floating into the heavenly sunrise of a newly pink morning. The rain had stopped, but the thunder remained, sending crashes of lightning onto the burning field of dead puppets. Scott didn’t want to relish on this recent war and instead relaxed in the arms of his beautiful angel. She sang to him lyrics that were once familiar in his dead father’s music collection.
“I bless the wings that bring you back across the shore. If I could touch you now, my darling, I’d love you just once more. If I could hold you…hold you…hold you…I know you’d understand…I know you’d understand…”
Her soothing soprano tones would have made the Moody Blues proud, but they made Scott relax even further in his girlfriend’s arms. She leaned her face down and kissed his mouth, no taste of worms, no embarrassing boner on Scott’s part, no awkwardness or disgust at all, just a moment of love that would last longer than any haunting trauma. Too bad Scott had to eventually wake up to go to school the next day. But if it meant Adrienne would be there and walk him home again, it would be worth all the heartache.
What would she think of the You Tube video that Alan Young posted in the graveyard? Would she see him as a weakling? Would she take pity on him? Would she break up with him before their relationship even got started? Scott tried not to think too hard about these circling questions and just enjoyed a moment in the pink and orange sunshine with his angelic girlfriend…while he still could.
February 2, 2018
Silent Warrior, Chapter 8
By the time Scott gathered his wits about him for the thousandth time that day, the orange hell across the sky darkened into a starlit night complete with a full moon. He didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved that his mother didn’t try to call him on his cell phone. He didn’t burst out of the house all this way just to think about her any more than he had to. Instead he tried to find relief in the cold night air blowing against his still red hot skin. Maybe a rainstorm would have been nice, but at this time of year, it was highly unlikely.
Rows upon rows of marked graves lay before Scott. This wasn’t the start of another trippy nightmare; he was wide awake as he humanly could be. Every stone cross, every marble angel, and every tombstone reminded him that life was short even though he had his own future ahead of him. Did he have much of a future left after high school? What college was going to take a damaged young man like him? Why should anybody care? He guessed he would be dead or in jail long before he had the chance to find a real job.
The soundtrack of “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 1” by Pink Floyd soothed Scott’s battered eardrums as he approached the grave of his father, Carter Clifford George. The tombstone wasn’t anything fancy, but the sentiment of remembering a simpler life was the same. Scott touched the gravestone with his fingertips and allowed a singular tear to soak the grass beneath.
“Dad…I love you,” he whispered, his voice growing shakier with every word. “If you were here today, none of this would be happening. You were what a real father should be. Not that I would know anything about that, because I don’t plan on having kids. I might not even live long enough to know if I’ll ever be a worthy father. You and I can be together again, Dad. Won’t that be great?”
Scott dropped to his knees and the tears welling up in his eyes turned into a winter storm of emotions. His eyeballs stung like a motherfucker from holding all of this back at school. Even while sharing this moment with his deceased father, he wanted to keep holding it in. But the tears kept rolling. The rage kept bubbling. Adrenaline pulsated through his body. With nobody here but the spirits of the dead, Scott finally cracked and splintered while shouting “DAD!” to the dark heavens above.
He pounded the gravestone with clenched fists and shouted, “Why the fuck did you leave me here to die, you motherfucker?! I need you, damn it! Come home! Come back home and teach my bitch mother a lesson in what it means to be a good fucking parent! Dad! Come back!” Tears moistened his knees like a lawn sprinkler while he struggled to swallow the snot building up in his nose. No matter how many times he pounded that gravestone and begged his father to return, Scott George was still a broken man with nothing to live for.
The crying and screaming session left his legs feeling spaghetti-like and his ribs feeling like they’d been punched in by a heavyweight boxer. Scott breathed so heavily that his voice dropped a few octaves. Using the gravestone for leverage, he hoisted himself up and struggled to stay balanced. He could have easily passed for someone who was just tossed out of a bar for being too intoxicated. His blurry vision was proof of this, but with one hard blink, he could clearly see Alan Young holding a smart phone up to him and grinning from ear to ear.
“I got to say, that’s some Oscar-worthy shit right there, buddy,” Alan mocked. “You’ll be a You Tube celebrity in no time at all once this goes live. Hell, you might even have fifteen minutes of internet fame as a meme. I’ll have to think of a good tagline, though.”
Still breathing like an enraged grizzly bear, Scott held up a finger and warned, “This isn’t the time or the place for your bullshit, Alan. Give me that phone so I can shove it up your ass and lose it forever!”
“Too late, crybaby,” said Alan as he put his phone back in his shorts pocket. “Uploading that shit was as easy as one, two, three. Your ass is on TV!”
The question wasn’t how far Alan Young would stoop. It was how far Scott would run towards him if it meant giving this moron the beating of a lifetime. The chase was on throughout the graveyard. Scott shouted every curse word he could think of at Alan while threatening to, “Punch a hole through [his] big fat chest.” The bully turned around and laughed at his assailant while keeping a long distance between the two of them. Alan even zig-zagged between rows of graves, but the red-visioned Scott stormed towards him like a stampede of rhinos.
Scott had his target in sight and was ready to pounce on him at any moment. Oh, the punches he could throw. The knees that could connect to Alan’s jaw. Maybe Scott could devour this uncaring human being as though this really was the African wild. He could taste the blood on his tongue and feel the moistness of brains sloshing between this teeth. Maybe this would be his permanent cure for anorexia.
And then the high school senior accidentally pounded his own knee against one of the stone crosses and plummeted to the ground, allowing Alan to get away with the evidence and wave goodbye in the process. The cries of pain and the curses that followed filled the night air like a wolf’s howl at the full moon. Scott clutched his bruised knee and pounded the ground with the fist he wanted to use on Alan over and over again.
“Hey, kid!” shouted a middle-aged man not too far from Scott’s location. The crying came to a screeching halt as what appeared to be an undertaker shined a flashlight in Scott’s eyes. “I think you better go home, kid. You and your friend have had enough fun at the dead’s expense for one night.”
“Friend? Friend?!” chuckled Scott through his tears, progressively growing more insane with every cackle. He used the gravestone to pull himself to his feet and limped over to the undertaker, staring up at him with wild bat shit eyes. “If that fat fucker was a friend, I’d hate to meet my enemies. You saw the whole thing, didn’t you? And yet, you did nothing about it! You’re just like every other client you’ve got buried six feet under: you’re dead to the world around you!”
“You want me to do something about this, buddy?” asked the undertaker. “How about if I pull out my cell phone and call 9-1-1 right now. Does that sound good to you? Maybe I’ll tell them a couple of necro-nuggets were looking to get their freak on with the dead bodies.”
Scott ripped the undertaker’s cell phone out of his overalls and asked, “You mean this piece of shit? You want to know what I think of your little 9-1-1 call? Do you, bitch?!” The teenager threw the phone against one of the stone crosses and shattered it into slivers. “If you to want call someone that badly, you should probably howl at the moon like all the other doggies. Woof-woof! Hahaha!”
“You are bat shit crazy, my friend,” said the undertaker while shaking his head. “I’ll be sure to send you the bill for my cell phone once I figure out who the hell you are.”
Scott pulled on the undertaker’s overall straps and grinned at him like a comic book villain. “You do all the detective work you need to do, Dick Tracy. In the meantime, I’m going to just fly away and leave you to…whatever it is you like to do with dead bodies. I’m sure it’s a healthy hobby. If not, then fuck you. I’m flying away! I’m flying away!”
The watchman shook his head yet again as Scott flapped his arms like bird wings and skipped his way out of the graveyard. He sang a little high-pitched tune for the undertaker’s musical enjoyment. “Get some help, asshole!” shouted the watchman as Scott George “flew away” into the night.
“Are you getting this, Alan?!” shouted Scott in a quasi-feminine tone. “I’m going to be a runway diva! I’m going to be a You Tube star! Who’s going to please me today?!” He giggled like a sassy schoolgirl all the way home that night while listening to “I’m Going Slightly Mad” by Queen on his MP3 player. He didn’t bother to see if anybody was spying on him or if any pedestrians were scrambling to get out of his way. That kind of thought process required a brain that didn’t explode like a bag of popcorn.
As soon as Scott reached his doorstep, the divalicious insanity was replaced by another round of him dropping to his knees and bawling his eyes out. This was what it meant to hit rock bottom. Any further down and he’d truly be walking the nine circles of hell for all eternity. He didn’t give two shits if his mother was listening to him agonize or not. The closest he’d get to sympathy was looking it up in the dictionary between shit and syphilis. That seemed to be the general consensus among the people of this god forsaken city.
Rows upon rows of marked graves lay before Scott. This wasn’t the start of another trippy nightmare; he was wide awake as he humanly could be. Every stone cross, every marble angel, and every tombstone reminded him that life was short even though he had his own future ahead of him. Did he have much of a future left after high school? What college was going to take a damaged young man like him? Why should anybody care? He guessed he would be dead or in jail long before he had the chance to find a real job.
The soundtrack of “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 1” by Pink Floyd soothed Scott’s battered eardrums as he approached the grave of his father, Carter Clifford George. The tombstone wasn’t anything fancy, but the sentiment of remembering a simpler life was the same. Scott touched the gravestone with his fingertips and allowed a singular tear to soak the grass beneath.
“Dad…I love you,” he whispered, his voice growing shakier with every word. “If you were here today, none of this would be happening. You were what a real father should be. Not that I would know anything about that, because I don’t plan on having kids. I might not even live long enough to know if I’ll ever be a worthy father. You and I can be together again, Dad. Won’t that be great?”
Scott dropped to his knees and the tears welling up in his eyes turned into a winter storm of emotions. His eyeballs stung like a motherfucker from holding all of this back at school. Even while sharing this moment with his deceased father, he wanted to keep holding it in. But the tears kept rolling. The rage kept bubbling. Adrenaline pulsated through his body. With nobody here but the spirits of the dead, Scott finally cracked and splintered while shouting “DAD!” to the dark heavens above.
He pounded the gravestone with clenched fists and shouted, “Why the fuck did you leave me here to die, you motherfucker?! I need you, damn it! Come home! Come back home and teach my bitch mother a lesson in what it means to be a good fucking parent! Dad! Come back!” Tears moistened his knees like a lawn sprinkler while he struggled to swallow the snot building up in his nose. No matter how many times he pounded that gravestone and begged his father to return, Scott George was still a broken man with nothing to live for.
The crying and screaming session left his legs feeling spaghetti-like and his ribs feeling like they’d been punched in by a heavyweight boxer. Scott breathed so heavily that his voice dropped a few octaves. Using the gravestone for leverage, he hoisted himself up and struggled to stay balanced. He could have easily passed for someone who was just tossed out of a bar for being too intoxicated. His blurry vision was proof of this, but with one hard blink, he could clearly see Alan Young holding a smart phone up to him and grinning from ear to ear.
“I got to say, that’s some Oscar-worthy shit right there, buddy,” Alan mocked. “You’ll be a You Tube celebrity in no time at all once this goes live. Hell, you might even have fifteen minutes of internet fame as a meme. I’ll have to think of a good tagline, though.”
Still breathing like an enraged grizzly bear, Scott held up a finger and warned, “This isn’t the time or the place for your bullshit, Alan. Give me that phone so I can shove it up your ass and lose it forever!”
“Too late, crybaby,” said Alan as he put his phone back in his shorts pocket. “Uploading that shit was as easy as one, two, three. Your ass is on TV!”
The question wasn’t how far Alan Young would stoop. It was how far Scott would run towards him if it meant giving this moron the beating of a lifetime. The chase was on throughout the graveyard. Scott shouted every curse word he could think of at Alan while threatening to, “Punch a hole through [his] big fat chest.” The bully turned around and laughed at his assailant while keeping a long distance between the two of them. Alan even zig-zagged between rows of graves, but the red-visioned Scott stormed towards him like a stampede of rhinos.
Scott had his target in sight and was ready to pounce on him at any moment. Oh, the punches he could throw. The knees that could connect to Alan’s jaw. Maybe Scott could devour this uncaring human being as though this really was the African wild. He could taste the blood on his tongue and feel the moistness of brains sloshing between this teeth. Maybe this would be his permanent cure for anorexia.
And then the high school senior accidentally pounded his own knee against one of the stone crosses and plummeted to the ground, allowing Alan to get away with the evidence and wave goodbye in the process. The cries of pain and the curses that followed filled the night air like a wolf’s howl at the full moon. Scott clutched his bruised knee and pounded the ground with the fist he wanted to use on Alan over and over again.
“Hey, kid!” shouted a middle-aged man not too far from Scott’s location. The crying came to a screeching halt as what appeared to be an undertaker shined a flashlight in Scott’s eyes. “I think you better go home, kid. You and your friend have had enough fun at the dead’s expense for one night.”
“Friend? Friend?!” chuckled Scott through his tears, progressively growing more insane with every cackle. He used the gravestone to pull himself to his feet and limped over to the undertaker, staring up at him with wild bat shit eyes. “If that fat fucker was a friend, I’d hate to meet my enemies. You saw the whole thing, didn’t you? And yet, you did nothing about it! You’re just like every other client you’ve got buried six feet under: you’re dead to the world around you!”
“You want me to do something about this, buddy?” asked the undertaker. “How about if I pull out my cell phone and call 9-1-1 right now. Does that sound good to you? Maybe I’ll tell them a couple of necro-nuggets were looking to get their freak on with the dead bodies.”
Scott ripped the undertaker’s cell phone out of his overalls and asked, “You mean this piece of shit? You want to know what I think of your little 9-1-1 call? Do you, bitch?!” The teenager threw the phone against one of the stone crosses and shattered it into slivers. “If you to want call someone that badly, you should probably howl at the moon like all the other doggies. Woof-woof! Hahaha!”
“You are bat shit crazy, my friend,” said the undertaker while shaking his head. “I’ll be sure to send you the bill for my cell phone once I figure out who the hell you are.”
Scott pulled on the undertaker’s overall straps and grinned at him like a comic book villain. “You do all the detective work you need to do, Dick Tracy. In the meantime, I’m going to just fly away and leave you to…whatever it is you like to do with dead bodies. I’m sure it’s a healthy hobby. If not, then fuck you. I’m flying away! I’m flying away!”
The watchman shook his head yet again as Scott flapped his arms like bird wings and skipped his way out of the graveyard. He sang a little high-pitched tune for the undertaker’s musical enjoyment. “Get some help, asshole!” shouted the watchman as Scott George “flew away” into the night.
“Are you getting this, Alan?!” shouted Scott in a quasi-feminine tone. “I’m going to be a runway diva! I’m going to be a You Tube star! Who’s going to please me today?!” He giggled like a sassy schoolgirl all the way home that night while listening to “I’m Going Slightly Mad” by Queen on his MP3 player. He didn’t bother to see if anybody was spying on him or if any pedestrians were scrambling to get out of his way. That kind of thought process required a brain that didn’t explode like a bag of popcorn.
As soon as Scott reached his doorstep, the divalicious insanity was replaced by another round of him dropping to his knees and bawling his eyes out. This was what it meant to hit rock bottom. Any further down and he’d truly be walking the nine circles of hell for all eternity. He didn’t give two shits if his mother was listening to him agonize or not. The closest he’d get to sympathy was looking it up in the dictionary between shit and syphilis. That seemed to be the general consensus among the people of this god forsaken city.
