Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 7

Bullet With a Name On It

…I’m not a violent person. I don’t carry a gun with me at all times. The last time I got in a fight was in high school. It was a miserable defeat to a guy who mounted my chest and punched me so many times that I got a black eye, numb cheeks, and chewing difficulties. One of the administrators cracked a terrible joke about how I was a lover and not a fighter. I’d expect that kind of humor in the UFC or WWE, but not at school. But I suppose there was some truth in that joke, because ever since that day, I’ve responded to any amount of stress the same way: freezing like Walt Disney eating a popsicle in the middle of a tundra. Fight and flight are gone. Freezing is all that remains. Staying perfectly still and not being confrontational is supposed to be a survival mechanism. But what am I surviving?

While I don’t have a violent life or a criminal history of any kind…I have so many violent thoughts swirling in my head. So many people have taken advantage of my freezing response and said whatever the hell they wanted, like the first amendment was made specifically for assholes. No amethyst colors here, just red, white, and blue. I’ve been fat-shamed, called the R-slur, called a pussy for not joining the military, I’ve had slanderous rumors spread about me, and I’ve been accused of laziness when I didn’t want to get a job and go to school at the same time. These people who abused their first amendment rights…they bear the brunt of these violent thoughts. So...many…violent…thoughts…

Punches in bunches. Sprawling and brawling. Knees to the face. Kicks to the balls. Maybe a piledriver if I’m feeling strong that day. Hell, let’s go full UFC and throw in a rear naked chokehold. In my brain I’m undefeated, even against well-trained marines and martial arts blackbelts. I justify these victories by saying, “Whose dick did they have to suck in order to get those accolades?” I’m sure they can explain the bruises on their faces, but how will they explain the bruises on the inside of their mouths to their dentist? Dentists can tell what you’ve been up to in the bedroom. Or under the sensei’s desk, wherever you feel more comfortable.

But it’s not just unarmed brawling that I fantasize about. Sometimes I’m armed and dangerous. Sometimes I’ve got a big fucking knife. Sometimes I justify those knife victories by saying, “A blackbelt doesn’t give you puncture-proof skin.” Come to think of it…what is a blackbelt good for anyways? Holding up your pants so that we don’t have to look at your Sailor Moon crotchless panties? That kind of intimate wear would never withstand a few strokes from a big ass knife. And neither would your skin. Just hack, slash, hack, slash, an arm there, a leg there, a throat somewhere else, and a glorious bloodbath that will never make me want to shower ever again.

But why is it just melee ranged weapons? Why I can’t I shoot a gun? Surely, it can’t be that hard to shoot a gun. It’s like using America Online: point and click. Maybe I’m oversimplifying complicated technology, but remember, it’s my brain, I’m undefeated. If some bozo driving an obnoxiously large truck drives by me and shouts the F-slur, I’ve got a bullet with his name on it. It’s weird to think about, because in order to have a bullet with somebody’s name on it, I have to know that person’s name. Drive-by loudmouths don’t give you their name or any information about them. That’s a big part of what makes them cowards. Not only do they shout their shit, but they drive away before facing any real consequences. Sure, your truck has a badass engine, but can your truck outrun a bullet? Will a V8 engine matter if there’s a bullet in the gas tank? Will all the horsepower in the world matter if the bullet shatters glass and that glass cuts you up? And what good is driving a truck if the driver gets shot and the vehicle flips on its back? Drive-by loudmouths don’t think about these things in advance. Then again, I wouldn’t call anything they do thinking.

Violent fantasies are so much fun to have. I love bathing in blood. I love listening to screams. I love the symphonic melodies of bones snapping and organs sloshing. I love listening to my insulters plead for their lives only to lose them anyways. But it’s important to remember that these are fantasies. They don’t exist outside of my brain. If they did, there would be serious consequences. Seeing this many dead bodies would break so many hearts. I’d have my own broken heart as I sit alone in a prison cell with regret on my mind. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life with an imagination: fantasy and reality are not one in the same. That’s why people caution against porn being unrealistic. Porn isn’t designed to tell a realistic story. It has one purpose: to help masturbators achieve an orgasm by any means necessary. If you can’t separate fantasy from reality, you’re already waiting to get fucked.

So go ahead and listen to gangsta rap on repeat. Dream of killing your enemies in cold blood. Drink that cold blood like it’s as refreshing as Coca-Cola. Hell, you can even write about some of these daydreams in your stories if you’re an author of some sort. But that comes with its own set of responsibilities. As authors, everything you put on the paper is held in high esteem. Your readers will take everything you say literally and they’ll apply it to their own way of thinking. That doesn’t mean they’re stupid, but they are impressionable. If you’re being held up as an arbiter of truth and you tell a bunch of violent or sexual lies, that’s going to have a bad influence on your readers. Think of all the BDSM rookies who wound up in the hospital after reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Think of all the women who will get pregnant because of birth control misinformation in The Missus, which is written by the same author. You can have your bloody fantasies on paper, but don’t lead your audience astray.

If you’re watching Quentin Tarantino movies, don’t duct tape your enemy to a chair and cut his ear off while dancing to 70’s music. If you’re watching WWE television from the 2000’s, don’t simulate sex with a corpse as a way of insulting someone who wronged you. If you’re watching Mind of Mencia and I hope to god you’re not, don’t throw racial slurs haphazardly and then later wonder why you’re being “canceled”. And by the way, cancel culture isn’t real. If you write a shitty story chock full of irresponsible violence and rape, your audience has the right to react in a negative way, because criticism isn’t censorship. Criticism is the other half of free speech.

If you must have violent fantasies, reign them in. Don’t unleash them out into the real world. If you’re a peaceful guy in real life, but you have violent fantasies, don’t let anybody judge you for it. Truth is, everybody thinks about violence at least once in their life. At least once, don’t let them lie to you. Nobody’s this candid about their violent fantasies, but we all have them. Some are more mild than others, but they still exist. It’s a normal part of the human experience. Thinking about something is a healthy way to process it. Thinking is the best way to travel. Doing these things in real life will cause so much heartache, for you and your victims. And for the love of god…don’t join the military just because you happen to be good at playing Halo.

Shock Value Village

VERSE 1
I got my devil horns for only ninety-nine cents
Going to hang some dildos from the white picket fence
And some fetal dolls from the cherry blossom tree
Your shock is priceless, but I got it for free
Got some flammable bibles, two for the price of one
Got a crucifix thong tucked between my buns
Got a whole bookshelf of the shit I can’t read
When you stab a book banner, a fascist bleeds

CHORUS 1
Shock Value Village
Raid, rape, and pillage
Shock Value Village
You’ve got the devil to thank
For not breaking the bank

VERSE 2
Ronda Santis has some cloves of garlic
He got them from Wal-Mart, ‘cause he’s banned from Target
He’s got a buckle on his hat and some buckles on his shoes
And some holy water boiling on the teapot brew
That shit doesn’t work, so we all point and laugh
The rumbling in our bellies measures on a seismic graph
The crusade was over before it ever began
He died on the hill of a few pointless bans

CHORUS 2
Shock Value Village
Raid, rape, and pillage
Shock Value Village
It won’t cost a fortune
So enjoy your abortion

BRIDGE
The youth of tomorrow don’t want to hear your sorrows
The churches are empty, you got nothing to envy
You promised paradise, you forgot to ask nice
Check it out for us, you’re the table sacrifice

CHORUS 3
Shock Value Village
Raid, rape, and pillage
Shock Value Village
Dollar store prices
For your favorite vices
Shock Value Village
Raid, rape, and pillage
Shock Value Village
Traditions left behind
For a stack of thin dimes
Theocracy be damned
You lost all your fans

Lay Down and Die

VERSE 1
You’re having a book barbecue
I’m burning the red, white, and blue
We are not the same
Mental chess is my only game
You play checkers like an amateur, dude

CHORUS
The things you’re fighting for
Should be kicked out the door
Don’t want to hear you cry
Just lay down and die
Keep on rolling
Rolling
Eat some humble pie
Just lay down and die

VERSE 2
You’re killing the chicks who won’t date you
No wonder the whole world hates you
Spit out the black pill
Don’t call the pharmacy for a refill
And pray your next victim escapes you

CHORUS
The things you’re fighting for
Should be kicked out the door
Don’t want to hear you cry
Just lay down and die
Keep on rolling
Rolling
Eat some humble pie
Just lay down and die

BRIDGE
You want to rule the world and fuck all of the girls
Can’t abide by your lies, give them the toilet swirl
You want to burn the books like a badass cook
Can’t let you, I detest you, you’re the real crook
You want to jail me because I made you see
You’re not the king of everything, you too can bleed
You want Armageddon, bar us all from heaven
Buckle up, buttercup, crash your seven-forty-seven
You sacrificed it all
Just to drop the ball

CHORUS
The things you’re fighting for
Should be kicked out the door
Don’t want to hear you cry
Just lay down and die
Keep on rolling
Rolling
Eat some humble pie
Just lay down and die

Mosquitos

You’re buzzing all around me like a mosquito
Feasting on flesh like a microwave burrito
Puking your poison over everything I love
Amythest colors drowned in shit from above
Every insult against me is a secret confession
Yet you yak your ass off like it’s your profession
If you buzz and bite for a long enough time
You buy space in my head for pennies on the dime
Just when I’m ready to stare into the void
Here come more mosquitos to keep me annoyed
There’s not enough bug spray on the planet
To make the army of bastards suddenly vanish
There’s not enough fire to match all my anger
To turn this epic war into an apocalyptic banger
I sleep for the night, no buzzing in my dreams
Then I awaken to see them swarming in teams
Being fucked up in the head is a lifelong job
No vacation days, those are only for slobs
No lunch breaks when I want to eat the rich
No free healthcare, pay for every single stitch
If fighting mental mosquitos is a real vocation
I’m the regional manager of every location
I ain’t the CEO, because I have no control
I ain’t the president, just look at the poll
I’d ask for my flowers, but the bugs like plants
Just keep kicking my ass, I’ll drop my pants
They don’t call it an insect infestation
They call it schizophrenia and call me a patient

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 4

Loki the Skull’s jowls continued to flap in the icy wind as equally cold words poured from his mouth like hemlock into a glass of wine. He thanked Lucy and her crew for leading him to Ozzie’s cave. He rambled and ranted and raved about animals being too lazy to exact their own revenge against their abandoners. And then he seamlessly transitioned into a nonsensical allegory about icy bridges leading to hell. And he rambled some more until his verbiage became cacophonic word salad. The overuse of magic truly made King Harrison insane, which would explain his obsession with getting revenge for his animals.

Lucy would have shed sympathetic tears for the Kafkaesque descent if it wasn’t for the fact that Loki rocked her hammer back and forth like a hypnotic pocket watch. Watching this former king mentally drift away into outer space meant nothing in comparison to the deflated tennis ball that once brought Lucy joy. Her fangs didn’t have much in the way of sharpness, but they clamped down with the utmost tightness at this display of hubris. Lucy’s doggy hairs stood up and prickled against her metal armor. Her tail wagged uncomfortably fast. Her murder victim growls grew deeper with rage the longer this was allowed to go on. And then…

“GIVE! IT! BACK!” Lucy launched her tiny body despite protests from Callie and Ozzie. Surely, a lightning bolt or fire bomb was waiting for her at the end of the trajectory. It never came, just Loki ducking out of the way and keeping the hammer to himself. Lucy yipped and yapped as she bounced up and down in an attempt to grab her weapon. Loki always kept it out of reach, sometimes by only a tiny tap. The fact that he could have ended this anytime he wanted to and chose not to brought even more venom out of Lucy’s bitter barks.

After what must have been the seventh or eighth attempt to grab the hammer, Loki aimed his paw and finally launched a fire attack…but not against Lucy. A nearby record player that once made Ozzie’s eyes milky with nostalgia had instantly transformed into a pile of black dust, along with whatever piece of licorice pizza Callie attempted to play.

Lucy didn’t take time to register the deeper meaning of such destruction and continued to jump after her hammer, which was still hanging over her head like the tennis ball she once loved. She didn’t even pay much mind to Callie shouting, “Okay, that’s it!” and pulling out her golden dagger. Lucy didn’t care if neither of them stood a chance at beating this cackling, jabbering sorcerer. She just wanted her hammer back, the last symbol of what life was all about for her.

And then Callie stuck the knife where the sun never dared to shine. Not in Loki’s fuzzy butt, Lucy’s instead. She yipped in pain and jumped even higher than before, which gave her enough height to finally grab her hammer. Loki still held on and the two of them played tug-o’-war over it, all while the sorcerer shot a lightning ball into Callie’s chest and knocked her backwards, almost unconscious.

“That wasn’t very nice! GIVE IT BACK!” Lucy screamed, suddenly gaining more strength upon seeing her friend get zapped. It wasn’t enough strength to earn her a tug-o’-war victory as Loki pulled harder himself. The yanks from both sides disturbed their equilibrium and they nearly fell out of the cave together. Lucy would have rolled back down the mountain covered in snow if not for one small mistake on Loki’s part.

“Harrison!” said Ozzie in a husky old man voice. Loki’s mistake was awakening the memories in the old cat’s brain. He gazed at Loki with piercing eyes and trembling whiskers, energy forming in his paws at the risk of refrying his brain. “It ends with you!” Ozzie used whatever mana was left in his rotted brain to throw a tiny whirlwind at the tug-o-war scene. He then collapsed face first onto the cold icy ground.

Loki let out an arrogant, “Ha!”, as if that was the best the old man could do. But that little spark of wind gave Lucy momentum. Sure, Loki wouldn’t let go, but he didn’t have to. Lucy wasn’t pulling the hammer towards herself. She was pulling it to the side. The little gust along with Lucy’s heroic rage caused her to spin little by little, until she herself was a whirlwind of chaos. She spun Loki around and around while picking up steam, never once letting go of her weapon.

Lucy paid no mind to her own rotting brain, she kept spinning Loki around anyways. The sorcerer’s face grew bright green and his eyes watered. His jowls puffed up bigger and bigger and his stomach growled like the tough guy wolf he was trying to be. Spinning, spinning, and spinning until Loki’s fingers slipped further and further down the shaft of the hammer. One tiny slide later and Lucy was reunited with her precious hammer. She plopped backwards into the snow with her vision blurring in and out of focus and her tummy aching like she was about to lose her life in addition to her lunch.

Loki fared no better when it came to aching stomachs. His jowls continued to expand as he clutched his midsection and doubled over. He did everything in his power to keep it together. The salt water collecting in his eyes was a souvenir of his last ditch efforts. And then…”BLAAAAAAAAAAH!” Loki puked a bubbling stream of green and gray acid onto the snow.

Lucy couldn’t tell if the rising steam was from the vile stench or if spirits were magically floating out of the excess juices. Maybe it was both. She squinted her eyes as hard as she could to relieve them of rapidly freezing tears. She laid there trying to keep her own lunch under control, as every part of her body ached badly enough to want to vomit herself inside out. But the acidic spray never came. Her stomach calmed down long enough for her to drift off into darkness.

She didn’t spend too long in the black abyss. The wetness and comfort of a dog’s tongue kissed her furry flesh. If she was a kitty, she would purr at this loving sensation. She did however slowly open her red and puffy eyes to see Loki reviving her with gentle licks. Except this wasn’t the sorcerer she was fighting against this whole time. This was the original Loki, who stood on all fours and never once threw a magical spell. Instead he was just a sweet, tender dog who wanted Lucy to love him as much as he loved everybody, the way a dog should be.

“Loki-Pokey!” Lucy squealed before hugging him around the neck and getting a few puppy licks in herself. The labrador snuggled up beside the snow-bitten Lucy and snuggled with her for warmth. “Hey…is that?” She finally put two and two together: Loki threw up King Harrison’s ghost and was no longer possessed by the insane sorcerer. She could smell the chunks of lightning-fried flesh in the puddles of vomit. “It all makes sense now! Yay! We did it, Loki-Pokey! Ozzie and Callie are going to be so proud of us! Hey…wait a minute…”

She nipped up and rushed towards Ozzie’s cave, Loki trotting right behind her. Sure enough, Callie and Ozzie were right there face down on the floor, not one movement or sign of life between them. Lucy began to shiver with sadness. “No…no, no, no, no, no!” The two dogs rushed over to the cats’ prone bodies and began furiously licking them. Not even a dog’s loving tongue could revive the old coots. Lucy shook some more as she gazed to the ceiling and howled. Loki howled alongside her and the two of them became a chorus of sorrow at their fallen friends. They sacrificed their lives just so Lucy could have her stupid hammer. They gave so much of their energy to a toxic king that wouldn’t reciprocate.

“Ouch! My ears! Will you two stop your cotton-pickin’ yelling!” Callie blurted out. She snapped wide awake while Ozzie took his sweet time in coming around.

Lucy, having no sense of boundaries, hugged them both around the neck and shrieked, “You’re alive! You’re alive! Oh, I missed you two so much!” She and Loki continued to lick their feline faces. Callie folded her arms in defeat while Ozzie chuckled and petted Loki’s head. The gang was back together and Rainbow Ranch could finally heal. They could laugh, play, eat sausage, get pettings and love, all the things that animals had at the top of their wish lists. Revenge wasn’t just on the bottom, but it never even made the cut. That was until…

“Fools! You’ll never get rid of me that easily!” King Harrison may have been exorcised from Loki’s body, but his poisonous green ghost still hung in the air. He shouted a bunch of mindless gibberish. He summoned energy in his clawed hands. He scratched himself until black pudding oozed from within. It was then that it dawned on Lucy that she forgot her hammer outside. She, Loki, Ozzie, and Callie all snuggled against each other knowing exactly what was coming to them. They hoped their deaths would be swift and merciful. They gave all they could to this fight only for King Harrison’s ghost to hang around.

“I love you guys. I love you all…” mumbled Lucy as she squinted her eyes in defeat.

VD at the Dentist's Office

I cross the icy bridge to the dentist’s office
Reach my destination, but find no solace
It’s Valentine’s Day, VD for short
A celebration of romance and genital warts
The perfect day to stick a drill in my mouth
Infected gums, not infected down south
Floss makes me bleed like a broken heart
Like two lovers, my teeth are torn apart
Rince and spit like a fellatio
Lovey-dovey muzak on the radio
Spinning polisher tickles my gums
I scream, but I get the help of no one
“Please be quiet while I’m working on you”
Okay, Britt Baker, tap me out too
Any cavities today or just a hole in my soul?
Just a toothbrush and floss, you’re the boss
I’ll eat my feelings at my local Burger King
Spend money on burgers, not a wedding ring
A pretty smile doesn’t mean a damn thing
I never do it anyways, got nothing nice to sing
At least my dental work isn’t ruined by mono
Sour grapes is my meal, report it like gonzo
News of my heartache broadcast in a frown
Lay alone in bed and put on some “Lonesome Town”
I survived another god forsaken VD
It’s nothing like the shit in movies and TV
I’ll undo my brainwashing somehow, someway
And VD will just be an ordinary day

Every Little Thing I Do Is Funny

(In the style of “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” by The Police)

VERSE 1
I stood up in front of the class
Gave a presentation so I could pass
From the very first word
Laughter’s all I ever heard
In mass

CHORUS
Every little thing I do is funny
Everything I do just cracks them up
Even the professor’s spitting coffee
From his “Number One Teacher” cup

VERSE 2
I pulled out a Snickers bar
Because the time for lunch was just too far
Got a big enough belly
One that wiggles like it’s jelly
Har-dee-har!

CHORUS
Every little thing I do is funny
Everything I do just cracks them up
Even the professor’s spitting coffee
From his “Number One Teacher” cup

BRIDGE
I called them a bunch of names
Stormed out of the room in shame
I’d walk back to my dorm room
To be all doom and gloom
Everyone tried to assure me
They weren’t punching down with glee
They just think my voice is lovely
It’s a low-pitch melody

CHORUS
Every little thing I do is funny
Everything I do just cracks them up
Even the professor’s spitting coffee
From his “Number One Teacher” cup

The Gunman Is Always Right

VERSE 1
A dangerous resolution, it’s just an illusion
The gunman won’t agree to a peaceful solution
Bullets equal power and might makes right
Rifle’s locked and loaded, don’t put up a fight

CHORUS 1
He said, “I got the gun
I got the ropes
I’m always right”

VERSE 2
His newfound hostages are now his disciples
He’s got a god complex, he’ll be in charge for a while
He makes them sing hymns through their tape gags
Acolytes burning candles for the guy with clips and mags
He could write a bible with the blood of his rivals
That he nailed to a cross in a Jesus Christ style
He could go anywhere and make it his church
Hellfire and gun powder will equally burn

CHORUS 1
He said, “I got the gun
I got the ropes
I’m always right”

VERSE 3
His rifle has jammed, it refuses to click
So the brainwashed flock kick him in the dick
Punch him in the face until it’s blood he tastes
It ain’t the blood of Christ, it’s dripping with haste
Kick him in the ribs until every bone splits
Kick him in the ass, he’s got never-ending shits
The power dynamic is once again balanced
It’s only fair that the victims get their share

CHORUS 2
They said, “You ain’t our god
You’re just a fraud
We’re always right”
They said, “You’re off to jail
The sirens wail
We’re always right”

Two-Sentence Horror Story: A Stone's Throw Away

After an hour of standing in front of the toilet, Frank passed the world’s bloodiest and most painful kidney stone in existence. It could one day be used as the business end of a morning star.

Head of Cauliflower

A mysterious package, ain’t no head of cabbage
It’s a head of cauliflower with its own brain power
Why the hell not? It’s got a bumpy texture
The kind of head you’d see in a medical lecture
What kind of thoughts are sweeping across?
A silver screen show of the decapitating blow
And now this head is in my shopping cart
In this cinematic trauma, I’m still taking part
Soon this head will be boiled in a pot
Covered with cheese sauce, a whole damn lot
Dandruff flakes and a cerebral cortex
They’re pieces of fiber in my colonic vortex
All that potential for academic genius
Shat away like the flood of melty cheeses
Every head in that grocery superstore
Was capable of brilliance and so much more
Now they’re swimming in stomachs full of gas
Destined for a water slide ride out of the ass
Am I the crazy one for having these thoughts?
Maybe my head is produce one day to be bought
Feels weird carrying severed heads around
But who cares when fiber is good for shedding pounds?
They came from the garden, not the cemetery
But what’s the difference when shit gets buried?
Seeds and corpses grow the finest veggies
Why find the meaning when I can just be edgy?
I’m the only one who can find the connection
These bowel-shaking thoughts are my own invention
Wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t resonate
I’m the only one who gets my own jokes as of late