Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 82
July 6, 2017
California and Colorado
VERSE 1
You’ve got traces of blood in your alcohol stream
Your biggest heroin dose put you in a dark dream
All your trust fund money went up your nose
Sucking up the cocaine like a vacuum cleaner hose
Wake up the next morning not knowing where you are
Shake the cobwebs to find out you’re in a cop car
Solitary confinement or the general population
No chance of parole or a suspended probation
CHORUS
Going to California and Colorado?
Your pipe dreams are not what they seem
Flying to the moon and the red planet?
Controlled substances tell you what you believe
Going to Washington and Canada?
You tell the lies and trust those who deceive
How about Seaside and Long Beach?
Get your ass clean and get a permanent reprieve
VERSE 2
Whoever’s in your ear is the one you should fear
Whether it’s a cult master with no charismatic peers
A drunken fool who thinks his magic is cool
A babbling idiot with diseases on his tool
ABRIDGED CHORUS
Going to California and Colorado?
Your pipe dreams are not what they seem
Flying to the moon and the red planet?
Controlled substances tell you what you believe
BRIDGE
All your potential went up in a cloud of smoke
All your arguments come off as a big fucking joke
All your meaningless words come out as word salad
Your story’s ending was marked with a judge’s mallet
VERSE 3
Was it worth the thrills and the temporary chills?
Was it worth the stacks of debt collection bills?
Was it worth the pain you put your family through?
Don’t say for a minute that you never really knew!
CHORUS
Going to California and Colorado?
Your pipe dreams are not what they seem
Flying to the moon and the red planet?
Controlled substances tell you what you believe
Going to Washington and Canada?
You tell the lies and trust those who deceive
How about Seaside and Long Beach?
Get your ass clean and get a permanent reprieve
You’ve got traces of blood in your alcohol stream
Your biggest heroin dose put you in a dark dream
All your trust fund money went up your nose
Sucking up the cocaine like a vacuum cleaner hose
Wake up the next morning not knowing where you are
Shake the cobwebs to find out you’re in a cop car
Solitary confinement or the general population
No chance of parole or a suspended probation
CHORUS
Going to California and Colorado?
Your pipe dreams are not what they seem
Flying to the moon and the red planet?
Controlled substances tell you what you believe
Going to Washington and Canada?
You tell the lies and trust those who deceive
How about Seaside and Long Beach?
Get your ass clean and get a permanent reprieve
VERSE 2
Whoever’s in your ear is the one you should fear
Whether it’s a cult master with no charismatic peers
A drunken fool who thinks his magic is cool
A babbling idiot with diseases on his tool
ABRIDGED CHORUS
Going to California and Colorado?
Your pipe dreams are not what they seem
Flying to the moon and the red planet?
Controlled substances tell you what you believe
BRIDGE
All your potential went up in a cloud of smoke
All your arguments come off as a big fucking joke
All your meaningless words come out as word salad
Your story’s ending was marked with a judge’s mallet
VERSE 3
Was it worth the thrills and the temporary chills?
Was it worth the stacks of debt collection bills?
Was it worth the pain you put your family through?
Don’t say for a minute that you never really knew!
CHORUS
Going to California and Colorado?
Your pipe dreams are not what they seem
Flying to the moon and the red planet?
Controlled substances tell you what you believe
Going to Washington and Canada?
You tell the lies and trust those who deceive
How about Seaside and Long Beach?
Get your ass clean and get a permanent reprieve
July 5, 2017
You Don't Deserve Me
CHORUS
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
VERSE 1
Just because you’ve got the prettiest face
Doesn’t mean you’re getting my kiss’s taste
Just because you’ve got a million dollars
Doesn’t mean I even have to bother
Just because you’ve got a siren’s charm
Doesn’t mean you won’t do me harm
I see right through your tempting ways
I stare through you with a venomous gaze
EXTENDED CHORUS
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only burn me
Find another juicy prey
Get the fuck so far away
VERSE 2
Make up a rumor about my sexuality
Make up a promise of your sensuality
Feeding on emotions like a parasite
Promising an empty fucking paradise
If all you wore was a bra and thong
I’d still think all of your ideas are wrong
I’d still have a reason to pen this song
I’d still have it in me to say, “Not for long!”
EXTENDED CHORUS 2
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
You’ll never have me
Don’t even ask me
Find another source of love
Find another source of snuff
VERSE 3
I’m waiting for somebody who cares
Not for a witch with wicked stares
Not just a game of truth or dare
I know the way I’m being isn’t fair
You know what you’ve always wanted
Your own stud muffin to be flaunted
And all I want is a million bucks
Sometimes you don’t get what you lust
CHORUS X2
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
VERSE 1
Just because you’ve got the prettiest face
Doesn’t mean you’re getting my kiss’s taste
Just because you’ve got a million dollars
Doesn’t mean I even have to bother
Just because you’ve got a siren’s charm
Doesn’t mean you won’t do me harm
I see right through your tempting ways
I stare through you with a venomous gaze
EXTENDED CHORUS
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only burn me
Find another juicy prey
Get the fuck so far away
VERSE 2
Make up a rumor about my sexuality
Make up a promise of your sensuality
Feeding on emotions like a parasite
Promising an empty fucking paradise
If all you wore was a bra and thong
I’d still think all of your ideas are wrong
I’d still have a reason to pen this song
I’d still have it in me to say, “Not for long!”
EXTENDED CHORUS 2
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
You’ll never have me
Don’t even ask me
Find another source of love
Find another source of snuff
VERSE 3
I’m waiting for somebody who cares
Not for a witch with wicked stares
Not just a game of truth or dare
I know the way I’m being isn’t fair
You know what you’ve always wanted
Your own stud muffin to be flaunted
And all I want is a million bucks
Sometimes you don’t get what you lust
CHORUS X2
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only desert me
You don’t deserve me
You’ll only hurt me
June 30, 2017
A Weasel and a Thief
The early morning darkness did wonders in comforting Private Laurel Tate’s battle scarred mind. Maybe it was the way her platoon snored like little kittens as they laid in their sleeping bags on the desert ground. Maybe it was the vanilla ice cream-like texture of the full moon that night. Maybe it was the way the stars twinkled brightly across her field of vision. Whatever this comfort was, Laurel envied her platoon mates as she marched back and forth with her AK-47 drawn ready to shower any insurgent with bullets at a moment’s notice.
There seemed to be no need for such a brutal weapon that moment. It was surprisingly quiet for a war-torn desert. No bombs going off, no machinegun fire, just peace and quiet. Because of the strangeness of it all, Laurel had to be extra vigilant and the caffeine pills she took before her shift would help her do that. Every once and a while she would drift off while she was on her feet, but only for a few seconds at best. A lifetime of drinking coffee made her somewhat immune to these military-grade caffeine pills. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast in her night watch.
She reached for the radio on her hip and said into it, “Coast is clear, over.” But when she hit the button, the entire device popped like a balloon and gave Laurel a quick jump scare. “What the hell?” she asked herself as she saw that her radio was indeed a clown’s balloon. With wide eyes and a tight trigger finger, she looked around at her platoon and saw that their weapons had been replaced by balloon animals and their radios were replaced with bicycle helmets.
“Hey! Wake up! We’ve been made!” shouted Laurel, but the mechanical snoring continued. “I said wake up, goddamn it! We’re under attack!” Still no answer from the drowsy crew. “Fucking morons! Wake your asses up, now!” she barked with even more sauce in her voice. She even squeezed off a few rounds of her assault rifle in the air, but that too turned out to be an exploding balloon animal. “What the fuck is going on here?!” she asked while tightly squeezing the remains of her inflatable giraffe.
“You can yell all you want, sweetheart, but they ain’t waking up!” said a cartoon voice with two honks of a bicycle horn to follow. Private Tate’s what-the-fuck face was cranked up to eleven when she saw a tiny gnome in a clown suit waving at her and peddling a child’s bike with a wagon full of AK-47’s and other military equipment. “Turn that frown upside down! Without these bad boys, you won’t have to go to war anymore! Smile, you silly goose!” From the gnome clown’s gigantic sleeves shot a volley of crepe paper in Laurel’s now red hot face.
The marine private slowly wiped the paper off her face while maintaining a contorted look of disgust and vitriol. “You little shit weasel! You better give that shit back or else…”
“Or else what? You’ll get a spanking from your daddy?” mocked the gnome with a sarcastic hand of concern over his mouth. “You really need to loosen up, baby cakes! Here, have some music to brighten your day!” The clown flipped the switch on a radio mounted to his handle bars and played church organ circus music. He laughed like a hyena and started peddling away in his little bicycle while waving goodbye.
While she wouldn’t get “a spanking from her daddy”, Laurel would get an earful from her commanding officer if she allowed this little freak of nature to get away so easily with expensive military equipment. Physical training until her body resembled a skeleton. A firing squad that put more holes in her than a mesh fence. God knows how many years in a military prison that would rival most shit houses. Any one of these possibilities shook Laurel to her core and her nerves fired off like the assault rifles stolen from her platoon.
“Get over here, you little creep!” grunted Private Tate through gritted teeth while she darted after her thief at a deadlier speed than when she ran obstacles in boot camp. With every ounce of strength she pumped into her thick legs, she crept inches closer to her elusive assailant. Her heart pumped at a million beats per minute and sweat poured from her brow like a water park. She reached out her hand only inches away from her slick thief’s rainbow-colored hair. Two fingertips turned into three and three turned into an entire handful of clown hair.
With one clean jerk, Private Tate yanked the little fucker off of his bike and started raining punches down on his face. She could feel the molten lead pumping through her veins as well as the blood and juices splashing against her already red eyes and face. She finally relented her attack when she saw that she had been punching a watermelon this entire time. The burgundy in her face flashed a mixture of boiling anger and douche chills of embarrassment.
Standing right beside her and laughing like a lunatic, the gnome clown said, “Gotcha! I gotcha good, didn’t I!” before cooling off Laurel’s face with a spray of lapel water. The clown rolled on the floor laughing and kicking the air while slamming his fists into the desert sand.
With her anger hot enough to make her head explode like a car bomb, Laurel finally got her hands wrapped around the little bastard’s throat and squeezed so hard that the gnome’s facial redness was easily visible through his white makeup. “Alright, you little shit head! Tell me who you are and what the fuck you’re doing here! I’ll make your death quick and painless if you listen to reason!”
The clown’s head popped in balloon fashion once again and his real head slid through the neck of his jacket. “Gotcha again!” said the diminutive booger as he rolled around laughing yet again. Laurel could do nothing but remain on her knees and watch this nut job with burning red eyes.
Upon witnessing the marine’s frustration, the clown stopped laughing and changed his expression to mock sadness. “Aww, what’s wrong? Don’t be sad, little girl. I’m just having some fun with you tonight. I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Ozzy May. Nice to meet you!” The two of them shook hands only for Laurel to get a jolt in her fingers and for Ozzy to have another reason to chuckle and hee-haw.
“I give up. I fucking give up,” said Laurel with a low and solemn voice. “I didn’t sign up for this goofy shit. I’m supposed to be shooting terrorists, not little shit stains like you!”
Ozzy nipped up and sat on the seat of his bicycle with his legs crossed and big red feet swinging. “So what of it? You want to go home? You want to see your husband and daughter again? Have you finally had enough of this god awful war that nobody needs to be fighting?”
“I need to fight it!” barked Laurel. “I joined the marines so that I could protect my country and if I have to protect it from little punks like you, then I’ll gladly do it!”
Ozzy May rested his jaw on his fingertips and said, “Really? Who told you that? A politician? A recruiter? A TV pundit? Come on, little girl, you can’t really be serious about all of that rhetoric. The only reason why there aren’t any bullets flying tonight is because nobody’s alive to shoot them. I’m not just talking about whackos with bombs. I’m talking about women and children too. You’ve seen their bodies up close and you can’t get those images out of your mind. Those aren’t caffeine pills you’re taking. That’s trauma medication!”
Laurel’s facial expression melted into softness upon realizing that this little guy had a point. The tears were building in her eyes, but she didn’t want them flooding and Ozzy noticed that. She couldn’t let this clown see her cry. Instead her sorrow turned to rage when she bolted to her feet and spear tackled Ozzy to the ground with her fist raised high. “What do you know about the shit going on in my head?! Huh?! What makes you a fucking authority?!”
“I know this because that’s how my gnomish race was wiped out,” said Ozzy with rare seriousness in his voice. “Too many of them were blown to bits while others lynched themselves into a peaceful death. That’s the reality of war, but no politician will ever tell you that. But of course, what does a gnome like me know about war? I’m too small to fight other people’s battles for them. Even if I wanted to be a soldier, nobody would recruit me because I’m small enough to get my ass kicked by normal sized men. If you need proof, just look at you and that raised fist!”
Slowly lowering her hand, Laurel’s tears burst from her eyes, but she refused to sob in front of this tiny man. “Why are you telling me these things? You’re just a clown. You’re here to torment me!”
“Exactly!” said Ozzy. “If I don’t set you straight, these desert warriors will. I’d much rather you’d be pranked by a clown instead of blown up by a rocket launcher. Is that really what it’s going to take to get you home? A blown off leg? A mindful of shitty memories? A hole in your chest the size of a sewer lid? Or maybe you prefer to travel home in a wooden box with an American flag draped over it!”
Even more tears poured from Laurel’s eyes as she rolled onto her back and gazed at the night sky. It still looked beautiful despite her tormented mind. She could have more nights like this if she came home alive and well to a family that depended on her for income and love. She didn’t want to admit it, but Ozzy May was right. But the more she pushed away his talking points, the stronger they hit her.
“How the fuck am I supposed to go home now?” asked Laurel wearily. “It’s not like my commanding officer is just going to let me go. He’ll probably punish the shit out of me before that happens.”
Wrapping his tiny arm around her shoulders, Ozzy said, “Did I mention that those weren’t caffeine pills you were taking? At least those are allowed. Illegally obtained prescription drugs? Not so much. The marines don’t want drug addicted trauma victims on their team. They want young healthy soldiers who can run into battle and beat some ass with the best of them. Your CO will find out sooner or later. But in your case, it’s as soon as you decide to wake up!”
That final sentence was punctuated with a cream pie to Laurel’s face. She coughed and spit up the pieces of whipped cream before angrily wiping it from her field of vision. By the time her eyes were clear enough to see, it was the break of dawn and her once snoring marine friends were gathered all around her with scornful looks in their eyes. Was this whole thing just a dream? A fucked up god awful dream about midget clowns?
One of them had a prescription bottle of pills with the name Dr. Ozzy May on the top of the label. That same marine knelt down to Laurel’s side and said with stern conviction, “We need to talk.”
“Am…am I busted?” asked Laurel.
“You’re goddamn right you are,” said the head marine.
There seemed to be no need for such a brutal weapon that moment. It was surprisingly quiet for a war-torn desert. No bombs going off, no machinegun fire, just peace and quiet. Because of the strangeness of it all, Laurel had to be extra vigilant and the caffeine pills she took before her shift would help her do that. Every once and a while she would drift off while she was on her feet, but only for a few seconds at best. A lifetime of drinking coffee made her somewhat immune to these military-grade caffeine pills. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast in her night watch.
She reached for the radio on her hip and said into it, “Coast is clear, over.” But when she hit the button, the entire device popped like a balloon and gave Laurel a quick jump scare. “What the hell?” she asked herself as she saw that her radio was indeed a clown’s balloon. With wide eyes and a tight trigger finger, she looked around at her platoon and saw that their weapons had been replaced by balloon animals and their radios were replaced with bicycle helmets.
“Hey! Wake up! We’ve been made!” shouted Laurel, but the mechanical snoring continued. “I said wake up, goddamn it! We’re under attack!” Still no answer from the drowsy crew. “Fucking morons! Wake your asses up, now!” she barked with even more sauce in her voice. She even squeezed off a few rounds of her assault rifle in the air, but that too turned out to be an exploding balloon animal. “What the fuck is going on here?!” she asked while tightly squeezing the remains of her inflatable giraffe.
“You can yell all you want, sweetheart, but they ain’t waking up!” said a cartoon voice with two honks of a bicycle horn to follow. Private Tate’s what-the-fuck face was cranked up to eleven when she saw a tiny gnome in a clown suit waving at her and peddling a child’s bike with a wagon full of AK-47’s and other military equipment. “Turn that frown upside down! Without these bad boys, you won’t have to go to war anymore! Smile, you silly goose!” From the gnome clown’s gigantic sleeves shot a volley of crepe paper in Laurel’s now red hot face.
The marine private slowly wiped the paper off her face while maintaining a contorted look of disgust and vitriol. “You little shit weasel! You better give that shit back or else…”
“Or else what? You’ll get a spanking from your daddy?” mocked the gnome with a sarcastic hand of concern over his mouth. “You really need to loosen up, baby cakes! Here, have some music to brighten your day!” The clown flipped the switch on a radio mounted to his handle bars and played church organ circus music. He laughed like a hyena and started peddling away in his little bicycle while waving goodbye.
While she wouldn’t get “a spanking from her daddy”, Laurel would get an earful from her commanding officer if she allowed this little freak of nature to get away so easily with expensive military equipment. Physical training until her body resembled a skeleton. A firing squad that put more holes in her than a mesh fence. God knows how many years in a military prison that would rival most shit houses. Any one of these possibilities shook Laurel to her core and her nerves fired off like the assault rifles stolen from her platoon.
“Get over here, you little creep!” grunted Private Tate through gritted teeth while she darted after her thief at a deadlier speed than when she ran obstacles in boot camp. With every ounce of strength she pumped into her thick legs, she crept inches closer to her elusive assailant. Her heart pumped at a million beats per minute and sweat poured from her brow like a water park. She reached out her hand only inches away from her slick thief’s rainbow-colored hair. Two fingertips turned into three and three turned into an entire handful of clown hair.
With one clean jerk, Private Tate yanked the little fucker off of his bike and started raining punches down on his face. She could feel the molten lead pumping through her veins as well as the blood and juices splashing against her already red eyes and face. She finally relented her attack when she saw that she had been punching a watermelon this entire time. The burgundy in her face flashed a mixture of boiling anger and douche chills of embarrassment.
Standing right beside her and laughing like a lunatic, the gnome clown said, “Gotcha! I gotcha good, didn’t I!” before cooling off Laurel’s face with a spray of lapel water. The clown rolled on the floor laughing and kicking the air while slamming his fists into the desert sand.
With her anger hot enough to make her head explode like a car bomb, Laurel finally got her hands wrapped around the little bastard’s throat and squeezed so hard that the gnome’s facial redness was easily visible through his white makeup. “Alright, you little shit head! Tell me who you are and what the fuck you’re doing here! I’ll make your death quick and painless if you listen to reason!”
The clown’s head popped in balloon fashion once again and his real head slid through the neck of his jacket. “Gotcha again!” said the diminutive booger as he rolled around laughing yet again. Laurel could do nothing but remain on her knees and watch this nut job with burning red eyes.
Upon witnessing the marine’s frustration, the clown stopped laughing and changed his expression to mock sadness. “Aww, what’s wrong? Don’t be sad, little girl. I’m just having some fun with you tonight. I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Ozzy May. Nice to meet you!” The two of them shook hands only for Laurel to get a jolt in her fingers and for Ozzy to have another reason to chuckle and hee-haw.
“I give up. I fucking give up,” said Laurel with a low and solemn voice. “I didn’t sign up for this goofy shit. I’m supposed to be shooting terrorists, not little shit stains like you!”
Ozzy nipped up and sat on the seat of his bicycle with his legs crossed and big red feet swinging. “So what of it? You want to go home? You want to see your husband and daughter again? Have you finally had enough of this god awful war that nobody needs to be fighting?”
“I need to fight it!” barked Laurel. “I joined the marines so that I could protect my country and if I have to protect it from little punks like you, then I’ll gladly do it!”
Ozzy May rested his jaw on his fingertips and said, “Really? Who told you that? A politician? A recruiter? A TV pundit? Come on, little girl, you can’t really be serious about all of that rhetoric. The only reason why there aren’t any bullets flying tonight is because nobody’s alive to shoot them. I’m not just talking about whackos with bombs. I’m talking about women and children too. You’ve seen their bodies up close and you can’t get those images out of your mind. Those aren’t caffeine pills you’re taking. That’s trauma medication!”
Laurel’s facial expression melted into softness upon realizing that this little guy had a point. The tears were building in her eyes, but she didn’t want them flooding and Ozzy noticed that. She couldn’t let this clown see her cry. Instead her sorrow turned to rage when she bolted to her feet and spear tackled Ozzy to the ground with her fist raised high. “What do you know about the shit going on in my head?! Huh?! What makes you a fucking authority?!”
“I know this because that’s how my gnomish race was wiped out,” said Ozzy with rare seriousness in his voice. “Too many of them were blown to bits while others lynched themselves into a peaceful death. That’s the reality of war, but no politician will ever tell you that. But of course, what does a gnome like me know about war? I’m too small to fight other people’s battles for them. Even if I wanted to be a soldier, nobody would recruit me because I’m small enough to get my ass kicked by normal sized men. If you need proof, just look at you and that raised fist!”
Slowly lowering her hand, Laurel’s tears burst from her eyes, but she refused to sob in front of this tiny man. “Why are you telling me these things? You’re just a clown. You’re here to torment me!”
“Exactly!” said Ozzy. “If I don’t set you straight, these desert warriors will. I’d much rather you’d be pranked by a clown instead of blown up by a rocket launcher. Is that really what it’s going to take to get you home? A blown off leg? A mindful of shitty memories? A hole in your chest the size of a sewer lid? Or maybe you prefer to travel home in a wooden box with an American flag draped over it!”
Even more tears poured from Laurel’s eyes as she rolled onto her back and gazed at the night sky. It still looked beautiful despite her tormented mind. She could have more nights like this if she came home alive and well to a family that depended on her for income and love. She didn’t want to admit it, but Ozzy May was right. But the more she pushed away his talking points, the stronger they hit her.
“How the fuck am I supposed to go home now?” asked Laurel wearily. “It’s not like my commanding officer is just going to let me go. He’ll probably punish the shit out of me before that happens.”
Wrapping his tiny arm around her shoulders, Ozzy said, “Did I mention that those weren’t caffeine pills you were taking? At least those are allowed. Illegally obtained prescription drugs? Not so much. The marines don’t want drug addicted trauma victims on their team. They want young healthy soldiers who can run into battle and beat some ass with the best of them. Your CO will find out sooner or later. But in your case, it’s as soon as you decide to wake up!”
That final sentence was punctuated with a cream pie to Laurel’s face. She coughed and spit up the pieces of whipped cream before angrily wiping it from her field of vision. By the time her eyes were clear enough to see, it was the break of dawn and her once snoring marine friends were gathered all around her with scornful looks in their eyes. Was this whole thing just a dream? A fucked up god awful dream about midget clowns?
One of them had a prescription bottle of pills with the name Dr. Ozzy May on the top of the label. That same marine knelt down to Laurel’s side and said with stern conviction, “We need to talk.”
“Am…am I busted?” asked Laurel.
“You’re goddamn right you are,” said the head marine.
June 28, 2017
Brit Floyd Concert
***BEFORE I BEGIN: ROGER WATERS CONCERT***
Of all four times I’ve seen Roger Waters in concert, last Saturday night was by far his best performance. He may be north of 70 years old, but he hasn’t missed a step. I especially liked when he played Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2 and had those black middle school children come out and sing with him. They wore orange prison suits and then once they were done singing their part they took them off and had “Resist” T-shirts underneath. That was a huge theme throughout the concert: resistance to Trump. Pigs (Three Different Ones) and Money were the most insulting songs to our piggish president. Speaking of pigs, the inflatable pig happened to have Agent Orange’s face on it. All in all, it was a tremendous show and I hope he does another one soon. Pink Floyd in general has always been my biggest musical influence and Roger Waters brought out those feelings within me that night.
***MAIN SUBJECT: BRIT FLOYD CONCERT***
These two subjects couldn’t have segued any better together. This coming Saturday, it’s yet another concert slash one day vacation for me. It seems as though 2017 has been famous for these kinds of getaways. Even as I write this journal, my mom and step-dad are both in Denver, Colorado enjoying Paul Simon’s final performance before he retires. And then when they come home, Mom and I are taking a trip to Seattle to see Brit Floyd, a tribute band to, you guessed it, Captain Obvious, Pink Floyd. Last Saturday featured the real deal and now this Saturday will be an excellent tribute. Two weekends bookended by the music of Pink Floyd. That’s a lot of putty-faced schoolchildren, screaming teachers, colorful prisms, saggy-jowled dogs, and flying pigs. Pink Floyd’s music had a huge impact on me during my younger days and it continues to mean the world to me in today’s life. Whether it’s Roger Waters himself or someone else playing his music, I can still hear that sense of rebellion screaming vulgar lyrics in my ear. As far as WSS stories go, I’ll try to get my story submitted before the day of the concert. Speaking of which (another seamless segue)…
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
TITLE: A Weasel and a Thief
CHARACTERS:
1. Ozzy May, Gnome Rogue
2. Laurel Tate, Human Marine
PROMPT: Slumber
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The rest of Laurel’s platoon are in a state of slumber for the evening.
SYNOPSIS: Laurel is an active duty soldier assigned to stand guard for her platoon at night. Midway through the shift, she realizes her radio is missing and is scrambling to find it. She eventually catches a little thief named Ozzy in the act of stealing weapons and money from her platoon. Laurel chases the little bastard, but he is too quick for her even when she’s opening fire on him. If she doesn’t get the equipment back to her platoon, she will be punished severely by her commanding officer.
FUN FACT: The title of this story is WWE inspired. Back in 2015, Brock Lesnar was giving an interview about his upcoming WWE Championship match against Seth Rollins at the Battleground pay-per-view. Lesnar described Rollins as “a weasel and a thief” because of the way the latter won his championship and basically stole it from Lesnar. The WWE is always such a huge source of creative fuel for me. Why shouldn’t it be? It’s pretty much the only thing I watch on TV these days.
***FACE BOOK STATUS OF THE DAY***
(From mid-June of this year.)
I seem to be having plenty of dreams about going to rock concerts lately. Last night I dreamed I was going to a multi-band festival that took place…in an art museum. I guess anything can qualify for an arena these days. Hell, I once had a dream where Pantera performed “This Love” in an abandoned grocery store. Back to the topic at hand, the first band that performed at this festival was Brit Floyd (a Pink Floyd cover band obviously). They kept having equipment problems and had to move to different stages throughout the art gallery. I got so mad at them that I went online and called them Shit Floyd. Then I woke up and the weirdness was over. Truth is, I do plan on seeing Brit Floyd in Seattle on July 1st, but I know for a fact my dream was just a dream. I’ve seen them on TV before and they were fucking stellar!
Of all four times I’ve seen Roger Waters in concert, last Saturday night was by far his best performance. He may be north of 70 years old, but he hasn’t missed a step. I especially liked when he played Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2 and had those black middle school children come out and sing with him. They wore orange prison suits and then once they were done singing their part they took them off and had “Resist” T-shirts underneath. That was a huge theme throughout the concert: resistance to Trump. Pigs (Three Different Ones) and Money were the most insulting songs to our piggish president. Speaking of pigs, the inflatable pig happened to have Agent Orange’s face on it. All in all, it was a tremendous show and I hope he does another one soon. Pink Floyd in general has always been my biggest musical influence and Roger Waters brought out those feelings within me that night.
***MAIN SUBJECT: BRIT FLOYD CONCERT***
These two subjects couldn’t have segued any better together. This coming Saturday, it’s yet another concert slash one day vacation for me. It seems as though 2017 has been famous for these kinds of getaways. Even as I write this journal, my mom and step-dad are both in Denver, Colorado enjoying Paul Simon’s final performance before he retires. And then when they come home, Mom and I are taking a trip to Seattle to see Brit Floyd, a tribute band to, you guessed it, Captain Obvious, Pink Floyd. Last Saturday featured the real deal and now this Saturday will be an excellent tribute. Two weekends bookended by the music of Pink Floyd. That’s a lot of putty-faced schoolchildren, screaming teachers, colorful prisms, saggy-jowled dogs, and flying pigs. Pink Floyd’s music had a huge impact on me during my younger days and it continues to mean the world to me in today’s life. Whether it’s Roger Waters himself or someone else playing his music, I can still hear that sense of rebellion screaming vulgar lyrics in my ear. As far as WSS stories go, I’ll try to get my story submitted before the day of the concert. Speaking of which (another seamless segue)…
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
TITLE: A Weasel and a Thief
CHARACTERS:
1. Ozzy May, Gnome Rogue
2. Laurel Tate, Human Marine
PROMPT: Slumber
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The rest of Laurel’s platoon are in a state of slumber for the evening.
SYNOPSIS: Laurel is an active duty soldier assigned to stand guard for her platoon at night. Midway through the shift, she realizes her radio is missing and is scrambling to find it. She eventually catches a little thief named Ozzy in the act of stealing weapons and money from her platoon. Laurel chases the little bastard, but he is too quick for her even when she’s opening fire on him. If she doesn’t get the equipment back to her platoon, she will be punished severely by her commanding officer.
FUN FACT: The title of this story is WWE inspired. Back in 2015, Brock Lesnar was giving an interview about his upcoming WWE Championship match against Seth Rollins at the Battleground pay-per-view. Lesnar described Rollins as “a weasel and a thief” because of the way the latter won his championship and basically stole it from Lesnar. The WWE is always such a huge source of creative fuel for me. Why shouldn’t it be? It’s pretty much the only thing I watch on TV these days.
***FACE BOOK STATUS OF THE DAY***
(From mid-June of this year.)
I seem to be having plenty of dreams about going to rock concerts lately. Last night I dreamed I was going to a multi-band festival that took place…in an art museum. I guess anything can qualify for an arena these days. Hell, I once had a dream where Pantera performed “This Love” in an abandoned grocery store. Back to the topic at hand, the first band that performed at this festival was Brit Floyd (a Pink Floyd cover band obviously). They kept having equipment problems and had to move to different stages throughout the art gallery. I got so mad at them that I went online and called them Shit Floyd. Then I woke up and the weirdness was over. Truth is, I do plan on seeing Brit Floyd in Seattle on July 1st, but I know for a fact my dream was just a dream. I’ve seen them on TV before and they were fucking stellar!
June 22, 2017
Dayton Spoke Choir
The ethereal beauty of the choir’s voices haunted Detective Matt McQueen’s mind like a schizophrenic voice. He felt as though he was being lovingly pulled into the center of this heavenly sound, but kept his pistol drawn knowing this was the calm before the storm. He already ventured into the unknown by looking for clues in this dense forest. Every once and a while a spider would land on him and he’d get chills running down his spine before swatting the arachnids away. Those voices. So innocent. So magnificent. They couldn’t have been older than the single digits. What were small children doing all the way out in this secluded nightmare?
Matt took a massive gulp of saliva and wiped the sweat off of his forehead when he found the source of the voices: a broken down church covered in foliage and insects. Another plunge into the unknown. With every one of Detective McQueen’s steps, the choir grew louder and more haunting. His finger tightly wrapped around the trigger, the cop slowly advanced toward the front entrance, which was guarded with little else than a cracked wooden door barely on its hinges. It wasn’t so much the robust structure that kept city folks away; it was the creepiness of it all.
Matt’s eyebrows furrowed and his goateed mouth curled into a dark frown as he kicked down the front door and stormed in on the church screaming, “Freeze! Paulson City Police!” His all-business attitude softened into creeped out jitters when he saw what was inside. He lowered his weapon and asked, “What the fuck?!” He was careful not to drop the pistol, but with his shaky hands, it almost happened.
The children’s choir’s lovely voices were tainted by blue jumpsuits and putty-faced masks with blood dripping down from their mouth and eye holes. Each and every one of them had puppet strings attached to their ankles and wrists, strings that lifted their arms in conformist salute when prompted by their leader.
“Matthew, Matthew, Matthew! It’s so good to see you again. Perhaps you’d like to sing some hymns with us.” Detective McQueen quickly turned around with his pistol aimed at the source of the creepily sensual voice: Reverend Laguna Pearman. No longer was he the trusted member of the Paulson City religious community. No longer was he a donor to the poor and an educator of children. All that remained of Reverend Pearman was a wicked smile and a black choir robe with his fingers tapping together playfully.
“Laguna…I trusted you!” shrieked Matt before bull rushing the preacher and slamming him against the wooden wall. Even with the barrel of Matt’s pistol planted firmly in his jaw line, Laguna’s smile never faded. “I went to your sermons every Sunday. I let my child around you. And this is what you’ve been doing this whole time?! Where’s Caylee?! She better be in here or I’ll blast your fucking head clean off your shoulders!”
“Daddy, no!” shouted a little girl from the choir, who came flying toward her father on puppet strings before clamping around his legs tightly. “Daddy, please don’t kill him! He’s going to take us to heaven to see God! This is our mission!”
“You heard her, Detective. Caylee is much happier here than she was at home. She’s not your child anymore. She belongs to Jesus Christ now,” said Laguna, still not wiping that smug grin off his slender face.
“Shut up, you snaky piece of shit!” yelled Matt before pistol whipping Laguna’s breakable face repeatedly. Caylee begged and pleaded with her father while pounding on his legs with those tiny child hands. The rest of the choir levitated in on their puppet strings to pull Matt off of their “master”. By the time the detective was being held on the ground, Laguna’s visage was covered in blood and bone splinters.
“My face…my beautiful face…how could you do this to me? How could you do this to the face of God?!” sobbed Laguna as he dropped to his knees clutching his shattered mug. While some children held a struggling Matt to the ground, others circled around Laguna and hugged him tightly while crying drops of pink tears.
“Is this what you call leadership?!” bellowed Matt. “This guy’s not your master! He’s not anyone’s master! He’s a false prophet with a child fetish and he needs to be locked up forever!”
“Don’t talk that way about my new daddy!” shouted Caylee with tears running down her masked face.
Matt’s own eyes were sore and swollen from the sorrow of watching his daughter being ripped away from him by this monster. Detective McQueen’s heart felt like it was being put through a juicer. His stomach felt like he’d taken a liver kick from an MMA champion. “Caylee, please don’t say those things,” begged Matt with all of his soul.
“I hate you, Dad! I hate you! I belong to God now!” shrilled Caylee with her fists at her side.
“Oh, Matthew, don’t you ever get sick of questioning things you don’t understand?” asked the bloodied Laguna Pearman rhetorically. “Don’t you ever get sick of taking my name in vain? You should be. It’s a mortal sin after all. And you know how we punish sinners in my church, don’t you?” That last line was punctuated by Laguna gently rubbing his calloused hand across Caylee’s trembling back.
“Don’t touch my daughter!” roared Matt as he struggled even harder to free himself from the choir’s grips.
Laguna spit out some teeth before he reached down for Matt’s gun (which he dropped on the floor earlier) and pointed the weapon at the wiggly detective. “Looks like your beautiful daughter isn’t the only one who belongs to God now. Rest in peace, Detective McQueen!” Matt wiggled his foot free and kicked Laguna in the ankle, causing his gun blast to accidentally strike one of his pupils in the chest. The false prophet along with his choir watched in horror as the child clutched his wound and bled all over the floor, dying a slow and painful death.
“No…no, no, no! Why, God?! Why would you take this innocent child from me?!” shouted Laguna as he dropped to his knees and shook his fists to the sky. “We’ve done so much for you! We’ve done everything we could to make you happy! Why, my lord! Why?!”
The shocked children’s grips were loosened by this sudden turn of events and Matt shoved them off to earn his freedom. He spear tackled Laguna to the ground and wrestled the gun out of the preacher’s hands. Despite the knee-bending pleas from the choir, Matt unloaded all six rounds into Laguna’s already shattered face, spreading his brains and skull all over the wooden church floor. Caylee shouted, “No!” as she watched the preacher’s blood run down a tiny crack in the floor.
What started out as a kidnapping investigation turned into a full-on massacre for Matt McQueen. His hands trembled as he held his now unloaded gun still in Laguna’s splattered face. The cop slowly climbed to his feet and finally holstered his weapon when the realization set in at what he’d done. Still shaky, yet firm to the core, Matt declared, “Alright, kids. It’s time to go home to your parents. This investigation’s over. Enough with the Halloween bullshit. Take your masks off and load up in the van outside.”
With their puppet strings loosened and their heads hung low, the children, Caylee included, removed their putty-faced masks. When they lifted their heads again, Matt’s newfound resolve shattered into trembling fear. Their faces were even bloodier than Laguna’s was. Their frowns were contorted beyond their natural limits. Some of their teeth and eyes were missing. They even had abscesses that peeled off parts of their faces to reveal their teeth.
“Sorry, Daddy. We warned you!” whispered Caylee. The choir formed a circle around the shivering Matt before jumping on him and chewing at his flesh. The detective’s screams were muffled by the blood pouring out of the hole in his throat. His eyeballs squished and squashed inside the maulers of the deformed children. His blood was slobbered up off the ground and his flesh was ripped and shredded. The final munch came when the evilly smiling Caylee devoured her father’s exposed heart like it was a juicy steak. All that remained of the detective were his bones and small pieces of slashed skin.
As the children lapped down the final pools of blood and chewed the last of their meals like animals, one of them asked, “Hey, Caylee! What should we do with Master Pearman’s body?”
The little brat’s grin never washed away from her bloody face when she said, “We’ve already had our supper for the evening….but we haven’t had dessert yet! Come on, everybody! Sing with me!”
As the choir carried the lifeless body of Laguna Pearman away from the church, they sang in their most innocent voices, “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!”
Matt took a massive gulp of saliva and wiped the sweat off of his forehead when he found the source of the voices: a broken down church covered in foliage and insects. Another plunge into the unknown. With every one of Detective McQueen’s steps, the choir grew louder and more haunting. His finger tightly wrapped around the trigger, the cop slowly advanced toward the front entrance, which was guarded with little else than a cracked wooden door barely on its hinges. It wasn’t so much the robust structure that kept city folks away; it was the creepiness of it all.
Matt’s eyebrows furrowed and his goateed mouth curled into a dark frown as he kicked down the front door and stormed in on the church screaming, “Freeze! Paulson City Police!” His all-business attitude softened into creeped out jitters when he saw what was inside. He lowered his weapon and asked, “What the fuck?!” He was careful not to drop the pistol, but with his shaky hands, it almost happened.
The children’s choir’s lovely voices were tainted by blue jumpsuits and putty-faced masks with blood dripping down from their mouth and eye holes. Each and every one of them had puppet strings attached to their ankles and wrists, strings that lifted their arms in conformist salute when prompted by their leader.
“Matthew, Matthew, Matthew! It’s so good to see you again. Perhaps you’d like to sing some hymns with us.” Detective McQueen quickly turned around with his pistol aimed at the source of the creepily sensual voice: Reverend Laguna Pearman. No longer was he the trusted member of the Paulson City religious community. No longer was he a donor to the poor and an educator of children. All that remained of Reverend Pearman was a wicked smile and a black choir robe with his fingers tapping together playfully.
“Laguna…I trusted you!” shrieked Matt before bull rushing the preacher and slamming him against the wooden wall. Even with the barrel of Matt’s pistol planted firmly in his jaw line, Laguna’s smile never faded. “I went to your sermons every Sunday. I let my child around you. And this is what you’ve been doing this whole time?! Where’s Caylee?! She better be in here or I’ll blast your fucking head clean off your shoulders!”
“Daddy, no!” shouted a little girl from the choir, who came flying toward her father on puppet strings before clamping around his legs tightly. “Daddy, please don’t kill him! He’s going to take us to heaven to see God! This is our mission!”
“You heard her, Detective. Caylee is much happier here than she was at home. She’s not your child anymore. She belongs to Jesus Christ now,” said Laguna, still not wiping that smug grin off his slender face.
“Shut up, you snaky piece of shit!” yelled Matt before pistol whipping Laguna’s breakable face repeatedly. Caylee begged and pleaded with her father while pounding on his legs with those tiny child hands. The rest of the choir levitated in on their puppet strings to pull Matt off of their “master”. By the time the detective was being held on the ground, Laguna’s visage was covered in blood and bone splinters.
“My face…my beautiful face…how could you do this to me? How could you do this to the face of God?!” sobbed Laguna as he dropped to his knees clutching his shattered mug. While some children held a struggling Matt to the ground, others circled around Laguna and hugged him tightly while crying drops of pink tears.
“Is this what you call leadership?!” bellowed Matt. “This guy’s not your master! He’s not anyone’s master! He’s a false prophet with a child fetish and he needs to be locked up forever!”
“Don’t talk that way about my new daddy!” shouted Caylee with tears running down her masked face.
Matt’s own eyes were sore and swollen from the sorrow of watching his daughter being ripped away from him by this monster. Detective McQueen’s heart felt like it was being put through a juicer. His stomach felt like he’d taken a liver kick from an MMA champion. “Caylee, please don’t say those things,” begged Matt with all of his soul.
“I hate you, Dad! I hate you! I belong to God now!” shrilled Caylee with her fists at her side.
“Oh, Matthew, don’t you ever get sick of questioning things you don’t understand?” asked the bloodied Laguna Pearman rhetorically. “Don’t you ever get sick of taking my name in vain? You should be. It’s a mortal sin after all. And you know how we punish sinners in my church, don’t you?” That last line was punctuated by Laguna gently rubbing his calloused hand across Caylee’s trembling back.
“Don’t touch my daughter!” roared Matt as he struggled even harder to free himself from the choir’s grips.
Laguna spit out some teeth before he reached down for Matt’s gun (which he dropped on the floor earlier) and pointed the weapon at the wiggly detective. “Looks like your beautiful daughter isn’t the only one who belongs to God now. Rest in peace, Detective McQueen!” Matt wiggled his foot free and kicked Laguna in the ankle, causing his gun blast to accidentally strike one of his pupils in the chest. The false prophet along with his choir watched in horror as the child clutched his wound and bled all over the floor, dying a slow and painful death.
“No…no, no, no! Why, God?! Why would you take this innocent child from me?!” shouted Laguna as he dropped to his knees and shook his fists to the sky. “We’ve done so much for you! We’ve done everything we could to make you happy! Why, my lord! Why?!”
The shocked children’s grips were loosened by this sudden turn of events and Matt shoved them off to earn his freedom. He spear tackled Laguna to the ground and wrestled the gun out of the preacher’s hands. Despite the knee-bending pleas from the choir, Matt unloaded all six rounds into Laguna’s already shattered face, spreading his brains and skull all over the wooden church floor. Caylee shouted, “No!” as she watched the preacher’s blood run down a tiny crack in the floor.
What started out as a kidnapping investigation turned into a full-on massacre for Matt McQueen. His hands trembled as he held his now unloaded gun still in Laguna’s splattered face. The cop slowly climbed to his feet and finally holstered his weapon when the realization set in at what he’d done. Still shaky, yet firm to the core, Matt declared, “Alright, kids. It’s time to go home to your parents. This investigation’s over. Enough with the Halloween bullshit. Take your masks off and load up in the van outside.”
With their puppet strings loosened and their heads hung low, the children, Caylee included, removed their putty-faced masks. When they lifted their heads again, Matt’s newfound resolve shattered into trembling fear. Their faces were even bloodier than Laguna’s was. Their frowns were contorted beyond their natural limits. Some of their teeth and eyes were missing. They even had abscesses that peeled off parts of their faces to reveal their teeth.
“Sorry, Daddy. We warned you!” whispered Caylee. The choir formed a circle around the shivering Matt before jumping on him and chewing at his flesh. The detective’s screams were muffled by the blood pouring out of the hole in his throat. His eyeballs squished and squashed inside the maulers of the deformed children. His blood was slobbered up off the ground and his flesh was ripped and shredded. The final munch came when the evilly smiling Caylee devoured her father’s exposed heart like it was a juicy steak. All that remained of the detective were his bones and small pieces of slashed skin.
As the children lapped down the final pools of blood and chewed the last of their meals like animals, one of them asked, “Hey, Caylee! What should we do with Master Pearman’s body?”
The little brat’s grin never washed away from her bloody face when she said, “We’ve already had our supper for the evening….but we haven’t had dessert yet! Come on, everybody! Sing with me!”
As the choir carried the lifeless body of Laguna Pearman away from the church, they sang in their most innocent voices, “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!”
Laughing Devil
CHORUS
He sits there and laughs all day
He sits there and laughs all day
He reminds you of the devil anyway
‘Cause he sits there and laughs all day
VERSE 1
Tickling in his brain until he goes insane
Until his ribs are in tremendous pain
What the fuck is going on in his mind?
Is this the answer you really want to find?
Torture and violence, the comedy of choice
Death jokes will unleash the chuckling noise
The hyena demon laughs about his semen
He plants the seeds just in time for the season
CHORUS
He sits there and laughs all day
He sits there and laughs all day
He reminds you of the devil anyway
‘Cause he sits there and laughs all day
VERSE 2
Carlin has nothing on the demons from hell
Maher has nothing on the jokes they tell
Noah never went to the darkest places
Never put slasher smiles on their faces
This kind of humor should never be public
But there’s always one who says, “Fuck it!”
He sits there and laughs all fucking day
There’s something funny about unholy decay
BRIDGE
Laugh like Nelson from The Simpsons
Like a coyote hunting down a chicken
Like a serial killer in an erotic thriller
A cartel gangster carving up a prankster
EXTENDED CHORUS
He sits there and laughs all day
He sits there and laughs all day
He reminds you of the devil anyway
‘Cause he sits there and laughs all day
Lock his ass up in the darkest corner
Far beyond this nation’s borders
Far beyond this solar system
Only Dahmer has ever missed him
He sits there and laughs all day
He sits there and laughs all day
He reminds you of the devil anyway
‘Cause he sits there and laughs all day
VERSE 1
Tickling in his brain until he goes insane
Until his ribs are in tremendous pain
What the fuck is going on in his mind?
Is this the answer you really want to find?
Torture and violence, the comedy of choice
Death jokes will unleash the chuckling noise
The hyena demon laughs about his semen
He plants the seeds just in time for the season
CHORUS
He sits there and laughs all day
He sits there and laughs all day
He reminds you of the devil anyway
‘Cause he sits there and laughs all day
VERSE 2
Carlin has nothing on the demons from hell
Maher has nothing on the jokes they tell
Noah never went to the darkest places
Never put slasher smiles on their faces
This kind of humor should never be public
But there’s always one who says, “Fuck it!”
He sits there and laughs all fucking day
There’s something funny about unholy decay
BRIDGE
Laugh like Nelson from The Simpsons
Like a coyote hunting down a chicken
Like a serial killer in an erotic thriller
A cartel gangster carving up a prankster
EXTENDED CHORUS
He sits there and laughs all day
He sits there and laughs all day
He reminds you of the devil anyway
‘Cause he sits there and laughs all day
Lock his ass up in the darkest corner
Far beyond this nation’s borders
Far beyond this solar system
Only Dahmer has ever missed him
June 21, 2017
The Wolves
CHORUS
When you put yourself out there
There’s no asking, “How dare?”
They devour all the cowards
To reclaim their power
The wolves!
The wolves!
The wolves!
Put your career on hold!
VERSE 1
The world is a stage, the wolves are your audience
You hold the mike, you’re the ultimate embodiment
Of hope, strength, charisma, and leadership
They can embody love or just plain evil shit
Howl for the moon, the dark side of it
Pour your heart out, because you love it
If you miss a beat, it’s your flesh they’ll eat
There’re no short cuts, there’s no way to cheat
CHORUS
When you put yourself out there
There’s no asking, “How dare?”
They devour all the cowards
To reclaim their power
The wolves!
The wolves!
The wolves!
Put your career on hold!
VERSE 2
The wolves are reading every one of your words
In order to decide if they’ll chew you like a bird
Fill your dead body with the filthiest of worms
Watch your career die, watch your family burn
It could be as simple as an auto correction
Or a casual joke about a rapist’s erection
Or a full diatribe about how people should die
You’re more delicious to the wolves than apple pie
BRIDGE
Throw your ass to the wolves for being so bold!
Throw you out in the snow to go numb in the cold!
Put your life’s work on an auction block to be sold!
A pocketful of change is what you now hold!
VERSE 3
You can’t be an autocrat to the pack of wolves
You can’t rip their hearts out and eat their souls
No matter how many times you cry out to the skies
Not one motherfucker is going to feed you kind lies
These hungry beasts only dabble in the truth
They don’t give a shit about egotistical youth
They don’t care if you’re dying of hunger
If you fuck up, you’ll be buried six feet under
CHORUS
When you put yourself out there
There’s no asking, “How dare?”
They devour all the cowards
To reclaim their power
The wolves!
The wolves!
The wolves!
Put your career on hold!
When you put yourself out there
There’s no asking, “How dare?”
They devour all the cowards
To reclaim their power
The wolves!
The wolves!
The wolves!
Put your career on hold!
VERSE 1
The world is a stage, the wolves are your audience
You hold the mike, you’re the ultimate embodiment
Of hope, strength, charisma, and leadership
They can embody love or just plain evil shit
Howl for the moon, the dark side of it
Pour your heart out, because you love it
If you miss a beat, it’s your flesh they’ll eat
There’re no short cuts, there’s no way to cheat
CHORUS
When you put yourself out there
There’s no asking, “How dare?”
They devour all the cowards
To reclaim their power
The wolves!
The wolves!
The wolves!
Put your career on hold!
VERSE 2
The wolves are reading every one of your words
In order to decide if they’ll chew you like a bird
Fill your dead body with the filthiest of worms
Watch your career die, watch your family burn
It could be as simple as an auto correction
Or a casual joke about a rapist’s erection
Or a full diatribe about how people should die
You’re more delicious to the wolves than apple pie
BRIDGE
Throw your ass to the wolves for being so bold!
Throw you out in the snow to go numb in the cold!
Put your life’s work on an auction block to be sold!
A pocketful of change is what you now hold!
VERSE 3
You can’t be an autocrat to the pack of wolves
You can’t rip their hearts out and eat their souls
No matter how many times you cry out to the skies
Not one motherfucker is going to feed you kind lies
These hungry beasts only dabble in the truth
They don’t give a shit about egotistical youth
They don’t care if you’re dying of hunger
If you fuck up, you’ll be buried six feet under
CHORUS
When you put yourself out there
There’s no asking, “How dare?”
They devour all the cowards
To reclaim their power
The wolves!
The wolves!
The wolves!
Put your career on hold!
Roger Waters: Us & Them
***BEFORE I BEGIN: GREAT WOLF LODGE***
This past Monday and Tuesday, I was staying at the Great Wolf Lodge in Centralia with my brother James, my niece Reina, and her friend Abby. The indoor water park had some badass slides, to say the least. My Old Yeller moniker was in full effect that day as I flew through those tubes at a million miles an hour. I also liked those buckets of water that kids could dump over our heads once they filled up automatically. It’s the most innocent form of trolling imaginable. But the food, goddamn, all that food. The burger joint across the street had a one-pound burger with four fucking patties, enough cheese to fill an entire dairy farm, and more grease than the water park had water. There were probably enough calories in that meal alone to power The Rock through his six hour workout. All in all, it was an enjoyable trip and a worthy birthday present. And now here’s your feature presentation.
***ROGER WATERS: US & THEM***
This coming Saturday night, former Pink Floyd bassist, singer, and songwriter Roger Waters is going to do a concert at the Tacoma Dome. Like nearly all of his shows before this one, he’s not going to have an opening act. This will be my fourth time seeing him live with my first three times being in 2000 in Portland, 2006 in Seattle, and 2010 at the Tacoma Dome. Roger puts on such elaborate shows that transcend the music itself. It’s never the same concert twice. The giant video screen, the inflatable pig, the laser show, and the pyrotechnics all come together to accompany the always awesome music of Mr. Pink Floyd himself. For this particular concert, he’s supporting a solo album he put out recently called “Is This the Life We Really Want?” I got it for my 32nd birthday this year and I love every track on the album. I believe it’s the first one of his that received an explicit lyrics warning. Swearison Killy loves his filthy language! As far as creative output goes, I’m going to try and get my WSS contest entry written before Saturday night. Since we’re on the topic of that:
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
TITLE: Dayton Spoke Choir
CHARACTERS:
1. Laguna Pearman, Charismatic Cult Leader
2. Matt McQueen, Detective
3. Caylee McQueen, Matt’s Daughter
PROMPT: Into the Unknown
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Matt doesn’t know what to expect when he enters the church, so he’s definitely diving into the unknown.
SYNOPSIS: Matt takes time off work to rescue his kidnapped daughter. He finds her in an abandoned church, but not the way he wants to. Caylee is singing in a brainwashed choir of kidnapped children led by Laguna. Sickened and infuriated at the same time, Matt won’t hold back when he tries to beat the crap out of Laguna.
EXTRA NOTE: I’m having second thoughts about this one since it sounds eerily similar to a Poison Tongue Tales story I wrote called “Lord of the Crack House”, which involves a detective father trying to free his drug addicted daughter from a boarded up building occupied by a crazy coke dealer. I’ll have to think of some ways to differentiate the two stories before I go in and write it out.
***CONCERT QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Stop letting off fireworks and shouting and screaming! I’m trying to sing a song! I mean, I don’t care! If you don’t want to hear it, you know, fuck you! I’m sure there’re a lot of people here who do want to hear it! So why don’t you just be quiet! If you want to let your fireworks off, go outside and let them off out there! And if you want to shout and scream and holler, go do it outside! I’m trying to sing a song that some people want to listen to! I want to listen to it!”
-Roger Waters-
This past Monday and Tuesday, I was staying at the Great Wolf Lodge in Centralia with my brother James, my niece Reina, and her friend Abby. The indoor water park had some badass slides, to say the least. My Old Yeller moniker was in full effect that day as I flew through those tubes at a million miles an hour. I also liked those buckets of water that kids could dump over our heads once they filled up automatically. It’s the most innocent form of trolling imaginable. But the food, goddamn, all that food. The burger joint across the street had a one-pound burger with four fucking patties, enough cheese to fill an entire dairy farm, and more grease than the water park had water. There were probably enough calories in that meal alone to power The Rock through his six hour workout. All in all, it was an enjoyable trip and a worthy birthday present. And now here’s your feature presentation.
***ROGER WATERS: US & THEM***
This coming Saturday night, former Pink Floyd bassist, singer, and songwriter Roger Waters is going to do a concert at the Tacoma Dome. Like nearly all of his shows before this one, he’s not going to have an opening act. This will be my fourth time seeing him live with my first three times being in 2000 in Portland, 2006 in Seattle, and 2010 at the Tacoma Dome. Roger puts on such elaborate shows that transcend the music itself. It’s never the same concert twice. The giant video screen, the inflatable pig, the laser show, and the pyrotechnics all come together to accompany the always awesome music of Mr. Pink Floyd himself. For this particular concert, he’s supporting a solo album he put out recently called “Is This the Life We Really Want?” I got it for my 32nd birthday this year and I love every track on the album. I believe it’s the first one of his that received an explicit lyrics warning. Swearison Killy loves his filthy language! As far as creative output goes, I’m going to try and get my WSS contest entry written before Saturday night. Since we’re on the topic of that:
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
TITLE: Dayton Spoke Choir
CHARACTERS:
1. Laguna Pearman, Charismatic Cult Leader
2. Matt McQueen, Detective
3. Caylee McQueen, Matt’s Daughter
PROMPT: Into the Unknown
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Matt doesn’t know what to expect when he enters the church, so he’s definitely diving into the unknown.
SYNOPSIS: Matt takes time off work to rescue his kidnapped daughter. He finds her in an abandoned church, but not the way he wants to. Caylee is singing in a brainwashed choir of kidnapped children led by Laguna. Sickened and infuriated at the same time, Matt won’t hold back when he tries to beat the crap out of Laguna.
EXTRA NOTE: I’m having second thoughts about this one since it sounds eerily similar to a Poison Tongue Tales story I wrote called “Lord of the Crack House”, which involves a detective father trying to free his drug addicted daughter from a boarded up building occupied by a crazy coke dealer. I’ll have to think of some ways to differentiate the two stories before I go in and write it out.
***CONCERT QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Stop letting off fireworks and shouting and screaming! I’m trying to sing a song! I mean, I don’t care! If you don’t want to hear it, you know, fuck you! I’m sure there’re a lot of people here who do want to hear it! So why don’t you just be quiet! If you want to let your fireworks off, go outside and let them off out there! And if you want to shout and scream and holler, go do it outside! I’m trying to sing a song that some people want to listen to! I want to listen to it!”
-Roger Waters-
June 18, 2017
This Is Violence
Natron gazed up and down the Tower of Hell with not even mild trepidation. So what if it had spikes and demon masks all over the stone structure? So what if it was crawling with monsters bearing razor sharp fangs and claws? So what if Shivo Black was waiting for him at the top with the intent to disembowel him? Natron wasn’t paid to be scared and he wasn’t paid by the hour. Decked out in black ninja gear and light chain mail while twirling a pair of nunchucks to get his cardio going, the elf warrior stared a hole through the front entrance prepared for battle. It may have been his final battle, but if he had to die tonight, he was going down swinging.
“This is violence!” shouted the elf ninja as he kicked down the wooden door of the tower and faced his opponents with venom in his eyes. Just like he predicted, the bottom level was peppered with little goblins crawling about chewing on the flesh of their victims. Natron bolted inside and whacked the hell out of these bloodthirsty beasts with his twirling nunchucks. Skulls splattered like watermelons as blood and brains decorated the already shit-stained walls. Some of the goblins tried to latch onto Natron and chew him like bubblegum, but they were thrown so hard against the wall that they exploded.
Still leaving goblin cannibals clinging from his arms and legs, Natron ignored the sharp pain and rushed up the spiral staircase while bumping against the walls to get the little bastards off of him. Their slimy green skin peeled off with every bounce against the cobblestone and soon they tumbled down the stairs like a battered slinky. The elf had only murder on his mind and bright red in his vision. Adrenaline surged through his veins like a forest fire. His blood was boiling lava ready to spew.
All Natron could think about was slaughtering Shivo Black for his sins against this world. He took a lovely place like the Ivory Tower and turned it into the shit hole that was the Tower of Hell. This tower was once a holy sanctuary for the elven people and a haven from the demonic forces of this apocalyptic nightmare. Now the beautiful religious artwork and tapestry was torn down in favor of retched demonic masks, skulls of the damned, and strung up corpses of the priests and clerics who once lived here. Passing by these dangling bodies caused Natorn’s muscles to bulge and shiver with raw hatred.
“Must kill…must kill…must kill!” Natron repeated to himself over and over again. His next opportunity to kill came in the form of deformed ogres covered in spiked metal armor and carrying tridents into battle with them. One by one these creatures marched down the spiral staircase swearing at Natron in their native grunt language. The first of them thrust his trident in rapid fire succession at the wily ninja. The elf warrior dodged, flipped, and did the splits to avoid getting impaled. He then delivered a ball-shattering nunchuck blow to the ogre’s groin.
The ogre coughed up a liberal amount of blood and vomited all over the stairs before tumbling down them like a bowling ball. Natron front flipped over the hefty body to avoid getting caught in the avalanche of rotten flesh. The narrow staircase only allowed one ogre to come through at a time, but the next one threw even quicker trident shots than the last. Natron dodged and flipped to evade these shots and then wrapped his nunchucks around his opponent’s neck and threw him down the stairs with a bloodletting jerk.
Instead of wasting precious time dodging trident shots like an acrobat, when the next thrust came, Natron flipped on top of the ogre’s head and dashed across the top of the squadron with his steel sole boots. The chubby warriors tried to thrust their tridents upward, but the ninja was too fast and too brutal for them. His boots caved in their skulls and snapped their shoulders. His nunchuck shots popped their eyes out of their heads. By the time he reached the final ogre, he dropped his knees across the creature’s shoulders and slammed him head first into the corner of the stone stairs.
The ogres were little more than a pile of smelly corpses. Those who lived wouldn’t for long as they rolled down the stairs like whiskey barrels. Blood and muck decorated the walls. The creatures’ saggy flesh lay shredded and slashed across the stairs. Natron stood at the top of the spiral with his hands on his hips while he admired his handiwork. Beneath his ninja mask the corners of his mouth formed a sadistic smirk. “This is violence and nothing more,” he said to himself.
Before he could get too complacent, Natron slowly turned his head toward the wooden door which lead to the top level. This door once held a lovely painting of the elven god Io. Now it held the shackled remains of a skeleton with pieces of flesh dangling off the bones and rats chewing on it like it was their last meal. “Shivo!” bellowed Natron. “I know you’re behind that door! You’d better prepare for the ass-kicking of your fucking life!”
With one savage kick, the rats scurried away and the door collapsed to splinters. The broken door revealed a room full of torture devices ranging from the stretching rack to the iron maiden to the guillotine itself. Dead elven clerics were strewn across the top level with their eyes and tongues cut out. Watching this scene made Natron puke a little bit in his mouth. If he wasn’t burning hot with anger before, he was the embodiment of hell itself now.
Sitting across the room in a throne of bone was Shivo Black himself. With his fingers tapping against themselves and a smug look on his demonic face, he didn’t look too worried that Natron had completely leveled his forces. Why would he? Shivo could easily tip the scales at seven feet tall and god knows how many pounds of muscle. His hairy brown flesh, spiraled horns, sharp fangs, and golden armor gave him the appearance of an oppressive warlord. When he stood up and towered over the smaller Natron, the demon king’s muscles pulsated with sadistic might.
“Not even death can save you from me, you little shit weasel!” barked Shivo in a throaty voice. “This tower belongs to me now. Those faggot elves can burn in hell for all I care. Their religion means nothing to me. Their lives mean even less. You’re not a hero to your people. You’re a walking corpse. Time to die, you pathetic child!” The demon spread his metallic wings and soared through the air right at his target.
Natron tucked and rolled on the ground to avoid getting slashed by Shivo’s sword-like claws. It was all the ninja could do since the demon was surprisingly fast for a man his size. Shivo threw heavy kicks that shattered his own torture devices when they failed to hit their intended mark. He breathed fire upon the ninja and Natron tucked and rolled some more. “If you can’t do any better than that, you’re going to lose!” roared Shivo. “Then again, your people should be accustomed to failure by now. They lost their Ivory Tower and now they’re going to lose the last shred of hope their pathetic souls ever had. Die, you little puke! Die!”
Shivo breathed another stream of fire upon Natron, who by this time was huffing and puffing through his mask and drooling wildly to keep his tongue from burning. He had exerted so much energy during this mission that his ribs felt like he was in a sumo wrestler’s bear hug. His legs trembled with such force that he couldn’t stand up all the way. When the ball of fire sailed his way, the fact that Natron collapsed in exhaustion and evaded it that way was pure luck.
King Black folded his massive arms and chuckled in delight. “So this is it, huh?” he said. “This is the man who slaughtered my ogres and goblins like they were small children? I wasn’t expecting comedy tonight, but I’ll take my laughs wherever I can get them.” Shivo flew towards the fallen Natron with his arms extended, intending to impale the ninja upon contact and put and end to this “comedy” as he so eloquently put it.
Lifting his head slowly to see the blades blasting toward him, Natron’s last burst of energy came when he threw a nunchuck shot and shattered Shivo’s claws like glass. The demon screamed in tremendous pain while the tips of his fingers bleed profusely. King Black cursed in his diabolic language while Natron did a weak attempt at a push up to bring himself to his hands and knees. Every little movement felt like he was trying to bench press a small car. He huffed, puffed, and wheezed while struggling to stay on his feet.
“You little piece of shit!” growled Shivo. “I’ll break your ass in half and feed you to my rats!” The demon threw a powerful side kick, but Natron quickly wrapped his nunchucks around the king’s ankle.
With the steel chain cutting off the circulation to Shivo’s legs, Natron gazed at him with nuclear heat and said in a raspy voice, “You know nothing about my people, you ignorant sack of shit!” Natron spun Shivo around by his leg and leaped on the demon’s back before wrapping his nunchuck chain around the beast’s throat. He squeezed with enough tightness to make the guillotine jealous. The iron maiden couldn’t even dream of the sharpness Shivo felt in his lungs. The king’s neck stretched like taffy as his windpipe collapsed into a heap.
When Shivo was down on both knees gasping for air, Natron released his chokehold and allowed the monster to vomit his own blood and organs. With one last twirl, the elf ninja smashed his nunchucks against Shivo’s head and splattered his brains all over the floor while breaking those hideous horns in two. The revenge was complete. The elven race was avenged for their heavy loss. Natron could do nothing but smile with tears in his eyes as he fell backwards into a deep slumber.
This entire scenario played out on a computer screen for a teenaged boy in his bedroom decorated with music posters and dirty laundry. Natron was not only his screen name, but it was one that would be synonymous with gaming greatness. The teenager laughed gently to himself in disbelief that he actually beat this ultra-hard game. He even gave himself a light applause. It was the first time he smiled since his father went away to fight in an overseas war. Daddy was quite the gamer in his day with Super Mario Bros. and Double Dragon to his credit. Now the second generation followed in his footsteps with a victory over the appropriately named This Is Violence.
Now it was time to watch the ending, which was usually the reward for such a hard game. The elf ninja woke up in a bed made of the softest material as sunlight caused him to slowly squint his eyes open. Could this really be? Was the elven name restored to its former glory? No.
Instead he was at the bottom floor of the Tower of Hell once again, this time with living goblins holding the corpse of the teenager’s dead father like a hand puppet. The kid recognized the face, the uniform, the haircut, and most importantly, the bloodstains all over his body. As the goblins laughed and chanted, “You’re daddy’s dead! He’s never coming back!” over and over again, the teenager’s sudden elation at beating the game turned into tear-filled sorrow. His cheeks were hot, his eyes were sore, and his screams were leonine. He even banged on the keyboard like a savage several times for good measure.
Somewhere in the goblins’ song and dance, they managed to throw the last bit of salt on this festering emotional wound: “April fools!” The teenager’s raging tears poured like the blood of the elf ninja’s enemies. In a way, he wished he was dead instead of his father. Maybe if he could find a belt somewhere in his room, he could see him again. Wiping away the tears and sucking up the snot in his nose, the teen sat in his computer chair with his head hung low not knowing what the fuck to do. His heart was in more pieces than the skulls of the ogres on the staircase.
Now that he thought about it, This Is Violence wasn’t an official game made by a reputable company. It was given to the kid by a “friend”. The game showed just how friendly it could be when the elf ninja took over the screen and spoke to Natron like he knew him. “Are you going to let those bastards talk to you like that? The world hates you, Natron, but we don’t. Your dad didn’t die because of a war. He died because of the politicians who sent him to war. You need revenge. You need it badly. Come join our outfit and we’ll show you how to get revenge. It’ll be just as bloody and delicious as this game turned out to be. You’ve already completed the first step. Now you can be your own ninja and start a worldwide revolution. Come join ISIS!”
The teenager gazed at the computer screen still sniffing and snorting. He never felt more offended in his life, not when the jocks shoved him around at school, not when the cyber bullies picked on his art work online. What that ninja said was vile, sadistic, and borderline insane. Yet to the kid known as Natron, those words made the most sense out of any “so-called” loved one he knew. “Let’s do this!” he said to the computer screen.
“This is violence!” shouted the elf ninja as he kicked down the wooden door of the tower and faced his opponents with venom in his eyes. Just like he predicted, the bottom level was peppered with little goblins crawling about chewing on the flesh of their victims. Natron bolted inside and whacked the hell out of these bloodthirsty beasts with his twirling nunchucks. Skulls splattered like watermelons as blood and brains decorated the already shit-stained walls. Some of the goblins tried to latch onto Natron and chew him like bubblegum, but they were thrown so hard against the wall that they exploded.
Still leaving goblin cannibals clinging from his arms and legs, Natron ignored the sharp pain and rushed up the spiral staircase while bumping against the walls to get the little bastards off of him. Their slimy green skin peeled off with every bounce against the cobblestone and soon they tumbled down the stairs like a battered slinky. The elf had only murder on his mind and bright red in his vision. Adrenaline surged through his veins like a forest fire. His blood was boiling lava ready to spew.
All Natron could think about was slaughtering Shivo Black for his sins against this world. He took a lovely place like the Ivory Tower and turned it into the shit hole that was the Tower of Hell. This tower was once a holy sanctuary for the elven people and a haven from the demonic forces of this apocalyptic nightmare. Now the beautiful religious artwork and tapestry was torn down in favor of retched demonic masks, skulls of the damned, and strung up corpses of the priests and clerics who once lived here. Passing by these dangling bodies caused Natorn’s muscles to bulge and shiver with raw hatred.
“Must kill…must kill…must kill!” Natron repeated to himself over and over again. His next opportunity to kill came in the form of deformed ogres covered in spiked metal armor and carrying tridents into battle with them. One by one these creatures marched down the spiral staircase swearing at Natron in their native grunt language. The first of them thrust his trident in rapid fire succession at the wily ninja. The elf warrior dodged, flipped, and did the splits to avoid getting impaled. He then delivered a ball-shattering nunchuck blow to the ogre’s groin.
The ogre coughed up a liberal amount of blood and vomited all over the stairs before tumbling down them like a bowling ball. Natron front flipped over the hefty body to avoid getting caught in the avalanche of rotten flesh. The narrow staircase only allowed one ogre to come through at a time, but the next one threw even quicker trident shots than the last. Natron dodged and flipped to evade these shots and then wrapped his nunchucks around his opponent’s neck and threw him down the stairs with a bloodletting jerk.
Instead of wasting precious time dodging trident shots like an acrobat, when the next thrust came, Natron flipped on top of the ogre’s head and dashed across the top of the squadron with his steel sole boots. The chubby warriors tried to thrust their tridents upward, but the ninja was too fast and too brutal for them. His boots caved in their skulls and snapped their shoulders. His nunchuck shots popped their eyes out of their heads. By the time he reached the final ogre, he dropped his knees across the creature’s shoulders and slammed him head first into the corner of the stone stairs.
The ogres were little more than a pile of smelly corpses. Those who lived wouldn’t for long as they rolled down the stairs like whiskey barrels. Blood and muck decorated the walls. The creatures’ saggy flesh lay shredded and slashed across the stairs. Natron stood at the top of the spiral with his hands on his hips while he admired his handiwork. Beneath his ninja mask the corners of his mouth formed a sadistic smirk. “This is violence and nothing more,” he said to himself.
Before he could get too complacent, Natron slowly turned his head toward the wooden door which lead to the top level. This door once held a lovely painting of the elven god Io. Now it held the shackled remains of a skeleton with pieces of flesh dangling off the bones and rats chewing on it like it was their last meal. “Shivo!” bellowed Natron. “I know you’re behind that door! You’d better prepare for the ass-kicking of your fucking life!”
With one savage kick, the rats scurried away and the door collapsed to splinters. The broken door revealed a room full of torture devices ranging from the stretching rack to the iron maiden to the guillotine itself. Dead elven clerics were strewn across the top level with their eyes and tongues cut out. Watching this scene made Natron puke a little bit in his mouth. If he wasn’t burning hot with anger before, he was the embodiment of hell itself now.
Sitting across the room in a throne of bone was Shivo Black himself. With his fingers tapping against themselves and a smug look on his demonic face, he didn’t look too worried that Natron had completely leveled his forces. Why would he? Shivo could easily tip the scales at seven feet tall and god knows how many pounds of muscle. His hairy brown flesh, spiraled horns, sharp fangs, and golden armor gave him the appearance of an oppressive warlord. When he stood up and towered over the smaller Natron, the demon king’s muscles pulsated with sadistic might.
“Not even death can save you from me, you little shit weasel!” barked Shivo in a throaty voice. “This tower belongs to me now. Those faggot elves can burn in hell for all I care. Their religion means nothing to me. Their lives mean even less. You’re not a hero to your people. You’re a walking corpse. Time to die, you pathetic child!” The demon spread his metallic wings and soared through the air right at his target.
Natron tucked and rolled on the ground to avoid getting slashed by Shivo’s sword-like claws. It was all the ninja could do since the demon was surprisingly fast for a man his size. Shivo threw heavy kicks that shattered his own torture devices when they failed to hit their intended mark. He breathed fire upon the ninja and Natron tucked and rolled some more. “If you can’t do any better than that, you’re going to lose!” roared Shivo. “Then again, your people should be accustomed to failure by now. They lost their Ivory Tower and now they’re going to lose the last shred of hope their pathetic souls ever had. Die, you little puke! Die!”
Shivo breathed another stream of fire upon Natron, who by this time was huffing and puffing through his mask and drooling wildly to keep his tongue from burning. He had exerted so much energy during this mission that his ribs felt like he was in a sumo wrestler’s bear hug. His legs trembled with such force that he couldn’t stand up all the way. When the ball of fire sailed his way, the fact that Natron collapsed in exhaustion and evaded it that way was pure luck.
King Black folded his massive arms and chuckled in delight. “So this is it, huh?” he said. “This is the man who slaughtered my ogres and goblins like they were small children? I wasn’t expecting comedy tonight, but I’ll take my laughs wherever I can get them.” Shivo flew towards the fallen Natron with his arms extended, intending to impale the ninja upon contact and put and end to this “comedy” as he so eloquently put it.
Lifting his head slowly to see the blades blasting toward him, Natron’s last burst of energy came when he threw a nunchuck shot and shattered Shivo’s claws like glass. The demon screamed in tremendous pain while the tips of his fingers bleed profusely. King Black cursed in his diabolic language while Natron did a weak attempt at a push up to bring himself to his hands and knees. Every little movement felt like he was trying to bench press a small car. He huffed, puffed, and wheezed while struggling to stay on his feet.
“You little piece of shit!” growled Shivo. “I’ll break your ass in half and feed you to my rats!” The demon threw a powerful side kick, but Natron quickly wrapped his nunchucks around the king’s ankle.
With the steel chain cutting off the circulation to Shivo’s legs, Natron gazed at him with nuclear heat and said in a raspy voice, “You know nothing about my people, you ignorant sack of shit!” Natron spun Shivo around by his leg and leaped on the demon’s back before wrapping his nunchuck chain around the beast’s throat. He squeezed with enough tightness to make the guillotine jealous. The iron maiden couldn’t even dream of the sharpness Shivo felt in his lungs. The king’s neck stretched like taffy as his windpipe collapsed into a heap.
When Shivo was down on both knees gasping for air, Natron released his chokehold and allowed the monster to vomit his own blood and organs. With one last twirl, the elf ninja smashed his nunchucks against Shivo’s head and splattered his brains all over the floor while breaking those hideous horns in two. The revenge was complete. The elven race was avenged for their heavy loss. Natron could do nothing but smile with tears in his eyes as he fell backwards into a deep slumber.
This entire scenario played out on a computer screen for a teenaged boy in his bedroom decorated with music posters and dirty laundry. Natron was not only his screen name, but it was one that would be synonymous with gaming greatness. The teenager laughed gently to himself in disbelief that he actually beat this ultra-hard game. He even gave himself a light applause. It was the first time he smiled since his father went away to fight in an overseas war. Daddy was quite the gamer in his day with Super Mario Bros. and Double Dragon to his credit. Now the second generation followed in his footsteps with a victory over the appropriately named This Is Violence.
Now it was time to watch the ending, which was usually the reward for such a hard game. The elf ninja woke up in a bed made of the softest material as sunlight caused him to slowly squint his eyes open. Could this really be? Was the elven name restored to its former glory? No.
Instead he was at the bottom floor of the Tower of Hell once again, this time with living goblins holding the corpse of the teenager’s dead father like a hand puppet. The kid recognized the face, the uniform, the haircut, and most importantly, the bloodstains all over his body. As the goblins laughed and chanted, “You’re daddy’s dead! He’s never coming back!” over and over again, the teenager’s sudden elation at beating the game turned into tear-filled sorrow. His cheeks were hot, his eyes were sore, and his screams were leonine. He even banged on the keyboard like a savage several times for good measure.
Somewhere in the goblins’ song and dance, they managed to throw the last bit of salt on this festering emotional wound: “April fools!” The teenager’s raging tears poured like the blood of the elf ninja’s enemies. In a way, he wished he was dead instead of his father. Maybe if he could find a belt somewhere in his room, he could see him again. Wiping away the tears and sucking up the snot in his nose, the teen sat in his computer chair with his head hung low not knowing what the fuck to do. His heart was in more pieces than the skulls of the ogres on the staircase.
Now that he thought about it, This Is Violence wasn’t an official game made by a reputable company. It was given to the kid by a “friend”. The game showed just how friendly it could be when the elf ninja took over the screen and spoke to Natron like he knew him. “Are you going to let those bastards talk to you like that? The world hates you, Natron, but we don’t. Your dad didn’t die because of a war. He died because of the politicians who sent him to war. You need revenge. You need it badly. Come join our outfit and we’ll show you how to get revenge. It’ll be just as bloody and delicious as this game turned out to be. You’ve already completed the first step. Now you can be your own ninja and start a worldwide revolution. Come join ISIS!”
The teenager gazed at the computer screen still sniffing and snorting. He never felt more offended in his life, not when the jocks shoved him around at school, not when the cyber bullies picked on his art work online. What that ninja said was vile, sadistic, and borderline insane. Yet to the kid known as Natron, those words made the most sense out of any “so-called” loved one he knew. “Let’s do this!” he said to the computer screen.
June 17, 2017
American Sad Ass
If you ever walk into my bedroom and hear me listening to sad-ass music, don’t be alarmed. This kind of music is what inspires me to write poetry and heavy metal songs since they’re usually dark and dour in nature. I already have two books of poetry published called “Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage” and “Necrograph”. A third one, called “Prophecy”, will be published as soon as I can cram a hundred poems into a single volume. If you want to know what my poetry-inspiring playlist looks like, here it is. Feel free to look up any or all of these songs on You Tube.
1. “1979” by Smashing Pumpkins
2. “Always” by Killswitch Engage
3. “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan
4. “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 1” by Pink Floyd
5. “Ashes of Eden” by Breaking Benjamin
6. “At the Bottom of Night” from Chrono Trigger
7. “Be Somebody” by 3 Doors Down
8. “Beautiful Goodbye” by Amanda Marshall
9. “Beauty Is Within Us” from Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex
10. “Because of You” by Kelly Clarkson
11. “Behind Closed Doors” by Pop Evil
12. “Bent to Fly” by Slash feat. Myles Kennedy
13. “The Bottom” by Devour the Day
14. “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day
15. “Breakdown” by Tantric
16. “Broken Home” by Papa Roach
17. “Bury Your Heart” by Flyleaf
18. “Candle of Life” by The Moody Blues
19. “Can’t Forget You” by My Darkest Days
20. “Careless Whisper” by George Michael
21. “Cemetery Gates” by Pantera
22. “Cold” by Five Finger Death Punch
23. “Come Undone” by My Darkest Days
24. “The Crow, the Owl, and the Dove” by Nightwish
25. “Daisy Jane” by America
26. “Dead Boy’s Poem” by Nightwish
27. “Dear Cocaine” by Crossfade
28. “Decompression Period” by Papa Roach
29. “Don’t Leave Me Now” by Pink Floyd
30. “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt
31. “Driven Under” by Seether
32. “Dry Your Eyes” by The Streets
33. “Each Small Candle” by Roger Waters
34. “Falling” by Anette Olzon
35. “Far Away” by Nickelback
36. “Father’s Son” by 3 Doors Down
37. “Fine Again” by Seether
38. “The Fletcher Memorial Home” by Pink Floyd
39. “Forever Autumn” by Justin Hayward
40. “The Forgotten” by Green Day
41. “Four Minutes” by Roger Waters
42. “From the Inside” by Linkin Park
43. “Frozen” by Within Temptation
44. “Ghost of Muskegon” by Pop Evil
45. “God Went North” by Nothing More
46. “Goodbye Agony” by Black Veil Brides
47. “Goodbye Cruel World” by Pink Floyd
48. “Goodbye My Lover” by James Blunt
49. “Haunted” by The Moody Blues
50. “Heart of Gold” by James Blunt
51. “Heaven” by Otherwise feat. Ashley Costello
52. “Hesitate” by Stone Sour
53. “The High Road” by Three Days Grace
54. “Hold On” by Limp Bizkit
55. “Hollow” by Breaking Benjamin
56. “House of Wax” by Tarja Turunen
57. “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?” by Michael Bolton
58. “Hurt” by Johnny Cash
59. “Hush” by Hellyeah
60. “I Burn For You” by The Police
61. “I Can’t Be With You” by The Cranberries
62. “I Don’t Believe In Love” by Queensryche
63. “I Hate Everything” by George Strait
64. “I Think It’s Better” by Jill Scott
65. “I Think You Should Know” by Crossfade
66. “I’m Still Remembering” by The Cranberries
67. “Inside the Fire” by Disturbed
68. “Is There Anybody Out There?” by Pink Floyd
69. “Island of Souls” by Sting
70. “It’s Too Late” by The Streets
71. “Killpop” by Slipknot
72. “Kiss” by Korn
73. “Landing in London” by 3 Doors Down
74. “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac
75. “The Last Night” by Skillet
76. “Leave Out All the Rest” by Linkin Park
77. “Like Nobody Else” by My Darkest Days
78. “Little Sister” by Your Favorite Enemies
79. “Lonely Day” by System of a Down
80. “Loser” by 3 Doors Down
81. “Lost” by Within Temptation
82. “Lovehatetragedy” by Papa Roach
83. “Lullaby” by Nickelback
84. “Master of Disaster” by Seether
85. “Me or Him” by Roger Waters
86. “Meadows of Heaven” by Nightwish
87. “Melancholy Man” by The Moody Blues
88. “My Child” by Disturbed
89. “My Confessions” by Pop Evil
90. “My December” by Linkin Park
91. “My Friends” by Red Hot Chili Peppers
92. “My Heart Beats Pain” by Martin Kesici
93. “My Heart Lied” by Five Finger Death Punch
94. “My Immortal” by Evanescence
95. “My Skin” by Natalie Merchant
96. “Never Coming Home” by Crossfade
97. “Never Surrender” by Skillet
98. “A New World” from Final Fantasy V
99. “No Bravery” by James Blunt
100. “No One in the World” by Anita Baker
101. “Nobody Home” by Pink Floyd
102. “Nobody Praying For Me” by Seether
103. “Not Alone” by Patty Griffin
104. “Oh” from Afro Samurai
105. “On My Own” by Patti Labelle and Michael McDonald
106. “Once Upon a Daydream” by The Police
107. “One Million Faces” by Anette Olzon
108. “One of My Turns” by Pink Floyd
109. “Our Decades in the Sun” by Nightwish
110. “Out of Hell” by In This Moment
111. “Out of Love” by Toto
112. “Overcome” by Live
113. “Pass Slowly” by Seether
114. “Perfect” by My Darkest Days
115. “The Pirate’s Bride” by Sting
116. “Rain” from Cowboy Bebop
117. “The Real You” by Three Days Grace
118. “The Reckoning” by Halestorm
119. “Remember Every Scar” by Escape the Fate
120. “Remember Everything” by Five Finger Death Punch
121. “Restless Heart Syndrome” by Green Day
122. “Rocket Man” by Elton John
123. “Roses On My Grave” by Papa Roach
124. “Russians” by Sting
125. “Save Our Last Goodbye” by Disturbed
126. “Save Today” by Seether
127. “Savin’ Me” by Nickelback
128. “Say Goodnight” by Gemini Syndrome
129. “The Scientist” by Coldplay
130. “Sealed Door” from Chrono Trigger
131. “Seemann” by Rammstein
132. “Shadow of the Day” by Linkin Park
133. “Shape of My Heart” by Sting
134. “She’s Leaving Home” by The Beatles
135. “Shot in the Dark” by Within Temptation
136. “The Silence Remains” by 3 Doors Down
137. “Sleeping Sun” by Nightwish
138. “Slip Away” by David Arkenstone and Charlee Brooks
139. “Snuff” by Slipknot
140. “Someone to Talk to” by The Police
141. “Someone Who Cares” by Three Days Grace
142. “Stay Positive” by The Streets
143. “Stick to Your Guns” by Sick Puppies
144. “Stole” by Kelly Rowland
145. “Stressed Out” by A Tribe Called Quest feat. Faith Evans
146. “Suicide Is Painless” by Lady & Bird
147. “Suteki Da Ne” from Final Fantasy X
148. “Take This” by Gemini Syndrome
149. “Telescope” by Starset
150. “Terra’s Theme” from Final Fantasy VI
151. “This Love” by Pantera
152. “To Kill the Child” by Roger Waters
153. “Tourniquet Man” by The Mars Volta
154. “Underneath” by Tarja Turunen
155. “Until Silence” by Tarja Turunen
156. “Us All” by Silent Season
157. “Vera” by Pink Floyd
158. “Volcanic” by Death Angel
159. “Walking in the Air” by Nightwish
160. “Watching for Comets” by Skillet
161. “Wearing the Inside Out” by Pink Floyd
162. “What God Wants, Pt. 3” by Roger Waters
163. “What Sober Couldn’t Say” by Halestorm
164. “When I’m Back On My Feet Again” by Michael Bolton
165. “Where Is the Edge?” by Within Temptation
166. “While Your Lips Are Still Red” by Nightwish
167. “You Again” by Arstioir
168. “You Can Let Go” by Crystal Shawanda
169. “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” by Kim Wilde
170. “Youth of the Nation” by P.O.D.
1. “1979” by Smashing Pumpkins
2. “Always” by Killswitch Engage
3. “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan
4. “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 1” by Pink Floyd
5. “Ashes of Eden” by Breaking Benjamin
6. “At the Bottom of Night” from Chrono Trigger
7. “Be Somebody” by 3 Doors Down
8. “Beautiful Goodbye” by Amanda Marshall
9. “Beauty Is Within Us” from Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex
10. “Because of You” by Kelly Clarkson
11. “Behind Closed Doors” by Pop Evil
12. “Bent to Fly” by Slash feat. Myles Kennedy
13. “The Bottom” by Devour the Day
14. “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day
15. “Breakdown” by Tantric
16. “Broken Home” by Papa Roach
17. “Bury Your Heart” by Flyleaf
18. “Candle of Life” by The Moody Blues
19. “Can’t Forget You” by My Darkest Days
20. “Careless Whisper” by George Michael
21. “Cemetery Gates” by Pantera
22. “Cold” by Five Finger Death Punch
23. “Come Undone” by My Darkest Days
24. “The Crow, the Owl, and the Dove” by Nightwish
25. “Daisy Jane” by America
26. “Dead Boy’s Poem” by Nightwish
27. “Dear Cocaine” by Crossfade
28. “Decompression Period” by Papa Roach
29. “Don’t Leave Me Now” by Pink Floyd
30. “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt
31. “Driven Under” by Seether
32. “Dry Your Eyes” by The Streets
33. “Each Small Candle” by Roger Waters
34. “Falling” by Anette Olzon
35. “Far Away” by Nickelback
36. “Father’s Son” by 3 Doors Down
37. “Fine Again” by Seether
38. “The Fletcher Memorial Home” by Pink Floyd
39. “Forever Autumn” by Justin Hayward
40. “The Forgotten” by Green Day
41. “Four Minutes” by Roger Waters
42. “From the Inside” by Linkin Park
43. “Frozen” by Within Temptation
44. “Ghost of Muskegon” by Pop Evil
45. “God Went North” by Nothing More
46. “Goodbye Agony” by Black Veil Brides
47. “Goodbye Cruel World” by Pink Floyd
48. “Goodbye My Lover” by James Blunt
49. “Haunted” by The Moody Blues
50. “Heart of Gold” by James Blunt
51. “Heaven” by Otherwise feat. Ashley Costello
52. “Hesitate” by Stone Sour
53. “The High Road” by Three Days Grace
54. “Hold On” by Limp Bizkit
55. “Hollow” by Breaking Benjamin
56. “House of Wax” by Tarja Turunen
57. “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?” by Michael Bolton
58. “Hurt” by Johnny Cash
59. “Hush” by Hellyeah
60. “I Burn For You” by The Police
61. “I Can’t Be With You” by The Cranberries
62. “I Don’t Believe In Love” by Queensryche
63. “I Hate Everything” by George Strait
64. “I Think It’s Better” by Jill Scott
65. “I Think You Should Know” by Crossfade
66. “I’m Still Remembering” by The Cranberries
67. “Inside the Fire” by Disturbed
68. “Is There Anybody Out There?” by Pink Floyd
69. “Island of Souls” by Sting
70. “It’s Too Late” by The Streets
71. “Killpop” by Slipknot
72. “Kiss” by Korn
73. “Landing in London” by 3 Doors Down
74. “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac
75. “The Last Night” by Skillet
76. “Leave Out All the Rest” by Linkin Park
77. “Like Nobody Else” by My Darkest Days
78. “Little Sister” by Your Favorite Enemies
79. “Lonely Day” by System of a Down
80. “Loser” by 3 Doors Down
81. “Lost” by Within Temptation
82. “Lovehatetragedy” by Papa Roach
83. “Lullaby” by Nickelback
84. “Master of Disaster” by Seether
85. “Me or Him” by Roger Waters
86. “Meadows of Heaven” by Nightwish
87. “Melancholy Man” by The Moody Blues
88. “My Child” by Disturbed
89. “My Confessions” by Pop Evil
90. “My December” by Linkin Park
91. “My Friends” by Red Hot Chili Peppers
92. “My Heart Beats Pain” by Martin Kesici
93. “My Heart Lied” by Five Finger Death Punch
94. “My Immortal” by Evanescence
95. “My Skin” by Natalie Merchant
96. “Never Coming Home” by Crossfade
97. “Never Surrender” by Skillet
98. “A New World” from Final Fantasy V
99. “No Bravery” by James Blunt
100. “No One in the World” by Anita Baker
101. “Nobody Home” by Pink Floyd
102. “Nobody Praying For Me” by Seether
103. “Not Alone” by Patty Griffin
104. “Oh” from Afro Samurai
105. “On My Own” by Patti Labelle and Michael McDonald
106. “Once Upon a Daydream” by The Police
107. “One Million Faces” by Anette Olzon
108. “One of My Turns” by Pink Floyd
109. “Our Decades in the Sun” by Nightwish
110. “Out of Hell” by In This Moment
111. “Out of Love” by Toto
112. “Overcome” by Live
113. “Pass Slowly” by Seether
114. “Perfect” by My Darkest Days
115. “The Pirate’s Bride” by Sting
116. “Rain” from Cowboy Bebop
117. “The Real You” by Three Days Grace
118. “The Reckoning” by Halestorm
119. “Remember Every Scar” by Escape the Fate
120. “Remember Everything” by Five Finger Death Punch
121. “Restless Heart Syndrome” by Green Day
122. “Rocket Man” by Elton John
123. “Roses On My Grave” by Papa Roach
124. “Russians” by Sting
125. “Save Our Last Goodbye” by Disturbed
126. “Save Today” by Seether
127. “Savin’ Me” by Nickelback
128. “Say Goodnight” by Gemini Syndrome
129. “The Scientist” by Coldplay
130. “Sealed Door” from Chrono Trigger
131. “Seemann” by Rammstein
132. “Shadow of the Day” by Linkin Park
133. “Shape of My Heart” by Sting
134. “She’s Leaving Home” by The Beatles
135. “Shot in the Dark” by Within Temptation
136. “The Silence Remains” by 3 Doors Down
137. “Sleeping Sun” by Nightwish
138. “Slip Away” by David Arkenstone and Charlee Brooks
139. “Snuff” by Slipknot
140. “Someone to Talk to” by The Police
141. “Someone Who Cares” by Three Days Grace
142. “Stay Positive” by The Streets
143. “Stick to Your Guns” by Sick Puppies
144. “Stole” by Kelly Rowland
145. “Stressed Out” by A Tribe Called Quest feat. Faith Evans
146. “Suicide Is Painless” by Lady & Bird
147. “Suteki Da Ne” from Final Fantasy X
148. “Take This” by Gemini Syndrome
149. “Telescope” by Starset
150. “Terra’s Theme” from Final Fantasy VI
151. “This Love” by Pantera
152. “To Kill the Child” by Roger Waters
153. “Tourniquet Man” by The Mars Volta
154. “Underneath” by Tarja Turunen
155. “Until Silence” by Tarja Turunen
156. “Us All” by Silent Season
157. “Vera” by Pink Floyd
158. “Volcanic” by Death Angel
159. “Walking in the Air” by Nightwish
160. “Watching for Comets” by Skillet
161. “Wearing the Inside Out” by Pink Floyd
162. “What God Wants, Pt. 3” by Roger Waters
163. “What Sober Couldn’t Say” by Halestorm
164. “When I’m Back On My Feet Again” by Michael Bolton
165. “Where Is the Edge?” by Within Temptation
166. “While Your Lips Are Still Red” by Nightwish
167. “You Again” by Arstioir
168. “You Can Let Go” by Crystal Shawanda
169. “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” by Kim Wilde
170. “Youth of the Nation” by P.O.D.
