Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 83
June 16, 2017
Wonder Woman
MOVIE TITLE: Wonder Woman
DIRECTOR: Patty Jenkins
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Superhero
RATING: PG-13 for violence and language
GRADE: Extra Credit
In the middle of World War I, Amazon warrior Princess Diana grows up on an island of like-minded female fighters who train hard to one day be able to fend off an attack from Ares, God of War and slayer of Zeus. When an American spy crash lands on the island and is rescued from drowning by Diana, he unintentionally brings German soldiers with him and a battle ensues between the Amazons and the invaders. During the struggle Diana’s aunt is murdered in cold blood. Now Wonder Woman wants to venture outside the island to kill Ares herself in an attempt to bring an end to war. Her mother is against it at first, but knows she can do nothing to stop Diana and her independent ways.
We all know from past incarnations of Wonder Woman that she’s a badass superheroine who can withstand ungodly amounts of punishment and beat the hell out of anybody she deems fit for a royal ass-kicking. But she’s more than a mere fighting machine. Diana’s journey leads her to the shades of gray world of war, where nobody is purely evil or purely good. We all have to find the balance within ourselves and decide on our own what is right and wrong. This inner crisis makes Diana a stronger woman for what she goes through. She sees the horrors of war and decides she’s on the side of love and hope. The American spy she saves, Captain Steve Trevor, plays an intricate role in helping her see these shades of gray, but it is ultimately up to Diana which road to take. Her heroic aspirations are admirable, but she needs a little something extra. That is the point of this film and that’s a beautiful statement to make.
Part of Diana’s character development is learning the ways of the outside world since she spent all of her life on the island of Amazons. Watching her struggle to adapt is amusing at times and actually brings out the cuteness in her character. Whether she’s trying on outfits, figuring out relationships, or criticizing a general to his face, she comes off as socially awkward and that’s the source of comedy for this movie. My favorite part of this trope is when Steve Trevor’s secretary is describing what she does for a living and Diana says that it’s basically slavery. Can’t argue with that! But then there are some socially awkward moments that make her appear romantic, like when she learns out to dance (or sway from side to side) with Steve. This kind of culture shock is realistic for anybody who’s lived in isolation, but it doesn’t turn into a chaotic disaster and that’s what makes the quirk effective.
Of course, what would a superhero movie be without that delicious action-packed violence? Wonder Woman will give you plenty of that, but sometimes you’ll have to be a good little boy and wait patiently. The training on the Amazonian island, the crossing of No Man’s Land, and most definitely the final battle with Ares, these are all filled with martial arts action, gun play, and explosions. Lots and lots of explosions. It’s also quite refreshing to see a strong female role model like Diana dishing out these ass-kickings. And while we’re on the subject of role-modeling, please stop complaining about the “sexy” nature of her outfit. She can wear whatever she damn well wants to and beat the crap out of her opponents at the same time. Sexual predators would get beaten into powder if they tried anything they shouldn’t. If I was fighting a war of any kind, I’d want Wonder Woman on my side at all times. She’s tough, she’s brutal, and she’s brave as hell.
Now that we’re on the topic of feminist superheroines, there’s a massive elephant in the room that needs to be addressed. I’m sure most of my audience has read in the news about a theater in Austin, Texas having an all-female screening of the movie as a show of solidarity and girl power. Even though I’m a man, I’m not at all offended by that. The reason we have feminism in the first place is because for far too long women have been treated like second class citizens. They still get treated that way today. Good for that movie theater for stepping up! And good for Gal Gadot for putting on an awesome show for that female audience! Because of the profound influence this movie has had on the female community, I’m giving it an ultra-rare Extra Credit grade! How does that sound?!
DIRECTOR: Patty Jenkins
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Superhero
RATING: PG-13 for violence and language
GRADE: Extra Credit
In the middle of World War I, Amazon warrior Princess Diana grows up on an island of like-minded female fighters who train hard to one day be able to fend off an attack from Ares, God of War and slayer of Zeus. When an American spy crash lands on the island and is rescued from drowning by Diana, he unintentionally brings German soldiers with him and a battle ensues between the Amazons and the invaders. During the struggle Diana’s aunt is murdered in cold blood. Now Wonder Woman wants to venture outside the island to kill Ares herself in an attempt to bring an end to war. Her mother is against it at first, but knows she can do nothing to stop Diana and her independent ways.
We all know from past incarnations of Wonder Woman that she’s a badass superheroine who can withstand ungodly amounts of punishment and beat the hell out of anybody she deems fit for a royal ass-kicking. But she’s more than a mere fighting machine. Diana’s journey leads her to the shades of gray world of war, where nobody is purely evil or purely good. We all have to find the balance within ourselves and decide on our own what is right and wrong. This inner crisis makes Diana a stronger woman for what she goes through. She sees the horrors of war and decides she’s on the side of love and hope. The American spy she saves, Captain Steve Trevor, plays an intricate role in helping her see these shades of gray, but it is ultimately up to Diana which road to take. Her heroic aspirations are admirable, but she needs a little something extra. That is the point of this film and that’s a beautiful statement to make.
Part of Diana’s character development is learning the ways of the outside world since she spent all of her life on the island of Amazons. Watching her struggle to adapt is amusing at times and actually brings out the cuteness in her character. Whether she’s trying on outfits, figuring out relationships, or criticizing a general to his face, she comes off as socially awkward and that’s the source of comedy for this movie. My favorite part of this trope is when Steve Trevor’s secretary is describing what she does for a living and Diana says that it’s basically slavery. Can’t argue with that! But then there are some socially awkward moments that make her appear romantic, like when she learns out to dance (or sway from side to side) with Steve. This kind of culture shock is realistic for anybody who’s lived in isolation, but it doesn’t turn into a chaotic disaster and that’s what makes the quirk effective.
Of course, what would a superhero movie be without that delicious action-packed violence? Wonder Woman will give you plenty of that, but sometimes you’ll have to be a good little boy and wait patiently. The training on the Amazonian island, the crossing of No Man’s Land, and most definitely the final battle with Ares, these are all filled with martial arts action, gun play, and explosions. Lots and lots of explosions. It’s also quite refreshing to see a strong female role model like Diana dishing out these ass-kickings. And while we’re on the subject of role-modeling, please stop complaining about the “sexy” nature of her outfit. She can wear whatever she damn well wants to and beat the crap out of her opponents at the same time. Sexual predators would get beaten into powder if they tried anything they shouldn’t. If I was fighting a war of any kind, I’d want Wonder Woman on my side at all times. She’s tough, she’s brutal, and she’s brave as hell.
Now that we’re on the topic of feminist superheroines, there’s a massive elephant in the room that needs to be addressed. I’m sure most of my audience has read in the news about a theater in Austin, Texas having an all-female screening of the movie as a show of solidarity and girl power. Even though I’m a man, I’m not at all offended by that. The reason we have feminism in the first place is because for far too long women have been treated like second class citizens. They still get treated that way today. Good for that movie theater for stepping up! And good for Gal Gadot for putting on an awesome show for that female audience! Because of the profound influence this movie has had on the female community, I’m giving it an ultra-rare Extra Credit grade! How does that sound?!
June 15, 2017
Why Won't You Love Me?
VERSE 1
An autograph for your necrograph
Yet you turn away and belly laugh
Tell the world I’m damaged goods
I’m a psycho hiding out in the woods
Imagination short circuited by pills
Wasted potential killed off by the ills
Scandalous past kicking my own ass
The quiet one in the back of the class
CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why do you shove me?
Enough room in my heart for an army
Even for the ones who try to harm me
Why won’t you love me?
You’re so high above me
Enough room in my mind for a choir
Love me or leave me, down to the wire
VERSE 2
Jealousy is a sincere form of flattery
Exclusion is a real form of battery
Failure is the true root of all agony
Suffering is the beginning of tragedy
I see you flying like a golden angel
My wings are bent at a funny angle
I’ll see you on the bottom of the barrel
I’ll find you when I’m lonely and feral
CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why do you shove me?
Enough room in my heart for an army
Even for the ones who try to harm me
Why won’t you love me?
You’re so high above me
Enough room in my mind for a choir
Love me or leave me, down to the wire
VERSE 3
My passion won’t allow me to let go
My anxiety won’t allow me to know
The answer to this riddle called life
No matter how I hard I fucking try
They tell me to be patient and wait
Until the day I’m at the pearly gates
Work harder than I’ve ever worked
Until I blow a fuse and go berserk
PRE-CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why won’t you care?
Why do the masses
Give me a blank stare?
Why won’t you love me?
Why won’t you join me?
Could my cries for help
Be that fucking annoying?
CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why do you shove me?
Enough room in my heart for an army
Even for the ones who try to harm me
Why won’t you love me?
You’re so high above me
Enough room in my mind for a choir
Love me or leave me, down to the wire
An autograph for your necrograph
Yet you turn away and belly laugh
Tell the world I’m damaged goods
I’m a psycho hiding out in the woods
Imagination short circuited by pills
Wasted potential killed off by the ills
Scandalous past kicking my own ass
The quiet one in the back of the class
CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why do you shove me?
Enough room in my heart for an army
Even for the ones who try to harm me
Why won’t you love me?
You’re so high above me
Enough room in my mind for a choir
Love me or leave me, down to the wire
VERSE 2
Jealousy is a sincere form of flattery
Exclusion is a real form of battery
Failure is the true root of all agony
Suffering is the beginning of tragedy
I see you flying like a golden angel
My wings are bent at a funny angle
I’ll see you on the bottom of the barrel
I’ll find you when I’m lonely and feral
CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why do you shove me?
Enough room in my heart for an army
Even for the ones who try to harm me
Why won’t you love me?
You’re so high above me
Enough room in my mind for a choir
Love me or leave me, down to the wire
VERSE 3
My passion won’t allow me to let go
My anxiety won’t allow me to know
The answer to this riddle called life
No matter how I hard I fucking try
They tell me to be patient and wait
Until the day I’m at the pearly gates
Work harder than I’ve ever worked
Until I blow a fuse and go berserk
PRE-CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why won’t you care?
Why do the masses
Give me a blank stare?
Why won’t you love me?
Why won’t you join me?
Could my cries for help
Be that fucking annoying?
CHORUS
Why won’t you love me?
Why do you shove me?
Enough room in my heart for an army
Even for the ones who try to harm me
Why won’t you love me?
You’re so high above me
Enough room in my mind for a choir
Love me or leave me, down to the wire
Nunchucks
***NUNCHUCKS***
Yes, you read that right, ladies and gentlemen. I’m dedicating an entire blog entry to…nunchucks. Two wooden or metal tubes attached by a chain or a rope. You can twirl them around, you can spin them overhead, or more importantly, you can whack people with them and cause blunt force trauma. It could be that I’m living under a rock these days, so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong when I say this. Nunchucks are an underrated weapon in fantasy and sci-fi canons. I can count on one hand how many examples of nunchuck usage I can think of: Panthro form The Thundercats, Billy and Jimmy Lee from the Double Dragon franchise, the karateka from the first Final Fantasy game, on rare occasions in Dungeons & Dragons Version 3.5, Guy from Final Fight III, and…holy shit, that’s it!
As evidenced by my WWE fandom of Daniel Bryan, I’m a huge supporter of the underdog and the little guy. Nunchucks are like the Daniel Bryan of fantasy novel weapons. That needs to change and hopefully I can do it with some of my stories from Poison Tongue Tales 2: Warrior Spirit. And while we’re on the topic of WSS short stories, I might as well get this out of the way now. The next contest entry will be called “This Is Violence” and it’ll feature an elf ninja named Natron who uses nunchucks. It’ll be meta fiction since most of the story takes place in a computer game played by a teenaged boy, but those nunchucks will come into play in a big fucking hurry, trust me. Here’s the synopsis for my story:
CHARACTERS:
1. Natron, Computer Gamer
2. Shivo Black, Demonic Final Boss
PROMPT: Ivory Tower
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The Tower of Hell is jokingly called The Ivory Tower by those who have easily beaten this RPG.
SYNOPSIS: A teenaged boy with the online alias Natron is on the final stage of a dark fantasy computer RPG called “This Is Violence”. In order to beat this final level, he has to climb the Tower of Hell and defeat a demonic warrior named Shivo Black. It takes Natron a long time to defeat this hellish monster, but when he finally does, he receives an end message that completely shatters his world and leaves him in tears.
FUN FACT: This Is Violence has nothing to do with the first act of a dark fantasy novel I wrote years ago called Fireball Nightmare. That old story featured an army of Gary-Stu warriors, this version of This Is Violence will have relatable characters. The title for both stories was stolen from a Soulfly song of the same name.
So why did I just now decide to give Natron’s RPG character nunchucks? Surely, a sword will have sufficed just perfectly. Everybody and their uncle uses swords these days and they seem to do a good enough job of hacking off limbs and exploding hearts. But that’s the thing: everybody uses swords. Everybody! Cloud Strife used swords, Conan used a sword, Cecil Harvey used a sword, so many goddamn swords! Where are the nunchucks? Even in a game like Diablo II where there’s a huge variety of weapons and a martial arts-based character class, there are no fucking nunchucks!
While it is true that it’s nearly impossible to decapitate someone with a nunchuck attack, bludgeoning weapons shouldn’t be cast aside so easily. Nobody scoffs at war hammers and maces, so why should they scoff at nunchucks? They’re blunt, they’re deadly, and they crush bones when used by the right kind of warrior. You know what I’d like to see? A heavily armored paladin with a pair of bamboo nunchucks. A bloodthirsty barbarian with a pair of steel nunchucks. Even a feeble gnome wizard could use a pair…of nunchucks. What did you think I meant? Huh?
It’s not that hard to take down an enemy of considerable fortitude with a pair of nunchucks provided you know how to use them. You could break arms and legs with one fierce whack. You could break hands and feet and disable a lot of their attacks. Even the weakest strike could concuss an enemy worse than an NFL player. Or it could make their head explode like that creature from Pink Floyd’s music video for “What Shall We Do Now?” There’s no reason for a warrior not to use nunchucks. They’re quick, they’re light, and they hurt like shit. So why the underrated status?
You don’t even have to use them in a combative situation. When I was rehabbing my shoulder in physical therapy a year ago, they had me twirl a pair of nunchucks to get blood circulation in my labrum. While it’s true that I ended up hitting myself a lot with these things, it was an intricate part of the healing process and my arm hasn’t popped out since those sessions.
Whether you’re a monk named Chip or a nun named Chuck, these weapons are for you. They take practice, sure, but what weapon doesn’t? Personally, I’d rather accidentally whack myself in the nuts with nunchucks than accidentally chop my arm off with a katana. Wouldn’t you just love to see Jason Voorhees or Freddy Kruger with a pair of these bad boys? They’d be exploding limbs left and right and it’d be just as creepy!
So come on, fantasy authors, let’s see some nunchuck action! Don’t be like the main character in They Call Me Bruce and use them as chopsticks to get out of an arrest for possessing weapons. Chow mein doesn’t taste nearly as good when it has blood on them. Or maybe it does…if you’re sick enough to be into that sort of thing. But wait, doesn’t that just prove my point that Jason Voorhees should use nunchucks too? Hehehehehe! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***WONDER WOMAN***
Remember a few blog entries ago how I said I was going to review movies more often as part of my creative contribution to society? Well, I haven’t done jack shit in that department as of today. But tomorrow, that will change. I’m going to the movie theater with Reina to see Wonder Woman and I’m already anticipating an Extra Credit grade due to the strong feminist tropes, which we need in world run by a misogynist orange blob named Donald Dump. I hope Wonder Woman lives up to the hype! Or in the case of an Extra Credit grade, exceeds it!
***THIS IS ME***
While the movie reviewing process begins tomorrow night, the book reviewing process is still going strong as evidenced by my thoughts on “Basket Case” by Carl Hiaasen, which, surprise, surprise, received a passing grade. The next randomly chosen book will be one that Marie Krepps recommended to me as a favor to her author friends. It’s called “This Is Me” by C.E. Wilson and from what I can tell it’s a cyborg romance novel. I like a good lovely-dovey ooey-gooey romance story every now and then. I’m not always about bloodbaths and beyond. I hope it’s a good one!
***AUTHOR ADVICE FOR THE DAY***
If you’re an author and you’re describing an intense foot chase between a serial killer and his prey, don’t say the victim “ran like a Baywatch character”. I don’t have any cases where an author did this, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened at least once in this lifetime.
Yes, you read that right, ladies and gentlemen. I’m dedicating an entire blog entry to…nunchucks. Two wooden or metal tubes attached by a chain or a rope. You can twirl them around, you can spin them overhead, or more importantly, you can whack people with them and cause blunt force trauma. It could be that I’m living under a rock these days, so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong when I say this. Nunchucks are an underrated weapon in fantasy and sci-fi canons. I can count on one hand how many examples of nunchuck usage I can think of: Panthro form The Thundercats, Billy and Jimmy Lee from the Double Dragon franchise, the karateka from the first Final Fantasy game, on rare occasions in Dungeons & Dragons Version 3.5, Guy from Final Fight III, and…holy shit, that’s it!
As evidenced by my WWE fandom of Daniel Bryan, I’m a huge supporter of the underdog and the little guy. Nunchucks are like the Daniel Bryan of fantasy novel weapons. That needs to change and hopefully I can do it with some of my stories from Poison Tongue Tales 2: Warrior Spirit. And while we’re on the topic of WSS short stories, I might as well get this out of the way now. The next contest entry will be called “This Is Violence” and it’ll feature an elf ninja named Natron who uses nunchucks. It’ll be meta fiction since most of the story takes place in a computer game played by a teenaged boy, but those nunchucks will come into play in a big fucking hurry, trust me. Here’s the synopsis for my story:
CHARACTERS:
1. Natron, Computer Gamer
2. Shivo Black, Demonic Final Boss
PROMPT: Ivory Tower
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The Tower of Hell is jokingly called The Ivory Tower by those who have easily beaten this RPG.
SYNOPSIS: A teenaged boy with the online alias Natron is on the final stage of a dark fantasy computer RPG called “This Is Violence”. In order to beat this final level, he has to climb the Tower of Hell and defeat a demonic warrior named Shivo Black. It takes Natron a long time to defeat this hellish monster, but when he finally does, he receives an end message that completely shatters his world and leaves him in tears.
FUN FACT: This Is Violence has nothing to do with the first act of a dark fantasy novel I wrote years ago called Fireball Nightmare. That old story featured an army of Gary-Stu warriors, this version of This Is Violence will have relatable characters. The title for both stories was stolen from a Soulfly song of the same name.
So why did I just now decide to give Natron’s RPG character nunchucks? Surely, a sword will have sufficed just perfectly. Everybody and their uncle uses swords these days and they seem to do a good enough job of hacking off limbs and exploding hearts. But that’s the thing: everybody uses swords. Everybody! Cloud Strife used swords, Conan used a sword, Cecil Harvey used a sword, so many goddamn swords! Where are the nunchucks? Even in a game like Diablo II where there’s a huge variety of weapons and a martial arts-based character class, there are no fucking nunchucks!
While it is true that it’s nearly impossible to decapitate someone with a nunchuck attack, bludgeoning weapons shouldn’t be cast aside so easily. Nobody scoffs at war hammers and maces, so why should they scoff at nunchucks? They’re blunt, they’re deadly, and they crush bones when used by the right kind of warrior. You know what I’d like to see? A heavily armored paladin with a pair of bamboo nunchucks. A bloodthirsty barbarian with a pair of steel nunchucks. Even a feeble gnome wizard could use a pair…of nunchucks. What did you think I meant? Huh?
It’s not that hard to take down an enemy of considerable fortitude with a pair of nunchucks provided you know how to use them. You could break arms and legs with one fierce whack. You could break hands and feet and disable a lot of their attacks. Even the weakest strike could concuss an enemy worse than an NFL player. Or it could make their head explode like that creature from Pink Floyd’s music video for “What Shall We Do Now?” There’s no reason for a warrior not to use nunchucks. They’re quick, they’re light, and they hurt like shit. So why the underrated status?
You don’t even have to use them in a combative situation. When I was rehabbing my shoulder in physical therapy a year ago, they had me twirl a pair of nunchucks to get blood circulation in my labrum. While it’s true that I ended up hitting myself a lot with these things, it was an intricate part of the healing process and my arm hasn’t popped out since those sessions.
Whether you’re a monk named Chip or a nun named Chuck, these weapons are for you. They take practice, sure, but what weapon doesn’t? Personally, I’d rather accidentally whack myself in the nuts with nunchucks than accidentally chop my arm off with a katana. Wouldn’t you just love to see Jason Voorhees or Freddy Kruger with a pair of these bad boys? They’d be exploding limbs left and right and it’d be just as creepy!
So come on, fantasy authors, let’s see some nunchuck action! Don’t be like the main character in They Call Me Bruce and use them as chopsticks to get out of an arrest for possessing weapons. Chow mein doesn’t taste nearly as good when it has blood on them. Or maybe it does…if you’re sick enough to be into that sort of thing. But wait, doesn’t that just prove my point that Jason Voorhees should use nunchucks too? Hehehehehe! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***WONDER WOMAN***
Remember a few blog entries ago how I said I was going to review movies more often as part of my creative contribution to society? Well, I haven’t done jack shit in that department as of today. But tomorrow, that will change. I’m going to the movie theater with Reina to see Wonder Woman and I’m already anticipating an Extra Credit grade due to the strong feminist tropes, which we need in world run by a misogynist orange blob named Donald Dump. I hope Wonder Woman lives up to the hype! Or in the case of an Extra Credit grade, exceeds it!
***THIS IS ME***
While the movie reviewing process begins tomorrow night, the book reviewing process is still going strong as evidenced by my thoughts on “Basket Case” by Carl Hiaasen, which, surprise, surprise, received a passing grade. The next randomly chosen book will be one that Marie Krepps recommended to me as a favor to her author friends. It’s called “This Is Me” by C.E. Wilson and from what I can tell it’s a cyborg romance novel. I like a good lovely-dovey ooey-gooey romance story every now and then. I’m not always about bloodbaths and beyond. I hope it’s a good one!
***AUTHOR ADVICE FOR THE DAY***
If you’re an author and you’re describing an intense foot chase between a serial killer and his prey, don’t say the victim “ran like a Baywatch character”. I don’t have any cases where an author did this, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened at least once in this lifetime.
June 9, 2017
El Divorcio
VERSE 1
Is this the life you really want?
Is it worth the price of the ring you bought?
Is it worth the senseless fights?
Do you have to do this every night?
Starting arguments for the hell of it
Your rage and tears are irrelevant
Does any part of you want to break up?
Is it time to dry your eyes and wake up?
CHORUS
El divorcio, el divorcio
It’s all over forever and now
El divorcio, el divorcio
There is nothing to smile about
No more holding hands in public
No more kisses that are sudden
No more passionate love making
When your heart is breaking
VERSE 2
Who was right or wrong all along?
Who’s to blame for this sorrowful song?
Lawyers and judges get to decide
Who gets the gold, who gets the hearse ride
The tiring war goes on for months
It soon turns into a bounty hunt
Is this the result you really need?
Surrendering to aggravated greed?
CHORUS
El divorcio, el divorcio
It’s all over forever and now
El divorcio, el divorcio
There is nothing to smile about
No more holding hands in public
No more kisses that are sudden
No more passionate love making
When your heart is breaking
VERSE 3
Is it too late to start over again?
A newfound lover or just a friend?
A shattered dream to mend with gold?
Another soft hand to gently hold?
Is it too late to turn back the clock?
Find a shoulder to cry on and be your rock?
Are you your own hero? Can you save the day?
Or will you forever push the masses away?
BRIDGE
It’s not over until you say it’s over
Don’t be afraid to pull her closer
Don’t be afraid to say you’re sorry
Let’s start again, my precious darling
Is this the life you really want?
Is it worth the price of the ring you bought?
Is it worth the senseless fights?
Do you have to do this every night?
Starting arguments for the hell of it
Your rage and tears are irrelevant
Does any part of you want to break up?
Is it time to dry your eyes and wake up?
CHORUS
El divorcio, el divorcio
It’s all over forever and now
El divorcio, el divorcio
There is nothing to smile about
No more holding hands in public
No more kisses that are sudden
No more passionate love making
When your heart is breaking
VERSE 2
Who was right or wrong all along?
Who’s to blame for this sorrowful song?
Lawyers and judges get to decide
Who gets the gold, who gets the hearse ride
The tiring war goes on for months
It soon turns into a bounty hunt
Is this the result you really need?
Surrendering to aggravated greed?
CHORUS
El divorcio, el divorcio
It’s all over forever and now
El divorcio, el divorcio
There is nothing to smile about
No more holding hands in public
No more kisses that are sudden
No more passionate love making
When your heart is breaking
VERSE 3
Is it too late to start over again?
A newfound lover or just a friend?
A shattered dream to mend with gold?
Another soft hand to gently hold?
Is it too late to turn back the clock?
Find a shoulder to cry on and be your rock?
Are you your own hero? Can you save the day?
Or will you forever push the masses away?
BRIDGE
It’s not over until you say it’s over
Don’t be afraid to pull her closer
Don’t be afraid to say you’re sorry
Let’s start again, my precious darling
Xanax and Perrier
VERSE 1
My weirdest dreams are of school it seems
Naked in front of the students and deans
A grown adult fighting it out with teens
Doing crystal math until my eyes bleed
Dreading the day I receive my grades
Failing every class, I cannot be saved
There’s always next year, no question about
It’s hard to speak up when my teeth fall out
CHORUS
Xanax and Perrier to end my day
My oldest kitty is snoozing away
Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays
Back to the theater, back to the craze
VERSE 2
My wildest dreams are of music and screams
Heavy metal menus in the strangest venues
Pantera tore it up in a grocery store
3DG in a lecture hall, I want more
Rammstein shot flames in a Chinese diner
Roger Waters at the Stonehenge, not bad, old-timer
Brit Floyd in a museum, not an easy feat
It’s hard to sing songs with loosening teeth
CHORUS
Xanax and Perrier to end my day
My oldest kitty is snoozing away
Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays
Back to the theater, back to the craze
BRIDGE
Sometimes all I want is to go the fuck home
But these dreamy busses are so damn slow
The foot ferries splash as they’re about to crash
The airplanes race into outer fucking space
VERSE 3
My nerdy dreams make me want to cream
Comic book shops on every street block
Libraries with dark fantasy sweetness
My dream theater knows my favorite weakness
Seeing my notebooks being sold on the shelves
Seeing my novels being read by elves
Hearing my poems being read by pixies
My dreams come true whether it’s now or sixty
EXTENDED CHORUS
Xanax and Perrier to end my day
My oldest kitty is snoozing away
Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays
Back to the theater, back to the craze
Every youngster has the right to dream
Every adult can set them free
Never give up, never let it die
Spread your dragon wings and fly
My weirdest dreams are of school it seems
Naked in front of the students and deans
A grown adult fighting it out with teens
Doing crystal math until my eyes bleed
Dreading the day I receive my grades
Failing every class, I cannot be saved
There’s always next year, no question about
It’s hard to speak up when my teeth fall out
CHORUS
Xanax and Perrier to end my day
My oldest kitty is snoozing away
Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays
Back to the theater, back to the craze
VERSE 2
My wildest dreams are of music and screams
Heavy metal menus in the strangest venues
Pantera tore it up in a grocery store
3DG in a lecture hall, I want more
Rammstein shot flames in a Chinese diner
Roger Waters at the Stonehenge, not bad, old-timer
Brit Floyd in a museum, not an easy feat
It’s hard to sing songs with loosening teeth
CHORUS
Xanax and Perrier to end my day
My oldest kitty is snoozing away
Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays
Back to the theater, back to the craze
BRIDGE
Sometimes all I want is to go the fuck home
But these dreamy busses are so damn slow
The foot ferries splash as they’re about to crash
The airplanes race into outer fucking space
VERSE 3
My nerdy dreams make me want to cream
Comic book shops on every street block
Libraries with dark fantasy sweetness
My dream theater knows my favorite weakness
Seeing my notebooks being sold on the shelves
Seeing my novels being read by elves
Hearing my poems being read by pixies
My dreams come true whether it’s now or sixty
EXTENDED CHORUS
Xanax and Perrier to end my day
My oldest kitty is snoozing away
Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays
Back to the theater, back to the craze
Every youngster has the right to dream
Every adult can set them free
Never give up, never let it die
Spread your dragon wings and fly
June 8, 2017
The Ballad of Gravedigger Jane
Gravedigger Jane stewed in the middle row next to the aisle of the college auditorium, a place that was nearly packed with hee-hawers and pot smokers. She wished she could have some pot to soothe her boiling anger, but if she tested positive for it, it could mean the end of her college boxing career. Instead she pulled a metal flask out of her hooded vest and took a swig of booze. She shook her head at the hypocrisy of allowing alcohol but banning marijuana. What the fuck was that all about? No matter what her drug of choice was, hopefully it would get her through this god-awful performance.
As Jane relaxed in her seat with her sneakered feet on the empty chair in front of her, the madness was about to begin. Royal trumpets blasted over the sound system and almost gave her a migraine. While holding her ears with her taped hands, she turned around to see why such ludicrous music was playing at an obnoxious volume. There he was in all of his nose-in-the-air arrogance: Chris Duncan riding a horse while wearing a musketeer outfit: a blue tunic with a crucifix on it, black leather pants, knee-high brown boots, and a fedora with a feather in it. His bloated neckless bodyguards were also dressed in musketeer garb.
Chris swung his thin blade and pointed it at Jane before giving her a saucy smile and a wink. Jane responded with a shake of her head and a bruised middle finger, to which Mr. Duncan gave a royal belly laugh. The audience around her didn’t know whether to cheer or boo, so they just sat in wide-eyed silence. Then again, that could have been the pot talking. Jane took another swig of booze as Chris dismounted his horse and slapped it on the ass to send it trotting out of the theater. The speaker took the center of the stage with his bouncers standing at the edge, arms folded and attitudes in check.
The speaker adjusted the mini-microphone on his tunic and said, “Testing, testing, one, two, three.” Sure enough, everybody could hear him loud and clear as evidenced by the mixture of cheers and boos. The initial shock of Chris Duncan coming down in a musketeer outfit war off in a big fucking hurry once they figured out what he really came to talk about. Knowing that time was near, Gravedigger Jane took yet another swig and let out a monstrous burp.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” opened Mr. Duncan. “You’re probably wondering why I’m out here dressed as a musketeer. Two reasons: one, the musketeer has always been a symbol of loyalty to king and country. I’m loyal to my country and I would like to make it great again, if you know what I mean!” The mixed reaction blasted through the arena once again, but Gravedigger Jane sat still and clicked her knuckles.
Pacing around the stage and swinging his saber, Chris said, “The other reason I’m wearing this outfit is because it doesn’t look anywhere near as ridiculous as the dresses men put on to pass as women. You’ve got big ass men with neck beards going down to their knees walking into women’s bathrooms and locker rooms and this university doesn’t do a damn thing about it! It’s time we scrubbed this politically correct filth from college campuses everywhere! Political correctness is a threat to our free speech rights in the same way these so called transgender students are a threat to our purity! And while we’re at it, let’s get rid of the rest of the fag population!”
While the auditorium unleashed a firestorm of half-cheers and half-boos, Gravedigger Jane’s muscles were bulging in red hot anger. Her teeth were clamped tightly enough to make her granite jaw ache. She popped both of her wrists while staring bullets into Chris Duncan. The sick prick pointed his musketeer sword at her and she knew it was time to get her violence on, but not just yet.
“You see that man slash woman over there? Boxing fans might know that person as Gravedigger Jane. But I know him as Kevin Ferguson!” snapped Chris. The combination of hearing her old name along with the catcalling of the crowd caused the blood vessels in Jane’s eyes to pop like hot air balloons.
Chris had only begun his verbal assault. “Thanks to your school’s lenient policy on gay crap, Kevin over here can waltz into a woman’s locker room without so much as a bat of the eye! He can swing his dick around like a baseball bat and let his nuts hang down to his feet in front of all those poor women! Not only that, but he can punch out women legally and split their skulls down the middle! You call this equality?! I call it bullshit! You’re a fucking man, Kevin! You will always be a man!”
The guffaws of laughter, the screaming, the vulgarity of Chris Duncan’s speech, they all led to the tightly-muscled, predatory-faced, and stone-fisted Gravedigger Jane to pop out of her seat and storm down the aisle towards the stage. The fat bouncers formed a blockade between Chris and Jane while the former dropped his saber and backed off, screaming, “Whoa!” multiple times in rapid fire succession. Jane breathed heavily and punched her fists together while the students chanted, “Fight!” repeatedly.
“Easy there, Kimbo Slice!” shouted Chris. “You’re not going to do a damn thing to me! This is America and I’ve got free speech until the day I die! Nobody’s making you be here! Go run off to your safe space, little boy!” To add spice to his already flaming rhetoric, Chris stood on the edge of the stage and pointed his chin out to the crowd. “You want to hit me so badly, go right ahead! I’ll sue the shit out of you and have you blackballed from the sport! Come on, tough nuts! Throw a big one! Knock my ass out!”
“I’d love to knock your ass out, you little turd biscuit!” shouted Gravedigger Jane. Despite the raucous noise of the crowd, she was as audible as every news pundit who liked to turn it up to eleven. She even threw her hood back and revealed her corn-rowed hair and rolled back demonic eyes. Chris’s own eyes were wide with horror as he slowly backed away while Jane gave her oratory.
Jane continued with, “I paid for my tuition by beating people up! I’ll punch you so fucking hard you’ll be shitting teeth for two weeks straight!” Using her taped hand for visual references, she gritted her own teeth and throatily bellowed, “Your nose will be stapled to the back of your head! Your eyes will explode like little hand grenades! Your brain will splatter like a bucket of paint! I’m not even sure you’ll have a fucking head by the time I’m done with you!”
Chris slipped on his ass and convulsed in terror as the students chanted, “Fight!” some more. Gravedigger Jane looked like one of her punches could tear this whole building down. She looked like a simple left jab could turn these bouncers into protoplasmic jelly. She was ready to start swinging and show why she was a multiple time boxing champion.
But then a tear rolled down her cheek and her bear trap jaw trembled and ached with sorrow. Once that one tear rolled down, several more followed. The levies in her eyes broke in the same way her heart did. With a shaky voice, she said, “You’re right about one thing, though: if I punch you or your bouncers out…I could lose my career. I could lose my scholarship. I could lose everything. You’re not worth it. You’re loud and stupid as hell, but you’re not worth it. I…I…um…”
The avalanche of tears interrupted her passionate speech to where all she could do was storm out of the theater with half of the students chanting, “Get a job!” in succession. She slammed the door behind her and plopped backwards against the brick wall. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. They raged on and on while all Gravedigger Jane could do was punch the bricks behind her and scream with no audience…except for the horse.
“What are you looking at? Huh?” asked Jane with trembling lips, the same trembling lips that took yet another swig of booze. And another. And another. The horse gazed at her with innocent puppy dog eyes and Jane said, “Aw, fuck it, you can have some too.” She gently poured some booze into the horse’s mouth and watched it drink the last of the liquid courage. “That’s some strong shit, isn’t it. It’s not doing a damn thing for me right now, but oh well.”
As Jane tucked the flask in her vest, the horse started shaking its head and neighing in a thunderous voice. The transgender boxer watched the erratic behavior turn into violent galloping and said, “What the hell?” More neighing and more galloping ensued before the lightweight drunken horse stormed inside the theater to the sounds of horrified screams.
Jane placed her ear against the door and heard even more heavenly sounds: furniture being destroyed, bones shattering, even Chris Duncan and his bouncers couldn’t help but cry like bitches in pain and terror. She even heard Chris yell, “Why, sweet god, why?!” The next “Why?” he let out was more like a child’s whine and less like a brave and mighty musketeer. This put a smile on Jane’s face as she wiped away the tears.
She was nearly bowled over as students flooded all exists in an attempt to escape the drunken horse’s mad kicking. Soon enough the horse itself chased after a winded bouncer and toppled him before stomping the shit out of the poor bastard. Jane’s smile was even bigger than before and her rainy tears were all but gone.
As soon as the doorway was cleared, she peeked inside and saw broken bodies of students and bouncers lying about in total agony while theater chairs were splintered into nothing. Chris Duncan huddled in the fetal position while holding his groin and coughing up blood. He cried like a baby as he met Jane’s warrior gaze.
“For the record,” Jane shouted. “I didn’t lay a finger on you! Your stupid horse did! I guess the horse won’t have a boxing career after all! Maybe that big ass thing shouldn’t be trotting into women’s locker rooms with his saber sticking out! Adios, amigo!” Gravedigger Jane blew Chris Duncan a kiss before shutting the door behind her and leaving her haters covered in blood and darkness. Freedom of speech wasn’t free. In fact, the price was higher than Chris’s new soprano voice.
As Jane relaxed in her seat with her sneakered feet on the empty chair in front of her, the madness was about to begin. Royal trumpets blasted over the sound system and almost gave her a migraine. While holding her ears with her taped hands, she turned around to see why such ludicrous music was playing at an obnoxious volume. There he was in all of his nose-in-the-air arrogance: Chris Duncan riding a horse while wearing a musketeer outfit: a blue tunic with a crucifix on it, black leather pants, knee-high brown boots, and a fedora with a feather in it. His bloated neckless bodyguards were also dressed in musketeer garb.
Chris swung his thin blade and pointed it at Jane before giving her a saucy smile and a wink. Jane responded with a shake of her head and a bruised middle finger, to which Mr. Duncan gave a royal belly laugh. The audience around her didn’t know whether to cheer or boo, so they just sat in wide-eyed silence. Then again, that could have been the pot talking. Jane took another swig of booze as Chris dismounted his horse and slapped it on the ass to send it trotting out of the theater. The speaker took the center of the stage with his bouncers standing at the edge, arms folded and attitudes in check.
The speaker adjusted the mini-microphone on his tunic and said, “Testing, testing, one, two, three.” Sure enough, everybody could hear him loud and clear as evidenced by the mixture of cheers and boos. The initial shock of Chris Duncan coming down in a musketeer outfit war off in a big fucking hurry once they figured out what he really came to talk about. Knowing that time was near, Gravedigger Jane took yet another swig and let out a monstrous burp.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” opened Mr. Duncan. “You’re probably wondering why I’m out here dressed as a musketeer. Two reasons: one, the musketeer has always been a symbol of loyalty to king and country. I’m loyal to my country and I would like to make it great again, if you know what I mean!” The mixed reaction blasted through the arena once again, but Gravedigger Jane sat still and clicked her knuckles.
Pacing around the stage and swinging his saber, Chris said, “The other reason I’m wearing this outfit is because it doesn’t look anywhere near as ridiculous as the dresses men put on to pass as women. You’ve got big ass men with neck beards going down to their knees walking into women’s bathrooms and locker rooms and this university doesn’t do a damn thing about it! It’s time we scrubbed this politically correct filth from college campuses everywhere! Political correctness is a threat to our free speech rights in the same way these so called transgender students are a threat to our purity! And while we’re at it, let’s get rid of the rest of the fag population!”
While the auditorium unleashed a firestorm of half-cheers and half-boos, Gravedigger Jane’s muscles were bulging in red hot anger. Her teeth were clamped tightly enough to make her granite jaw ache. She popped both of her wrists while staring bullets into Chris Duncan. The sick prick pointed his musketeer sword at her and she knew it was time to get her violence on, but not just yet.
“You see that man slash woman over there? Boxing fans might know that person as Gravedigger Jane. But I know him as Kevin Ferguson!” snapped Chris. The combination of hearing her old name along with the catcalling of the crowd caused the blood vessels in Jane’s eyes to pop like hot air balloons.
Chris had only begun his verbal assault. “Thanks to your school’s lenient policy on gay crap, Kevin over here can waltz into a woman’s locker room without so much as a bat of the eye! He can swing his dick around like a baseball bat and let his nuts hang down to his feet in front of all those poor women! Not only that, but he can punch out women legally and split their skulls down the middle! You call this equality?! I call it bullshit! You’re a fucking man, Kevin! You will always be a man!”
The guffaws of laughter, the screaming, the vulgarity of Chris Duncan’s speech, they all led to the tightly-muscled, predatory-faced, and stone-fisted Gravedigger Jane to pop out of her seat and storm down the aisle towards the stage. The fat bouncers formed a blockade between Chris and Jane while the former dropped his saber and backed off, screaming, “Whoa!” multiple times in rapid fire succession. Jane breathed heavily and punched her fists together while the students chanted, “Fight!” repeatedly.
“Easy there, Kimbo Slice!” shouted Chris. “You’re not going to do a damn thing to me! This is America and I’ve got free speech until the day I die! Nobody’s making you be here! Go run off to your safe space, little boy!” To add spice to his already flaming rhetoric, Chris stood on the edge of the stage and pointed his chin out to the crowd. “You want to hit me so badly, go right ahead! I’ll sue the shit out of you and have you blackballed from the sport! Come on, tough nuts! Throw a big one! Knock my ass out!”
“I’d love to knock your ass out, you little turd biscuit!” shouted Gravedigger Jane. Despite the raucous noise of the crowd, she was as audible as every news pundit who liked to turn it up to eleven. She even threw her hood back and revealed her corn-rowed hair and rolled back demonic eyes. Chris’s own eyes were wide with horror as he slowly backed away while Jane gave her oratory.
Jane continued with, “I paid for my tuition by beating people up! I’ll punch you so fucking hard you’ll be shitting teeth for two weeks straight!” Using her taped hand for visual references, she gritted her own teeth and throatily bellowed, “Your nose will be stapled to the back of your head! Your eyes will explode like little hand grenades! Your brain will splatter like a bucket of paint! I’m not even sure you’ll have a fucking head by the time I’m done with you!”
Chris slipped on his ass and convulsed in terror as the students chanted, “Fight!” some more. Gravedigger Jane looked like one of her punches could tear this whole building down. She looked like a simple left jab could turn these bouncers into protoplasmic jelly. She was ready to start swinging and show why she was a multiple time boxing champion.
But then a tear rolled down her cheek and her bear trap jaw trembled and ached with sorrow. Once that one tear rolled down, several more followed. The levies in her eyes broke in the same way her heart did. With a shaky voice, she said, “You’re right about one thing, though: if I punch you or your bouncers out…I could lose my career. I could lose my scholarship. I could lose everything. You’re not worth it. You’re loud and stupid as hell, but you’re not worth it. I…I…um…”
The avalanche of tears interrupted her passionate speech to where all she could do was storm out of the theater with half of the students chanting, “Get a job!” in succession. She slammed the door behind her and plopped backwards against the brick wall. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. They raged on and on while all Gravedigger Jane could do was punch the bricks behind her and scream with no audience…except for the horse.
“What are you looking at? Huh?” asked Jane with trembling lips, the same trembling lips that took yet another swig of booze. And another. And another. The horse gazed at her with innocent puppy dog eyes and Jane said, “Aw, fuck it, you can have some too.” She gently poured some booze into the horse’s mouth and watched it drink the last of the liquid courage. “That’s some strong shit, isn’t it. It’s not doing a damn thing for me right now, but oh well.”
As Jane tucked the flask in her vest, the horse started shaking its head and neighing in a thunderous voice. The transgender boxer watched the erratic behavior turn into violent galloping and said, “What the hell?” More neighing and more galloping ensued before the lightweight drunken horse stormed inside the theater to the sounds of horrified screams.
Jane placed her ear against the door and heard even more heavenly sounds: furniture being destroyed, bones shattering, even Chris Duncan and his bouncers couldn’t help but cry like bitches in pain and terror. She even heard Chris yell, “Why, sweet god, why?!” The next “Why?” he let out was more like a child’s whine and less like a brave and mighty musketeer. This put a smile on Jane’s face as she wiped away the tears.
She was nearly bowled over as students flooded all exists in an attempt to escape the drunken horse’s mad kicking. Soon enough the horse itself chased after a winded bouncer and toppled him before stomping the shit out of the poor bastard. Jane’s smile was even bigger than before and her rainy tears were all but gone.
As soon as the doorway was cleared, she peeked inside and saw broken bodies of students and bouncers lying about in total agony while theater chairs were splintered into nothing. Chris Duncan huddled in the fetal position while holding his groin and coughing up blood. He cried like a baby as he met Jane’s warrior gaze.
“For the record,” Jane shouted. “I didn’t lay a finger on you! Your stupid horse did! I guess the horse won’t have a boxing career after all! Maybe that big ass thing shouldn’t be trotting into women’s locker rooms with his saber sticking out! Adios, amigo!” Gravedigger Jane blew Chris Duncan a kiss before shutting the door behind her and leaving her haters covered in blood and darkness. Freedom of speech wasn’t free. In fact, the price was higher than Chris’s new soprano voice.
June 7, 2017
Talk to the Wind
***TALK TO THE WIND***
I’ve said many times in the past that Martin Kesici (KIZ-uh-chee) is one of the most underrated rock stars in the world today. He’s got charisma, he’s got a voice of gold, and he knows how to get heavy when it counts. But if his Wikipedia stub is anything to go by, he doesn’t get the fame and fortune that he deserves. Yes, I know that any dumb-ass can edit a Wikipedia page and without proper sources those pages are unreliable. There are even rock musicians today that don’t have their own Wikipedia page at all, I get that. But if I say the name Martin Kesici to you, what do you associate that with? Exactly. Try finding him on iTunes, by the way, see how far you’ll go.
I can tell you firsthand that Mr. Kesici deserves more recognition because his 2005 album “So What?” and his “My Heart Beats Pain” EP can tug at the heartstrings while rocking your ass out at the same time. I know I’m beating a dead horse when I talk about my lonely WWU days, but Martin Kesici’s music was one of the things that got me through it all. From the moment I heard his duet with Tarja Turunen called “Leaving You For Me”, I knew I had to have the “So What?” album. On that same album is a song called “Talk to the Wind”, which invokes imagery of heartwarming romantic love. Lord knows I’ve had plenty of crushes in college, so thinking about them with this song playing in my headsets was pure heaven. As long as I had this song, I never had to feel lonely or depressed ever again. Here are the lyrics:
VERSE 1
In a little wooden church with stained glass windows
You came walking down the aisle with your perfect smile
Ever since that precious day, we’ve always been together
And we’ve had our ups and downs, but we’ll always come around
CHORUS
I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say
It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay
Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back
To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea
I talk to the wind
VERSE 2
People say we’ll never last, that it happened way too fast
Yes, we’ve had our share of fights and lonely nights
But I knew it when I saw you, your big brown eyes
That no matter what we go through, we will always get by
CHORUS
I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say
It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay
Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back
To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea
I talk to the wind
BRIDGE
When it feels like the end of our journey
All we need is to keep the wheel turning
No matter what comes our way
CHORUS
I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say
It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay
Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back
To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea
I talk to the wind
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a brand new week at the WSS and it’s time for a new story, this time with the prompt suggestion of “teeth”. There are lots of things an author or poet can do with teeth, but here’s what I’d like to do. It’s called “The Ballad of Gravedigger Jane” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Chris Duncan, Political Pundit
2. Gravedigger Jane, Transgender Boxing Champion
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Gravedigger Jane has loosened her opponents’ teeth many times during her boxing career. The same fate could befall Chris Duncan if he keeps running his mouth.
SYNOPSIS: Chris Duncan is a guest speaker at Beachside University and his topic of choice is running down the LGBT community. He gets an equal amount of cheers and boos from the student audience, but things get heated when he singles out Gravedigger Jane for wanting to use female bathrooms and locker rooms and for fighting other female competitors. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Jane storms down the aisle in an attempt to beat the holy hell out of Chris. The only things keeping her from doing so are the heavy security detail and potentially being blackballed from college boxing if she goes through with it. The more Chris taunts her, the more punchable his face becomes.
FUN FACTS: This story has two sources of inspiration: the MMA community’s bigoted reaction to Fallon Fox in 2013 and Milo Yiannopoulos’s visit to a college campus where he bullied a transgender student in front of the audience. As you can tell, this story is going to push more buttons than an old school arcade game cabinet.
***MASHUP IDEAS***
In a moment of sheer boredom, I came up with ideas for mashup songs. I have no idea how to make a mashup song, but if one of my readers out there does, here are some suggestions you can try:
1. Five Finger Death Punch vs. TNA: “Under and Over Feedback”
2. Limp Bizkit vs. Spice One: “Born 2 Truth”
3. Linkin Park vs. From Ashes to New: “Breaking In the End”
4. Linkin Park vs. Street Fighter Alpha 3: “The Faint Road”
5. Seether vs. Martin Kesici and Tarja Turunen: “I’m Fine with Leaving You For Me Again”
6. Tribe Called Quest vs. Earthbound: “Weird Butter”
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Ever since I’ve started writing sci-fi and fantasy stories for the WSS once again, I’ve had more ideas for drawings. The latest in this series will be Lux, the control engineer behind Kobra’s illusions in the short story “I Am Death”. She’ll probably look vastly different from how I’ve described her in the canon, but I’ll try my hardest to be at least somewhat faithful to her white dress, black boots, and black mask outfit.
***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Who are some of your favorite bands? I like the Various Artists.”
-Adrian Monk-
I’ve said many times in the past that Martin Kesici (KIZ-uh-chee) is one of the most underrated rock stars in the world today. He’s got charisma, he’s got a voice of gold, and he knows how to get heavy when it counts. But if his Wikipedia stub is anything to go by, he doesn’t get the fame and fortune that he deserves. Yes, I know that any dumb-ass can edit a Wikipedia page and without proper sources those pages are unreliable. There are even rock musicians today that don’t have their own Wikipedia page at all, I get that. But if I say the name Martin Kesici to you, what do you associate that with? Exactly. Try finding him on iTunes, by the way, see how far you’ll go.
I can tell you firsthand that Mr. Kesici deserves more recognition because his 2005 album “So What?” and his “My Heart Beats Pain” EP can tug at the heartstrings while rocking your ass out at the same time. I know I’m beating a dead horse when I talk about my lonely WWU days, but Martin Kesici’s music was one of the things that got me through it all. From the moment I heard his duet with Tarja Turunen called “Leaving You For Me”, I knew I had to have the “So What?” album. On that same album is a song called “Talk to the Wind”, which invokes imagery of heartwarming romantic love. Lord knows I’ve had plenty of crushes in college, so thinking about them with this song playing in my headsets was pure heaven. As long as I had this song, I never had to feel lonely or depressed ever again. Here are the lyrics:
VERSE 1
In a little wooden church with stained glass windows
You came walking down the aisle with your perfect smile
Ever since that precious day, we’ve always been together
And we’ve had our ups and downs, but we’ll always come around
CHORUS
I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say
It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay
Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back
To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea
I talk to the wind
VERSE 2
People say we’ll never last, that it happened way too fast
Yes, we’ve had our share of fights and lonely nights
But I knew it when I saw you, your big brown eyes
That no matter what we go through, we will always get by
CHORUS
I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say
It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay
Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back
To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea
I talk to the wind
BRIDGE
When it feels like the end of our journey
All we need is to keep the wheel turning
No matter what comes our way
CHORUS
I talk to the wind when there’s nothing left to say
It gets rough sometimes, but I know we’ll be okay
Just a whisper in my ear is enough to bring me back
To when you gave yourself to me in the church by the sea
I talk to the wind
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s a brand new week at the WSS and it’s time for a new story, this time with the prompt suggestion of “teeth”. There are lots of things an author or poet can do with teeth, but here’s what I’d like to do. It’s called “The Ballad of Gravedigger Jane” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Chris Duncan, Political Pundit
2. Gravedigger Jane, Transgender Boxing Champion
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Gravedigger Jane has loosened her opponents’ teeth many times during her boxing career. The same fate could befall Chris Duncan if he keeps running his mouth.
SYNOPSIS: Chris Duncan is a guest speaker at Beachside University and his topic of choice is running down the LGBT community. He gets an equal amount of cheers and boos from the student audience, but things get heated when he singles out Gravedigger Jane for wanting to use female bathrooms and locker rooms and for fighting other female competitors. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Jane storms down the aisle in an attempt to beat the holy hell out of Chris. The only things keeping her from doing so are the heavy security detail and potentially being blackballed from college boxing if she goes through with it. The more Chris taunts her, the more punchable his face becomes.
FUN FACTS: This story has two sources of inspiration: the MMA community’s bigoted reaction to Fallon Fox in 2013 and Milo Yiannopoulos’s visit to a college campus where he bullied a transgender student in front of the audience. As you can tell, this story is going to push more buttons than an old school arcade game cabinet.
***MASHUP IDEAS***
In a moment of sheer boredom, I came up with ideas for mashup songs. I have no idea how to make a mashup song, but if one of my readers out there does, here are some suggestions you can try:
1. Five Finger Death Punch vs. TNA: “Under and Over Feedback”
2. Limp Bizkit vs. Spice One: “Born 2 Truth”
3. Linkin Park vs. From Ashes to New: “Breaking In the End”
4. Linkin Park vs. Street Fighter Alpha 3: “The Faint Road”
5. Seether vs. Martin Kesici and Tarja Turunen: “I’m Fine with Leaving You For Me Again”
6. Tribe Called Quest vs. Earthbound: “Weird Butter”
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Ever since I’ve started writing sci-fi and fantasy stories for the WSS once again, I’ve had more ideas for drawings. The latest in this series will be Lux, the control engineer behind Kobra’s illusions in the short story “I Am Death”. She’ll probably look vastly different from how I’ve described her in the canon, but I’ll try my hardest to be at least somewhat faithful to her white dress, black boots, and black mask outfit.
***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Who are some of your favorite bands? I like the Various Artists.”
-Adrian Monk-
June 1, 2017
I Am Death
Kobra and Lux embraced each other lovingly as they watched the scene unfold from their abandoned building hideout. Black protesters, with rage on their faces and profanity on their cardboard signs, surrounded the courthouse waiting for the perfect moment to unleash their fury. White hooded Klansmen stood on the opposite side with nooses and effigies to show their disgust. In between the two extreme parties were police in riot gear, armed with batons, tear gas grenades, and facial expression fiercer than an entire hunting party of starving wolves.
Lux, dressed beautifully in a fairy-like white dress, black knee high boots, and a glittery mask over her stunning blue eyes, gazed into her lover with and said with the softest voice, “What will happen if this plan doesn’t work?”
Kobra, with a snake’s mask covering his face and black robes with skeletal armor covering his toned body, stroked his girlfriend’s long black hair with soothing comfort and said, “Let me put it this way, my love: we don’t have a choice. Any minute now, the verdict for Keith Turner will be revealed. No matter what it may be, this city will descend into chaos in a heartbeat. I never really did like politics, but I hate senseless violence even more.” He touched a gentle finger underneath Lux’s chin and said, “Everything will be alright. The devices are rigged, everything is in place, and we’ve rehearsed this act until the end of time. They’d be foolish not to be frightened by Death himself.”
“I love you, Kobra.”
“I love you too, Lux.”
The two magicians shared a passionate tongue kiss only to be distracted by the noise going on outside. They peered out their window and saw Keith Turner and his lawyers dancing happily down the courthouse stairs. No shackles. No cuffs. Not a damn sign that he had been found guilty. The long brown-haired defendant even had a sadistic smile on his face. Kobra shuddered to think that was the look he gave the eight-year-old black girl before he murdered her in cold blood. And now the illusionist’s blood came a rolling boil now that this racist son of a bitch would walk free.
Just like Kobra predicted, the scene outside the courthouse descended into madness upon hearing the news that Keith Turner was free. Black protesters shouted and scrambled toward the heavily-guarded murderer while slinging their signs like steel chairs in a wrestling match. The KKK members swarmed the protesters and threw haymakers and shin kicks, not to mention a few choice N-words and other delightful racial slurs. The riot police struggled to maintain order and instead resorted to swinging their batons at anything that moved, be it protester or Klansman. Blood filled the streets of Paulson City and Mr. Turner watched from the stairs above without an ounce of warmth in his heart.
“It’s show time, Lux. Levitate me!” demanded Kobra. The magician had thin wires running through his robes that were undetectable by sunlight, yet powerful enough to hold his 180 lb. frame. Once Lux pounded a few buttons on a nearby control panel, those wires gave the illusion of floatation as Kobra “levitated” out of the window and high above the riot in progress.
Only a few rioters and police officers stopped to watch the floating death angel with wide-eyed awe and wonder. Kobra gained everyone’s full attention when he pulled a tab inside his robes and unleashed a pair of metallic angel wings. He winked at Lux inside the hideout and prompted her to activate the flamethrowers rigged on both sides of the street. This burning gesture was on cue with Kobra raising his arms in the air and extending his fingers like a sorcerer casting spells.
What once was a riot full of angry people and weary cops now turned into a theater with a dumbstruck audience. No more bloodshed, no more racism, just shaky bodies and faces of fear. Kobra loosened a few bladders and bowels once he swung his arms to the side and summoned a hurricane force wind around his body. He threw down his hand and tossed a rigged lightning bolt onto a gimmick fire hydrant, which exploded into a secondary Old Faithful.
One of the cops pulled out a shotgun and tried to squeeze off a few shells in Kobra’s direction. The combination of wind, lightning, and fire blew the ammunition every which way and almost blew out one of the covered-up flamethrowers. Instead of wiping off his sweaty brow in relief, Kobra went right into his distortion box-voiced tirade against the masses.
“Fools! Each and every one of you! You’re nothing but goddamn fools!” shouted the masked illusionist. “You’re gathered here today to spread mayhem and murder, the same mayhem and murder that the idiot in the gray suit was so happy to commit not too long ago!”
Even as Keith Turner stared daggers at him with a brown-toothed smile, Kobra wouldn’t shake and stutter so easily. The magician pointed an elongated, bony finger at the killer and shouted, “If you think you’re going to get away with your sins so easily, you’re sadly mistaken! I am Death himself! I am nightmare fuel! I speak the words of every victim you have claimed! That girl you killed had a name! That name is…”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Keith interrupted with a booming voice. “Does anybody else here think this Angel of Death garbage is a bunch of bullshit?! Am I the only one who sees this cocksucker for who he is?! You don’t scare me, snake boy! None of y’all niggers scare me either! White power!”
With Mr. Turner performing a Nazi salute, the KKK members did the same before clashing with black protesters and riot police once again. Their nationalist rage transformed back into pants-wetting, voice-stealing fear once Kobra shot a lightning bolt a jimmied mailbox and ignited the flamethrower underneath. “Silence, you fools!” shouted the Angel of Death.
“If you think those streets are bloody now, keep testing my patience!” bellowed Kobra. “I shall turn this city into hell itself! I shall turn this world into a necrocosm! I shall avenge every restless soul…”
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Yeah, we get it! Armageddon and shit!” yelled Keith with his arms folded and arrogant anger etched on his face. “Tell you what, shit head! Why don’t you float on down here and I’ll rearrange that pretty little snake face of yours! No more magic tricks and hocus pocus bullshit! Just you and me slugging it out, baby!”
Kobra sweated profusely inside his costume trying to think of ways to keep his bluff alive. He had an idea, but it was risky. But with no risks came no rewards. Either this would pay off or it would get him killed. “Tell you what, Mr. Turner,” said Kobra in his usual demonic aura. “Why don’t you come over here instead! You think this is a gimmick?! You think this is a fairytale?! I don’t deal in fairytales, you sodomite! I deal in death! Bring your bastard ass over here and prove to me you’re more than just a coward who targets children!”
Keith took off his suit jacket and angrily threw it to the floor before cracking his knuckles and putting his dukes up. He breathed heavily like a beast ready to jump on its prey. But then he chuckled egotistically and said, “Who am I kidding? I’m a free man. I’ve got nothing to prove to you. You’re the one breaking the law, not me. Hey, officers! Do your job and put this pinheaded asshole on trial! Maybe these jiggaboos out here can get a hashtag going on Twitter that says Snake Lives Matter or some shit.”
“Suck my dick!” shouted a random protester who threw a cardboard sign at Keith. With kicks, punches, elbows, and knees being thrown every which way, the rioting crowd and the armored police were back to square one with the bloody violence.
Kobra had one last trick up his sleeve and he had to make it count. He turned to his lovely partner Lux and gave her thumbs up before dragging that thumb across his throat. She smiled and nodded at him before pulling the biggest lever her control panel had. Slowly but surely, a parked police van on the sidewalk levitated off the ground with the same invisible wires to support it, though nobody could see them.
The fighting ceased once again despite Keith Turner’s constant bellowing that this was just another “hocus pocus stunt”. The higher in the air the van got, the more the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Protesters, cops, and Klansmen alike dispersed from the streets running like Olympic athletes. They left behind a battlefield of blood and bodies. There were even wounded bodies in the streets struggling and crawling to get away.
“This is horseshit! This is absolute horseshit!” Keith complained. He jumped into the nearly empty streets and started kicking the dead bodies of black protesters. “I’m so sick of this crap! Black lives don’t matter, motherfuckers! Your lives don’t mean shit to me! I’m sick of that stupid goddamn hashtag going around the fucking internet! You hear me?! I said do you hear me…”
The wires, being thin enough to evade detection, were bound to snap with that much weight underneath. Kobra knew this part of the illusion was a bad idea and covered his eyes, not wanting to watch his cinematic masterpiece crumble beneath him. But the sound of metal crunching on concrete deafened his ears, he opened his field of vision again to see that the only thing crumbling beneath him were Keith Turner’s bones. He was crushed underneath the wrecked vehicle with just his head poking out and his eyes bulging from his skull.
The poetic justice brought laughter to Kobra’s throat from the depths of his belly. It was an evil laugh that only a sick and sadistic demon could pull off. He even raised his hands to set off more flamethrowers and lightning bolts to keep his gimmick alive in the eyes of those still hanging around (which weren’t many). The howling laughter continued even as Kobra was slowly being pulled inside the hideout by Lux’s controls.
The illusionist stripped off his robes, skeletal suit, and angel wings to reveal a T-shirt and jeans underneath. “How did I do?” asked Kobra with a sexy smile on his face.
Lux wrapped her silky arms around her lover’s neck and said in a seductive voice, “I hope they give out Oscars for performances like that. You were wonderful, my dear. You even had me scared for a minute. Come here, sweetheart.” The magic-wielding couple pulled each other in for an emotional kiss. This illusion was a long shot in the making, but it paid off handsomely. Magic was real whether it was in the bloody streets of Paulson City or in the embrace of two passionate sorcerers.
“I love you, Kobra.”
“I love you too, Lux. Don’t ever forget that.”
Lux, dressed beautifully in a fairy-like white dress, black knee high boots, and a glittery mask over her stunning blue eyes, gazed into her lover with and said with the softest voice, “What will happen if this plan doesn’t work?”
Kobra, with a snake’s mask covering his face and black robes with skeletal armor covering his toned body, stroked his girlfriend’s long black hair with soothing comfort and said, “Let me put it this way, my love: we don’t have a choice. Any minute now, the verdict for Keith Turner will be revealed. No matter what it may be, this city will descend into chaos in a heartbeat. I never really did like politics, but I hate senseless violence even more.” He touched a gentle finger underneath Lux’s chin and said, “Everything will be alright. The devices are rigged, everything is in place, and we’ve rehearsed this act until the end of time. They’d be foolish not to be frightened by Death himself.”
“I love you, Kobra.”
“I love you too, Lux.”
The two magicians shared a passionate tongue kiss only to be distracted by the noise going on outside. They peered out their window and saw Keith Turner and his lawyers dancing happily down the courthouse stairs. No shackles. No cuffs. Not a damn sign that he had been found guilty. The long brown-haired defendant even had a sadistic smile on his face. Kobra shuddered to think that was the look he gave the eight-year-old black girl before he murdered her in cold blood. And now the illusionist’s blood came a rolling boil now that this racist son of a bitch would walk free.
Just like Kobra predicted, the scene outside the courthouse descended into madness upon hearing the news that Keith Turner was free. Black protesters shouted and scrambled toward the heavily-guarded murderer while slinging their signs like steel chairs in a wrestling match. The KKK members swarmed the protesters and threw haymakers and shin kicks, not to mention a few choice N-words and other delightful racial slurs. The riot police struggled to maintain order and instead resorted to swinging their batons at anything that moved, be it protester or Klansman. Blood filled the streets of Paulson City and Mr. Turner watched from the stairs above without an ounce of warmth in his heart.
“It’s show time, Lux. Levitate me!” demanded Kobra. The magician had thin wires running through his robes that were undetectable by sunlight, yet powerful enough to hold his 180 lb. frame. Once Lux pounded a few buttons on a nearby control panel, those wires gave the illusion of floatation as Kobra “levitated” out of the window and high above the riot in progress.
Only a few rioters and police officers stopped to watch the floating death angel with wide-eyed awe and wonder. Kobra gained everyone’s full attention when he pulled a tab inside his robes and unleashed a pair of metallic angel wings. He winked at Lux inside the hideout and prompted her to activate the flamethrowers rigged on both sides of the street. This burning gesture was on cue with Kobra raising his arms in the air and extending his fingers like a sorcerer casting spells.
What once was a riot full of angry people and weary cops now turned into a theater with a dumbstruck audience. No more bloodshed, no more racism, just shaky bodies and faces of fear. Kobra loosened a few bladders and bowels once he swung his arms to the side and summoned a hurricane force wind around his body. He threw down his hand and tossed a rigged lightning bolt onto a gimmick fire hydrant, which exploded into a secondary Old Faithful.
One of the cops pulled out a shotgun and tried to squeeze off a few shells in Kobra’s direction. The combination of wind, lightning, and fire blew the ammunition every which way and almost blew out one of the covered-up flamethrowers. Instead of wiping off his sweaty brow in relief, Kobra went right into his distortion box-voiced tirade against the masses.
“Fools! Each and every one of you! You’re nothing but goddamn fools!” shouted the masked illusionist. “You’re gathered here today to spread mayhem and murder, the same mayhem and murder that the idiot in the gray suit was so happy to commit not too long ago!”
Even as Keith Turner stared daggers at him with a brown-toothed smile, Kobra wouldn’t shake and stutter so easily. The magician pointed an elongated, bony finger at the killer and shouted, “If you think you’re going to get away with your sins so easily, you’re sadly mistaken! I am Death himself! I am nightmare fuel! I speak the words of every victim you have claimed! That girl you killed had a name! That name is…”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Keith interrupted with a booming voice. “Does anybody else here think this Angel of Death garbage is a bunch of bullshit?! Am I the only one who sees this cocksucker for who he is?! You don’t scare me, snake boy! None of y’all niggers scare me either! White power!”
With Mr. Turner performing a Nazi salute, the KKK members did the same before clashing with black protesters and riot police once again. Their nationalist rage transformed back into pants-wetting, voice-stealing fear once Kobra shot a lightning bolt a jimmied mailbox and ignited the flamethrower underneath. “Silence, you fools!” shouted the Angel of Death.
“If you think those streets are bloody now, keep testing my patience!” bellowed Kobra. “I shall turn this city into hell itself! I shall turn this world into a necrocosm! I shall avenge every restless soul…”
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Yeah, we get it! Armageddon and shit!” yelled Keith with his arms folded and arrogant anger etched on his face. “Tell you what, shit head! Why don’t you float on down here and I’ll rearrange that pretty little snake face of yours! No more magic tricks and hocus pocus bullshit! Just you and me slugging it out, baby!”
Kobra sweated profusely inside his costume trying to think of ways to keep his bluff alive. He had an idea, but it was risky. But with no risks came no rewards. Either this would pay off or it would get him killed. “Tell you what, Mr. Turner,” said Kobra in his usual demonic aura. “Why don’t you come over here instead! You think this is a gimmick?! You think this is a fairytale?! I don’t deal in fairytales, you sodomite! I deal in death! Bring your bastard ass over here and prove to me you’re more than just a coward who targets children!”
Keith took off his suit jacket and angrily threw it to the floor before cracking his knuckles and putting his dukes up. He breathed heavily like a beast ready to jump on its prey. But then he chuckled egotistically and said, “Who am I kidding? I’m a free man. I’ve got nothing to prove to you. You’re the one breaking the law, not me. Hey, officers! Do your job and put this pinheaded asshole on trial! Maybe these jiggaboos out here can get a hashtag going on Twitter that says Snake Lives Matter or some shit.”
“Suck my dick!” shouted a random protester who threw a cardboard sign at Keith. With kicks, punches, elbows, and knees being thrown every which way, the rioting crowd and the armored police were back to square one with the bloody violence.
Kobra had one last trick up his sleeve and he had to make it count. He turned to his lovely partner Lux and gave her thumbs up before dragging that thumb across his throat. She smiled and nodded at him before pulling the biggest lever her control panel had. Slowly but surely, a parked police van on the sidewalk levitated off the ground with the same invisible wires to support it, though nobody could see them.
The fighting ceased once again despite Keith Turner’s constant bellowing that this was just another “hocus pocus stunt”. The higher in the air the van got, the more the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Protesters, cops, and Klansmen alike dispersed from the streets running like Olympic athletes. They left behind a battlefield of blood and bodies. There were even wounded bodies in the streets struggling and crawling to get away.
“This is horseshit! This is absolute horseshit!” Keith complained. He jumped into the nearly empty streets and started kicking the dead bodies of black protesters. “I’m so sick of this crap! Black lives don’t matter, motherfuckers! Your lives don’t mean shit to me! I’m sick of that stupid goddamn hashtag going around the fucking internet! You hear me?! I said do you hear me…”
The wires, being thin enough to evade detection, were bound to snap with that much weight underneath. Kobra knew this part of the illusion was a bad idea and covered his eyes, not wanting to watch his cinematic masterpiece crumble beneath him. But the sound of metal crunching on concrete deafened his ears, he opened his field of vision again to see that the only thing crumbling beneath him were Keith Turner’s bones. He was crushed underneath the wrecked vehicle with just his head poking out and his eyes bulging from his skull.
The poetic justice brought laughter to Kobra’s throat from the depths of his belly. It was an evil laugh that only a sick and sadistic demon could pull off. He even raised his hands to set off more flamethrowers and lightning bolts to keep his gimmick alive in the eyes of those still hanging around (which weren’t many). The howling laughter continued even as Kobra was slowly being pulled inside the hideout by Lux’s controls.
The illusionist stripped off his robes, skeletal suit, and angel wings to reveal a T-shirt and jeans underneath. “How did I do?” asked Kobra with a sexy smile on his face.
Lux wrapped her silky arms around her lover’s neck and said in a seductive voice, “I hope they give out Oscars for performances like that. You were wonderful, my dear. You even had me scared for a minute. Come here, sweetheart.” The magic-wielding couple pulled each other in for an emotional kiss. This illusion was a long shot in the making, but it paid off handsomely. Magic was real whether it was in the bloody streets of Paulson City or in the embrace of two passionate sorcerers.
“I love you, Kobra.”
“I love you too, Lux. Don’t ever forget that.”
Tastes Like Chicken
(As a parody of “Back From the Dead” by Skillet.)
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Hot and crispy in the deep fryer
‘Cause you all try to wolf me down
A big belly for the hungry buyer
Putting on a hundred more pounds
The extra carbs bulking up your thighs
A diabetes pen just to stay alive
The Colonel comes out at night
He’s gonna cook me
He’s gonna eat me
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken
Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin
Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack
Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back
Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Eat the skin, it’s the best part
Take a six or seven hour nap
Unleash the beast, a typhoon fart
Now your bed is full of piss and crap
The extra carbs bulking up your thighs
A diabetes pen just to stay alive
The Colonel comes out at night
He’s gonna cook me
He’s gonna eat me
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken
Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin
Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack
Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back
Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
Deep fried, homicide, a beached whale in the tide
Mashed potatoes on the side
Feeling full, feeling wide
The Colonel comes out at night
He’s gonna cook me
He’s gonna eat me
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken
Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin
Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack
Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back
Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
Dead tonight!
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok from the dead tonight!
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok dead tonight!
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok from the dead tonight!
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Hot and crispy in the deep fryer
‘Cause you all try to wolf me down
A big belly for the hungry buyer
Putting on a hundred more pounds
The extra carbs bulking up your thighs
A diabetes pen just to stay alive
The Colonel comes out at night
He’s gonna cook me
He’s gonna eat me
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken
Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin
Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack
Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back
Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Eat the skin, it’s the best part
Take a six or seven hour nap
Unleash the beast, a typhoon fart
Now your bed is full of piss and crap
The extra carbs bulking up your thighs
A diabetes pen just to stay alive
The Colonel comes out at night
He’s gonna cook me
He’s gonna eat me
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken
Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin
Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack
Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back
Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
Deep fried, homicide, a beached whale in the tide
Mashed potatoes on the side
Feeling full, feeling wide
The Colonel comes out at night
He’s gonna cook me
He’s gonna eat me
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok
Light it up, light it up, fry the chicken
Feel the rush, feel the rush of your insulin
Here’s your food, here’s your coke, here’s your fries
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
To the floor, to the floor, have a heart attack
Flying high is your pulse while you’re on your back
Full of fluff like a bird that ate rice
‘Cause I’m bok, bok, bok from the dead tonight
Dead tonight!
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok from the dead tonight!
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok dead tonight!
B-B-B-B-B-Bok-Bok-Bok from the dead tonight!
May 31, 2017
Dale Update
***DALE UPDATE***
After successful heart surgery, my step-dad Dale is finally home from the hospital. He seems to be in the same good spirits he’s always in as evidenced by his ability to enjoy a rerun of NCIS: Los Angeles on TV. He’s only been away for a short while, but everyone here at the house missed him. The animals are especially glad to see him back judging from how Tori jumped up on Dale’s chest and purred like a lawnmower. He’s going to have to make a lot of phone calls to his distant family to tell them how he is, but he’ll survive. See what I did there?
As part of his recovery process, plenty of things in his life are going to change. He won’t do as much heavy work as he normally does, he can’t eat fatty or sugary foods anymore, and he’ll have to take a shit ton of medication in addition to what he takes now. Since Dale’s going to be eating healthier meals from now on, we all will and quite frankly it’s about time. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t make the best food decisions and it shows with my lack of cardio and my big belly. Maybe with more rabbit food around the house, I’ll have no choice but to take better care of my body. Losing weight is important to me, but now that there’s going to be a stronger support system in place, I can actually do it. More importantly, Dale will have a lot longer to live.
Peace and order have been restored to the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household. Dale still has some resting and recovering to do, but that’s the easiest part of this whole ordeal, especially when the animals all want to snuggle around him. At first we worried that we wouldn’t be able to take care of our 15-year-old Springer Spaniel Maggie anymore. She’s blind, deaf, senile, and shits and pisses on the floor on a regular basis. With Dale out of the hospital and recovering nicely, Maggie can also continue to enjoy her elder years on this earth. The running joke around our family is that this house is a retirement home for both elderly animals and people. Nobody seems to have a counterpoint for that joke. Hehe!
Mom and Dale’s east coast vacation is still off the table, but Mom is optimistic about the two of them being able to see Paul Simon perform in Denver in late June. I swear to god, you should see Mom’s face light up like a Christmas tree anytime I give her a Paul Simon CD for a gift. I gave her one for Mother’s Day along with Trevor Noah’s memoir and she grinned from ear to ear. Come to think of it, Father’s Day isn’t too far away either. I hope Dale will have the same reaction when he opens his presents. Hell, it’s the easiest bet in the world!
That’s all I have to say for now. In short, Dale’s doing just fine now and he’s going to keep doing fine as the years go on. Thanks in advance for your positive vibes. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s another week at the WSS and this time the prompt is “Eye of the Storm”. I have a funny feeling that we’ve had that prompt before, but maybe it was worded differently. I’m not entirely sure, but I have a short story ready to be written nonetheless. It’s called “I Am Death”, but it’s not about the Muslim heavy metal band with the same name in my recent first draft novel Demon Axe. On the contrary, it’s much, much different!
CHARACTERS:
1. Kobra, Street Illusionist
2. Lux, Kobra’s Assistant and Girlfriend
3. Keith Turner, Racist Murderer
4. Nameless Black Protesters
5. Nameless KKK Members
6. Nameless Police Officers
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kobra’s angel of death gimmick involves heavy windstorms.
SYNOPSIS: Protesters, counter-protesters, and cops are gathered around the Paulson City courthouse awaiting the verdict against Keith Turner, who went on trial for murdering an eight-year-old black girl. Keith is eventually found not guilty and the outside crowd erupts into riotous hysteria. Kobra and Lux use their illusionary tricks to convince the police and KKK members that Kobra is an angel of death who came to earth to cleanse the world of evil and tyranny. Among the magic tricks he uses include levitation, pyrotechnics, voice manipulation, and Hollywood windstorms. Kobra and Lux hope that their bluff will be enough to scare people into leaving the black protesters alone and releasing them from police custody.
***LAW & ORDER: SVU PARODY OF THE DAY***
In New York City’s war on crime, Olivia Benson with duct tape on her mouth is considered especially erotic. The detectives who are clearly masturbating in the background are part of an elite squad known as the Sexy Victims Unit. These are their stories. DONG, DONG!
After successful heart surgery, my step-dad Dale is finally home from the hospital. He seems to be in the same good spirits he’s always in as evidenced by his ability to enjoy a rerun of NCIS: Los Angeles on TV. He’s only been away for a short while, but everyone here at the house missed him. The animals are especially glad to see him back judging from how Tori jumped up on Dale’s chest and purred like a lawnmower. He’s going to have to make a lot of phone calls to his distant family to tell them how he is, but he’ll survive. See what I did there?
As part of his recovery process, plenty of things in his life are going to change. He won’t do as much heavy work as he normally does, he can’t eat fatty or sugary foods anymore, and he’ll have to take a shit ton of medication in addition to what he takes now. Since Dale’s going to be eating healthier meals from now on, we all will and quite frankly it’s about time. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t make the best food decisions and it shows with my lack of cardio and my big belly. Maybe with more rabbit food around the house, I’ll have no choice but to take better care of my body. Losing weight is important to me, but now that there’s going to be a stronger support system in place, I can actually do it. More importantly, Dale will have a lot longer to live.
Peace and order have been restored to the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household. Dale still has some resting and recovering to do, but that’s the easiest part of this whole ordeal, especially when the animals all want to snuggle around him. At first we worried that we wouldn’t be able to take care of our 15-year-old Springer Spaniel Maggie anymore. She’s blind, deaf, senile, and shits and pisses on the floor on a regular basis. With Dale out of the hospital and recovering nicely, Maggie can also continue to enjoy her elder years on this earth. The running joke around our family is that this house is a retirement home for both elderly animals and people. Nobody seems to have a counterpoint for that joke. Hehe!
Mom and Dale’s east coast vacation is still off the table, but Mom is optimistic about the two of them being able to see Paul Simon perform in Denver in late June. I swear to god, you should see Mom’s face light up like a Christmas tree anytime I give her a Paul Simon CD for a gift. I gave her one for Mother’s Day along with Trevor Noah’s memoir and she grinned from ear to ear. Come to think of it, Father’s Day isn’t too far away either. I hope Dale will have the same reaction when he opens his presents. Hell, it’s the easiest bet in the world!
That’s all I have to say for now. In short, Dale’s doing just fine now and he’s going to keep doing fine as the years go on. Thanks in advance for your positive vibes. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
It’s another week at the WSS and this time the prompt is “Eye of the Storm”. I have a funny feeling that we’ve had that prompt before, but maybe it was worded differently. I’m not entirely sure, but I have a short story ready to be written nonetheless. It’s called “I Am Death”, but it’s not about the Muslim heavy metal band with the same name in my recent first draft novel Demon Axe. On the contrary, it’s much, much different!
CHARACTERS:
1. Kobra, Street Illusionist
2. Lux, Kobra’s Assistant and Girlfriend
3. Keith Turner, Racist Murderer
4. Nameless Black Protesters
5. Nameless KKK Members
6. Nameless Police Officers
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kobra’s angel of death gimmick involves heavy windstorms.
SYNOPSIS: Protesters, counter-protesters, and cops are gathered around the Paulson City courthouse awaiting the verdict against Keith Turner, who went on trial for murdering an eight-year-old black girl. Keith is eventually found not guilty and the outside crowd erupts into riotous hysteria. Kobra and Lux use their illusionary tricks to convince the police and KKK members that Kobra is an angel of death who came to earth to cleanse the world of evil and tyranny. Among the magic tricks he uses include levitation, pyrotechnics, voice manipulation, and Hollywood windstorms. Kobra and Lux hope that their bluff will be enough to scare people into leaving the black protesters alone and releasing them from police custody.
***LAW & ORDER: SVU PARODY OF THE DAY***
In New York City’s war on crime, Olivia Benson with duct tape on her mouth is considered especially erotic. The detectives who are clearly masturbating in the background are part of an elite squad known as the Sexy Victims Unit. These are their stories. DONG, DONG!
