Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 85
May 7, 2017
Angel of Chehalis
VERSE 1
In the city of burning crosses
We’ve suffered so many losses
In the town of blind-eye bosses
We were figuring out the causes
But you were the one constant
As I laid down watching for comets
Could you be the Angel of Chehalis?
Would stealing your kiss be tasteless?
CHORUS
You made me believe in love
When I gave up and had enough
You brought me out of the dark
Angel of Chehalis, take my heart
VERSE 2
You flew away in the dead of night
Deprived this city of your radiant light
I carried my burden with all my might
It’s my cross to bear, no love to share
I walked the earth, but saw no sign
Of the angel from the burning ley line
Are you still the Angel of Chehalis?
Or has this damn city left you jaded?
CHORUS
You made me believe in love
When I gave up and had enough
You brought me out of the dark
Angel of Chehalis, take my heart
VERSE 3
Finding heaven in the strangest places
Finding angels in the saddest faces
Finding the living in permanent stasis
Finding the dead lonely and wasted
In the city of burning crosses
I walk away and cut my losses
Until we meet again, Angel of Chehalis
Until this world is a photograph faded
EXTENDED CHORUS
You made me believe in love
When I gave up and had enough
You brought me out of the dark
Angel of Chehalis, take my heart
Take my body, take my soul
Take my mind, take total control
Fill the chasms and the black holes
Why must this memory take its toll?
In the city of burning crosses
We’ve suffered so many losses
In the town of blind-eye bosses
We were figuring out the causes
But you were the one constant
As I laid down watching for comets
Could you be the Angel of Chehalis?
Would stealing your kiss be tasteless?
CHORUS
You made me believe in love
When I gave up and had enough
You brought me out of the dark
Angel of Chehalis, take my heart
VERSE 2
You flew away in the dead of night
Deprived this city of your radiant light
I carried my burden with all my might
It’s my cross to bear, no love to share
I walked the earth, but saw no sign
Of the angel from the burning ley line
Are you still the Angel of Chehalis?
Or has this damn city left you jaded?
CHORUS
You made me believe in love
When I gave up and had enough
You brought me out of the dark
Angel of Chehalis, take my heart
VERSE 3
Finding heaven in the strangest places
Finding angels in the saddest faces
Finding the living in permanent stasis
Finding the dead lonely and wasted
In the city of burning crosses
I walk away and cut my losses
Until we meet again, Angel of Chehalis
Until this world is a photograph faded
EXTENDED CHORUS
You made me believe in love
When I gave up and had enough
You brought me out of the dark
Angel of Chehalis, take my heart
Take my body, take my soul
Take my mind, take total control
Fill the chasms and the black holes
Why must this memory take its toll?
Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics of 2016
***MOST DISGUSTING PROMOTIONAL TACTICS OF 2016***
Over the years of doing these kinds of journals, I’ve always rationalized posting these by saying it’s all in the name of creative fuel. Only a handful of times has a disgusting promotional tactic in wrestling and MMA resulted in any artistic ideas or stories. I might as well come clean while I’ve got the chance. I love shocking the hell out of people. I’ve loved it since hearing my first George Carlin routine as a sophomore in high school. When Susan was living with us, I’d tell her about these awful promotional tactics and she’d give me this wide-eyed stare while yelling, “That’s fucked up!” Think of this as combining my love for shocking people with my love for pro-wrestling and MMA. In the year 2016, nine items were nominated for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic. Nine! I’ll analyze each item from winner to last place and I’ll see if I can get those gasps out of you guys. This somehow reminds me of the Disney movie Monsters Inc. Hehe! Let’s get started!
WINNER: Bellator MMA booking a fight between Kimbo Slice and Dada 5000.
ANALYSIS: Having a mind-numbingly boring match on a pay-per-view card isn’t necessarily a recipe for offensiveness (unless you paid a shit-load of money to see it). When both fighters are older than dust, overweight, dehydrated, and have to be helped out of their stools in between rounds, then I can see how it might be just a tad exploitative. It doesn’t help matters that Kimbo Slice died in mid-2016 just a day after Muhammad Ali passed as well. Putting fighters in danger and putting fans to sleep: Jesus, Bellator!
SECOND PLACE: Brock Lesnar bloodying Randy Orton’s forehead with stiff elbows.
ANALYSIS: While I admit that booking this muscle freak Brock Lesnar as a 21st century killing machine is smart on WWE’s part, concussing Randy Orton just to get some blood on TV is going a little too far. I don’t mind blood on a TV-PG pay-per-view. Hell, I was with the fans at NXT TakeOver: Dallas when they chanted “Fuck PG!” after Samoa Joe was busted open. But if you’re a company that’s trying to fight off a concussion lawsuit, stiff elbows to the forehead might not be the way to go. Let’s not forget how Chris Benoit met his unfortunate end. Andrew “Test” Martin, too.
THIRD PLACE: Adam Rose using his domestic violence mug shot as a T-shirt design.
ANALYSIS: Domestic violence is bad enough, but when you’re sticking your mug shot on a T-shirt and selling it online, that’s pretty much like rubbing salt in the wound. It’s like those cops in New York wearing T-shirts that say, “Breathe easy, don’t break the law” after they choked the shit out of that black dude. In Adam Rose’s case, he justified his actions by saying it’s a celebration of making it through dark times and even said his wife suggested that the mug shot go on a white tank top. Get it? Because it’s called a wifebeater? Ha, ha, ha…ha, ha….ugh…
FOURTH PLACE: Lucha Underground booking intergender matches.
ANALYSIS: Believe it or not, this was a candidate for the award in 2015 as well. It’s also the only item so far that has garnered a short story idea for me. It’s called “Gender Blind” and it’s about an MMA promotion that books their first man vs. woman match and generates a shit-ton of controversy in the process. Supporters of Lucha Underground could argue equality between men and women, but come on, what’s so equal about Pentagon Jr. slapping the shit out of Sexy Star? Maybe they should put their mug shots on a T-shirt and generate more revenue.
FIFTH PLACE: Rizin MMA booking a fight between Gabi Garcia and Shinobu Kandori.
ANALYSIS: Thank god this match didn’t actually take place, but Kandori’s replacement wasn’t any less of a mismatch with Gabi Garcia. Miss Garcia is a young lady with more muscles and veins on her body than actual skin while Kandori’s replacement is a super old former professional wrestler with a broken down body and a shorter stature. Not surprisingly, Gabi Garcia won the fight via TKO in a short amount of time, much like a high school football player beating up a fifth grader for his lunch money.
SIXTH PLACE: TNA withholding payments to Billy Corgan.
ANALYSIS: In addition to being the front man for The Smashing Pumpkins, Billy Corgan is also passionate about pro-wrestling, so much so that he tried to buy TNA and save them from their ultimate demise. Unfortunately, he never got his money back and tried to sue the company for his owed payments. TNA being irresponsible with money? Huh. Who would’ve thunk it? TNA has since been saved by Anthem Sports, but it still leaves a sour taste in Billy Corgan’s mouth. Sour tastes aren’t necessarily good for singing Smashing Pumpkins songs.
SEVENTH PLACE: WWE recreating the Montreal Screwjob with Bret Hart and Natalya.
ANALYSIS: The Montreal Screwjob in 1997 will go down as one of the biggest mistreatments of loyal wrestlers in history. Bret Hart was supposed to win his match with Shawn Michaels and keep his WWF Championship in front of the Canadian crowd. And then Shawn Michaels beat Bret with his own sharpshooter move and stole the championship. Fast forward to 2016 and the same thing happens with Natalya when she tries to defeat Charlotte Flair for the WWE Women’s Championship, right in front of Uncle Bret. Barf!
EIGHTH PLACE: Sasha Banks giving a fake retirement speech months after Daniel Bryan was legitimately forced to retire after ongoing concussion issues.
ANALYSIS: Had this been done at a different time, it might have been compared to the excellent trolling job Mark Henry did when he gave his fake retirement speech in 2013. Daniel Bryan’s legitimate retirement was still fresh in the audience’s minds. There wasn’t a dry eye in that whole room. Sasha Banks also had her adoring fans in tears. And then Dana Brooke came out to attack her only for Sasha to miraculously recover from her knee injury and fight Dana off. Bad timing. Bad, bad timing. Horrible timing!
NINTH PLACE: Rizin MMA booking Kazushi Sakuraba in fights.
ANALYSIS: Once again, MMA organizations have to be told not to book super old people in fighting competitions. This is the third item on the list to be guilty of mistreating elderly cage fighters. Sure, these fighters need paychecks, but come on, really? There’s nothing else these poor people can do? Nothing at all? No commentating? No producing? No booking? What the fuck, Japan?
Nine items on this list, nine reasons for your eyes to bulge from your head, nine reasons for you to scream, “That’s fucked up!” Come on, you know you want to. Humor me. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!
***DEMON AXE: EPILOGUE***
It finally happened, ladies and gentlemen: ding, dong, Roger Zee is dead. His head exploded because he couldn’t handle the magic of heavy metal. His own tightly wound ass did him in. Unfortunately, the 22nd chapter ended with Daniel Mercer collapsing onstage, probably due to overexerting his rib injuries (despite wearing a flak vest for protection). Does he really want to wake up and deal with the traumatic voices in his head, especially after what Roger Zee did to him in the last few moments of the novel (if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you). How do I write an epilogue for a guy who’s next in line to rule the elven kingdom if he’s got a busted body and a haunted mind? This is going to take some J.K. Rowling-level toughness on Daniel’s part, and lots of it.
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SHEAMUS: You’ll get your chance to fight me at TLC. And brother, you’d better step up.
ROMAN REIGNS: You see, that’s the thing, Sheamus. You’re still just talking. You’re still just yapping. Yap, yap, yap. I thought Irishmen had potatoes. Turns out you’re just smuggling some tater tots.
YOU TUBER: Oh my god! Oh my god! “I thought Irishmen had potatoes! I thought Asian people had rice! I thought black people had fried chicken!” What the fuck?! Tater tots?! That’s the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard in my life! And here I thought it couldn’t get any worse than “sufferin’ succotash”! “Sufferin’ fuckin’ succotash” to “tater tots”! Wow! Do they fucking hate Samoans in the WWE?!
Over the years of doing these kinds of journals, I’ve always rationalized posting these by saying it’s all in the name of creative fuel. Only a handful of times has a disgusting promotional tactic in wrestling and MMA resulted in any artistic ideas or stories. I might as well come clean while I’ve got the chance. I love shocking the hell out of people. I’ve loved it since hearing my first George Carlin routine as a sophomore in high school. When Susan was living with us, I’d tell her about these awful promotional tactics and she’d give me this wide-eyed stare while yelling, “That’s fucked up!” Think of this as combining my love for shocking people with my love for pro-wrestling and MMA. In the year 2016, nine items were nominated for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic. Nine! I’ll analyze each item from winner to last place and I’ll see if I can get those gasps out of you guys. This somehow reminds me of the Disney movie Monsters Inc. Hehe! Let’s get started!
WINNER: Bellator MMA booking a fight between Kimbo Slice and Dada 5000.
ANALYSIS: Having a mind-numbingly boring match on a pay-per-view card isn’t necessarily a recipe for offensiveness (unless you paid a shit-load of money to see it). When both fighters are older than dust, overweight, dehydrated, and have to be helped out of their stools in between rounds, then I can see how it might be just a tad exploitative. It doesn’t help matters that Kimbo Slice died in mid-2016 just a day after Muhammad Ali passed as well. Putting fighters in danger and putting fans to sleep: Jesus, Bellator!
SECOND PLACE: Brock Lesnar bloodying Randy Orton’s forehead with stiff elbows.
ANALYSIS: While I admit that booking this muscle freak Brock Lesnar as a 21st century killing machine is smart on WWE’s part, concussing Randy Orton just to get some blood on TV is going a little too far. I don’t mind blood on a TV-PG pay-per-view. Hell, I was with the fans at NXT TakeOver: Dallas when they chanted “Fuck PG!” after Samoa Joe was busted open. But if you’re a company that’s trying to fight off a concussion lawsuit, stiff elbows to the forehead might not be the way to go. Let’s not forget how Chris Benoit met his unfortunate end. Andrew “Test” Martin, too.
THIRD PLACE: Adam Rose using his domestic violence mug shot as a T-shirt design.
ANALYSIS: Domestic violence is bad enough, but when you’re sticking your mug shot on a T-shirt and selling it online, that’s pretty much like rubbing salt in the wound. It’s like those cops in New York wearing T-shirts that say, “Breathe easy, don’t break the law” after they choked the shit out of that black dude. In Adam Rose’s case, he justified his actions by saying it’s a celebration of making it through dark times and even said his wife suggested that the mug shot go on a white tank top. Get it? Because it’s called a wifebeater? Ha, ha, ha…ha, ha….ugh…
FOURTH PLACE: Lucha Underground booking intergender matches.
ANALYSIS: Believe it or not, this was a candidate for the award in 2015 as well. It’s also the only item so far that has garnered a short story idea for me. It’s called “Gender Blind” and it’s about an MMA promotion that books their first man vs. woman match and generates a shit-ton of controversy in the process. Supporters of Lucha Underground could argue equality between men and women, but come on, what’s so equal about Pentagon Jr. slapping the shit out of Sexy Star? Maybe they should put their mug shots on a T-shirt and generate more revenue.
FIFTH PLACE: Rizin MMA booking a fight between Gabi Garcia and Shinobu Kandori.
ANALYSIS: Thank god this match didn’t actually take place, but Kandori’s replacement wasn’t any less of a mismatch with Gabi Garcia. Miss Garcia is a young lady with more muscles and veins on her body than actual skin while Kandori’s replacement is a super old former professional wrestler with a broken down body and a shorter stature. Not surprisingly, Gabi Garcia won the fight via TKO in a short amount of time, much like a high school football player beating up a fifth grader for his lunch money.
SIXTH PLACE: TNA withholding payments to Billy Corgan.
ANALYSIS: In addition to being the front man for The Smashing Pumpkins, Billy Corgan is also passionate about pro-wrestling, so much so that he tried to buy TNA and save them from their ultimate demise. Unfortunately, he never got his money back and tried to sue the company for his owed payments. TNA being irresponsible with money? Huh. Who would’ve thunk it? TNA has since been saved by Anthem Sports, but it still leaves a sour taste in Billy Corgan’s mouth. Sour tastes aren’t necessarily good for singing Smashing Pumpkins songs.
SEVENTH PLACE: WWE recreating the Montreal Screwjob with Bret Hart and Natalya.
ANALYSIS: The Montreal Screwjob in 1997 will go down as one of the biggest mistreatments of loyal wrestlers in history. Bret Hart was supposed to win his match with Shawn Michaels and keep his WWF Championship in front of the Canadian crowd. And then Shawn Michaels beat Bret with his own sharpshooter move and stole the championship. Fast forward to 2016 and the same thing happens with Natalya when she tries to defeat Charlotte Flair for the WWE Women’s Championship, right in front of Uncle Bret. Barf!
EIGHTH PLACE: Sasha Banks giving a fake retirement speech months after Daniel Bryan was legitimately forced to retire after ongoing concussion issues.
ANALYSIS: Had this been done at a different time, it might have been compared to the excellent trolling job Mark Henry did when he gave his fake retirement speech in 2013. Daniel Bryan’s legitimate retirement was still fresh in the audience’s minds. There wasn’t a dry eye in that whole room. Sasha Banks also had her adoring fans in tears. And then Dana Brooke came out to attack her only for Sasha to miraculously recover from her knee injury and fight Dana off. Bad timing. Bad, bad timing. Horrible timing!
NINTH PLACE: Rizin MMA booking Kazushi Sakuraba in fights.
ANALYSIS: Once again, MMA organizations have to be told not to book super old people in fighting competitions. This is the third item on the list to be guilty of mistreating elderly cage fighters. Sure, these fighters need paychecks, but come on, really? There’s nothing else these poor people can do? Nothing at all? No commentating? No producing? No booking? What the fuck, Japan?
Nine items on this list, nine reasons for your eyes to bulge from your head, nine reasons for you to scream, “That’s fucked up!” Come on, you know you want to. Humor me. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!
***DEMON AXE: EPILOGUE***
It finally happened, ladies and gentlemen: ding, dong, Roger Zee is dead. His head exploded because he couldn’t handle the magic of heavy metal. His own tightly wound ass did him in. Unfortunately, the 22nd chapter ended with Daniel Mercer collapsing onstage, probably due to overexerting his rib injuries (despite wearing a flak vest for protection). Does he really want to wake up and deal with the traumatic voices in his head, especially after what Roger Zee did to him in the last few moments of the novel (if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you). How do I write an epilogue for a guy who’s next in line to rule the elven kingdom if he’s got a busted body and a haunted mind? This is going to take some J.K. Rowling-level toughness on Daniel’s part, and lots of it.
***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
SHEAMUS: You’ll get your chance to fight me at TLC. And brother, you’d better step up.
ROMAN REIGNS: You see, that’s the thing, Sheamus. You’re still just talking. You’re still just yapping. Yap, yap, yap. I thought Irishmen had potatoes. Turns out you’re just smuggling some tater tots.
YOU TUBER: Oh my god! Oh my god! “I thought Irishmen had potatoes! I thought Asian people had rice! I thought black people had fried chicken!” What the fuck?! Tater tots?! That’s the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard in my life! And here I thought it couldn’t get any worse than “sufferin’ succotash”! “Sufferin’ fuckin’ succotash” to “tater tots”! Wow! Do they fucking hate Samoans in the WWE?!
Demon Axe, Chapter 22
Roger stabbed his machete into the ground at the sight of various vehicles pulling up to the bottom of the mountain. Police cruisers and SWAT vans, pickup trucks and SUV’s, and finally an eighteen-wheeler parked sideway in the far back to make plenty of room. What it was making room for, Roger didn’t know. All he knew is that these people were worthy of his most venomous scowl with folded arms to boot.
Shawn and Raven on the other hand looked down at the multi-car scene with a mixture of confusion and relief. Was this some kind of cavalry or were these people going to be more innocent victims of Roger’s mad slashing? Arthur didn’t seem too worried about it judging from the grin on his elderly face and the words, “I told you my new friends would come,” to his nemesis.
And sure enough they did. Cops got out of their cruisers, pro-wrestlers wearing their gear got out of their gas-guzzling vehicles, and heavy metal fans with Demon Axe T-shirts joined their newfound brethren in the open space between the semi and the other cars. Once they all assembled with their arms folded and their game faces on, the police captain tested his bullhorn like a roadie would a microphone: “Check, one, two, check.”
Roger’s look of disdain turned into a mocking grin. He even pulled his machete out of the ground to drive home his next talking point. “Is this what you call a cavalry, Arthur? I don’t see toughness from any one of these bastards! I see a bunch of walking corpses ready to get their heads chopped off!” Pointing his blade at the crowd below, he barked, “Don’t even bother drawing your pop guns, because you’ll be dead before you have the chance to use them!”
“We’re not here to arrest you, Roger Zee, no matter how much you deserve it,” said the captain through his bullhorn. “We’re not even here to pick a fight, again, no matter how much you deserve it. We’re all here for one reason: to see a goddamn heavy metal show. We bought our tickets and we’re ready to rock and fucking roll. You see these people, Roger? These are all of the people you’ve pissed off by killing off their friends and family for political bullshit. Did you think these rasslers were going to forget that you murdered Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez? Did you think these men and women in uniform were going to forget that you turned a respectable police department into a slaughterhouse? Did you think these metal heads in Demon Axe shirts were going to forget what you’ve put the Lord of the Pit through? Hell no! And yet, all we want to do is listen to some goddamn rock and roll! You know, the kind of music that gets us through our day with our sanity intact.”
The captain turned his head and nodded at the driver of the semi, who flipped a switch inside the cab and raised the side compartment like a garage door. Roger’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he saw what the truck was delivering: an entire stage of musical equipment. A bass and electric guitar stood at opposite sides of the stage while a drum kit was nestled in the back. A microphone stand took center stage sans an actual microphone.
Slowly emerging from behind the curtain were three black robed monks with their faces hidden by their massive hoods and their ancient chants haunting the elven landscape. The monks took their positions at the bass guitar, electric guitar, and drums respectively. They stood there languidly for a moment while Roger Zee swung his machete around in the air like he was ready for combat. “More victims? Sure, why not! Thanks for saving me the trouble of having to find you assholes!”
The three monks growled like animals at Roger’s insult before removing their hoods to reveal their masked faces. Just like any member of Daniel Mercer’s band, their masks sent chills up the spines of anyone who dared mess with them. One by one they revealed themselves to their audience, machete-wielding and otherwise.
The tiger-masked drummer said in an Arabian accent, “I am Tiger Man. I was once part of a metal band called I Am Death before you took our guitarist away from us, Roger. He was a brother to us. He represented everything that was right with both our religion and our music. You stole him from us, you sadistic piece of shit!”
The skull-masked bass player, also using an Arabian accent, pointed his elongated finger at Roger and said, “I am Bone Warrior. I too was a member of I Am Death. Everything Tiger Man just said is Allah’s honest truth, right down to the moment where he called you a sadistic piece of shit. I have a whole list of disgusting insults I’d like to use right now to describe you, Roger, but instead I’d rather play the bass and get this show on the road.”
And then there was the zombie-masked guitarist with demon horns and a Santa hat who said, “I am Snowball. I am the last surviving member of the LGBT metal band Juice. Roger, there’s nothing I’d love more than to wrap these guitar strings around your neck and take every last ounce of oxygen from that pathetic body of yours. But that’s not what guitar strings are for. They’re for playing badass music with badass people. Daniel, get your butt down here so that we can get this show started!”
Roger mockingly chuckled at Snowball and said, “I’m sorry, did you say you wanted Daniel to get his butt down there? I’m afraid he can’t do that right now. Let’s just say I did to him what you LGBT motherfuckers do to men’s asses on a daily basis. Besides, he can’t sing to you right now because his ribs look like a fucking jigsaw puzzle. Look at him! He’s easily-triggered! He’s pathetic! He’s a snowflake, Snowball!”
Slowly stirring from his traumatized state, Daniel pulled his shorts up, spit out blood on the side of the mountain, and clutched his broken ribs while making it to his feet. He stared fire and poison through Roger’s goofy gaze before snatching his rightfully owned microphone out of the zealot’s hands. Daniel leaned his face close to Roger’s and said, “I’m not your victim anymore!”
With mind-blowing pain in every step, the Lord of the Pit dragged his feet down the side of the Holy Mountains with Shawn, Raven, and Arthur stabilizing him along the way. Raven whispered in her boyfriend’s ear, “You can do this, Daniel. You’re not a victim anymore. You’re our next king.”
Feigning concern with more goofy facial expressions, Roger said, “Oh, look at you, Daniel. Are you having a little bit of trouble getting down the mountain? Here, let me give you a boost!” The elf zealot planted the toe of his steel boot into Daniel’s butt cheek and sent him rolling down to the bottom of the mountain in a crumpled heap.
“You fucking bastard!” Shawn bellowed. “I ought to blow your face off right fucking now!” The detective raised his shotgun with his trigger finger itching for some blood.
Raven lowered the barrel while screaming, “No, don’t! You’ve seen what Roger can do with that blade! This is not the way we’re ending this!”
“He killed my wife and daughter! He deserves to have his head blown the fuck right off!” shouted Shawn.
“Listen to reason, Detective Henry,” said the police captain through his bullhorn. “You’re one of the best cops we have on the force. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked for. Come on down here and mosh with us. It’s a rock concert, damn it!”
Shawn gazed at his police brethren and back at Roger while contemplating the voice of reason’s talking points. As much as he wanted to blow the terrorist’s head off with a well-placed shotgun shell, his wisdom dictated that getting murdered himself wouldn’t do a damn thing for his family. He stood there for a while with fists clenched and his trigger finger pulsating with rage. He finally dropped his shotgun and allowed Raven and Arthur to take him by the hands down the side of the mountain.
“You made the right call, Shawn,” said Roger. “Not that it really matters since I’m going to turn this so-called concert into a battlefield of dead bodies, not unlike the one I left behind back at the elven city.”
The threesome ignored Roger’s immature insults and knelt down to help Daniel to his feet. The Lord of the Pit groaned and whined as he struggled with his equilibrium. His ribs felt like he just ate a Halloween apple full of razorblades and spikes, yet he brushed his friends away and said, “It’s okay, guys. I got this. Trust me.”
Shawn, Raven, and Arthur joined the mosh pit congregation while trusting Daniel to gingerly make his way to one of SWAT team members. He spit out more blood and said, “Give me a goddamn flak vest. Now!”
“A flak vest? You really think that’s going to help you get through an entire set? I’d say you’re delusional, but you probably already know that from being an easily-triggered snowflake,” laughed Roger.
Daniel no-sold the insult as he strapped the flak vest around his ribs and limped his way to the makeshift stage. Snowball and Bone Warrior reached down and gently pulled Daniel up to his microphone stand, where he placed the axe-decorated piece of equipment into its rightful slot. Roger clapped like a little child and mockingly cheered Daniel as he made it to the stage.
“Keep clapping, buddy!” said Snowball. “But before you think you’ve won anything, check this shit out!” The demonic Christmas enthusiast picked up his guitar and flipped it around to reveal it had the same magical runes as Daniel’s microphone. Roger’s eyes bulged out of their sockets in horror as Bone Warrior revealed the same thing with his bass guitar and Tiger Man did so with his drum sticks.
“No…No…NO!” shouted Roger as he clutched his head in while rocking up and down.
“in the same way that Daniel’s microphone carries the lost souls of Pig Man, Vulture Man, and G-Pac,” explained Arthur, “These newly christened members of Demon Axe had their instruments imbued as well. The game is up, Roger. It’s over!”
After whining angrily through gritted teeth, Roger pulled his machete out of the ground and roared, “Nothing is over until I say it’s over! My reign as king will last forever and you sons of bitches are fucking dead! Do you hear me?! DEAD!” The zealot charged down the hill twirling his blade ready for yet another terrorist massacre.
Without regard for his battered ribs, Daniel screamed into the microphone, “One, two, three, four!” Just when Roger had entered the mosh pit and he was ready to bring his blade down on his first victim, he was sent flying backwards by the sound waves of “Fucking Hostile” by Pantera.
For the first time in a long time, everyone appeared to be having a good time. They didn’t have to worry about death and politics like a constant case of anxiety. They didn’t have to listen to their traumatic voices tell them what to do. They didn’t even have to pay their overdue bills until it was all over. It was just a mosh pit full of angry motherfuckers shoving each other and getting down to the classic Pantera sound as presented by Demon Axe. Even Raven, Shawn, and Arthur got in on the aggressive fun, bouncing off everybody in sight and getting tossed around like sacks of potatoes themselves.
The sound waves continued to assault Roger’s mind while his traumatic ghosts haunted him with the loudest voices. Every innocent he has ever killed, every living being who despised him in the present, they all gave this scumbag terrorist the brain fuck of the century. Roger clutched his ears and pounded his head against the ground until he couldn’t take it anymore. By the time “Fucking Hostile” came to a close, his head exploded like a hand grenade and got pieces of brain and skull all over the audience. This wasn’t traumatic violence. This was putting the death in death metal.
The audience roared like lions in a cage and chanted Demon Axe’s name, giving the performers onstage a reason to bow. Daniel, on the other hand, bowed for a much different reason. Even with the flak vest stabilizing his ribs, he clutched his chest and fell to the ground unconscious. His newfound band mates rushed to his aide while Raven fought her way through the crowd to try to do the same. “Daniel, no! Don’t die on me!” she shouted.
No matter how loud the screams were or how energetic the noise was, Daniel wouldn’t wake up from his final nightmare. He was carried offstage like a baby in Snowball’s arms while Tiger Man and Bone Warrior hung their heads following him. Raven tried to climb the stage, but the crowd swept her away and all she could do was allow tears to rain down her face like a thunderstorm of emotions. Was this the end of the elven kingdom? Had Roger Zee taken an entire world to the grave with him? Was it all too late? Worse, was it all for nothing?
Shawn and Raven on the other hand looked down at the multi-car scene with a mixture of confusion and relief. Was this some kind of cavalry or were these people going to be more innocent victims of Roger’s mad slashing? Arthur didn’t seem too worried about it judging from the grin on his elderly face and the words, “I told you my new friends would come,” to his nemesis.
And sure enough they did. Cops got out of their cruisers, pro-wrestlers wearing their gear got out of their gas-guzzling vehicles, and heavy metal fans with Demon Axe T-shirts joined their newfound brethren in the open space between the semi and the other cars. Once they all assembled with their arms folded and their game faces on, the police captain tested his bullhorn like a roadie would a microphone: “Check, one, two, check.”
Roger’s look of disdain turned into a mocking grin. He even pulled his machete out of the ground to drive home his next talking point. “Is this what you call a cavalry, Arthur? I don’t see toughness from any one of these bastards! I see a bunch of walking corpses ready to get their heads chopped off!” Pointing his blade at the crowd below, he barked, “Don’t even bother drawing your pop guns, because you’ll be dead before you have the chance to use them!”
“We’re not here to arrest you, Roger Zee, no matter how much you deserve it,” said the captain through his bullhorn. “We’re not even here to pick a fight, again, no matter how much you deserve it. We’re all here for one reason: to see a goddamn heavy metal show. We bought our tickets and we’re ready to rock and fucking roll. You see these people, Roger? These are all of the people you’ve pissed off by killing off their friends and family for political bullshit. Did you think these rasslers were going to forget that you murdered Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez? Did you think these men and women in uniform were going to forget that you turned a respectable police department into a slaughterhouse? Did you think these metal heads in Demon Axe shirts were going to forget what you’ve put the Lord of the Pit through? Hell no! And yet, all we want to do is listen to some goddamn rock and roll! You know, the kind of music that gets us through our day with our sanity intact.”
The captain turned his head and nodded at the driver of the semi, who flipped a switch inside the cab and raised the side compartment like a garage door. Roger’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he saw what the truck was delivering: an entire stage of musical equipment. A bass and electric guitar stood at opposite sides of the stage while a drum kit was nestled in the back. A microphone stand took center stage sans an actual microphone.
Slowly emerging from behind the curtain were three black robed monks with their faces hidden by their massive hoods and their ancient chants haunting the elven landscape. The monks took their positions at the bass guitar, electric guitar, and drums respectively. They stood there languidly for a moment while Roger Zee swung his machete around in the air like he was ready for combat. “More victims? Sure, why not! Thanks for saving me the trouble of having to find you assholes!”
The three monks growled like animals at Roger’s insult before removing their hoods to reveal their masked faces. Just like any member of Daniel Mercer’s band, their masks sent chills up the spines of anyone who dared mess with them. One by one they revealed themselves to their audience, machete-wielding and otherwise.
The tiger-masked drummer said in an Arabian accent, “I am Tiger Man. I was once part of a metal band called I Am Death before you took our guitarist away from us, Roger. He was a brother to us. He represented everything that was right with both our religion and our music. You stole him from us, you sadistic piece of shit!”
The skull-masked bass player, also using an Arabian accent, pointed his elongated finger at Roger and said, “I am Bone Warrior. I too was a member of I Am Death. Everything Tiger Man just said is Allah’s honest truth, right down to the moment where he called you a sadistic piece of shit. I have a whole list of disgusting insults I’d like to use right now to describe you, Roger, but instead I’d rather play the bass and get this show on the road.”
And then there was the zombie-masked guitarist with demon horns and a Santa hat who said, “I am Snowball. I am the last surviving member of the LGBT metal band Juice. Roger, there’s nothing I’d love more than to wrap these guitar strings around your neck and take every last ounce of oxygen from that pathetic body of yours. But that’s not what guitar strings are for. They’re for playing badass music with badass people. Daniel, get your butt down here so that we can get this show started!”
Roger mockingly chuckled at Snowball and said, “I’m sorry, did you say you wanted Daniel to get his butt down there? I’m afraid he can’t do that right now. Let’s just say I did to him what you LGBT motherfuckers do to men’s asses on a daily basis. Besides, he can’t sing to you right now because his ribs look like a fucking jigsaw puzzle. Look at him! He’s easily-triggered! He’s pathetic! He’s a snowflake, Snowball!”
Slowly stirring from his traumatized state, Daniel pulled his shorts up, spit out blood on the side of the mountain, and clutched his broken ribs while making it to his feet. He stared fire and poison through Roger’s goofy gaze before snatching his rightfully owned microphone out of the zealot’s hands. Daniel leaned his face close to Roger’s and said, “I’m not your victim anymore!”
With mind-blowing pain in every step, the Lord of the Pit dragged his feet down the side of the Holy Mountains with Shawn, Raven, and Arthur stabilizing him along the way. Raven whispered in her boyfriend’s ear, “You can do this, Daniel. You’re not a victim anymore. You’re our next king.”
Feigning concern with more goofy facial expressions, Roger said, “Oh, look at you, Daniel. Are you having a little bit of trouble getting down the mountain? Here, let me give you a boost!” The elf zealot planted the toe of his steel boot into Daniel’s butt cheek and sent him rolling down to the bottom of the mountain in a crumpled heap.
“You fucking bastard!” Shawn bellowed. “I ought to blow your face off right fucking now!” The detective raised his shotgun with his trigger finger itching for some blood.
Raven lowered the barrel while screaming, “No, don’t! You’ve seen what Roger can do with that blade! This is not the way we’re ending this!”
“He killed my wife and daughter! He deserves to have his head blown the fuck right off!” shouted Shawn.
“Listen to reason, Detective Henry,” said the police captain through his bullhorn. “You’re one of the best cops we have on the force. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked for. Come on down here and mosh with us. It’s a rock concert, damn it!”
Shawn gazed at his police brethren and back at Roger while contemplating the voice of reason’s talking points. As much as he wanted to blow the terrorist’s head off with a well-placed shotgun shell, his wisdom dictated that getting murdered himself wouldn’t do a damn thing for his family. He stood there for a while with fists clenched and his trigger finger pulsating with rage. He finally dropped his shotgun and allowed Raven and Arthur to take him by the hands down the side of the mountain.
“You made the right call, Shawn,” said Roger. “Not that it really matters since I’m going to turn this so-called concert into a battlefield of dead bodies, not unlike the one I left behind back at the elven city.”
The threesome ignored Roger’s immature insults and knelt down to help Daniel to his feet. The Lord of the Pit groaned and whined as he struggled with his equilibrium. His ribs felt like he just ate a Halloween apple full of razorblades and spikes, yet he brushed his friends away and said, “It’s okay, guys. I got this. Trust me.”
Shawn, Raven, and Arthur joined the mosh pit congregation while trusting Daniel to gingerly make his way to one of SWAT team members. He spit out more blood and said, “Give me a goddamn flak vest. Now!”
“A flak vest? You really think that’s going to help you get through an entire set? I’d say you’re delusional, but you probably already know that from being an easily-triggered snowflake,” laughed Roger.
Daniel no-sold the insult as he strapped the flak vest around his ribs and limped his way to the makeshift stage. Snowball and Bone Warrior reached down and gently pulled Daniel up to his microphone stand, where he placed the axe-decorated piece of equipment into its rightful slot. Roger clapped like a little child and mockingly cheered Daniel as he made it to the stage.
“Keep clapping, buddy!” said Snowball. “But before you think you’ve won anything, check this shit out!” The demonic Christmas enthusiast picked up his guitar and flipped it around to reveal it had the same magical runes as Daniel’s microphone. Roger’s eyes bulged out of their sockets in horror as Bone Warrior revealed the same thing with his bass guitar and Tiger Man did so with his drum sticks.
“No…No…NO!” shouted Roger as he clutched his head in while rocking up and down.
“in the same way that Daniel’s microphone carries the lost souls of Pig Man, Vulture Man, and G-Pac,” explained Arthur, “These newly christened members of Demon Axe had their instruments imbued as well. The game is up, Roger. It’s over!”
After whining angrily through gritted teeth, Roger pulled his machete out of the ground and roared, “Nothing is over until I say it’s over! My reign as king will last forever and you sons of bitches are fucking dead! Do you hear me?! DEAD!” The zealot charged down the hill twirling his blade ready for yet another terrorist massacre.
Without regard for his battered ribs, Daniel screamed into the microphone, “One, two, three, four!” Just when Roger had entered the mosh pit and he was ready to bring his blade down on his first victim, he was sent flying backwards by the sound waves of “Fucking Hostile” by Pantera.
For the first time in a long time, everyone appeared to be having a good time. They didn’t have to worry about death and politics like a constant case of anxiety. They didn’t have to listen to their traumatic voices tell them what to do. They didn’t even have to pay their overdue bills until it was all over. It was just a mosh pit full of angry motherfuckers shoving each other and getting down to the classic Pantera sound as presented by Demon Axe. Even Raven, Shawn, and Arthur got in on the aggressive fun, bouncing off everybody in sight and getting tossed around like sacks of potatoes themselves.
The sound waves continued to assault Roger’s mind while his traumatic ghosts haunted him with the loudest voices. Every innocent he has ever killed, every living being who despised him in the present, they all gave this scumbag terrorist the brain fuck of the century. Roger clutched his ears and pounded his head against the ground until he couldn’t take it anymore. By the time “Fucking Hostile” came to a close, his head exploded like a hand grenade and got pieces of brain and skull all over the audience. This wasn’t traumatic violence. This was putting the death in death metal.
The audience roared like lions in a cage and chanted Demon Axe’s name, giving the performers onstage a reason to bow. Daniel, on the other hand, bowed for a much different reason. Even with the flak vest stabilizing his ribs, he clutched his chest and fell to the ground unconscious. His newfound band mates rushed to his aide while Raven fought her way through the crowd to try to do the same. “Daniel, no! Don’t die on me!” she shouted.
No matter how loud the screams were or how energetic the noise was, Daniel wouldn’t wake up from his final nightmare. He was carried offstage like a baby in Snowball’s arms while Tiger Man and Bone Warrior hung their heads following him. Raven tried to climb the stage, but the crowd swept her away and all she could do was allow tears to rain down her face like a thunderstorm of emotions. Was this the end of the elven kingdom? Had Roger Zee taken an entire world to the grave with him? Was it all too late? Worse, was it all for nothing?
May 6, 2017
Believe
Believe in the beauty of rock bottom failure
Believe you can cross rough waters like a sailor
Believe this world is yours for the taking
Believe in the beauty of the art you’re making
Believe your heart is made of pure gold
Believe you can crush the lies you are told
Believe your soul can never be sold
Believe the fire inside can never go cold
Believe in your own battle-tested story
Believe normalcy is so damn boring
Believe conformity is never the answer
Believe indifference is the ultimate cancer
Believe passion is more powerful than a pistol
Believe true love is stronger than a missile
If you know something in your heart to be true
Sitting back and watching isn’t the thing to do
You have a voice; it’s time to make your choice
Make a bold statement or just make some noise
Believe in your power to shake the landscape
Look beyond the train wrecks and bad days
Believe in your power to never give up
Despite the many days that just might suck
Believe the end is only the beginning
Believe this is truly a life worth living
Believe you can cross rough waters like a sailor
Believe this world is yours for the taking
Believe in the beauty of the art you’re making
Believe your heart is made of pure gold
Believe you can crush the lies you are told
Believe your soul can never be sold
Believe the fire inside can never go cold
Believe in your own battle-tested story
Believe normalcy is so damn boring
Believe conformity is never the answer
Believe indifference is the ultimate cancer
Believe passion is more powerful than a pistol
Believe true love is stronger than a missile
If you know something in your heart to be true
Sitting back and watching isn’t the thing to do
You have a voice; it’s time to make your choice
Make a bold statement or just make some noise
Believe in your power to shake the landscape
Look beyond the train wrecks and bad days
Believe in your power to never give up
Despite the many days that just might suck
Believe the end is only the beginning
Believe this is truly a life worth living
April 29, 2017
I Apologize
VERSE 1
Assassins live by a code of silence
Leave no trace of forensic science
Leave behind a trail of violence
Escape the sounds of police sirens
Weapon of choice isn’t a knife or gun
Motive isn’t the thrill of the hunt
Vicarious visions the camera caught
All I did was sit back and watch
CHORUS
I apologize for not being your savior
I apologize for being your traitor
All I had to do was speak my mind
But another innocent got left behind
VERSE 2
You’re all grown up and standing tall
You just can’t wait for your next brawl
Lashing out at everyone in sight
Someone’s going to the hospital tonight
It’s too late to recapture innocence
It’s too late to close the distance
It’s too late to give you your love
You fought like a hawk, slew all the doves
CHORUS
I apologize for not being your savior
I apologize for being your traitor
All I had to do was speak my mind
But another innocent got left behind
VERSE 3
If I could, I’d hug you tightly forever
Tell you it’s okay and never say never
Tell you I’m sorry for shutting my mouth
I’m sorry for taking the easy way out
You won’t forgive me for my deadly sins
You threw my apology in the garbage bin
I can’t blame you for even a short second
Silence is an assassin’s favorite weapon
EXTENDED CHORUS
I apologize for not being your savior
I apologize for being your traitor
All I had to do was speak my mind
But another innocent got left behind
I apologize for leaving you for dead
I apologize for the trauma in your head
I apologize for the monster you’ve become
The pain is now yours to sooth and numb
FINAL LINE
I’m sorry…
Assassins live by a code of silence
Leave no trace of forensic science
Leave behind a trail of violence
Escape the sounds of police sirens
Weapon of choice isn’t a knife or gun
Motive isn’t the thrill of the hunt
Vicarious visions the camera caught
All I did was sit back and watch
CHORUS
I apologize for not being your savior
I apologize for being your traitor
All I had to do was speak my mind
But another innocent got left behind
VERSE 2
You’re all grown up and standing tall
You just can’t wait for your next brawl
Lashing out at everyone in sight
Someone’s going to the hospital tonight
It’s too late to recapture innocence
It’s too late to close the distance
It’s too late to give you your love
You fought like a hawk, slew all the doves
CHORUS
I apologize for not being your savior
I apologize for being your traitor
All I had to do was speak my mind
But another innocent got left behind
VERSE 3
If I could, I’d hug you tightly forever
Tell you it’s okay and never say never
Tell you I’m sorry for shutting my mouth
I’m sorry for taking the easy way out
You won’t forgive me for my deadly sins
You threw my apology in the garbage bin
I can’t blame you for even a short second
Silence is an assassin’s favorite weapon
EXTENDED CHORUS
I apologize for not being your savior
I apologize for being your traitor
All I had to do was speak my mind
But another innocent got left behind
I apologize for leaving you for dead
I apologize for the trauma in your head
I apologize for the monster you’ve become
The pain is now yours to sooth and numb
FINAL LINE
I’m sorry…
April 28, 2017
Seaside Vacation
***SEASIDE VACATION***
From May 3rd to the 5th (Wednesday through Friday), I’m headed out to Seaside, Oregon for a vacation with my parents. I’ve been to this city three different times and it never loses its beauty. Dog friendliness, fun beaches, lovely weather, good food, and lots to do; that’s Seaside in a nutshell. During these three days of rest and relaxation, there will be no creative output from me other than reading my book and maybe some photography (which I won’t upload until after I get home). However, since the WSS contests begin every Wednesday with a new prompt, I’ll only be gone until Friday, so that means I have Saturday to recover and Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday to pump out the next chapter of Demon Axe. Keep your fingers crossed that I get to do some writing before the next contest. There will be another vacation I’ll tell you guys about two weeks from the Seaside one, so look forward to that blog entry in the near future. I may be gone, but I’ll always come back and chitchat with my awesome audience. I may even do some of that when I’m using the hotel computer or an internet café. See you later, alligators!
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 22***
The novel’s almost over, folks. Just this chapter and an epilogue are all I have left. I don’t want to give away too much of chapter 22 because I ended chapter 21 on a cliffhanger. Roger Zee sees something out in the distance that keeps him from slashing the hell out of our main heroes. If you’ve figured out what this is, then congratulations to you. If you haven’t, enjoy the surprise. Hopefully it won’t translate to a Deus Ex Machina surprise.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
If John Cena and Nikki Bella ever decide to have a child together and it’s a daughter, they probably shouldn’t name her Tina. Nothing says “Gooker Award Winner” like a grown woman named Tina Cena.
From May 3rd to the 5th (Wednesday through Friday), I’m headed out to Seaside, Oregon for a vacation with my parents. I’ve been to this city three different times and it never loses its beauty. Dog friendliness, fun beaches, lovely weather, good food, and lots to do; that’s Seaside in a nutshell. During these three days of rest and relaxation, there will be no creative output from me other than reading my book and maybe some photography (which I won’t upload until after I get home). However, since the WSS contests begin every Wednesday with a new prompt, I’ll only be gone until Friday, so that means I have Saturday to recover and Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday to pump out the next chapter of Demon Axe. Keep your fingers crossed that I get to do some writing before the next contest. There will be another vacation I’ll tell you guys about two weeks from the Seaside one, so look forward to that blog entry in the near future. I may be gone, but I’ll always come back and chitchat with my awesome audience. I may even do some of that when I’m using the hotel computer or an internet café. See you later, alligators!
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 22***
The novel’s almost over, folks. Just this chapter and an epilogue are all I have left. I don’t want to give away too much of chapter 22 because I ended chapter 21 on a cliffhanger. Roger Zee sees something out in the distance that keeps him from slashing the hell out of our main heroes. If you’ve figured out what this is, then congratulations to you. If you haven’t, enjoy the surprise. Hopefully it won’t translate to a Deus Ex Machina surprise.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
If John Cena and Nikki Bella ever decide to have a child together and it’s a daughter, they probably shouldn’t name her Tina. Nothing says “Gooker Award Winner” like a grown woman named Tina Cena.
April 27, 2017
Demon Axe, Chapter 21
Arthur Triscloud stared at Raven and Shawn with intense neon fury, his sword gripped tightly by his side, his other hand stretched out like a monster’s claw. His daughter and her cop friend held their ground with their own weapons in hand, though they secretly hoped they wouldn’t need them in this unnecessary battle of family bloodlines. The elf princess and the cop nodded at each other and made a mad scramble towards the once noble king.
Arthur held them back with quick and technical swings of his sword, but Raven swung back even harder in an attempt to knock the weapon out of her father’s hands. Shawn tried circling around his opponent, but he was met with wild slashes as well, which he barely dodged. The only thing Mr. Triscloud managed to hit was a piece of Shawn’s black T-shirt. A conservative amount of blood trickled down, but the hardnosed detective brushed it off all the same.
Raven tried to enter her father’s range with more aggressive swings of her blade, but her weapon was chopped in two by the king’s mighty sword. The zombie-like warrior held his blade against his daughter’s throat with her hands high in the air. Shawn ran in from behind and bear hugged Arthur around the middle of his arms.
“Get the crown! Get it off his head!” shouted Shawn, who was being tossed from side to side by Arthur’s thrashing. Raven rushed up to her father with her chopped up blade in hand in an attempt to pry the thorns loose. After one lethal spin from the monstrous king, both of his assailants were chucked through the air and down the steep hill. The two of them lost their weapons along the violent roll down, which left them with bumps and cuts everywhere. They didn’t stop rolling until they were halfway down the hill, where the animal skeletons halted their momentum.
The two fighters felt sore enough to barely move after such a rough tumble. Shawn slowly reached for his shotgun, his lack of speed the result of not wanting to aggravate his injuries. He had his fingers on the barrel when Arthur appeared out of nowhere and stomped on Shawn’s hand, creating a cluster-fuck of popping sounds and getting a painful cry out of the detective’s voice.
Arthur picked up the shotgun and aimed it at the fallen cop, still with his foot on Shawn’s hand. A resounding pump-action later and Raven yelled, “Stop! Stop it, Father!” The king looked at her with deadly hatred in his eyes, but she stood firm with a human arm bone in hand. “That look you’re giving me doesn’t mean shit right now! Roger Zee is out there somewhere and you’re just halting progress!”
“Progress? Progress?!” bellowed Arthur in his demonic voice. “Master Roger hates that word. It’s a word associated with fruity values. It’s a word associated with reverse discrimination. It’s a word associated with disdain for traditional beliefs. Come to think of it, I hate that word just as much as he does!”
Raven raised her bone club and threatened in a low voice, “If you hurt my friend, I swear to god, I’m going to…”
“You’re in no position to be making threats, my dear daughter!” shouted Arthur. “I am the king around here and Roger is going to be my successor! If you take another step closer, I’m going to blow this faggot’s head clean right off his shoulders! Your friend knows exactly what kind of danger he’s in. Look at him shivering like a little bitch!”
Shawn had had enough of being talked down to by a guy who was clearly brainwashed by a torture device. He wanted to restore the dignity of the Paulson City Police Department to its former glory. He wanted to be the hero that he couldn’t be to his wife and daughter. With clenched teeth and trembling muscles, Shawn whispered, “Go fuck yourself, you demagogue piece of shit!”
With one jerk of his hand, Shawn pulled King Triscloud off his feet and caused the shotgun to fire a round into the sky. Raven used this opportunity to run up to her fallen father and perform a body splash on his torso. Both Raven and Shawn pinned the corrupted politician to the ground while the former lodged the bone club into the base of the thorns. The more she pried, the louder Arthur’s screams became. Thrash around with newfound strength he might, he still couldn’t get all of that weight off of his chest and legs.
Arthur managed to free one of his legs and kick Shawn in the face hard enough to break his nose. With nobody to hold his legs and the detective grunting in hardcore pain, the king’s leg thrashing gave him more power to toss around Raven while he was on his back. And then the sound of wood snapping echoed across the Holy Mountains. As Arthur laid still and bellowed in agony, Raven jammed the bone club in further and pried even more pieces out of his head until the crown was completely broken.
With a bloody ring around his skull, Arthur’s demonic eyes slowly began losing their glow. Raven stood back with Shawn as her father made the transformation from brainwashed zombie to regal king once more. His eyes dimmed some more and he tossed and turned until he ran out of energy and passed out. His body was as limp as lifeless as any corpse found on the mountainside. For the longest few seconds, he didn’t move a muscle.
With Shawn still holding his broken nose, he and Raven approached the elven king for fear that they might have inadvertently killed him. “Come on, Dad! Breathe! Breath, goddamn it!” roared Raven with tears in her eyes. Her father still didn’t move and even more tears poured down her cheeks while Shawn used his free hand to comfort her shoulder. Another death in Roger’s long and torturous campaign of slaughter.
And just as the sun rose over the mountainside, Arthur’s fingers twitched slightly. His eyes slowly opened. He stretched out as if he had taken a long nap. Raven and Shawn pulled him up in a seated position and then the elven princess hugged her king with all the tightness and tears she could muster.
“Raven, I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you, my dear. I never would have dreamed of doing this to my own flesh and blood,” said Arthur in his warm and loving elderly voice. The father and daughter duo hugged it out for the longest time while Shawn stood up and watched with a smile on his face despite blood pouring down his lips. Arthur then broke the embrace and asked, “Where’s Daniel? Did Roger take him?”
“He pulled Daniel underground once the battle began,” explained Shawn. “Where the hell’s my shotgun; I want to blow this cocksucker’s head off!”
“Did you say you were looking for a cocksucker?” asked Roger, who appeared out of nowhere with a sick grin on his hideous face, his machete in one hand, and Daniel’s microphone in the other. Shawn, Raven, and Arthur gazed at the zealot with horrified eyes as he reached down and pulled Daniel out of the ground by his hair like a vegetable. “Your cocksucker is right here.”
Though still alive and breathing, Daniel was curled up in the fetal position with his shorts and underwear around his ankles and white and red fluids coming out of his mouth and anus. The once intense heavy metal singer was reduced to a thumb-sucking mess who rocked back and forth and held his broken ribs like a mother cradling a child.
While Shawn and Arthur’s eyes grew even bigger and more horrified than before, Raven had a new reason for tears to pour from her eyes like waterfalls. “What have you done to him, you monster!” she shouted at Roger before rushing up to cradle Daniel’s traumatized head in her arms.
“Nothing you wouldn’t have done on your honeymoon, sweetheart,” said Roger in a cold tone. Raven could do nothing but sob for her sodomized boyfriend and rock him back and forth like the baby he felt like being. Even Shawn and Arthur had tears in their own eyes after watching such an evil display of control.
Roger lifted his machete over his shoulders and said nonchalantly, “Well, I had my fun for the day. Should I just kill all four of you now or should I wait until your so-called friends get here, my liege? Heh, some friends they are. What kind of people leave their bestie high and dry like this? Reminds me of someone I know, someone who’s weapon of choice was the almighty Demon Axe. But hey, Daniel, don’t worry about a thing; I’m sure your old band mates forgive you, right? I bet those two blowhard wrestlers forgive you too, considering they come from an industry that just bathes in friendship and love.”
Daniel didn’t respond to these slanderous accusations. He just curled up and allowed Raven to mother him during his moment of psychological numbness and infinite terror. Right or wrong, Roger Zee made more sense to him than anybody telling him it wasn’t his fault. It was always his fault. Anybody who said differently was a bigger liar than any politician on TV.
The sun continued to peak over the horizon, but none of the four heroes felt like fun in the sun. They could do nothing but stand there and watch Roger laugh like a psychotic hyena. They could have just as easily picked a fight with the guy, but what power did they really have? They were just four guys and Roger was the ultimate fighting machine with a penchant for rape and “fun”.
By the time the sun flooded the clouds with intense color, Roger’s laughter mysteriously came to an end as he saw something in the distance. He didn’t know what it was, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it.
Arthur held them back with quick and technical swings of his sword, but Raven swung back even harder in an attempt to knock the weapon out of her father’s hands. Shawn tried circling around his opponent, but he was met with wild slashes as well, which he barely dodged. The only thing Mr. Triscloud managed to hit was a piece of Shawn’s black T-shirt. A conservative amount of blood trickled down, but the hardnosed detective brushed it off all the same.
Raven tried to enter her father’s range with more aggressive swings of her blade, but her weapon was chopped in two by the king’s mighty sword. The zombie-like warrior held his blade against his daughter’s throat with her hands high in the air. Shawn ran in from behind and bear hugged Arthur around the middle of his arms.
“Get the crown! Get it off his head!” shouted Shawn, who was being tossed from side to side by Arthur’s thrashing. Raven rushed up to her father with her chopped up blade in hand in an attempt to pry the thorns loose. After one lethal spin from the monstrous king, both of his assailants were chucked through the air and down the steep hill. The two of them lost their weapons along the violent roll down, which left them with bumps and cuts everywhere. They didn’t stop rolling until they were halfway down the hill, where the animal skeletons halted their momentum.
The two fighters felt sore enough to barely move after such a rough tumble. Shawn slowly reached for his shotgun, his lack of speed the result of not wanting to aggravate his injuries. He had his fingers on the barrel when Arthur appeared out of nowhere and stomped on Shawn’s hand, creating a cluster-fuck of popping sounds and getting a painful cry out of the detective’s voice.
Arthur picked up the shotgun and aimed it at the fallen cop, still with his foot on Shawn’s hand. A resounding pump-action later and Raven yelled, “Stop! Stop it, Father!” The king looked at her with deadly hatred in his eyes, but she stood firm with a human arm bone in hand. “That look you’re giving me doesn’t mean shit right now! Roger Zee is out there somewhere and you’re just halting progress!”
“Progress? Progress?!” bellowed Arthur in his demonic voice. “Master Roger hates that word. It’s a word associated with fruity values. It’s a word associated with reverse discrimination. It’s a word associated with disdain for traditional beliefs. Come to think of it, I hate that word just as much as he does!”
Raven raised her bone club and threatened in a low voice, “If you hurt my friend, I swear to god, I’m going to…”
“You’re in no position to be making threats, my dear daughter!” shouted Arthur. “I am the king around here and Roger is going to be my successor! If you take another step closer, I’m going to blow this faggot’s head clean right off his shoulders! Your friend knows exactly what kind of danger he’s in. Look at him shivering like a little bitch!”
Shawn had had enough of being talked down to by a guy who was clearly brainwashed by a torture device. He wanted to restore the dignity of the Paulson City Police Department to its former glory. He wanted to be the hero that he couldn’t be to his wife and daughter. With clenched teeth and trembling muscles, Shawn whispered, “Go fuck yourself, you demagogue piece of shit!”
With one jerk of his hand, Shawn pulled King Triscloud off his feet and caused the shotgun to fire a round into the sky. Raven used this opportunity to run up to her fallen father and perform a body splash on his torso. Both Raven and Shawn pinned the corrupted politician to the ground while the former lodged the bone club into the base of the thorns. The more she pried, the louder Arthur’s screams became. Thrash around with newfound strength he might, he still couldn’t get all of that weight off of his chest and legs.
Arthur managed to free one of his legs and kick Shawn in the face hard enough to break his nose. With nobody to hold his legs and the detective grunting in hardcore pain, the king’s leg thrashing gave him more power to toss around Raven while he was on his back. And then the sound of wood snapping echoed across the Holy Mountains. As Arthur laid still and bellowed in agony, Raven jammed the bone club in further and pried even more pieces out of his head until the crown was completely broken.
With a bloody ring around his skull, Arthur’s demonic eyes slowly began losing their glow. Raven stood back with Shawn as her father made the transformation from brainwashed zombie to regal king once more. His eyes dimmed some more and he tossed and turned until he ran out of energy and passed out. His body was as limp as lifeless as any corpse found on the mountainside. For the longest few seconds, he didn’t move a muscle.
With Shawn still holding his broken nose, he and Raven approached the elven king for fear that they might have inadvertently killed him. “Come on, Dad! Breathe! Breath, goddamn it!” roared Raven with tears in her eyes. Her father still didn’t move and even more tears poured down her cheeks while Shawn used his free hand to comfort her shoulder. Another death in Roger’s long and torturous campaign of slaughter.
And just as the sun rose over the mountainside, Arthur’s fingers twitched slightly. His eyes slowly opened. He stretched out as if he had taken a long nap. Raven and Shawn pulled him up in a seated position and then the elven princess hugged her king with all the tightness and tears she could muster.
“Raven, I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you, my dear. I never would have dreamed of doing this to my own flesh and blood,” said Arthur in his warm and loving elderly voice. The father and daughter duo hugged it out for the longest time while Shawn stood up and watched with a smile on his face despite blood pouring down his lips. Arthur then broke the embrace and asked, “Where’s Daniel? Did Roger take him?”
“He pulled Daniel underground once the battle began,” explained Shawn. “Where the hell’s my shotgun; I want to blow this cocksucker’s head off!”
“Did you say you were looking for a cocksucker?” asked Roger, who appeared out of nowhere with a sick grin on his hideous face, his machete in one hand, and Daniel’s microphone in the other. Shawn, Raven, and Arthur gazed at the zealot with horrified eyes as he reached down and pulled Daniel out of the ground by his hair like a vegetable. “Your cocksucker is right here.”
Though still alive and breathing, Daniel was curled up in the fetal position with his shorts and underwear around his ankles and white and red fluids coming out of his mouth and anus. The once intense heavy metal singer was reduced to a thumb-sucking mess who rocked back and forth and held his broken ribs like a mother cradling a child.
While Shawn and Arthur’s eyes grew even bigger and more horrified than before, Raven had a new reason for tears to pour from her eyes like waterfalls. “What have you done to him, you monster!” she shouted at Roger before rushing up to cradle Daniel’s traumatized head in her arms.
“Nothing you wouldn’t have done on your honeymoon, sweetheart,” said Roger in a cold tone. Raven could do nothing but sob for her sodomized boyfriend and rock him back and forth like the baby he felt like being. Even Shawn and Arthur had tears in their own eyes after watching such an evil display of control.
Roger lifted his machete over his shoulders and said nonchalantly, “Well, I had my fun for the day. Should I just kill all four of you now or should I wait until your so-called friends get here, my liege? Heh, some friends they are. What kind of people leave their bestie high and dry like this? Reminds me of someone I know, someone who’s weapon of choice was the almighty Demon Axe. But hey, Daniel, don’t worry about a thing; I’m sure your old band mates forgive you, right? I bet those two blowhard wrestlers forgive you too, considering they come from an industry that just bathes in friendship and love.”
Daniel didn’t respond to these slanderous accusations. He just curled up and allowed Raven to mother him during his moment of psychological numbness and infinite terror. Right or wrong, Roger Zee made more sense to him than anybody telling him it wasn’t his fault. It was always his fault. Anybody who said differently was a bigger liar than any politician on TV.
The sun continued to peak over the horizon, but none of the four heroes felt like fun in the sun. They could do nothing but stand there and watch Roger laugh like a psychotic hyena. They could have just as easily picked a fight with the guy, but what power did they really have? They were just four guys and Roger was the ultimate fighting machine with a penchant for rape and “fun”.
By the time the sun flooded the clouds with intense color, Roger’s laughter mysteriously came to an end as he saw something in the distance. He didn’t know what it was, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it.
April 26, 2017
Mauro Ranallo
***MAURO RANALLO***
In the 35 years The Wrestling Observer Newsletter has been giving out annual awards, WWE been the recipient of Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic a record 19 times. In 2017 amidst the mistreatment of Smackdown announcer Mauro Ranallo, WWE could be shooting for lucky number twenty. Since this is an issue that involves both bullying and mental illness, it’s a story that’s close to my heart as I have experienced both in my younger days. Even people who don’t watch professional wrestling can relate to Mauro’s story in at least one or two ways.
Mauro Ranallo has been the lead announcer for WWE Smackdown since January of 2016. Week after week, he’s done a phenomenal job with his puns, encyclopedic knowledge, undying energy, and overall intelligence. It’s because of these factors that he has won The Wrestling Observer Newsletter’s award for Best Television Announcer for two years in a row (2015 for his work in Japanese wrestling and 2016 for his work in WWE). If he wanted to, he could rack up a huge winning streak for that award until the end of time itself.
Unfortunately, Mr. Ranallo is also bipolar. It’s a condition he’s had since he was 19 years old. The trigger that set him off was the death of his best friend in 1989 due to a heart attack. Mauro has never attempted suicide before, but he’s had suicidal thoughts. Ever since managing to cope with his disorder, he’s been an outspoken supporter of the mentally ill community and wishes to end the negative stigma surrounding it. As someone with autism and schizophrenia, I look up to this guy every time he speaks on the subject of mental illness. The fact that he can work as hard as he does while still holding bipolarity at bay speaks volumes.
With this much talent and humanity under his belt, you would think that WWE would want to protect this guy as much as possible. But instead, fellow Smackdown announcer John “Bradshaw” Layfield uses the show Bring It to the Table to belittle Ranallo for celebrating his winning of the Best Television Announcer award on Twitter. It should also be known that John Layfield won the Worst Television Announcer award in 2014 and 2015, and with good reason. Layfield has also reportedly picked on Ranallo backstage multiple times and triggered his bipolar disorder to where he wants to quit WWE.
The hashtag #FireJBL has been circulating around the internet ever since this story made it into mainstream media coverage. While firing him would be an easy solution, JBL is just a small part of a much bigger problem within WWE’s corporate culture. Pro-wrestling is a business where the guys on top try to test the toughness of the guys down below on a frequent basis and bullying is the way they do it.
JBL has been accused of grabbing people’s asses, stealing passports, throwing luggage of other wrestlers out on the curb, screaming at them until they cried, stuff like that. His behavior is encouraged by people like Vince McMahon (CEO), Triple H (Vince’s son-in-law), and Stephanie McMahon (Vince’s daughter). Even if the older guard dies of natural causes, there will still be other people in the company who condone this kind of behavior on a daily basis as a way of “weeding out the weak”.
But seriously, what purpose does all of this harassing behavior have other than satisfying sadistic urges? If you really wanted to test the toughness of someone in WWE, pay attention to their body of work. Can they take bumps effectively? Can they endure the grind of world travel? Can they train hard enough to perfect their crafts? I believe WWE wrestlers are self-motivated enough to do these things that they don’t have to be bullied in order to prove it. In my opinion, the upper management bullying has nothing to do with testing toughness and has everything to do with being a dick. Tough or weak, nobody wants to be treated like that. Nobody at all.
Another example of backstage misconduct comes from Bill DeMott, an NXT trainer who back in 2015 resigned from the company when he was being accused of bullying his trainees. He would make them perform dangerous drills, he would make bigoted slurs at them, he’d sexually harass them, and there are even stories of him pulling a gun on his students. Again, this awful human being resigned from WWE; he wasn’t fired. Maybe if there’s enough pressure put on the company, JBL will leave on his own too. It’s farfetched, but there’s no sense in feeling hopeless just yet.
My only wish is that Mauro Ranallo can find peace in his life outside of WWE. Bipolar disorder is no joke and it’s even worse when the person is being bullied or harassed in the way he has. Mental illness dilutes your defenses when it comes to taking in trauma or other negative events. It’s not a matter of not being tough. It’s just the way mental illness works.
Mauro, if you’re reading this somewhere out there, I wish you a speedy recovery from your recent bout of depression. I’m sad to see you leave the WWE, but I’m also happy that you can get away from that troglodyte JBL and everybody who condones his evil behavior. You’re easily my pick for Best Television Announcer in 2017 and every year beyond that.
And as for you, JBL, enjoy your Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award when you eventually get it. Let’s see you mock that on Bring It to the Table.
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 21***
Speaking of bullies and douche-bags, I bet you all have been waiting patiently for something god-awful to happen to Roger Zee. You’d be right for wanting that. Ever since the beginning of Demon Axe, he slew countless people, tortured his worst enemies, brainwashed the weak-minded, and did it all in the name of anachronistic values. I appreciate your patience throughout this reading adventure, but you’ll have to keep waiting. Chapter 21 will be dedicated to Raven and Shawn doing battle with King Triscloud, though ever so reluctantly since he has a mind-controlling crown of thorns wrapped around his head. Instead of trying to kill him, they’re going to try to hold him down and pry the crown free. Good luck, you two!
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“What kind of a name for a gun nut is Wayne La Pierre? Doesn’t that sound kind of fruity to you? “Hi, I’m Wayne and I’m a gun person. Bang, bang!” You know what this asshole’s name ought to be? Biff Webster. Spud Crowley. A man’s name: Chuck Steak.”
-George Carlin-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Laughter is the best medicine and the same is true for recovering from mental illness triggers. Remember that, folks.
In the 35 years The Wrestling Observer Newsletter has been giving out annual awards, WWE been the recipient of Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic a record 19 times. In 2017 amidst the mistreatment of Smackdown announcer Mauro Ranallo, WWE could be shooting for lucky number twenty. Since this is an issue that involves both bullying and mental illness, it’s a story that’s close to my heart as I have experienced both in my younger days. Even people who don’t watch professional wrestling can relate to Mauro’s story in at least one or two ways.
Mauro Ranallo has been the lead announcer for WWE Smackdown since January of 2016. Week after week, he’s done a phenomenal job with his puns, encyclopedic knowledge, undying energy, and overall intelligence. It’s because of these factors that he has won The Wrestling Observer Newsletter’s award for Best Television Announcer for two years in a row (2015 for his work in Japanese wrestling and 2016 for his work in WWE). If he wanted to, he could rack up a huge winning streak for that award until the end of time itself.
Unfortunately, Mr. Ranallo is also bipolar. It’s a condition he’s had since he was 19 years old. The trigger that set him off was the death of his best friend in 1989 due to a heart attack. Mauro has never attempted suicide before, but he’s had suicidal thoughts. Ever since managing to cope with his disorder, he’s been an outspoken supporter of the mentally ill community and wishes to end the negative stigma surrounding it. As someone with autism and schizophrenia, I look up to this guy every time he speaks on the subject of mental illness. The fact that he can work as hard as he does while still holding bipolarity at bay speaks volumes.
With this much talent and humanity under his belt, you would think that WWE would want to protect this guy as much as possible. But instead, fellow Smackdown announcer John “Bradshaw” Layfield uses the show Bring It to the Table to belittle Ranallo for celebrating his winning of the Best Television Announcer award on Twitter. It should also be known that John Layfield won the Worst Television Announcer award in 2014 and 2015, and with good reason. Layfield has also reportedly picked on Ranallo backstage multiple times and triggered his bipolar disorder to where he wants to quit WWE.
The hashtag #FireJBL has been circulating around the internet ever since this story made it into mainstream media coverage. While firing him would be an easy solution, JBL is just a small part of a much bigger problem within WWE’s corporate culture. Pro-wrestling is a business where the guys on top try to test the toughness of the guys down below on a frequent basis and bullying is the way they do it.
JBL has been accused of grabbing people’s asses, stealing passports, throwing luggage of other wrestlers out on the curb, screaming at them until they cried, stuff like that. His behavior is encouraged by people like Vince McMahon (CEO), Triple H (Vince’s son-in-law), and Stephanie McMahon (Vince’s daughter). Even if the older guard dies of natural causes, there will still be other people in the company who condone this kind of behavior on a daily basis as a way of “weeding out the weak”.
But seriously, what purpose does all of this harassing behavior have other than satisfying sadistic urges? If you really wanted to test the toughness of someone in WWE, pay attention to their body of work. Can they take bumps effectively? Can they endure the grind of world travel? Can they train hard enough to perfect their crafts? I believe WWE wrestlers are self-motivated enough to do these things that they don’t have to be bullied in order to prove it. In my opinion, the upper management bullying has nothing to do with testing toughness and has everything to do with being a dick. Tough or weak, nobody wants to be treated like that. Nobody at all.
Another example of backstage misconduct comes from Bill DeMott, an NXT trainer who back in 2015 resigned from the company when he was being accused of bullying his trainees. He would make them perform dangerous drills, he would make bigoted slurs at them, he’d sexually harass them, and there are even stories of him pulling a gun on his students. Again, this awful human being resigned from WWE; he wasn’t fired. Maybe if there’s enough pressure put on the company, JBL will leave on his own too. It’s farfetched, but there’s no sense in feeling hopeless just yet.
My only wish is that Mauro Ranallo can find peace in his life outside of WWE. Bipolar disorder is no joke and it’s even worse when the person is being bullied or harassed in the way he has. Mental illness dilutes your defenses when it comes to taking in trauma or other negative events. It’s not a matter of not being tough. It’s just the way mental illness works.
Mauro, if you’re reading this somewhere out there, I wish you a speedy recovery from your recent bout of depression. I’m sad to see you leave the WWE, but I’m also happy that you can get away from that troglodyte JBL and everybody who condones his evil behavior. You’re easily my pick for Best Television Announcer in 2017 and every year beyond that.
And as for you, JBL, enjoy your Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award when you eventually get it. Let’s see you mock that on Bring It to the Table.
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 21***
Speaking of bullies and douche-bags, I bet you all have been waiting patiently for something god-awful to happen to Roger Zee. You’d be right for wanting that. Ever since the beginning of Demon Axe, he slew countless people, tortured his worst enemies, brainwashed the weak-minded, and did it all in the name of anachronistic values. I appreciate your patience throughout this reading adventure, but you’ll have to keep waiting. Chapter 21 will be dedicated to Raven and Shawn doing battle with King Triscloud, though ever so reluctantly since he has a mind-controlling crown of thorns wrapped around his head. Instead of trying to kill him, they’re going to try to hold him down and pry the crown free. Good luck, you two!
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“What kind of a name for a gun nut is Wayne La Pierre? Doesn’t that sound kind of fruity to you? “Hi, I’m Wayne and I’m a gun person. Bang, bang!” You know what this asshole’s name ought to be? Biff Webster. Spud Crowley. A man’s name: Chuck Steak.”
-George Carlin-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Laughter is the best medicine and the same is true for recovering from mental illness triggers. Remember that, folks.
April 23, 2017
Demon Axe, Chapter 20
“The Holy Mountains? Are you fucking serious? That’s what Roger Zee calls these big ass piles of dirt and stone? Holy shit!” said Daniel Mercer with a scowl on his face and his arms folded while never letting go of his trustworthy microphone. Shawn Henry had his shotgun locked and loaded while Raven Triscloud had her blade within firm grasp. These were three badasses who were ready to do battle. Even though they had reached their final destination, they wondered what was taking so long for the battle to begin.
Raven explained, “The Holy Mountains as Roger called them were secret places where The Order of the Spider would torture prisoners. I guess he’s feeling nostalgic by bringing my father back here…if he is here at all. The Holy Mountains would be my first guess.”
“It’s almost as if he wants us to find him,” suggested Shawn. “Arrogant little punk. We’ll see how full of himself he is when I put one between his fucking eyes.”
“Just tread carefully, both of you,” warned Raven. “There’s a reason he chose this pile of rocks and dirt as Daniel so eloquently put it. We could we walking right into a trap for all we know. Then again, fighting Roger is a trap in and of itself. Trust me, I know.”
“I’ll take my chances with the Holy-Pile-of-Dog-Shit,” said Daniel. “Let’s get moving.”
The three renegades trekked slowly and carefully up the hillside, the steep angle putting a dull strain on their leg muscles. No traps so far, just piles of bones scattered across the hill whether they belonged to a human, elf, or animal. The stench of this place wasn’t any more pleasant. If a meat truck had crashed into a sewage treatment plant, that’s what the Holy Mountains would have smelled like with all of the dead carcasses lying around. All three warriors kept their noses in their shirts until they reached the top of the hill.
“That’s him! That’s my father!” exclaimed Raven. The three adventurers rushed over to his fallen body and checked to see if the old man was still alive. They all saw the same thing: a crown of thorns around his head and a neon glow in his eyeballs. They slowly edged away from Arthur Triscloud’s body, fearing the absolute worst scenario they could.
The old man rose to his feet like a zombie thirsting for a second life. His smile was contorted, his beard was covered in dirt and worms, his flesh was vein-covered and rotting. He spoke to his opponents in a low growl reminiscent of a demonic tiger. “Master Roger wants death…and I shall give him death!” The brainwashed Arthur unleashed a creepy laugh that only an insane asylum full of psychopaths could utter.
Raven didn’t even try to reason with her father; it would have been useless. Instead, she and Detective Henry stood their ground with battle born looks on their faces and their weapons ready. She said, “Daniel, you know exactly what to do to someone with a crown of thorns.”
“I’m on it, sugar tits,” said Daniel, who cleared his throat of all the snot and bile that the dusty air brought up within him. His mouth was centimeters away from the mouthpiece of the microphone. He was primed and ready to shout every heavy metal lyric he could muster into this deadly piece of musical equipment.
And then while everyone was too focused on Arthur Triscloud’s zombie form, two powerful hands grabbed Daniel around the ankles and dragged him roughly beneath the ground, causing him to drop his microphone in the process. While Raven was shouting for her boyfriend and reaching out her hand, Daniel’s body scraped across the jagged bones and rocks of the underground cavern.
Once he hit the ground, Daniel groaned and wrapped his arms around himself in agonizing pain. He was shrouded in darkness, but only until a familiar being lit a torch on the wall with the most hellish fire. With his retinas burning beneath the flames, the Lord of the Pit could barely make out the features of Roger Zee, same ugly face, same blood soaked uniform, same horrifying machete.
Daniel ignored the wicked smile Roger gave him and instead tried to reach over to retrieve his fallen microphone, to which the elf zealot stepped on his wrist and ground his boot into the fragile bone. Daniel shrieked in pain as he tried to rip his hand away from the heartless soldier.
Roger took his boot off voluntarily and grabbed Daniel by his shirt to hoist him off the ground. The zealot then slammed the heavy metal singer back first against the rocky wall multiple times before holding him in place by his jaw, which emitted quick and painful breaths.
“I bet you’re wondering why we called ourselves the Order of the Spider. Trap door references aside, it’s because we evoke fear in the hearts of everyone who crosses us. I can smell it coming off you for miles, my friend. It smells like a bucket of greasy fried chicken!” Roger emphasized that last word with another slam against the wall. “I bet you taste just like fried chicken too. You have every right in the world to be scared of me, Daniel. I’m going to have some fun with you, buddy. I could just as easily kill your ass right now with my lovely blade. But where’s the excitement in that? Huh?!”
“You know why you’re not killing me right now?” said Daniel through fast and raspy breaths. “Because you’re a fucking coward! Terrorists like you always are! You think you’re hot shit because you killed a crowd full of people, but you’re not different from the high school senior who took my lunch money on a regular basis! You’re a coward, Roger! A chicken shit coward!”
Roger slammed Daniel against the wall yet again and earned another painful cry from the Lord of the Pit. The elf leaned in closer and said, “Right, I’m the coward here. I’m the one shaking in my boots ready to piss myself at a moment’s notice. You sure do have your facts straight, don’t you, buddy.” Daniel hocked up a bloody wad of spit and launched it into Roger’s face, to which the elf smiled even more evilly and slammed Daniel against the wall multiple times. Every pound against the singer’s back was met with a tearful cry of brutal pain. He might have even heard a few pops here and there.
Roger continued to grin at his victim when he asked, “Do you like videogames, Daniel? Believe it or not, I liked them too when I was young. They give me some nice creative fuel. Society likes to blame youth violence on videogames and they’re only halfway right. The other half of it…it comes from within. Let’s see if you remember which videogame this comes from. Tiger Knee!”
The elf terrorist buried his rock-hard knee into Daniel’s ribs, cracking them like glass and forcing the singer to scream through coughed up blood. “Tiger Uppercut!” yelled Roger as he buried his clenched fist right into the other side of Daniel’s ribs, shattering them like china plates and getting even more blood to waterfall from the singer’s mouth.
The singer dropped to the ground and crawled like a snail across gravel toward his microphone, to which Roger just folded his arms and smiled some more. He even said, “What are you waiting for, Mr. Mercer? Isn’t that microphone supposed to be the answer to all of your problems? Didn’t King Triscloud give that to you specifically for slaying me?”
Daniel finally made it to the microphone, but not without scraping his chest across the bone-covered ground and developing rashes along the way. He grabbed a hold of the wall and gingerly pulled himself up, every ounce of effort sending a cataclysm of agony through his chest. Even standing upright felt like he swallowed the spiked ball on a morning star.
Roger mockingly held his ear up close to the singer and waved his fingers back and forth like a conductor. “Go ahead, Daniel. Serenade me with your sweet sound. I’m dying to hear that beautiful voices of yours.”
Daniel brought the mouthpiece to his lips and breathed heavily before trying to let out a death metal scream. One decibel of sound and the singer was on the ground clutching his broken ribs and screaming like hell (though the screaming actually made his pain worse). That was the elf and human kingdoms’ last hope in a crumbled heap on the ground looking as pathetic as a dead body.
Roger chuckled at his fallen foe and said, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that your pipes don’t work anymore. It’s kind of hard to have a career in heavy metal music when your ribs are all busted up like that. But don’t worry, Daniel. You still have other parts of your body that are functioning perfectly well. The question now becomes, which one functions better: your pretty little mouth or your sweet little anus?” The question was punctuated with the sound of Roger’s pants zipper coming undone. “Like I told you, I intend to have some fun with you, buddy. I’m going to have the best kind of fun there is. It’s the oldest profession in history and it’s going to be your new career. Open wide!”
“NO!!” shouted Daniel in a prolonged cry that further grinded his ribs like coffee beans.
Raven explained, “The Holy Mountains as Roger called them were secret places where The Order of the Spider would torture prisoners. I guess he’s feeling nostalgic by bringing my father back here…if he is here at all. The Holy Mountains would be my first guess.”
“It’s almost as if he wants us to find him,” suggested Shawn. “Arrogant little punk. We’ll see how full of himself he is when I put one between his fucking eyes.”
“Just tread carefully, both of you,” warned Raven. “There’s a reason he chose this pile of rocks and dirt as Daniel so eloquently put it. We could we walking right into a trap for all we know. Then again, fighting Roger is a trap in and of itself. Trust me, I know.”
“I’ll take my chances with the Holy-Pile-of-Dog-Shit,” said Daniel. “Let’s get moving.”
The three renegades trekked slowly and carefully up the hillside, the steep angle putting a dull strain on their leg muscles. No traps so far, just piles of bones scattered across the hill whether they belonged to a human, elf, or animal. The stench of this place wasn’t any more pleasant. If a meat truck had crashed into a sewage treatment plant, that’s what the Holy Mountains would have smelled like with all of the dead carcasses lying around. All three warriors kept their noses in their shirts until they reached the top of the hill.
“That’s him! That’s my father!” exclaimed Raven. The three adventurers rushed over to his fallen body and checked to see if the old man was still alive. They all saw the same thing: a crown of thorns around his head and a neon glow in his eyeballs. They slowly edged away from Arthur Triscloud’s body, fearing the absolute worst scenario they could.
The old man rose to his feet like a zombie thirsting for a second life. His smile was contorted, his beard was covered in dirt and worms, his flesh was vein-covered and rotting. He spoke to his opponents in a low growl reminiscent of a demonic tiger. “Master Roger wants death…and I shall give him death!” The brainwashed Arthur unleashed a creepy laugh that only an insane asylum full of psychopaths could utter.
Raven didn’t even try to reason with her father; it would have been useless. Instead, she and Detective Henry stood their ground with battle born looks on their faces and their weapons ready. She said, “Daniel, you know exactly what to do to someone with a crown of thorns.”
“I’m on it, sugar tits,” said Daniel, who cleared his throat of all the snot and bile that the dusty air brought up within him. His mouth was centimeters away from the mouthpiece of the microphone. He was primed and ready to shout every heavy metal lyric he could muster into this deadly piece of musical equipment.
And then while everyone was too focused on Arthur Triscloud’s zombie form, two powerful hands grabbed Daniel around the ankles and dragged him roughly beneath the ground, causing him to drop his microphone in the process. While Raven was shouting for her boyfriend and reaching out her hand, Daniel’s body scraped across the jagged bones and rocks of the underground cavern.
Once he hit the ground, Daniel groaned and wrapped his arms around himself in agonizing pain. He was shrouded in darkness, but only until a familiar being lit a torch on the wall with the most hellish fire. With his retinas burning beneath the flames, the Lord of the Pit could barely make out the features of Roger Zee, same ugly face, same blood soaked uniform, same horrifying machete.
Daniel ignored the wicked smile Roger gave him and instead tried to reach over to retrieve his fallen microphone, to which the elf zealot stepped on his wrist and ground his boot into the fragile bone. Daniel shrieked in pain as he tried to rip his hand away from the heartless soldier.
Roger took his boot off voluntarily and grabbed Daniel by his shirt to hoist him off the ground. The zealot then slammed the heavy metal singer back first against the rocky wall multiple times before holding him in place by his jaw, which emitted quick and painful breaths.
“I bet you’re wondering why we called ourselves the Order of the Spider. Trap door references aside, it’s because we evoke fear in the hearts of everyone who crosses us. I can smell it coming off you for miles, my friend. It smells like a bucket of greasy fried chicken!” Roger emphasized that last word with another slam against the wall. “I bet you taste just like fried chicken too. You have every right in the world to be scared of me, Daniel. I’m going to have some fun with you, buddy. I could just as easily kill your ass right now with my lovely blade. But where’s the excitement in that? Huh?!”
“You know why you’re not killing me right now?” said Daniel through fast and raspy breaths. “Because you’re a fucking coward! Terrorists like you always are! You think you’re hot shit because you killed a crowd full of people, but you’re not different from the high school senior who took my lunch money on a regular basis! You’re a coward, Roger! A chicken shit coward!”
Roger slammed Daniel against the wall yet again and earned another painful cry from the Lord of the Pit. The elf leaned in closer and said, “Right, I’m the coward here. I’m the one shaking in my boots ready to piss myself at a moment’s notice. You sure do have your facts straight, don’t you, buddy.” Daniel hocked up a bloody wad of spit and launched it into Roger’s face, to which the elf smiled even more evilly and slammed Daniel against the wall multiple times. Every pound against the singer’s back was met with a tearful cry of brutal pain. He might have even heard a few pops here and there.
Roger continued to grin at his victim when he asked, “Do you like videogames, Daniel? Believe it or not, I liked them too when I was young. They give me some nice creative fuel. Society likes to blame youth violence on videogames and they’re only halfway right. The other half of it…it comes from within. Let’s see if you remember which videogame this comes from. Tiger Knee!”
The elf terrorist buried his rock-hard knee into Daniel’s ribs, cracking them like glass and forcing the singer to scream through coughed up blood. “Tiger Uppercut!” yelled Roger as he buried his clenched fist right into the other side of Daniel’s ribs, shattering them like china plates and getting even more blood to waterfall from the singer’s mouth.
The singer dropped to the ground and crawled like a snail across gravel toward his microphone, to which Roger just folded his arms and smiled some more. He even said, “What are you waiting for, Mr. Mercer? Isn’t that microphone supposed to be the answer to all of your problems? Didn’t King Triscloud give that to you specifically for slaying me?”
Daniel finally made it to the microphone, but not without scraping his chest across the bone-covered ground and developing rashes along the way. He grabbed a hold of the wall and gingerly pulled himself up, every ounce of effort sending a cataclysm of agony through his chest. Even standing upright felt like he swallowed the spiked ball on a morning star.
Roger mockingly held his ear up close to the singer and waved his fingers back and forth like a conductor. “Go ahead, Daniel. Serenade me with your sweet sound. I’m dying to hear that beautiful voices of yours.”
Daniel brought the mouthpiece to his lips and breathed heavily before trying to let out a death metal scream. One decibel of sound and the singer was on the ground clutching his broken ribs and screaming like hell (though the screaming actually made his pain worse). That was the elf and human kingdoms’ last hope in a crumbled heap on the ground looking as pathetic as a dead body.
Roger chuckled at his fallen foe and said, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that your pipes don’t work anymore. It’s kind of hard to have a career in heavy metal music when your ribs are all busted up like that. But don’t worry, Daniel. You still have other parts of your body that are functioning perfectly well. The question now becomes, which one functions better: your pretty little mouth or your sweet little anus?” The question was punctuated with the sound of Roger’s pants zipper coming undone. “Like I told you, I intend to have some fun with you, buddy. I’m going to have the best kind of fun there is. It’s the oldest profession in history and it’s going to be your new career. Open wide!”
“NO!!” shouted Daniel in a prolonged cry that further grinded his ribs like coffee beans.
April 19, 2017
Resting Bitch Face
***RESTING BITCH FACE***
I don’t take selfies very often unless it’s for Independent Author Day or Halloween (because I’m wearing a mask). I don’t own a smart phone, so I wouldn’t be able to take selfies anyways unless it was with my digital camera and someone else was the photographer. I don’t enjoy the way I look on camera (unless the photographer had some Photoshop magic to make me look like a sexy beast). But the biggest reason I don’t take selfies is because I don’t like to smile for fake reasons. As someone with Resting Bitch Face, smiling isn’t natural for me, so I don’t like being told to do it even for pictures.
Yes, Resting Bitch Face is a real thing for both men and women. It’s when your neutral expression makes you look annoyed, pissed off, or sad even though you’re not any of those things at the moment. If you have RBF, you’ve probably gotten tons of questions like “Are you okay?” and “What’s wrong?” in your lifetime. When I was dating Brianna, she would always ask if I was okay and I’d always answer yes. Whenever I went to a concert at the White River Amphitheater, the security personnel would also ask if I was okay and I’d give them the same answer.
And speaking of concerts, I saw Five Finger Death Punch in Tacoma back in November of last year and the couple sitting in front of me took a selfie with me looking angry in the background. We had a good laugh over it. But yes, it’s true: even when my heavy metal idols Five Finger Death Punch are the entertainment for the evening, I look like I want to strangle someone even though I’m feeling peaceful, if not excited for the music.
I Googled Resting Bitch Face and some search results said that it’s the reason people remain single or don’t get hired. So this is it, huh? I have to pretend to be something I’m not in order to gain an advantage in this world. Sounds familiar. Asking an RBF patient to smile relentlessly is like asking a skinny kid to be interested in football so that the big beefy jocks will like him. Yes, it seems like such an easy thing to just smile all the time. People say the same thing about introverts speaking up in class discussions or making a million friends. Just because it seems easy to an outsider, doesn’t mean it is for the person living the experience.
When it comes to my RBF, I don’t try to change it for other people. I own it. I make it a part of my unique personality. Do I have a million friends? No. Do I make millions of dollars in some job I wouldn’t want anyways? No. As a matter of fact, people in public tend to gravitate away from me, which is alright with me, because I don’t have to engage in small talk with people I don’t give a shit about.
Truth is, there’s no real reason why people make angry expressions when they feel neutral. It’s just the way it is. There’s no reason why people have big noses or pointy ears. It just happens. If you want to get a good feel for what a person is like beyond their rough exterior, show interest instead of just talking for the sake of talking. Maybe the guy with RBF is a poet and you don’t know it. Maybe the chick with RBF is an anime-loving nerd with more creative fuel than she knows what to do with. We’re not trying to push you away (unless you’re just there to chit-chat instead of showing genuine interest).
There are lots of articles and videos out there about RBF. I’m not a scientist who studies this phenomenon; I’m just an opinionated person who’s living through it. If you be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. If you give me a reason to smile, I’ll give you what you’ve truly earned. Smiles have to be earned in this world; they’re not automatic. Some people deserve smiles, others don’t. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 20***
There are only two chapters remaining of this ongoing novel and the twentieth one will feature the final battle between Daniel Mercer and Roger Zee. Is it as simple as yelling obscenities into a magical microphone? Not when you have broken ribs and every scream hurts like a bitch. Perhaps someone else can do the dirty work, someone like Raven or Shawn. Nah, those guys are busy enough already trying to fend off King Arthur Triscloud, who has a crown of thorns around his head. If you were expecting an easy victory just because someone has a magical microphone, you’re sadly mistaken. If Daniel and his crew want to win this war, they have to earn it, just like strangers have to earn my smile.
Speaking of people with RBF…
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
If Samoa Joe and Kevin Owens ever become an official tag team, what will their group name be? Jowens? Samowens? Sevin? Hmm…
I don’t take selfies very often unless it’s for Independent Author Day or Halloween (because I’m wearing a mask). I don’t own a smart phone, so I wouldn’t be able to take selfies anyways unless it was with my digital camera and someone else was the photographer. I don’t enjoy the way I look on camera (unless the photographer had some Photoshop magic to make me look like a sexy beast). But the biggest reason I don’t take selfies is because I don’t like to smile for fake reasons. As someone with Resting Bitch Face, smiling isn’t natural for me, so I don’t like being told to do it even for pictures.
Yes, Resting Bitch Face is a real thing for both men and women. It’s when your neutral expression makes you look annoyed, pissed off, or sad even though you’re not any of those things at the moment. If you have RBF, you’ve probably gotten tons of questions like “Are you okay?” and “What’s wrong?” in your lifetime. When I was dating Brianna, she would always ask if I was okay and I’d always answer yes. Whenever I went to a concert at the White River Amphitheater, the security personnel would also ask if I was okay and I’d give them the same answer.
And speaking of concerts, I saw Five Finger Death Punch in Tacoma back in November of last year and the couple sitting in front of me took a selfie with me looking angry in the background. We had a good laugh over it. But yes, it’s true: even when my heavy metal idols Five Finger Death Punch are the entertainment for the evening, I look like I want to strangle someone even though I’m feeling peaceful, if not excited for the music.
I Googled Resting Bitch Face and some search results said that it’s the reason people remain single or don’t get hired. So this is it, huh? I have to pretend to be something I’m not in order to gain an advantage in this world. Sounds familiar. Asking an RBF patient to smile relentlessly is like asking a skinny kid to be interested in football so that the big beefy jocks will like him. Yes, it seems like such an easy thing to just smile all the time. People say the same thing about introverts speaking up in class discussions or making a million friends. Just because it seems easy to an outsider, doesn’t mean it is for the person living the experience.
When it comes to my RBF, I don’t try to change it for other people. I own it. I make it a part of my unique personality. Do I have a million friends? No. Do I make millions of dollars in some job I wouldn’t want anyways? No. As a matter of fact, people in public tend to gravitate away from me, which is alright with me, because I don’t have to engage in small talk with people I don’t give a shit about.
Truth is, there’s no real reason why people make angry expressions when they feel neutral. It’s just the way it is. There’s no reason why people have big noses or pointy ears. It just happens. If you want to get a good feel for what a person is like beyond their rough exterior, show interest instead of just talking for the sake of talking. Maybe the guy with RBF is a poet and you don’t know it. Maybe the chick with RBF is an anime-loving nerd with more creative fuel than she knows what to do with. We’re not trying to push you away (unless you’re just there to chit-chat instead of showing genuine interest).
There are lots of articles and videos out there about RBF. I’m not a scientist who studies this phenomenon; I’m just an opinionated person who’s living through it. If you be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. If you give me a reason to smile, I’ll give you what you’ve truly earned. Smiles have to be earned in this world; they’re not automatic. Some people deserve smiles, others don’t. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 20***
There are only two chapters remaining of this ongoing novel and the twentieth one will feature the final battle between Daniel Mercer and Roger Zee. Is it as simple as yelling obscenities into a magical microphone? Not when you have broken ribs and every scream hurts like a bitch. Perhaps someone else can do the dirty work, someone like Raven or Shawn. Nah, those guys are busy enough already trying to fend off King Arthur Triscloud, who has a crown of thorns around his head. If you were expecting an easy victory just because someone has a magical microphone, you’re sadly mistaken. If Daniel and his crew want to win this war, they have to earn it, just like strangers have to earn my smile.
Speaking of people with RBF…
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
If Samoa Joe and Kevin Owens ever become an official tag team, what will their group name be? Jowens? Samowens? Sevin? Hmm…
