Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 90
January 8, 2017
Staple Gun Gangster
The tremendous bangs against Marco Said’s door jarred him awake, making him believe for a moment his house was being raided by the police. He sat in bed wearing nothing but Nike shorts and cursing when he saw what time it was on his digital clock. Three in the morning. Who in the hell would want to wake up Marco at three in the morning? He slipped on a pair of socks and running shoes (not even bothering with his shirt) and grabbed his trusty staple gun from the nightstand.
As he advanced toward the front door, the pounds became louder and Marco’s annoyance turned to full-blown rage. “Wait a fucking minute!” he yelled. Still awakening from his peaceful slumber, the gangster rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled on his way to answer the door. He didn’t even bother turning the porch or living room lights on.
When Marco saw the slimy, slobbering green mess of a man before him, the black gangster didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, Mr. Said had a scowl on his face that would shake marine drill instructors to their cores. With his staple gun raised in the air, he snapped, “You better have a damn good reason for coming over here at three in the fucking morning! Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you want, bitch?!”
The muck-covered visitor smiled and exposed his rotten brown teeth. He laughed in a monstrous growl of a voice and said, “I’m the Boogeyman! And I need a favor. I hear you can get me some serious cash in a big hurry.”
“At three in the morning? What the hell does your ass need at three in the morning? I ought to staple your ass right now for waking me up this fucking early!” threatened Marco, shooting a few staples in the air for a demonstration.
The Boogeyman put a hand to his chest and feigned terror when he said, “A staple gun? Ooooo!” The monster even wiggled his fingers in sarcasm. “I thought you original baby gangsters liked to use some serious hardware. I was expecting an AK-47 or something like that. But instead you’ve got a staple gun. A gun…for stapling!” He laughed like a bloodthirsty hyena while leaning backwards and slapping his thigh.
Not wanting to be screwed with any further than he has, Marco shook his head and fired a staple into The Boogeyman’s leg, causing the monster to splash goop all over the gangster’s shorts and clutch his wound with almost mock agony. “You see that shit?” said Marco. “Any bitch nigga can shoot off a machinegun or sell cocaine on the streets. Me? I handle my business up front. Now, either you tell me what you want money for or I’ll shoot your ass again!”
The Boogeyman breathed heavily and chuckled once again before standing up straight to meet Marco’s gaze with a sinister grin. “Alright, buddy. You win. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve had any…how shall I put this…action.”
“Well, no shit, dawg! Your ass looks like something from a Michael Jackson video! Why don’t you dance down the street doing your Thriller thing and I’ll get my ass back in bed!” said Marco as he prepared to close the door.
The only thing that stopped him was The Boogeyman holding his hands out and saying, “No, wait! You’re right. I’m not much to look at. But…if I had some of that cold hard cash, these little girls wouldn’t have a choice! Get my drift? Some people like to dine on sweeter things than that. Me? My favorite kind of food…is fetish-ccini!”
As the monster laughed at his own pun, Marco fired another staple, this time at the creature’s groin, causing him to double over in a modicum of pain. Marco barked, “My noodle is your momma’s favorite kind of pasta, motherfucker! Now get your ass out of here! Ain’t nobody messing with no kids on my watch!”
“Since when did you become the paragon of morality?” said the Boogeyman with the widest of grins, still hunched over. “You’re a loan shark, one who kills people who don’t pay their debts on time. You’re right, buddy: you are a real thug. Those staples hurt like hell, whereas a bullet would end someone’s life right away. You’re not a murderer. You’re a torturer. You’re like me except without the slimy body.”
“Alright, boy, I see your point. Let me get some cheddar real quick. Stay right here,” said Marco, who reached into his secret panel and pulled out a ten dollar bill. He waved it in front of the Boogeyman’s face and said, “With the kind of bitches you’re looking for, this is all you’re going to need.” The gangster then stapled the ten dollar bill to the creature’s forehead, eliciting a much louder howl of pain than before. “We’re done for the day. Now get your ass off my front porch or I’ll turn you into a Swiss cheese, bitch!”
Marco slammed the door shut and locked both deadbolts. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “What the hell was all that about?” as he stumbled back to his bedroom, not wanting to wait another moment to get some shuteye. He kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks before jumping back into bed. The sounds of the Boogeyman screaming in agony were drowned out by the thickness of the front door. If anything, they were like a lullaby to Marco Said’s ears. He drifted off into the dream world without further incident.
By the time the staple gun gangster woke up, he saw that it was noon on his digital clock. She shoved it off the nightstand and cursed under his breath. Marco sat on the edge of his bed rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and contemplating the events of last night. Who in the hell was that guy? Why was he covered in goop? Why did it even matter that he looked like a creature out of a sci-fi movie? He threw on his same shoes and socks as well as a basketball jersey that was laying on the floor in a pile of unfinished laundry. He also grabbed his staple gun and reloaded it before heading toward the front door to start his day.
He dropped the weapon and stared at the gigantic hole in his door with wide eyes and furrowed brows. The door was covered with acidic slime and the floor had green footprints leading elsewhere. His secret money panel had been broken into as well. “What the fuck?!” he yelled before picking his staple gun back up again and following the footprints ever so slowly.
The closer he got to the closed bathroom door, the louder the sounds of muffled child screams echoed throughout the hallway. Marco’s blood boiled and his trigger finger got itchy. His menacing business stare turned into teeth-clenching, white-knuckle rage. The muffled screams were deafening and the sounds of goop slurping about were even more obnoxious. He was somewhat afraid to touch the door handle since it too was covered in that disgusting green filth.
With his hand tucked in his jersey, Marco slowly opened the door to see the Boogeyman laughing it up while the muffled children’s screams were behind the closed shower curtain. The creature shouted, “It’s complete! My revenge is complete!”
Not caring if that made sense or not, the gangster stapled the Boogeyman’s forehead, chest, and groin repeatedly, splashing green blood against the vanity and shower curtain. The monster curled up next to the toilet in a pathetic ball of pain while Marco shouted, “I told you what was going to happen if you kept messing around with me, motherfucker! I ain’t playing no games with you! I’ve got staples for days, bitch! I’ll do this shit for as long as I want! Those Guantanamo motherfuckers are pussies compared to me! Your ass is in for a long ass night!”
After the initial wave of torture wore off, the Boogeyman laughed in rebellion as if he didn’t care about Marco’s wrath one bit. When asked what was so funny, the creature said, “Don’t you get it, buddy? I didn’t need those children for a good time. Nah, I needed them for a little bit of revenge.” When asked what he was talking about, the Boogeyman said, “Did you ever wonder why those kids turned to prostitution? To pay their bills of course. Their parents couldn’t do it because they were killed by a certain staple gun gangster, who by the way didn’t like late payments and collected with interest.”
Marco looked down at the monster with solemnity before shouting, “Bullshit! This is all just a game! Your ass is having a laugh!”
“Trust me, Mr. Said: there’s nothing funny about growing up in the hood with no parents and no other way to pay bills than having sex with strange men. If you need proof, just ask them yourself,” said the Boogeyman before slowly standing up and drawing back the shower curtain.
Marco’s eyes widened with horror for the first time in a long while. He was shakier than a woman’s sex toy at the sight of black teenaged girls covered in slime, just like the Boogeyman. They drooled, droned, and gurgled as they screamed for vengeance and hungered for blood. The Boogeyman placed a not-so-loving hand on Marco’s shoulder and said, “My name is Kip Kyle, but you’ll remember me as the father one of these children. Surely, the name Kip Kyle means something to you, right? Maybe the name of a former customer?”
The gangster’s heavy nervous breathing turned to cowardly whimpers as he curled up against the bathroom sink holding his staple gun with a quaking arm. Kip Kyle raised his goopy arm and brought it down with his finger pointed right at his murderer, signaling for the little slime balls to chomp, chew, and devour their way through Marco’s body.
The gangster would have screamed, but blood was in his throat after a girl gnawed on his neck. Soon enough, the staple gun gangster was nothing more than a pile of picked bones, bloody rivers, and slurped organs. The teenaged girls’ hungers for vengeance and human meat were both satisfied to the point of fat bellies and bright brown smiles. One of them even let out a loud burp to the others’ laughing delights.
Another one of the girls asked, “Can we go home, Daddy?” in a gargling voice.
“Yes,” said Kip. “We can all go home now. The last one to the sewers is a rotten egg!”
As he advanced toward the front door, the pounds became louder and Marco’s annoyance turned to full-blown rage. “Wait a fucking minute!” he yelled. Still awakening from his peaceful slumber, the gangster rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled on his way to answer the door. He didn’t even bother turning the porch or living room lights on.
When Marco saw the slimy, slobbering green mess of a man before him, the black gangster didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, Mr. Said had a scowl on his face that would shake marine drill instructors to their cores. With his staple gun raised in the air, he snapped, “You better have a damn good reason for coming over here at three in the fucking morning! Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you want, bitch?!”
The muck-covered visitor smiled and exposed his rotten brown teeth. He laughed in a monstrous growl of a voice and said, “I’m the Boogeyman! And I need a favor. I hear you can get me some serious cash in a big hurry.”
“At three in the morning? What the hell does your ass need at three in the morning? I ought to staple your ass right now for waking me up this fucking early!” threatened Marco, shooting a few staples in the air for a demonstration.
The Boogeyman put a hand to his chest and feigned terror when he said, “A staple gun? Ooooo!” The monster even wiggled his fingers in sarcasm. “I thought you original baby gangsters liked to use some serious hardware. I was expecting an AK-47 or something like that. But instead you’ve got a staple gun. A gun…for stapling!” He laughed like a bloodthirsty hyena while leaning backwards and slapping his thigh.
Not wanting to be screwed with any further than he has, Marco shook his head and fired a staple into The Boogeyman’s leg, causing the monster to splash goop all over the gangster’s shorts and clutch his wound with almost mock agony. “You see that shit?” said Marco. “Any bitch nigga can shoot off a machinegun or sell cocaine on the streets. Me? I handle my business up front. Now, either you tell me what you want money for or I’ll shoot your ass again!”
The Boogeyman breathed heavily and chuckled once again before standing up straight to meet Marco’s gaze with a sinister grin. “Alright, buddy. You win. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve had any…how shall I put this…action.”
“Well, no shit, dawg! Your ass looks like something from a Michael Jackson video! Why don’t you dance down the street doing your Thriller thing and I’ll get my ass back in bed!” said Marco as he prepared to close the door.
The only thing that stopped him was The Boogeyman holding his hands out and saying, “No, wait! You’re right. I’m not much to look at. But…if I had some of that cold hard cash, these little girls wouldn’t have a choice! Get my drift? Some people like to dine on sweeter things than that. Me? My favorite kind of food…is fetish-ccini!”
As the monster laughed at his own pun, Marco fired another staple, this time at the creature’s groin, causing him to double over in a modicum of pain. Marco barked, “My noodle is your momma’s favorite kind of pasta, motherfucker! Now get your ass out of here! Ain’t nobody messing with no kids on my watch!”
“Since when did you become the paragon of morality?” said the Boogeyman with the widest of grins, still hunched over. “You’re a loan shark, one who kills people who don’t pay their debts on time. You’re right, buddy: you are a real thug. Those staples hurt like hell, whereas a bullet would end someone’s life right away. You’re not a murderer. You’re a torturer. You’re like me except without the slimy body.”
“Alright, boy, I see your point. Let me get some cheddar real quick. Stay right here,” said Marco, who reached into his secret panel and pulled out a ten dollar bill. He waved it in front of the Boogeyman’s face and said, “With the kind of bitches you’re looking for, this is all you’re going to need.” The gangster then stapled the ten dollar bill to the creature’s forehead, eliciting a much louder howl of pain than before. “We’re done for the day. Now get your ass off my front porch or I’ll turn you into a Swiss cheese, bitch!”
Marco slammed the door shut and locked both deadbolts. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “What the hell was all that about?” as he stumbled back to his bedroom, not wanting to wait another moment to get some shuteye. He kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks before jumping back into bed. The sounds of the Boogeyman screaming in agony were drowned out by the thickness of the front door. If anything, they were like a lullaby to Marco Said’s ears. He drifted off into the dream world without further incident.
By the time the staple gun gangster woke up, he saw that it was noon on his digital clock. She shoved it off the nightstand and cursed under his breath. Marco sat on the edge of his bed rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and contemplating the events of last night. Who in the hell was that guy? Why was he covered in goop? Why did it even matter that he looked like a creature out of a sci-fi movie? He threw on his same shoes and socks as well as a basketball jersey that was laying on the floor in a pile of unfinished laundry. He also grabbed his staple gun and reloaded it before heading toward the front door to start his day.
He dropped the weapon and stared at the gigantic hole in his door with wide eyes and furrowed brows. The door was covered with acidic slime and the floor had green footprints leading elsewhere. His secret money panel had been broken into as well. “What the fuck?!” he yelled before picking his staple gun back up again and following the footprints ever so slowly.
The closer he got to the closed bathroom door, the louder the sounds of muffled child screams echoed throughout the hallway. Marco’s blood boiled and his trigger finger got itchy. His menacing business stare turned into teeth-clenching, white-knuckle rage. The muffled screams were deafening and the sounds of goop slurping about were even more obnoxious. He was somewhat afraid to touch the door handle since it too was covered in that disgusting green filth.
With his hand tucked in his jersey, Marco slowly opened the door to see the Boogeyman laughing it up while the muffled children’s screams were behind the closed shower curtain. The creature shouted, “It’s complete! My revenge is complete!”
Not caring if that made sense or not, the gangster stapled the Boogeyman’s forehead, chest, and groin repeatedly, splashing green blood against the vanity and shower curtain. The monster curled up next to the toilet in a pathetic ball of pain while Marco shouted, “I told you what was going to happen if you kept messing around with me, motherfucker! I ain’t playing no games with you! I’ve got staples for days, bitch! I’ll do this shit for as long as I want! Those Guantanamo motherfuckers are pussies compared to me! Your ass is in for a long ass night!”
After the initial wave of torture wore off, the Boogeyman laughed in rebellion as if he didn’t care about Marco’s wrath one bit. When asked what was so funny, the creature said, “Don’t you get it, buddy? I didn’t need those children for a good time. Nah, I needed them for a little bit of revenge.” When asked what he was talking about, the Boogeyman said, “Did you ever wonder why those kids turned to prostitution? To pay their bills of course. Their parents couldn’t do it because they were killed by a certain staple gun gangster, who by the way didn’t like late payments and collected with interest.”
Marco looked down at the monster with solemnity before shouting, “Bullshit! This is all just a game! Your ass is having a laugh!”
“Trust me, Mr. Said: there’s nothing funny about growing up in the hood with no parents and no other way to pay bills than having sex with strange men. If you need proof, just ask them yourself,” said the Boogeyman before slowly standing up and drawing back the shower curtain.
Marco’s eyes widened with horror for the first time in a long while. He was shakier than a woman’s sex toy at the sight of black teenaged girls covered in slime, just like the Boogeyman. They drooled, droned, and gurgled as they screamed for vengeance and hungered for blood. The Boogeyman placed a not-so-loving hand on Marco’s shoulder and said, “My name is Kip Kyle, but you’ll remember me as the father one of these children. Surely, the name Kip Kyle means something to you, right? Maybe the name of a former customer?”
The gangster’s heavy nervous breathing turned to cowardly whimpers as he curled up against the bathroom sink holding his staple gun with a quaking arm. Kip Kyle raised his goopy arm and brought it down with his finger pointed right at his murderer, signaling for the little slime balls to chomp, chew, and devour their way through Marco’s body.
The gangster would have screamed, but blood was in his throat after a girl gnawed on his neck. Soon enough, the staple gun gangster was nothing more than a pile of picked bones, bloody rivers, and slurped organs. The teenaged girls’ hungers for vengeance and human meat were both satisfied to the point of fat bellies and bright brown smiles. One of them even let out a loud burp to the others’ laughing delights.
Another one of the girls asked, “Can we go home, Daddy?” in a gargling voice.
“Yes,” said Kip. “We can all go home now. The last one to the sewers is a rotten egg!”
Thunder Sword
CHORUS
With my thunder sword!
I will slay the horde!
I will win this war!
Shake shit to its core!
VERSE 1
I am the bringer of light
I am the one who will fight
I am the paladin knight
I will do what is right
No more dark politics
No more dirty tricks
No more throwing bricks
At the weak and the sick
CHORUS
With my thunder sword!
I will slay the horde!
I will win this war!
Shake shit to its core!
VERSE 2
I will occupy
The wasteland and sky
Justice will be mine
Right now is our time
I ride on my warhorse
Cut straight to the source
Leaving another corpse
A thousand more of course
BRIDGE
With blade in hand
I’ll cleanse this land
I’ll be the last to stand
I’ll be the firebrand
I’ll bring you down
As my war cry sounds
It’s the final slash
Your body turns to ash
EXTENDED CHORUS
With my thunder sword!
I will slay the horde!
I will win this war!
Shake shit to its core!
I will thirst for more!
In this world of scorn!
I have become reborn!
In this blood rainstorm!
With my thunder sword!
I will slay the horde!
I will win this war!
Shake shit to its core!
VERSE 1
I am the bringer of light
I am the one who will fight
I am the paladin knight
I will do what is right
No more dark politics
No more dirty tricks
No more throwing bricks
At the weak and the sick
CHORUS
With my thunder sword!
I will slay the horde!
I will win this war!
Shake shit to its core!
VERSE 2
I will occupy
The wasteland and sky
Justice will be mine
Right now is our time
I ride on my warhorse
Cut straight to the source
Leaving another corpse
A thousand more of course
BRIDGE
With blade in hand
I’ll cleanse this land
I’ll be the last to stand
I’ll be the firebrand
I’ll bring you down
As my war cry sounds
It’s the final slash
Your body turns to ash
EXTENDED CHORUS
With my thunder sword!
I will slay the horde!
I will win this war!
Shake shit to its core!
I will thirst for more!
In this world of scorn!
I have become reborn!
In this blood rainstorm!
January 7, 2017
Liars and Thieves
VERSE 1
You spread lies like you spread your legs
Giving it all away free to anyone who begs
Libel is your bible and fraud is your god
Yet you wonder why you’re a lightning rod
Well placed punches never shut you up
You drink in sympathy like a coffee cup
Everyone is eating out of your filthy hands
Lies and rumors are the laws of the land
CHORUS
Liars and thieves! People to believe!
Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!
Gather around the cult of personality!
He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!
VERSE 2
Reputations ruined and lives shattered
Spirits broken and psychologies battered
Brains feel number than a shot of Novocain
Hearts feel crushed underneath the pain
Weaponizing words is an act of war
You’re an iron dictator to the deepest core
Weaponizing fists is an act of revenge
Nobody stops until everyone is dead
CHORUS
Liars and thieves! People to believe!
Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!
Gather around the cult of personality!
He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!
VERSE 3
A cold jail cell is the last circle of hell
The result of the fighting after the bell
The high school became a boxing ring
The final punch has dethroned the king
Justice or revenge? What’s the difference?
One takes longer and the other is instant
The road to hell is paved with bitter blood
There is no exit ramp to lead you to love
EXTENDED CHORUS
Liars and thieves! People to believe!
Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!
Gather around the cult of personality!
He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!
The truth alone never freed anybody!
When no one even bothers to study!
Everybody wants to plant the seeds!
Of ignorance for the liars and thieves!
FINAL LINE
Coming up next on Celebrity Bullshit: this Hollywood stud fucked an entire village of mentally challenged trolls! More news at eleven. Here’s Stacy with the weather.
You spread lies like you spread your legs
Giving it all away free to anyone who begs
Libel is your bible and fraud is your god
Yet you wonder why you’re a lightning rod
Well placed punches never shut you up
You drink in sympathy like a coffee cup
Everyone is eating out of your filthy hands
Lies and rumors are the laws of the land
CHORUS
Liars and thieves! People to believe!
Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!
Gather around the cult of personality!
He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!
VERSE 2
Reputations ruined and lives shattered
Spirits broken and psychologies battered
Brains feel number than a shot of Novocain
Hearts feel crushed underneath the pain
Weaponizing words is an act of war
You’re an iron dictator to the deepest core
Weaponizing fists is an act of revenge
Nobody stops until everyone is dead
CHORUS
Liars and thieves! People to believe!
Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!
Gather around the cult of personality!
He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!
VERSE 3
A cold jail cell is the last circle of hell
The result of the fighting after the bell
The high school became a boxing ring
The final punch has dethroned the king
Justice or revenge? What’s the difference?
One takes longer and the other is instant
The road to hell is paved with bitter blood
There is no exit ramp to lead you to love
EXTENDED CHORUS
Liars and thieves! People to believe!
Thieves and liars! Slander for hire!
Gather around the cult of personality!
He chokes on bullshit ever so laughably!
The truth alone never freed anybody!
When no one even bothers to study!
Everybody wants to plant the seeds!
Of ignorance for the liars and thieves!
FINAL LINE
Coming up next on Celebrity Bullshit: this Hollywood stud fucked an entire village of mentally challenged trolls! More news at eleven. Here’s Stacy with the weather.
January 6, 2017
Rescuing Animals
***RESCUING ANIMALS***
As a creative writer, artist, and photographer, I see artistic merit in a lot of things. Rescuing animals and giving them loving homes isn’t just the right thing to do, but it’s one of those things I see creative input in. In this case, your canvas is a homeless animal with a rough past who needs someone to love. Love is your paintbrush and everything else is color. The name that you give the animal, the way you play with it, the times you snuggle together, these are all ways in which you add to your beautiful picture. We like seeing animals rolling on their backs, playing happily, and purring like motors, thus we have a picture we love.
That’s why I decided to start donating money to the ASPCA once again. The work they do for homeless and abused animals is phenomenal. Same thing goes for places like The Humane Society and Animal Rescue Friends. With their critter canvases, they’re expressing love and friendship to the world around them. Give a big round of applause for these awesome people.
Back in December, Mom and I kept accessing the Kitsap Humane Society’s website to check on the adoption status of a Pitbull-Terrier mix named Dad. We visited the shelter earlier and saw that he needed a home. He had been living at the shelter for months after being surrendered by a homeless woman who couldn’t afford to take care of him anymore. Every day the volunteers at the KHS took Dad for walks, rides, and cups of Puppicciono (whipped cream from Starbucks for the puppies to lick).
They did everything they could to keep him happy, but he needed a home for the holidays. Mom and I would have loved to take him, but his profile said that he didn’t get along with small children or other animals. He had to be the only one. With such strict standards, Dad was naturally hard to adopt. And then a few days after Christmas, Dad was adopted by an ex-soldier who probably needed a dog to ease the symptoms of his PTSD. The soldier even posted pictures of Dad playing around in his new yard and generally being a big ol’ happy pup.
Even if you can’t afford to adopt an animal, there are still ways in which you can make these beautiful creatures happy until the day they do find a home. Donating money is the most common way, but you can also donate things like blankets, stuffed animals, leashes, and doggy beds. You think a big ol’ puppy-duppy would love rolling around in a fuzzy blanket while cuddling with a brown teddy bear? You bet he would!
In addition to donating money every month to the ASPCA, I also plan on donating my stuffed animal collection to the Kitsap Humane Society. Don’t get me wrong, I love cute toys, but cuddling with a stuffed Michigan Frog doesn’t compare to snuggling with the real thing, by that I mean my elderly brown kitty Smokey. Before the stuffed toys get donated, though, they have to be vacuumed off because of all the dust they’ve accumulated. We can’t have puppy-duppies chewing on dust.
Remember that gum commercial that says, “Give extra, get extra”? It applies to a lot of aspects in life, including giving extra love to an animal in need. When you give a dog or a cat a loving home (even if it’s not your own), the joy you receive is worth so much more than any paycheck. For all of you fellow “Secret” readers out there, you’ll attract positive things to your direction and life will be happy for as long as you keep that love in your heart. Whether or not you want to use the universe analogy, it is true that being a positive and loving person will yield those same results to you.
I’d like to close this off with a thank you to all of the organizations and pet owners out there who make animals’ lives a living heaven. By giving them love, you are artists in your own way by painting their canvases with happy colors. I know I sound like Bob Ross when I say that, but it’s no less true. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to give some pettings to my Smokey-Pokey, who’s resting comfortably on my pillow. Adios, amigos! Thanks for reading!
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 12***
With the story past the halfway mark, Daniel and his friends find themselves sitting in a holding cell wondering what the hell went wrong. Inciting terrorism? Shouldn’t the cops try to track down Roger Zee, the real terrorist asshole? But surely you guys didn’t forget about what happened to Shawn Henry that fateful night in the police station. Roger’s locus of control goes much deeper than one family man detective. He’s got the entire system by the balls and he’s going to flex that muscle with Daniel and his friends.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Speaking of Demon Axe, the next character on the DFW chopping block is King Arthur Triscloud, ruler of the elven race. Human takeover or not, all he wants is a peaceful society, but he can’t have that as long as Roger Zee is running roughshod over both the elven and human worlds. For the actual picture, I was thinking something along the lines of a modified Gandalf with a crown.
***MOVIE REVIEWS***
It’s been a while since I’ve done a movie review, so how about we do two of them, both Disney classics? In this case, we’ve got “Ben and Me” and “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh”, both of which feature the unmistakable voice of Sterling Holloway as Amos Mouse and Pooh Bear respectively. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to give them passing or extra credit grades. They were after all a huge part of my childhood. Huge!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
Wednesday is always the day that starts off the new contests. In this case, we’ve got one with a “Thriller” prompt. Whoever came up with that one was probably listening to Michael Jackson’s music at the time. That’s perfect, because I’ve got the ideal story for that prompt. It’s called “Staple Gun Gangster” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Marco Said, Staple Gun Gangster
2. Kip Kyle, The Boogeyman
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Marco makes a joke about how The Boogeyman looks like he came from Michael Jackson’s music video for “Thriller”, which makes Kip’s penchant for children even creepier.
SYNOPSIS: Marco earned a scary reputation on the streets by using a staple gun as his weapon of torture for those who are late on their loan shark payments. A serial killer masquerading as a swamp monster named Kip Kyle a.k.a. the Boogeyman approaches Marco because he wants money for underage prostitutes. Marco decides that this “swamp creature” is too sick even for his tastes and shoots a few staples into him. When the staples arouse Kip instead of hurt him, Marco anxiously questions whether the Boogeyman moniker is just a gimmick or if he really is a horror movie monster.
FUN FACT: Marco Said is loosely based on former ECW wrestler New Jack, a psychotic gangster who used a staple gun to win hardcore wrestling matches.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Tell me now, who taught you how to hate? ‘Cause it isn’t in your blood. Not a part of what you’re made. So let this be understood: somebody taught you how to hate. When you live this way, you become dead to everyone.”
-Disturbed singing “Who Taught You How to Hate?”-
As a creative writer, artist, and photographer, I see artistic merit in a lot of things. Rescuing animals and giving them loving homes isn’t just the right thing to do, but it’s one of those things I see creative input in. In this case, your canvas is a homeless animal with a rough past who needs someone to love. Love is your paintbrush and everything else is color. The name that you give the animal, the way you play with it, the times you snuggle together, these are all ways in which you add to your beautiful picture. We like seeing animals rolling on their backs, playing happily, and purring like motors, thus we have a picture we love.
That’s why I decided to start donating money to the ASPCA once again. The work they do for homeless and abused animals is phenomenal. Same thing goes for places like The Humane Society and Animal Rescue Friends. With their critter canvases, they’re expressing love and friendship to the world around them. Give a big round of applause for these awesome people.
Back in December, Mom and I kept accessing the Kitsap Humane Society’s website to check on the adoption status of a Pitbull-Terrier mix named Dad. We visited the shelter earlier and saw that he needed a home. He had been living at the shelter for months after being surrendered by a homeless woman who couldn’t afford to take care of him anymore. Every day the volunteers at the KHS took Dad for walks, rides, and cups of Puppicciono (whipped cream from Starbucks for the puppies to lick).
They did everything they could to keep him happy, but he needed a home for the holidays. Mom and I would have loved to take him, but his profile said that he didn’t get along with small children or other animals. He had to be the only one. With such strict standards, Dad was naturally hard to adopt. And then a few days after Christmas, Dad was adopted by an ex-soldier who probably needed a dog to ease the symptoms of his PTSD. The soldier even posted pictures of Dad playing around in his new yard and generally being a big ol’ happy pup.
Even if you can’t afford to adopt an animal, there are still ways in which you can make these beautiful creatures happy until the day they do find a home. Donating money is the most common way, but you can also donate things like blankets, stuffed animals, leashes, and doggy beds. You think a big ol’ puppy-duppy would love rolling around in a fuzzy blanket while cuddling with a brown teddy bear? You bet he would!
In addition to donating money every month to the ASPCA, I also plan on donating my stuffed animal collection to the Kitsap Humane Society. Don’t get me wrong, I love cute toys, but cuddling with a stuffed Michigan Frog doesn’t compare to snuggling with the real thing, by that I mean my elderly brown kitty Smokey. Before the stuffed toys get donated, though, they have to be vacuumed off because of all the dust they’ve accumulated. We can’t have puppy-duppies chewing on dust.
Remember that gum commercial that says, “Give extra, get extra”? It applies to a lot of aspects in life, including giving extra love to an animal in need. When you give a dog or a cat a loving home (even if it’s not your own), the joy you receive is worth so much more than any paycheck. For all of you fellow “Secret” readers out there, you’ll attract positive things to your direction and life will be happy for as long as you keep that love in your heart. Whether or not you want to use the universe analogy, it is true that being a positive and loving person will yield those same results to you.
I’d like to close this off with a thank you to all of the organizations and pet owners out there who make animals’ lives a living heaven. By giving them love, you are artists in your own way by painting their canvases with happy colors. I know I sound like Bob Ross when I say that, but it’s no less true. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to give some pettings to my Smokey-Pokey, who’s resting comfortably on my pillow. Adios, amigos! Thanks for reading!
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 12***
With the story past the halfway mark, Daniel and his friends find themselves sitting in a holding cell wondering what the hell went wrong. Inciting terrorism? Shouldn’t the cops try to track down Roger Zee, the real terrorist asshole? But surely you guys didn’t forget about what happened to Shawn Henry that fateful night in the police station. Roger’s locus of control goes much deeper than one family man detective. He’s got the entire system by the balls and he’s going to flex that muscle with Daniel and his friends.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Speaking of Demon Axe, the next character on the DFW chopping block is King Arthur Triscloud, ruler of the elven race. Human takeover or not, all he wants is a peaceful society, but he can’t have that as long as Roger Zee is running roughshod over both the elven and human worlds. For the actual picture, I was thinking something along the lines of a modified Gandalf with a crown.
***MOVIE REVIEWS***
It’s been a while since I’ve done a movie review, so how about we do two of them, both Disney classics? In this case, we’ve got “Ben and Me” and “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh”, both of which feature the unmistakable voice of Sterling Holloway as Amos Mouse and Pooh Bear respectively. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to give them passing or extra credit grades. They were after all a huge part of my childhood. Huge!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
Wednesday is always the day that starts off the new contests. In this case, we’ve got one with a “Thriller” prompt. Whoever came up with that one was probably listening to Michael Jackson’s music at the time. That’s perfect, because I’ve got the ideal story for that prompt. It’s called “Staple Gun Gangster” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Marco Said, Staple Gun Gangster
2. Kip Kyle, The Boogeyman
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Marco makes a joke about how The Boogeyman looks like he came from Michael Jackson’s music video for “Thriller”, which makes Kip’s penchant for children even creepier.
SYNOPSIS: Marco earned a scary reputation on the streets by using a staple gun as his weapon of torture for those who are late on their loan shark payments. A serial killer masquerading as a swamp monster named Kip Kyle a.k.a. the Boogeyman approaches Marco because he wants money for underage prostitutes. Marco decides that this “swamp creature” is too sick even for his tastes and shoots a few staples into him. When the staples arouse Kip instead of hurt him, Marco anxiously questions whether the Boogeyman moniker is just a gimmick or if he really is a horror movie monster.
FUN FACT: Marco Said is loosely based on former ECW wrestler New Jack, a psychotic gangster who used a staple gun to win hardcore wrestling matches.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Tell me now, who taught you how to hate? ‘Cause it isn’t in your blood. Not a part of what you’re made. So let this be understood: somebody taught you how to hate. When you live this way, you become dead to everyone.”
-Disturbed singing “Who Taught You How to Hate?”-
January 4, 2017
Demon Axe, Chapter 11
One month of peace and quiet was all it took. Not one terrorist attack from Roger Zee took place in Paulson City, yet there were no media reports about his capture. Was he simply biding his time until his next wave of assaults? Did he actually get captured but nobody’s talking about it? Did his master plan hit a snag along the way? Everybody was feeling the anxiety of not knowing where the next attack would come from. Surely there had been concerts and events during this time. Why not attack those?
Every time Daniel Mercer felt the anxiety, he remembered the EMDR technique that Raven Triscloud taught him. But every time he used it, he couldn’t help but think of how bitter their dissolved friendship had become. A month of silence all because they disagreed on how to catch Roger Zee. Lives were on the line, sure, but this month-long reprieve seemed to quash those disagreements. Then why wasn’t Daniel talking to her? Was he too proud? Was he so busy with his new project that he completely forgot about the friend who helped take away his pain? He knew it was wrong to avoid her, but what else could he do? She was pissed off. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
By the end of this one month of peace, Daniel Mercer had donned his Lord of the Pit persona in time for another concert, face paint, cloak, leather armor, and combat boots. The crowd in this new outdoor venue didn’t seem anxious to him from where he stood backstage. Eager would have been a better word. Excited would have been much better than that. They screamed, hollered, shot off fireworks, moshed with each other, and this was long before the Lord of the Pit was ready to come onstage with his new band mates.
The four musicians stood backstage in a circle surrounding…a pan of marshmallow brownies. It wasn’t he bubbling witch cauldron Demon Axe was used to, but these were new times. Demon Axe was a distant memory. All that remained was Demon Death Juice. The last word in that new band name made the three hooded figures hungry for the liquidy chocolate and melted marshmallows that laid before them.
The first to take a bite out of the luscious brownies was Tarantula Man, whose mask featured the disgusting creature spreading its legs all over his face and part of his turban. While his visage was covered, his euphoric trance couldn’t be hidden after the gooey bite. He scarfed his brownie down and licked his fingers clean like a dog. He leaned backwards as the high of whatever was in the brownies took over. He asked in his Arab accent, “What the hell is in these things? I can’t even remember what that elf asshole’s name is now.”
“What elf asshole? I don’t see one around here. All I see is a big chunk of chocolate and goddamn I’m taking it!” exclaimed Lady Killer, who buried her mouth into her portion of the drugged dessert. She was lucky enough not to get any chocolate on her Hannibal Lecter-esque hockey mask. Blood would have looked a hell of a lot better. Mmmmm, blood.
“Save some for me, sweetheart!” whispered Bear Man before shoving the gooey piece of heaven in his mouth and sucking his fingers afterwards. The teeth in his polar bear mask drew a little bit of blood, but he licked it off like it was a more delicious treat than any Betty Crocker dessert.
The last one to take a brownie bite was the Lord of the Pit, who was patient in his eating style, but no less entranced. He threw his head back and let out a celebratory “Woo-hoo!” after letting the drugs surge through his veins. “Goddamn, I love weed. Don’t tell anybody what’s in here. I don’t think weed’s legal in Paulson City yet.”
Tarantula Man placed a hand on the lead singer’s shoulder and said, “After everything you went through, you can have all the drugs you want. We’re Demon Death Juice. We go hard!” He accentuated that last line by slapping his band mate on the back.
“Did you hear that guys?!” shouted the Lord of the Pit in a motivational tone. “Who are we?!”
“Demon Death Juice!” screamed his band mates.
“I can’t hear you, goddamn it! Who are we?!”
“DEMON DEATH JUICE!!”
“And don’t you forget it! It’s show time, bitches! Woo!”
The newly christened heavy metal band marched out onstage to a thunderous applause that made actual thunderstorms sound like pins dropping. The fans jumped up and down chanting “Demon Death Juice!” while the band took their positions at the sage. Tarantula Man grabbed the electric guitar and strummed a few deafening chords. Bear Man took hold of the bass guitar and slapped that bitch like a pimp who wanted his debt. Lady Killer sat at the drum kit and beat on those things with enough violent energy to make desert wars look like cat fights.
Waiting for the Lord of the Pit at center stage was his custom-made, beautifully magical axe microphone. It drooled with golden dust and with just one poke of the mouthpiece excited the crowd beyond an orgasmic, riotous rage. He never forgot where he came from or who brought him to the dance. G-Pac, Vulture Man, and Pig Man burned in his memory like a branding iron, but his adrenaline and passion was much hotter.
The Lord of the Pit grabbed his magical instrument of badassery and shouted, “What’s up, Paulson City!” which earned him a tidal wave of cacophonic cheers and lion roars. He looked down at the bottom of the stage and gave a nod of acknowledgment to Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, who donned black security T-shirts and got their own version of cheers from the fans.
Four beats of Lady Killer’s symbols later and all of the instrumental rage took over. Tarantula Man and Bear Man dueled on their electric and bass guitars respectively while Lady Killer assaulted the drums and the Lord of the Pit danced around stage like a rock and roll lunatic. When the action got too hot and heavy in the crowd, Johnny and Sonia weren’t afraid to put the violent ones in headlocks and judo holds while carrying them out of the venue. Whatever they were being paid, they deserved the salary of a one-percenter that afternoon.
“This is called Rise and Shine, bitches! Let’s go!” yelled the Lord of the Pit. He began growling the lyrics with unrelenting aggression and no pity for the weak. “Rise and shine for your fucked up mind / There’s no more time to relax and unwind / Get your ass out of bed, Mr. Sleepyhead / Rise like a zombie coming back from the dead / Rise and shine or your ass is mine! / Rise and shine, don’t fucking whine! / Rise and shine for the dollar signs! / Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”
Everybody was wide awake after that nuclear explosion-style heat. Johnny and Sonia had to headlock and full nelson even more rowdy customers, who in turn shouted drunkenly about how cool it was to be manhandled by two badass wrestlers. Some of the fans weren’t nearly as happy and tried to beat down the two bouncers only to get punched in the stomach and dragged away nonetheless. Demon Death Juice looked on at the scene with dragon-like smiles on their faces, all while delivering ruthless aggression on their instruments of chaos.
Before the Lord of the Pit could continue the next verse of “Rise and Shine”, he noticed police cars piling in from the back of the arena. He figured they were there to provide additional security for Johnny, Sonia, and the rest of the bouncers. When he saw a downtrodden and bruise-faced Shawn Henry exit one of the vehicles, he dropped his microphone and the band stopped playing. There were way more cop cars here than were necessary and they were hauling out concertgoers whether they were rowdy or not.
“What the hell’s going on here?! You can’t arrest these people! They came to see a show!” protested Tarantula Man.
By this time, Shawn Henry and his crew of cops had made it to the stage and started slapping handcuffs on all four members of Demon Death Juice, to which the Lord of the Pit interjected, “Hey, what are you doing, man?! Get these fucking things off of me!”
“Daniel Patrick Mercer? You and the rest of your band mates are under arrest for inciting terrorism,” said a solemn and almost unwilling Shawn Henry.
“What?! That’s bullshit! You guys are fucking dicks!” screamed Lady Killer, who got a face full of mace for her protests. Tarantula Man and Bear Man also rebelled while in handcuffs and were thrown down on the floor like common criminals.
Daniel looked on at the scene with horror on his face while his magical microphone was taken away. Shawn whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry, Daniel. My orders come from somewhere else. I wish there was something I could do about this.”
“I’m sure you’ll be sorry the next time it happens,” whispered Daniel angrily as he, his band mates, and even Johnny and Sonia were hauled away unceremoniously.
Every time Daniel Mercer felt the anxiety, he remembered the EMDR technique that Raven Triscloud taught him. But every time he used it, he couldn’t help but think of how bitter their dissolved friendship had become. A month of silence all because they disagreed on how to catch Roger Zee. Lives were on the line, sure, but this month-long reprieve seemed to quash those disagreements. Then why wasn’t Daniel talking to her? Was he too proud? Was he so busy with his new project that he completely forgot about the friend who helped take away his pain? He knew it was wrong to avoid her, but what else could he do? She was pissed off. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
By the end of this one month of peace, Daniel Mercer had donned his Lord of the Pit persona in time for another concert, face paint, cloak, leather armor, and combat boots. The crowd in this new outdoor venue didn’t seem anxious to him from where he stood backstage. Eager would have been a better word. Excited would have been much better than that. They screamed, hollered, shot off fireworks, moshed with each other, and this was long before the Lord of the Pit was ready to come onstage with his new band mates.
The four musicians stood backstage in a circle surrounding…a pan of marshmallow brownies. It wasn’t he bubbling witch cauldron Demon Axe was used to, but these were new times. Demon Axe was a distant memory. All that remained was Demon Death Juice. The last word in that new band name made the three hooded figures hungry for the liquidy chocolate and melted marshmallows that laid before them.
The first to take a bite out of the luscious brownies was Tarantula Man, whose mask featured the disgusting creature spreading its legs all over his face and part of his turban. While his visage was covered, his euphoric trance couldn’t be hidden after the gooey bite. He scarfed his brownie down and licked his fingers clean like a dog. He leaned backwards as the high of whatever was in the brownies took over. He asked in his Arab accent, “What the hell is in these things? I can’t even remember what that elf asshole’s name is now.”
“What elf asshole? I don’t see one around here. All I see is a big chunk of chocolate and goddamn I’m taking it!” exclaimed Lady Killer, who buried her mouth into her portion of the drugged dessert. She was lucky enough not to get any chocolate on her Hannibal Lecter-esque hockey mask. Blood would have looked a hell of a lot better. Mmmmm, blood.
“Save some for me, sweetheart!” whispered Bear Man before shoving the gooey piece of heaven in his mouth and sucking his fingers afterwards. The teeth in his polar bear mask drew a little bit of blood, but he licked it off like it was a more delicious treat than any Betty Crocker dessert.
The last one to take a brownie bite was the Lord of the Pit, who was patient in his eating style, but no less entranced. He threw his head back and let out a celebratory “Woo-hoo!” after letting the drugs surge through his veins. “Goddamn, I love weed. Don’t tell anybody what’s in here. I don’t think weed’s legal in Paulson City yet.”
Tarantula Man placed a hand on the lead singer’s shoulder and said, “After everything you went through, you can have all the drugs you want. We’re Demon Death Juice. We go hard!” He accentuated that last line by slapping his band mate on the back.
“Did you hear that guys?!” shouted the Lord of the Pit in a motivational tone. “Who are we?!”
“Demon Death Juice!” screamed his band mates.
“I can’t hear you, goddamn it! Who are we?!”
“DEMON DEATH JUICE!!”
“And don’t you forget it! It’s show time, bitches! Woo!”
The newly christened heavy metal band marched out onstage to a thunderous applause that made actual thunderstorms sound like pins dropping. The fans jumped up and down chanting “Demon Death Juice!” while the band took their positions at the sage. Tarantula Man grabbed the electric guitar and strummed a few deafening chords. Bear Man took hold of the bass guitar and slapped that bitch like a pimp who wanted his debt. Lady Killer sat at the drum kit and beat on those things with enough violent energy to make desert wars look like cat fights.
Waiting for the Lord of the Pit at center stage was his custom-made, beautifully magical axe microphone. It drooled with golden dust and with just one poke of the mouthpiece excited the crowd beyond an orgasmic, riotous rage. He never forgot where he came from or who brought him to the dance. G-Pac, Vulture Man, and Pig Man burned in his memory like a branding iron, but his adrenaline and passion was much hotter.
The Lord of the Pit grabbed his magical instrument of badassery and shouted, “What’s up, Paulson City!” which earned him a tidal wave of cacophonic cheers and lion roars. He looked down at the bottom of the stage and gave a nod of acknowledgment to Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, who donned black security T-shirts and got their own version of cheers from the fans.
Four beats of Lady Killer’s symbols later and all of the instrumental rage took over. Tarantula Man and Bear Man dueled on their electric and bass guitars respectively while Lady Killer assaulted the drums and the Lord of the Pit danced around stage like a rock and roll lunatic. When the action got too hot and heavy in the crowd, Johnny and Sonia weren’t afraid to put the violent ones in headlocks and judo holds while carrying them out of the venue. Whatever they were being paid, they deserved the salary of a one-percenter that afternoon.
“This is called Rise and Shine, bitches! Let’s go!” yelled the Lord of the Pit. He began growling the lyrics with unrelenting aggression and no pity for the weak. “Rise and shine for your fucked up mind / There’s no more time to relax and unwind / Get your ass out of bed, Mr. Sleepyhead / Rise like a zombie coming back from the dead / Rise and shine or your ass is mine! / Rise and shine, don’t fucking whine! / Rise and shine for the dollar signs! / Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”
Everybody was wide awake after that nuclear explosion-style heat. Johnny and Sonia had to headlock and full nelson even more rowdy customers, who in turn shouted drunkenly about how cool it was to be manhandled by two badass wrestlers. Some of the fans weren’t nearly as happy and tried to beat down the two bouncers only to get punched in the stomach and dragged away nonetheless. Demon Death Juice looked on at the scene with dragon-like smiles on their faces, all while delivering ruthless aggression on their instruments of chaos.
Before the Lord of the Pit could continue the next verse of “Rise and Shine”, he noticed police cars piling in from the back of the arena. He figured they were there to provide additional security for Johnny, Sonia, and the rest of the bouncers. When he saw a downtrodden and bruise-faced Shawn Henry exit one of the vehicles, he dropped his microphone and the band stopped playing. There were way more cop cars here than were necessary and they were hauling out concertgoers whether they were rowdy or not.
“What the hell’s going on here?! You can’t arrest these people! They came to see a show!” protested Tarantula Man.
By this time, Shawn Henry and his crew of cops had made it to the stage and started slapping handcuffs on all four members of Demon Death Juice, to which the Lord of the Pit interjected, “Hey, what are you doing, man?! Get these fucking things off of me!”
“Daniel Patrick Mercer? You and the rest of your band mates are under arrest for inciting terrorism,” said a solemn and almost unwilling Shawn Henry.
“What?! That’s bullshit! You guys are fucking dicks!” screamed Lady Killer, who got a face full of mace for her protests. Tarantula Man and Bear Man also rebelled while in handcuffs and were thrown down on the floor like common criminals.
Daniel looked on at the scene with horror on his face while his magical microphone was taken away. Shawn whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry, Daniel. My orders come from somewhere else. I wish there was something I could do about this.”
“I’m sure you’ll be sorry the next time it happens,” whispered Daniel angrily as he, his band mates, and even Johnny and Sonia were hauled away unceremoniously.
December 30, 2016
Conforming to Society
***CONFORMING TO SOCIETY***
I can’t remember who exactly said it, but I read a Wikipedia article where the lead singer of a punk band talked about the necessity of conforming to society in order to fulfill responsibilities. In other words, doing what you’re told will give you worth in the eyes of your boss even if you don’t agree with your orders.
However, there’s a huge difference between doing what you’re told to earn a paycheck and changing your mindset to contour to the boss’s beliefs. When teenagers work at McDonald’s, they’re not doing it because they’re zealots of fast food. They’re doing it because they want money for an X-Box or a new car. Conformity takes place in the mind, not in the body. No sane human being would ever bomb a Burger King or spray poisonous gas in a Wendy’s in the righteous name of McDonald’s.
Money isn’t everything, but it is something. We all have to have it in some form or another, whether we’re keeping a roof over our heads or finding entertainment. Sometimes you have to do things for money that you never thought possible. But does that mean you’re a puppet for whoever you work for? No. Does it mean you have to give up on your original dreams? No.
If your boss does something morally corrupt, you could just as easily look for another job behind his back. If you need time to work on your dreams, wait until you get home. Even if you work seven days a week, you can use at least a modicum of your free time to work on other projects. Yes, you’ll be tired at the end of the day, but if you set aside time for yourself, it can be achieved.
What you do in your private life and what you believe in your own mind are nobody else’s business but your own. Your mind is a personal haven where you can say or do whatever you want. You can have violent fantasies, sexual fantasies, adventures, and other trains of thought without invasion. Yes, people will try to invade your private sanctuary with insults and abuse, which is why it’s important to maintain your individuality and suppress thoughts of conforming to your haters. Being an individual is a skill, but as long as you remember who you are and why you do what you do, it can be done.
I’m currently reading another one of Andy Peloquin’s books and it’s called “Child of the Night Guild”. The opening scenes depict a cruel drill instructor named Master Velvet trying to force small children to obey him at all times by starving them, beating them, and screaming at them. While the children do bend to his will, I’ll bet you anything that somewhere in their minds they’re thinking about kicking this guy in the nuts. He controls them by changing their birth names to numbers, but other than lost memories, I still wonder why these kids don’t just gang up on Master Velvet and beat him into powder.
There’s no rule that says you have to like what you do for a living or like who’s in charge. There’s also no rule that says you can’t use your employment as a stepping stone for bigger and better things. You can work at a convenience store, pay your bills, and set aside some money to publish that next great novel of yours. It doesn’t happen right away and your soul will feel crushed from time to time, but it can be done. Everyone tells you how hard it is to be an artist, but nobody tells you how hard it is NOT to be an artist. Think of all your favorite authors, actors, and musicians and what they had to go through to get to where they are today. And yet, they managed to achieve their dreams.
Putting on a grocery store apron doesn’t make you a zealot any more than earning a paycheck makes you a conformist. Do what you need to do to survive and then be yourself when you come back to your private life. If you like wearing rock band T-shirts, put one on when you get home. If you like watching Real Time with Bill Maher even though your boss likes watching The O’Reilly Factor, watch Bill Maher’s show when you get home.
If you need help remembering who you are, surround yourself with friends and family who believe in you. You might have to search far and wide to find these people, but it’s worth it. It might even be as easy as doing an internet search. Someone out there loves you for who you are. Not everybody wants you to change into something you’re not. No, you don’t have to conform to society in order to survive. Society isn’t always going to be your friend. Only people who love and respect you can be part of your own society. Do what makes you happy and be with people who will make you happy. You deserve the best, always.
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 11***
I somehow have the feeling that there should be a transition chapter between 10 and 11. But as it is, when chapter 10 ends with a bonfire argument, chapter 11 begins with a heavy metal concert at another venue. Daniel Mercer instantly forms a new band with members of I Am Death and Juice and they miraculously know how to play Demon Axe songs. Monk robes, scary masks, and crazy stage names aside, the new band won’t be called Demon Axe. It’ll be a combination of those three bands: Demon Death Juice. Again, these things happen instantaneously even though concerts sometimes take weeks or even months to book in advance, not to mention hours of practice the bands have to go through to get their songs right. Do we have time for rational solutions to the transition problem? Could months pass without another terrorist attack from Roger Zee? I need to sit on this one for a while before I write the damn thing.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Uneven tits aside, I’d say that Raven Triscloud turned out well. Now it’s time to draw a villain since a hero was featured in the last picture. That’s how I’m going to pump out Dark Fantasy Warriors: hero, villain, hero, villain, hero, villain. This time, we’ve got Carla Madder, the razor-toothed, overweight madam from the Poison Tongue Tales 2 story “Shield Me”. This woman could easily be the most frightening character I have and that’s saying something considering most of my villains are psychotic necrophiles who rape and murder without mercy.
***MIXED-MARTIAL ARTS QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Love me or hate me, just debate me.”
-Ronda Rousey-
***POST-SCRIPT***
I just found out that Ronda Rousey lost to Amanda Nunes at UFC 207 via TKO in under a minute. That makes me sad. It also makes me wonder where she’ll go from here now that she lost two title matches in a row. The last time she lost a UFC fight was when she dropped the Women’s Bantamweight Championship against Holly Holm. She considered suicide after that match. After her first stare down with Nunes, she needed to be consoled. If I could hug Ronda right now, I would.
I can’t remember who exactly said it, but I read a Wikipedia article where the lead singer of a punk band talked about the necessity of conforming to society in order to fulfill responsibilities. In other words, doing what you’re told will give you worth in the eyes of your boss even if you don’t agree with your orders.
However, there’s a huge difference between doing what you’re told to earn a paycheck and changing your mindset to contour to the boss’s beliefs. When teenagers work at McDonald’s, they’re not doing it because they’re zealots of fast food. They’re doing it because they want money for an X-Box or a new car. Conformity takes place in the mind, not in the body. No sane human being would ever bomb a Burger King or spray poisonous gas in a Wendy’s in the righteous name of McDonald’s.
Money isn’t everything, but it is something. We all have to have it in some form or another, whether we’re keeping a roof over our heads or finding entertainment. Sometimes you have to do things for money that you never thought possible. But does that mean you’re a puppet for whoever you work for? No. Does it mean you have to give up on your original dreams? No.
If your boss does something morally corrupt, you could just as easily look for another job behind his back. If you need time to work on your dreams, wait until you get home. Even if you work seven days a week, you can use at least a modicum of your free time to work on other projects. Yes, you’ll be tired at the end of the day, but if you set aside time for yourself, it can be achieved.
What you do in your private life and what you believe in your own mind are nobody else’s business but your own. Your mind is a personal haven where you can say or do whatever you want. You can have violent fantasies, sexual fantasies, adventures, and other trains of thought without invasion. Yes, people will try to invade your private sanctuary with insults and abuse, which is why it’s important to maintain your individuality and suppress thoughts of conforming to your haters. Being an individual is a skill, but as long as you remember who you are and why you do what you do, it can be done.
I’m currently reading another one of Andy Peloquin’s books and it’s called “Child of the Night Guild”. The opening scenes depict a cruel drill instructor named Master Velvet trying to force small children to obey him at all times by starving them, beating them, and screaming at them. While the children do bend to his will, I’ll bet you anything that somewhere in their minds they’re thinking about kicking this guy in the nuts. He controls them by changing their birth names to numbers, but other than lost memories, I still wonder why these kids don’t just gang up on Master Velvet and beat him into powder.
There’s no rule that says you have to like what you do for a living or like who’s in charge. There’s also no rule that says you can’t use your employment as a stepping stone for bigger and better things. You can work at a convenience store, pay your bills, and set aside some money to publish that next great novel of yours. It doesn’t happen right away and your soul will feel crushed from time to time, but it can be done. Everyone tells you how hard it is to be an artist, but nobody tells you how hard it is NOT to be an artist. Think of all your favorite authors, actors, and musicians and what they had to go through to get to where they are today. And yet, they managed to achieve their dreams.
Putting on a grocery store apron doesn’t make you a zealot any more than earning a paycheck makes you a conformist. Do what you need to do to survive and then be yourself when you come back to your private life. If you like wearing rock band T-shirts, put one on when you get home. If you like watching Real Time with Bill Maher even though your boss likes watching The O’Reilly Factor, watch Bill Maher’s show when you get home.
If you need help remembering who you are, surround yourself with friends and family who believe in you. You might have to search far and wide to find these people, but it’s worth it. It might even be as easy as doing an internet search. Someone out there loves you for who you are. Not everybody wants you to change into something you’re not. No, you don’t have to conform to society in order to survive. Society isn’t always going to be your friend. Only people who love and respect you can be part of your own society. Do what makes you happy and be with people who will make you happy. You deserve the best, always.
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 11***
I somehow have the feeling that there should be a transition chapter between 10 and 11. But as it is, when chapter 10 ends with a bonfire argument, chapter 11 begins with a heavy metal concert at another venue. Daniel Mercer instantly forms a new band with members of I Am Death and Juice and they miraculously know how to play Demon Axe songs. Monk robes, scary masks, and crazy stage names aside, the new band won’t be called Demon Axe. It’ll be a combination of those three bands: Demon Death Juice. Again, these things happen instantaneously even though concerts sometimes take weeks or even months to book in advance, not to mention hours of practice the bands have to go through to get their songs right. Do we have time for rational solutions to the transition problem? Could months pass without another terrorist attack from Roger Zee? I need to sit on this one for a while before I write the damn thing.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Uneven tits aside, I’d say that Raven Triscloud turned out well. Now it’s time to draw a villain since a hero was featured in the last picture. That’s how I’m going to pump out Dark Fantasy Warriors: hero, villain, hero, villain, hero, villain. This time, we’ve got Carla Madder, the razor-toothed, overweight madam from the Poison Tongue Tales 2 story “Shield Me”. This woman could easily be the most frightening character I have and that’s saying something considering most of my villains are psychotic necrophiles who rape and murder without mercy.
***MIXED-MARTIAL ARTS QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Love me or hate me, just debate me.”
-Ronda Rousey-
***POST-SCRIPT***
I just found out that Ronda Rousey lost to Amanda Nunes at UFC 207 via TKO in under a minute. That makes me sad. It also makes me wonder where she’ll go from here now that she lost two title matches in a row. The last time she lost a UFC fight was when she dropped the Women’s Bantamweight Championship against Holly Holm. She considered suicide after that match. After her first stare down with Nunes, she needed to be consoled. If I could hug Ronda right now, I would.
December 29, 2016
Revenge Porn
Liz Ronaldson wondered how badly her body would be broken after jumping off of the suspension bridge into the icy waters below. Would her legs snap in two? Would her neck crack in different directions? Would it be over in an instant? Regardless of the two-hundred foot drop, shattered bones and punctured organs couldn’t compare to the pain she felt in her heart and soul. As she gazed hypnotically into the waters below, tears cascaded from her eyes. She tried wiping them away with the only puffy coat she had, but the tears kept coming. No matter how many times she snorted and sniffed, the loose snot wouldn’t stay up her nose. She was ready to jump. One…two…
“Hey, loser, you got five dollars on you? Gimme that shit!” She saw the incident take place only a few feet from where she planned to jump. The three bullies pushed around the smaller kid like a torturous game of volleyball, all while making wisecracks about how he was allegedly on welfare and food stamps. The smaller kid hauled back and slapped one of the bullies across the cheek. The shoving match ended with the bullies staring at the kid in shock. They swore at him with whip-cracking voices while punching him relentlessly, causing the little guy to huddle on the ground and cover.
Liz’s suicidal sorrow turned into fiery rage. Her tears became hotter. Her stomach was burning with homicidal tendencies. Her fists were clenched tightly. Reaching around for the nearest weapon she could find, she picked up a lead pipe and shouted to the bullies, “Hey! Knock that shit off! He’s just a kid, you fucking idiots!”
The bullies ended the beat down like they were told, but only to laugh and point at Liz. “Hey, look! Miss Ronaldson’s got something big in her hands! Hell, I got something big too after seeing those naked pictures!” taunted one of the bullies, resulting in even more obnoxious laughter.
Liz chucked the lead pipe at the bullies and caused them to cover up with their arms as they ran off like little bitches. The former teacher continued to throw rocks, rusty nails, glass bottles, and anything else she could get her hands on until the older kids were out of sight. Some of her projectiles hit their marks, but only did enough damage to elicit an “Ouch!” and nothing more.
“That’s right, you pussies! You’d better run like the goddamn wind! If I ever see you fuckers again, I’ll kill you all!” shouted Liz while flailing her fists in the air. Even more tears poured from her eyes and stained her tattered jeans and newspaper shoes. The little kid, which she now recognized as one of her former students, was tearing up as well. Bloody gashes covered his arms and face, but being homeless didn’t afford Liz access to proper healthcare supplies.
Liz approached the banged up kid and ripped off pieces of her fluffy jacket to use as bandages for his wounds. Neither teacher nor student could stop crying, but Liz wiped her own tears away long enough to form coherent sentences. “Hi there, Seth! You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“No, it isn’t,” murmured Seth Luke. He wiped his eyes with his bloodied arm and recognized the angelic face of his recently fired English teacher. “Miss Ronaldson? Are you homeless too?”
“Please, call me Liz. I don’t deserve to be called Miss Ronaldson after what happened with those pictures. So many of my friends and family saw those.” Liz smiled sadly and shrugged before changing the topic. “What am I saying? You’re the one who got beat up. They got you pretty good. I think there’s a hospital around here somewhere. Are you well enough to walk with me?”
“Thanks for helping me, Miss Ro, I mean, Liz,” sniffled Seth. He shivered in this chilly afternoon air due to him only wearing a short sleeved shirt.
Liz gazed upon him sympathetically and took off her own jacket to wrap him up. “There you go, Seth. You’ll be all warm and toasty in no time at all.”
“Thanks, Liz, but don’t you need a jacket too? You’ll freeze out here,” stammered Seth.
“I’m not going to need a jacket for where I’m going,” said Liz while gesturing towards the edge of the bridge with a nudge of her head.
“No! No, you can’t do that!” argued Seth as he wrapped his bloodied arms around Liz. “I’m not letting you jump! I don’t care if I have to hold onto you for the rest of my life!” Even more hot tears drained the homeless teenager’s eyeballs to the point of redness. “You were my favorite teacher before they fired you! You taught me about being creative and making the most of life! And now you’re just going to jump off the bridge over some naked pictures online?!”
Liz wrapped her arms around Seth and said solemnly, “There’s more to it than that, Seth. It’s not just the naked pictures that became my scandalous secret. It’s about my career. It’s about my social and family lives. I made a bad decision when I let my bastard of a boyfriend take those pictures of me. I’ve lost everything and I can’t get it back. Once something is on the internet, it’s there forever. All I have left are the clothes on my body and a beating heart. I don’t want the latter of those two things if it just keeps hurting like this.”
Seth gave Liz his best puppy dog expression when he sobbed, “But I can help you get those things back! It’s not over until I say it’s over! You’re going to be okay again! I promise you!”
“Seth, that is so sweet,” sniffed Liz. “But you’re in the same boat as I am. We’re both alone out here with nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. What can we do for each other now? Where do we go from here?”
“There’s always another way, Liz,” said Seth. “We have each other. We can be a team and take on the streets together. Just you and me! No jack-off bullies, no bastard boyfriends, no judgment at all. You taught me all about this, Liz! You taught me how important it is to care about each other and be there when we’re down. If you jump off that bridge, you’re going to be nothing more than a hypocrite! Maybe I’ll join you afterwards, who knows!”
Liz shoved Seth away from the embrace and transformed back into rage mode. “Oh yeah?! A hypocrite?! And what do you suppose I do about this?! I haven’t eaten in days and I’ve got frostbite on my fucking fingers! Nobody wants to give me the time of day let alone give me my life back, all because of some stupid fucking naked pictures! What am I supposed to do, just pick up a beer bottle off the ground and pretend there’s actually liquor in it?! Tell me how you’d solve my problems if suicide doesn’t fix everything, asshole! What would the great and wonderful Seth Luke do if he was half the master of his destiny that I’m supposed to be?!”
While giving his former teacher the gorgon death stare, Seth pulled a wallet out of his pocket with his school’s logo on it. It looked stuffed with dollar bills. “You see this? I plucked it out of one of the bullies’ pockets while those three bastards were beating on me! I was going to eat at McDonald’s or Denny’s with this kind of money! I was going to take you out for something to eat! But I guess you’d prefer suicide over a good meal! See you around, toots! Thanks for the life lessons! I really appreciate them!”
Seth turned heel and began stomping away. Watching him leave twisted a knot in Liz’s stomach. No matter how much she tried to deny it, Seth was right all along. Dying would solve nothing. Liz had just unloaded on the one person in this world who still cared about her. He probably didn’t even have an internet connection to see those pictures. He took to her lessons of not judging each other like a bee to honey. Liz’s heart shattered into a million pieces after realizing what she had done.
“Seth, wait!” said Liz as she ran after him. He turned to face her with his arms folded and an angry stare formed on his bloody visage. “You’re right. You’ve been right all along. Look at you. You’re in the same boat as me and you’d never consider suicide. You’re an A+ student in the truest sense. Don’t let anybody tell you differently. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Let’s take on the world together. I’d love to eat a decent meal with you. How about a hug?”
Liz and Seth bawled some more while coming in for a tight embrace. Two of the loneliest people in the world versus an uncaring, inherently evil society. The odds were stacked against them, but they liked those odds anyways. Death was not the answer. Fighting like a passionate warrior was closer to being the topic of an A+ paper, written by A+ students and teachers alike.
“Hey, loser, you got five dollars on you? Gimme that shit!” She saw the incident take place only a few feet from where she planned to jump. The three bullies pushed around the smaller kid like a torturous game of volleyball, all while making wisecracks about how he was allegedly on welfare and food stamps. The smaller kid hauled back and slapped one of the bullies across the cheek. The shoving match ended with the bullies staring at the kid in shock. They swore at him with whip-cracking voices while punching him relentlessly, causing the little guy to huddle on the ground and cover.
Liz’s suicidal sorrow turned into fiery rage. Her tears became hotter. Her stomach was burning with homicidal tendencies. Her fists were clenched tightly. Reaching around for the nearest weapon she could find, she picked up a lead pipe and shouted to the bullies, “Hey! Knock that shit off! He’s just a kid, you fucking idiots!”
The bullies ended the beat down like they were told, but only to laugh and point at Liz. “Hey, look! Miss Ronaldson’s got something big in her hands! Hell, I got something big too after seeing those naked pictures!” taunted one of the bullies, resulting in even more obnoxious laughter.
Liz chucked the lead pipe at the bullies and caused them to cover up with their arms as they ran off like little bitches. The former teacher continued to throw rocks, rusty nails, glass bottles, and anything else she could get her hands on until the older kids were out of sight. Some of her projectiles hit their marks, but only did enough damage to elicit an “Ouch!” and nothing more.
“That’s right, you pussies! You’d better run like the goddamn wind! If I ever see you fuckers again, I’ll kill you all!” shouted Liz while flailing her fists in the air. Even more tears poured from her eyes and stained her tattered jeans and newspaper shoes. The little kid, which she now recognized as one of her former students, was tearing up as well. Bloody gashes covered his arms and face, but being homeless didn’t afford Liz access to proper healthcare supplies.
Liz approached the banged up kid and ripped off pieces of her fluffy jacket to use as bandages for his wounds. Neither teacher nor student could stop crying, but Liz wiped her own tears away long enough to form coherent sentences. “Hi there, Seth! You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“No, it isn’t,” murmured Seth Luke. He wiped his eyes with his bloodied arm and recognized the angelic face of his recently fired English teacher. “Miss Ronaldson? Are you homeless too?”
“Please, call me Liz. I don’t deserve to be called Miss Ronaldson after what happened with those pictures. So many of my friends and family saw those.” Liz smiled sadly and shrugged before changing the topic. “What am I saying? You’re the one who got beat up. They got you pretty good. I think there’s a hospital around here somewhere. Are you well enough to walk with me?”
“Thanks for helping me, Miss Ro, I mean, Liz,” sniffled Seth. He shivered in this chilly afternoon air due to him only wearing a short sleeved shirt.
Liz gazed upon him sympathetically and took off her own jacket to wrap him up. “There you go, Seth. You’ll be all warm and toasty in no time at all.”
“Thanks, Liz, but don’t you need a jacket too? You’ll freeze out here,” stammered Seth.
“I’m not going to need a jacket for where I’m going,” said Liz while gesturing towards the edge of the bridge with a nudge of her head.
“No! No, you can’t do that!” argued Seth as he wrapped his bloodied arms around Liz. “I’m not letting you jump! I don’t care if I have to hold onto you for the rest of my life!” Even more hot tears drained the homeless teenager’s eyeballs to the point of redness. “You were my favorite teacher before they fired you! You taught me about being creative and making the most of life! And now you’re just going to jump off the bridge over some naked pictures online?!”
Liz wrapped her arms around Seth and said solemnly, “There’s more to it than that, Seth. It’s not just the naked pictures that became my scandalous secret. It’s about my career. It’s about my social and family lives. I made a bad decision when I let my bastard of a boyfriend take those pictures of me. I’ve lost everything and I can’t get it back. Once something is on the internet, it’s there forever. All I have left are the clothes on my body and a beating heart. I don’t want the latter of those two things if it just keeps hurting like this.”
Seth gave Liz his best puppy dog expression when he sobbed, “But I can help you get those things back! It’s not over until I say it’s over! You’re going to be okay again! I promise you!”
“Seth, that is so sweet,” sniffed Liz. “But you’re in the same boat as I am. We’re both alone out here with nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. What can we do for each other now? Where do we go from here?”
“There’s always another way, Liz,” said Seth. “We have each other. We can be a team and take on the streets together. Just you and me! No jack-off bullies, no bastard boyfriends, no judgment at all. You taught me all about this, Liz! You taught me how important it is to care about each other and be there when we’re down. If you jump off that bridge, you’re going to be nothing more than a hypocrite! Maybe I’ll join you afterwards, who knows!”
Liz shoved Seth away from the embrace and transformed back into rage mode. “Oh yeah?! A hypocrite?! And what do you suppose I do about this?! I haven’t eaten in days and I’ve got frostbite on my fucking fingers! Nobody wants to give me the time of day let alone give me my life back, all because of some stupid fucking naked pictures! What am I supposed to do, just pick up a beer bottle off the ground and pretend there’s actually liquor in it?! Tell me how you’d solve my problems if suicide doesn’t fix everything, asshole! What would the great and wonderful Seth Luke do if he was half the master of his destiny that I’m supposed to be?!”
While giving his former teacher the gorgon death stare, Seth pulled a wallet out of his pocket with his school’s logo on it. It looked stuffed with dollar bills. “You see this? I plucked it out of one of the bullies’ pockets while those three bastards were beating on me! I was going to eat at McDonald’s or Denny’s with this kind of money! I was going to take you out for something to eat! But I guess you’d prefer suicide over a good meal! See you around, toots! Thanks for the life lessons! I really appreciate them!”
Seth turned heel and began stomping away. Watching him leave twisted a knot in Liz’s stomach. No matter how much she tried to deny it, Seth was right all along. Dying would solve nothing. Liz had just unloaded on the one person in this world who still cared about her. He probably didn’t even have an internet connection to see those pictures. He took to her lessons of not judging each other like a bee to honey. Liz’s heart shattered into a million pieces after realizing what she had done.
“Seth, wait!” said Liz as she ran after him. He turned to face her with his arms folded and an angry stare formed on his bloody visage. “You’re right. You’ve been right all along. Look at you. You’re in the same boat as me and you’d never consider suicide. You’re an A+ student in the truest sense. Don’t let anybody tell you differently. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Let’s take on the world together. I’d love to eat a decent meal with you. How about a hug?”
Liz and Seth bawled some more while coming in for a tight embrace. Two of the loneliest people in the world versus an uncaring, inherently evil society. The odds were stacked against them, but they liked those odds anyways. Death was not the answer. Fighting like a passionate warrior was closer to being the topic of an A+ paper, written by A+ students and teachers alike.
December 25, 2016
Sloppy Joe
VERSE 1
You’re a beta male on beta blockers
A fitness freak with the biggest knockers
A Mary Jane mind that’s off your rocker
Childish joker who plays the role of mocker
You think you’ve got bigger balls than soccer
As you put your hot pants in a tiny locker
You’ve got some nerve being such a shit talker
Your rabid obsession makes you a kind of stalker
CHORUS 1
Sloppy Joe, what the fuck do you know?
Are you smoking the pot or sniffing the blow?
Sloppy Joe, you do this all for the dough
For the biggest check you’d backstab your bros
VERSE 2
You Gary-Stus have become old news
Older than the days of bebop and blues
Changing the channel is what we choose
No need to waste a perfectly good fuse
On someone who brings on a good snooze
Or someone too big for his baby shoes
Your macho persona is all but a ruse
When every argument is yours to lose
CHORUS 2
Sloppy Joe, where the fuck did you go?
Do you have enough butt-hurt steam to blow?
Sloppy Joe, get out of the front row
Not even close to being the star of the show
VERSE 3
Barbarian warriors are turning in their graves
Even they’re disgusted by how you behave
They’re the bottom of the barrel, that’s saying a lot
A tough guy and super athlete you are not
A one-sided battle you barely even fought
You didn’t give this a whole lot of thought
If you open your mouth, don’t ever get caught
With tears in your eyes and a nose full of snot
CHORUS 3
Sloppy Joe, you must be mentally slow
Too many rocks that you came to throw
Sloppy Joe, it’s time for you to blow
Get off the stage, get off the show
Sloppy Joe, now where will you go?
Nobody wants to listen to you crow
Sloppy Joe, time to mature and grow
Don’t pick a fight with a stronger foe
You’re a beta male on beta blockers
A fitness freak with the biggest knockers
A Mary Jane mind that’s off your rocker
Childish joker who plays the role of mocker
You think you’ve got bigger balls than soccer
As you put your hot pants in a tiny locker
You’ve got some nerve being such a shit talker
Your rabid obsession makes you a kind of stalker
CHORUS 1
Sloppy Joe, what the fuck do you know?
Are you smoking the pot or sniffing the blow?
Sloppy Joe, you do this all for the dough
For the biggest check you’d backstab your bros
VERSE 2
You Gary-Stus have become old news
Older than the days of bebop and blues
Changing the channel is what we choose
No need to waste a perfectly good fuse
On someone who brings on a good snooze
Or someone too big for his baby shoes
Your macho persona is all but a ruse
When every argument is yours to lose
CHORUS 2
Sloppy Joe, where the fuck did you go?
Do you have enough butt-hurt steam to blow?
Sloppy Joe, get out of the front row
Not even close to being the star of the show
VERSE 3
Barbarian warriors are turning in their graves
Even they’re disgusted by how you behave
They’re the bottom of the barrel, that’s saying a lot
A tough guy and super athlete you are not
A one-sided battle you barely even fought
You didn’t give this a whole lot of thought
If you open your mouth, don’t ever get caught
With tears in your eyes and a nose full of snot
CHORUS 3
Sloppy Joe, you must be mentally slow
Too many rocks that you came to throw
Sloppy Joe, it’s time for you to blow
Get off the stage, get off the show
Sloppy Joe, now where will you go?
Nobody wants to listen to you crow
Sloppy Joe, time to mature and grow
Don’t pick a fight with a stronger foe
I Want Presents
Dr. Kate Spencer peered through the peephole of Glenn Robertson’s padded cell with pity and sympathy. He just sat there cross-legged with thinning brown hair, a gray T-shirt, and blue pajama pants, repeating the same line over and over again: “I want presents.” Dr. Spencer thought about how bureaucratic her mental hospital had become: sedate, lock up, repeat. No cures, no real treatments, just keeping these poor people under lock and key. A solitary tear smeared Kate’s makeup as she thought about Glenn sitting there with that goofy faraway look in his eyes. All of those drugs and all of those treatments, what for?
The head doctor knew in her heart that there had to be another way to get through to her patients. There had to be more to this hospital than just the business aspect of it. Why did everything have to be for profit? Wasn’t there just one instance where human dignity trumped the almighty dollar bill? Kate knew she was risking her career by trying this new approach, but seeing all of these depressed patients weighed too heavily on her conscience and she couldn’t take any more of it. She wiped the tear from her eye and told the two orderlies that they could leave. They nodded and did so.
Dr. Spencer took a deep breath and steadied herself before entering Glenn’s cell with no protection from the nurses and orderlies. The mental patient didn’t take his mile-long gaze off of the opposite wall. He just sat there like a dope long after Kate closed the cell door. She said in a motherly voice, “Hello? Hello? Is there anybody in there?”
It took a while, but Glenn turned to meet Kate’s eyes. He had a little bit of drool running down his chin as he said, “I want presents.”
“Yes, we all know you want presents, Mr. Robertson,” said Dr. Spencer. She sat next to Glenn in the same cross-legged position as her patient and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He blushed and looked down at his lap. “Guess what day it is?”
“I want presents.”
“That’s right, Glenn: it’s that time of year alright. It’s Christmas Eve! I know Christmas is your favorite holiday. But before I reveal my big surprise to you, you and I need to talk about something. It’s about your health,” said Kate.
“I want presents.”
“I know you do,” said Kate as she fluffed Glenn’s horseshoe hair. “But you need to listen to me for a few minutes. I can’t help you otherwise. Glenn, do you have any idea how much time has passed since you first came here?”
The patient shrugged his shoulders and allowed a spot of drool to splash his pajama pants. Kate’s answer was, “Fifteen years. You’ve been living in this hospital for fifteen long years. You were admitted here at the tender age of twenty-five when your parents died in a plane crash. You had a traumatic breakdown. You couldn’t find work. You couldn’t find anybody to take care of you. So fifteen years later, here you are. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but that’s only because we’ve kept you sedated and drugged throughout most of your stay. I know it’s wrong, trust me, I do. My hands were tied, even as the head doctor of this facility.”
Glenn tucked his head and sobbed softly while sniffing mucus up his nose. “I want presents! I want presents!”
“You see, that’s the thing,” said Kate while patting Glenn on the back. “Presents are not going to bring your parents back. They’re not going to help you find a place to live or a job to work at. But what they can do is bring you back to that sense of nostalgia you once had. You loved Christmas. Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you opened those presents. If I bring you back to that special moment, you have to promise that you’ll tell me everything. I want to hear more about your life than the fact that you want presents. Okay, big guy?”
“I want presents.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Dr. Spencer before planting a playful kiss on the top of his head. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Your cell has a PA system as you already know, which is what we use to wake you up and give you dinner or medicine. Well, today on Christmas Eve, your sound system is going to be used for something else entirely. Consider this your early Christmas present. You want presents? Here you go.”
Kate pulled a remote out of her lab coat pocket and aimed it at the speaker box in the high corner of the cell. One press of the button later and the sounds of rhythmic heart beats surrounded the cell. Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump. Glenn’s stupefied trance turned into a silly grin with drool running down his T-shirt.
The heart beats were accompanied by a glockenspiel recording of the Christmas classic “Silent Night”. Glenn’s smile grew wider and he crouched further in his sitting position. He nodded off for a few seconds and then jerked back to reality. He nodded off again and woke back up. This cycle repeated itself until the song was over, in which case he fell backwards and made snow angels when Dr. Spencer stood up to give him room.
“I want presents…I want pres…I wan pre…I wa…pre….I…I…” His nirvana ended in a flood of tears when he realized the moment was temporary.
Dr. Spencer knelt down and held his hand in hers while petting his arm hair with her other hand. “I’m sorry, Glenn. I really thought this would have helped you. I didn’t know it would bring you so much pain. I’m sorry. I really am.” She slowly stood back up and hung her head dejectedly as she trudged toward the cell door.
“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home!” sobbed Glenn. His snow angel motions were quickening and began to resemble autistic arm flapping instead.
Dr. Spencer gave him a wide-eyed look of shock as she heard the first real words he said other than “I want presents”. Yes, Glenn was still sobbing like the small child he believed himself to be, but this was the only real progress that no bureaucratic drugging procedure could have ever made. She knelt beside him again and rubbed his belly like a rolled over puppy-duppy.
“Listen to me, Glenn,” she said in a soothing voice. “We can’t let you out on the streets just yet. You can’t go back home. Another family is already living there. Your family has been so far behind on the payments that the bank had no choice but to foreclose on them. If I let you out now, where will you go? Who will you turn to now that you have no family remaining?”
Glenn relaxed his body, smiled at Dr. Spencer, and said, “I’ll turn to you!”
Tears welled up in Dr. Spencer’s eyes as she smiled at her patient. She rubbed them away with her lab coat sleeve, placed her hand on her chest lovingly, and said, “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard from my patients. You really mean that, don’t you? You’re not mad at me for all of these years I’ve kept you here?”
Glenn’s smile faded and the tears returned. “You’re the closest thing to a mother I have, Dr. Spencer. I love you.”
Both doctor and patient’s eyes became excessively wet at the outpours of emotion. It took fifteen years to get through to Glenn Robertson. Fifteen years of sedatives. Fifteen years of untested drugs. Fifteen years of being locked up for simply being sad. In this moment, they were free. Glenn wasn’t out on the streets just yet, but he was there in spirit. Dr. Kate Spencer wasn’t out from behind her desk, but her chains were loosening with every tear and every loving gesture. The doctor and patient hugged each other and sobbed into their shoulders.
They didn’t want to let go, but a boisterous male voice from the now opened cell door shouted, “This is bullshit!” Kate and Glenn looked up to see two orderlies with an electric lance in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. One orderly bellowed, “Dr. Spencer, you know there’s a rule against this kind of treatment! Mr. Robertson is being treated for a serious condition and you’re just…”
“I’m just what?!” roared Kate while standing back up and acting as a border between the orderlies and Glenn. “Is it so crazy and insane to believe that people’s lives matter more than procedure? Isn’t there more to life than making billions of fucking dollars? You two don’t give a shit about these patients! You give a shit about cashing your paycheck and nothing more! If you want to get to this poor innocent boy behind me, you know exactly who you have to go through!”
The orderlies’ faces changed from authoritative rage to solemn contemplation. Everyone in this standoff was breathing heavily and anticipating the next move. “Okay, Dr. Spencer. I see exactly how it is. You’re absolutely right,” said one of the orderlies. “I do have to go through you!” In one swift motion, both orderlies zapped Dr. Spencer with their taser lances, sending her convulsing to the floor with blood trickling out of her nose.
Glenn shouted, “No!” and huddled over the fallen doctor, drenching her in tears and snot. The two buff orderlies grabbed him by the arms and roughly dragged him out of the cell screaming, “No!” and “I want presents!”
“Merry Christmas, asshole!” screamed one of the orderlies before Kate heard another zapping noise. The sounds of Glenn’s painful cries were drowned out by the doctor’s own fading into blackness. The last thing she heard was a weakened and raspy version of, “I want presents.” Her black vision was wet with waterfall tears once again. Where would she go from here? Would she get her own padded cell? Would she be fired? Was there a chance to sue this hospital? Whatever the case would have been, Kate knew even in unconsciousness that it was too late to save Glenn Robertson.
“I want presents….I want presents…I want presents….” she said to herself.
The head doctor knew in her heart that there had to be another way to get through to her patients. There had to be more to this hospital than just the business aspect of it. Why did everything have to be for profit? Wasn’t there just one instance where human dignity trumped the almighty dollar bill? Kate knew she was risking her career by trying this new approach, but seeing all of these depressed patients weighed too heavily on her conscience and she couldn’t take any more of it. She wiped the tear from her eye and told the two orderlies that they could leave. They nodded and did so.
Dr. Spencer took a deep breath and steadied herself before entering Glenn’s cell with no protection from the nurses and orderlies. The mental patient didn’t take his mile-long gaze off of the opposite wall. He just sat there like a dope long after Kate closed the cell door. She said in a motherly voice, “Hello? Hello? Is there anybody in there?”
It took a while, but Glenn turned to meet Kate’s eyes. He had a little bit of drool running down his chin as he said, “I want presents.”
“Yes, we all know you want presents, Mr. Robertson,” said Dr. Spencer. She sat next to Glenn in the same cross-legged position as her patient and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He blushed and looked down at his lap. “Guess what day it is?”
“I want presents.”
“That’s right, Glenn: it’s that time of year alright. It’s Christmas Eve! I know Christmas is your favorite holiday. But before I reveal my big surprise to you, you and I need to talk about something. It’s about your health,” said Kate.
“I want presents.”
“I know you do,” said Kate as she fluffed Glenn’s horseshoe hair. “But you need to listen to me for a few minutes. I can’t help you otherwise. Glenn, do you have any idea how much time has passed since you first came here?”
The patient shrugged his shoulders and allowed a spot of drool to splash his pajama pants. Kate’s answer was, “Fifteen years. You’ve been living in this hospital for fifteen long years. You were admitted here at the tender age of twenty-five when your parents died in a plane crash. You had a traumatic breakdown. You couldn’t find work. You couldn’t find anybody to take care of you. So fifteen years later, here you are. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but that’s only because we’ve kept you sedated and drugged throughout most of your stay. I know it’s wrong, trust me, I do. My hands were tied, even as the head doctor of this facility.”
Glenn tucked his head and sobbed softly while sniffing mucus up his nose. “I want presents! I want presents!”
“You see, that’s the thing,” said Kate while patting Glenn on the back. “Presents are not going to bring your parents back. They’re not going to help you find a place to live or a job to work at. But what they can do is bring you back to that sense of nostalgia you once had. You loved Christmas. Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you opened those presents. If I bring you back to that special moment, you have to promise that you’ll tell me everything. I want to hear more about your life than the fact that you want presents. Okay, big guy?”
“I want presents.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Dr. Spencer before planting a playful kiss on the top of his head. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. Your cell has a PA system as you already know, which is what we use to wake you up and give you dinner or medicine. Well, today on Christmas Eve, your sound system is going to be used for something else entirely. Consider this your early Christmas present. You want presents? Here you go.”
Kate pulled a remote out of her lab coat pocket and aimed it at the speaker box in the high corner of the cell. One press of the button later and the sounds of rhythmic heart beats surrounded the cell. Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump. Glenn’s stupefied trance turned into a silly grin with drool running down his T-shirt.
The heart beats were accompanied by a glockenspiel recording of the Christmas classic “Silent Night”. Glenn’s smile grew wider and he crouched further in his sitting position. He nodded off for a few seconds and then jerked back to reality. He nodded off again and woke back up. This cycle repeated itself until the song was over, in which case he fell backwards and made snow angels when Dr. Spencer stood up to give him room.
“I want presents…I want pres…I wan pre…I wa…pre….I…I…” His nirvana ended in a flood of tears when he realized the moment was temporary.
Dr. Spencer knelt down and held his hand in hers while petting his arm hair with her other hand. “I’m sorry, Glenn. I really thought this would have helped you. I didn’t know it would bring you so much pain. I’m sorry. I really am.” She slowly stood back up and hung her head dejectedly as she trudged toward the cell door.
“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home!” sobbed Glenn. His snow angel motions were quickening and began to resemble autistic arm flapping instead.
Dr. Spencer gave him a wide-eyed look of shock as she heard the first real words he said other than “I want presents”. Yes, Glenn was still sobbing like the small child he believed himself to be, but this was the only real progress that no bureaucratic drugging procedure could have ever made. She knelt beside him again and rubbed his belly like a rolled over puppy-duppy.
“Listen to me, Glenn,” she said in a soothing voice. “We can’t let you out on the streets just yet. You can’t go back home. Another family is already living there. Your family has been so far behind on the payments that the bank had no choice but to foreclose on them. If I let you out now, where will you go? Who will you turn to now that you have no family remaining?”
Glenn relaxed his body, smiled at Dr. Spencer, and said, “I’ll turn to you!”
Tears welled up in Dr. Spencer’s eyes as she smiled at her patient. She rubbed them away with her lab coat sleeve, placed her hand on her chest lovingly, and said, “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard from my patients. You really mean that, don’t you? You’re not mad at me for all of these years I’ve kept you here?”
Glenn’s smile faded and the tears returned. “You’re the closest thing to a mother I have, Dr. Spencer. I love you.”
Both doctor and patient’s eyes became excessively wet at the outpours of emotion. It took fifteen years to get through to Glenn Robertson. Fifteen years of sedatives. Fifteen years of untested drugs. Fifteen years of being locked up for simply being sad. In this moment, they were free. Glenn wasn’t out on the streets just yet, but he was there in spirit. Dr. Kate Spencer wasn’t out from behind her desk, but her chains were loosening with every tear and every loving gesture. The doctor and patient hugged each other and sobbed into their shoulders.
They didn’t want to let go, but a boisterous male voice from the now opened cell door shouted, “This is bullshit!” Kate and Glenn looked up to see two orderlies with an electric lance in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. One orderly bellowed, “Dr. Spencer, you know there’s a rule against this kind of treatment! Mr. Robertson is being treated for a serious condition and you’re just…”
“I’m just what?!” roared Kate while standing back up and acting as a border between the orderlies and Glenn. “Is it so crazy and insane to believe that people’s lives matter more than procedure? Isn’t there more to life than making billions of fucking dollars? You two don’t give a shit about these patients! You give a shit about cashing your paycheck and nothing more! If you want to get to this poor innocent boy behind me, you know exactly who you have to go through!”
The orderlies’ faces changed from authoritative rage to solemn contemplation. Everyone in this standoff was breathing heavily and anticipating the next move. “Okay, Dr. Spencer. I see exactly how it is. You’re absolutely right,” said one of the orderlies. “I do have to go through you!” In one swift motion, both orderlies zapped Dr. Spencer with their taser lances, sending her convulsing to the floor with blood trickling out of her nose.
Glenn shouted, “No!” and huddled over the fallen doctor, drenching her in tears and snot. The two buff orderlies grabbed him by the arms and roughly dragged him out of the cell screaming, “No!” and “I want presents!”
“Merry Christmas, asshole!” screamed one of the orderlies before Kate heard another zapping noise. The sounds of Glenn’s painful cries were drowned out by the doctor’s own fading into blackness. The last thing she heard was a weakened and raspy version of, “I want presents.” Her black vision was wet with waterfall tears once again. Where would she go from here? Would she get her own padded cell? Would she be fired? Was there a chance to sue this hospital? Whatever the case would have been, Kate knew even in unconsciousness that it was too late to save Glenn Robertson.
“I want presents….I want presents…I want presents….” she said to herself.
December 24, 2016
Multiple Works-In-Progress
***MULTIPLE WORKS-IN-PROGRESS***
A few months ago, I saw a meme challenge on Face Book where my author friends post the first few lines from three of their works-in-progress. Judging from how many people were doing this challenge, it made me wonder if authors really do like to write three different novels at once (or more). By the time it became my turn to do the challenge, I confessed that I wasn’t working on a novel of any kind, so I just posted the first lines of three Poison Tongue Tales short stories. Seeing so many of my author friends writing novels and getting them done in a timely fashion motivated me to start working on Demon Axe, which I’m halfway done with.
I have Demon Axe planned out from beginning to end, so it’s all a matter of finding the energy to get shit done. American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 are both anthologies with WSS contest entries as part of the collections, so those are pretty much on a weekly basis. Prophecy is a collection of poems, which will eventually amount to one-hundred since they’re only one page long at best, but I only write poetry when I truly feel like it, no sooner, no later. That leaves me with Demon Axe being the only true WIP I write independently. If I was to do this Face Book meme challenge again, I would only have one paragraph to post (or first seven lines, I forget which one).
I’ve thought about tacking on another novel to work on. I often run the scenarios of each novel idea through my head as if they’re actual WIP’s. I for instance have a college romance idea called “Is This Weird?” where I incorporate my strange sexual fetishes into the main relationship of the story. I also have a pro-introvert high school drama called “The Silent Warrior”, which will have to go through a complete overhaul in order to make the main character less angry and more reasonable. If I was to work on a secondary novel alongside Demon Axe, I would want it to be a contemporary drama instead of a sci-fi, fantasy, or horror. I would want it to be the American Darkness to Demon Axe’s Poison Tongue Tales. For some reason contemporary dramas are easier to write.
That leaves me with a novel idea I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. It’s inspired by the movie Clerks as well as my experiences with going to rock concerts and being around drunken idiots. It’s called “Chicken and Fries” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Maxine Bennett, Concessions Clerk
2. Belle Anthony, Slacker
3. Evan Olson, Maxine’s Bouncer Boyfriend
4. Sean Steiner, Straightedge Rocker
5. Nameless Concertgoers
6. Nameless Boss
SYNOPSIS: Maxine started working at the Brown River Arena in order to save up for college. Since being hired, she has been yelled at, sexually harassed, and assaulted by intoxicated customers. When Sean Steiner and his touring band are the main attraction, beer and cigarettes are not for sale, which upsets the already wild fans. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Maxine begins fighting back against the customers. On what she says is her last day on the job, she burns customers with pizza, splashes soda against them, dips their heads in the deep fryer, and even shoves chicken tenders down a customer’s shorts and burns his crotch. Evan tries to calm Maxine down on several occasions, but she’s unresponsive to his pleas. Things go from bad to worse when Maxine notices Belle, who called in sick earlier that day, partying in the audience and enjoying the music instead of taking her shift like she was supposed to. At the end of this deliciously violent day, the only one with common sense is Sean Steiner, who is the last customer to order chicken and fries for dinner. Sean helps Maxine realize just how much trouble she’s in by telling her a story of a time he smashed up a hotel room in an act of rage.
FUN FACT: The novel is called “Chicken and Fries” because that’s the most common thing the patrons order, just like cigarettes were the most common thing Clerks customers bought.
Nothing is permanent yet. I still don’t even know if writing a second novel alongside Demon Axe is a good idea. Yes, other authors are capable of doing it, but I’m not other authors. I’m not the kind of writer who pours everything onto a page and because of that I only write when I’m mentally and physically one-hundred percent. If I’m taking such a long time writing Demon Axe, I’ll probably take just as long to write Chicken and Fries. This is something I really have to think about before I dive into it. Until I make my decision, I’d like to know everyone else’s take on the subject of working on multiple novels at once. Is it a welcome side project or is it too much work at once? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
The new week started this past Wednesday and the theme is appropriately going to be “Christmas Eve”. After today, I have three more days to write my story before the submission deadline. I probably won’t do it tomorrow since it’s going to be Christmas and I’d rather spend time with my family. That leaves me with Monday or Tuesday to get shit done. My story will be called “I Want Presents” and is based on a disturbing dream I once had. Here’s the synopsis:
CHARACTERS:
1. Glenn Robertson, Mental Patient
2. Kate Spencer, Head Doctor
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Christmas is getting closer as Glenn’s mental state worsens.
SYNOPSIS: After losing his parents in a plane crash, Glenn regresses into childlike behavior and eventually has to be institutionalized. It’s getting close Christmas and he refuses to say anything else but, “I want presents.” Kate and her staff of nurses and doctors have tried everything in their power to medicate Glenn into a normal state, but he seems to be getting worse every day. In a last ditch effort to make progress, Kate assumes the unlikely role of Glenn’s mother-figure and does something special for the holidays.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
This will be the second drawing in a row that features a character from my latest WSS entry “The Theomancer”. It will be of Yeti, a gigantic mummy who serves as the gatekeeper between Krimson and Seven. Yeti is really just a direct copy of the WCW wrestler of the same name, but he’s different enough to avoid a lawsuit. Besides, Yeti gets a better push in “The Theomancer” than he ever did in WCW. After all, it’s hard to push a gigantic mummy when he’s best known for spooning Hulk Hogan and humping him from behind. I’m not kidding, that actually happened. What Culture jokes about it all the time.
***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“If you take all of the vowels out of Reince Priebus’s name, it says RNC PR BS.”
-Jim Cornette-
A few months ago, I saw a meme challenge on Face Book where my author friends post the first few lines from three of their works-in-progress. Judging from how many people were doing this challenge, it made me wonder if authors really do like to write three different novels at once (or more). By the time it became my turn to do the challenge, I confessed that I wasn’t working on a novel of any kind, so I just posted the first lines of three Poison Tongue Tales short stories. Seeing so many of my author friends writing novels and getting them done in a timely fashion motivated me to start working on Demon Axe, which I’m halfway done with.
I have Demon Axe planned out from beginning to end, so it’s all a matter of finding the energy to get shit done. American Darkness 2 and Poison Tongue Tales 2 are both anthologies with WSS contest entries as part of the collections, so those are pretty much on a weekly basis. Prophecy is a collection of poems, which will eventually amount to one-hundred since they’re only one page long at best, but I only write poetry when I truly feel like it, no sooner, no later. That leaves me with Demon Axe being the only true WIP I write independently. If I was to do this Face Book meme challenge again, I would only have one paragraph to post (or first seven lines, I forget which one).
I’ve thought about tacking on another novel to work on. I often run the scenarios of each novel idea through my head as if they’re actual WIP’s. I for instance have a college romance idea called “Is This Weird?” where I incorporate my strange sexual fetishes into the main relationship of the story. I also have a pro-introvert high school drama called “The Silent Warrior”, which will have to go through a complete overhaul in order to make the main character less angry and more reasonable. If I was to work on a secondary novel alongside Demon Axe, I would want it to be a contemporary drama instead of a sci-fi, fantasy, or horror. I would want it to be the American Darkness to Demon Axe’s Poison Tongue Tales. For some reason contemporary dramas are easier to write.
That leaves me with a novel idea I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. It’s inspired by the movie Clerks as well as my experiences with going to rock concerts and being around drunken idiots. It’s called “Chicken and Fries” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
1. Maxine Bennett, Concessions Clerk
2. Belle Anthony, Slacker
3. Evan Olson, Maxine’s Bouncer Boyfriend
4. Sean Steiner, Straightedge Rocker
5. Nameless Concertgoers
6. Nameless Boss
SYNOPSIS: Maxine started working at the Brown River Arena in order to save up for college. Since being hired, she has been yelled at, sexually harassed, and assaulted by intoxicated customers. When Sean Steiner and his touring band are the main attraction, beer and cigarettes are not for sale, which upsets the already wild fans. Instead of taking another minute of abuse, Maxine begins fighting back against the customers. On what she says is her last day on the job, she burns customers with pizza, splashes soda against them, dips their heads in the deep fryer, and even shoves chicken tenders down a customer’s shorts and burns his crotch. Evan tries to calm Maxine down on several occasions, but she’s unresponsive to his pleas. Things go from bad to worse when Maxine notices Belle, who called in sick earlier that day, partying in the audience and enjoying the music instead of taking her shift like she was supposed to. At the end of this deliciously violent day, the only one with common sense is Sean Steiner, who is the last customer to order chicken and fries for dinner. Sean helps Maxine realize just how much trouble she’s in by telling her a story of a time he smashed up a hotel room in an act of rage.
FUN FACT: The novel is called “Chicken and Fries” because that’s the most common thing the patrons order, just like cigarettes were the most common thing Clerks customers bought.
Nothing is permanent yet. I still don’t even know if writing a second novel alongside Demon Axe is a good idea. Yes, other authors are capable of doing it, but I’m not other authors. I’m not the kind of writer who pours everything onto a page and because of that I only write when I’m mentally and physically one-hundred percent. If I’m taking such a long time writing Demon Axe, I’ll probably take just as long to write Chicken and Fries. This is something I really have to think about before I dive into it. Until I make my decision, I’d like to know everyone else’s take on the subject of working on multiple novels at once. Is it a welcome side project or is it too much work at once? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
The new week started this past Wednesday and the theme is appropriately going to be “Christmas Eve”. After today, I have three more days to write my story before the submission deadline. I probably won’t do it tomorrow since it’s going to be Christmas and I’d rather spend time with my family. That leaves me with Monday or Tuesday to get shit done. My story will be called “I Want Presents” and is based on a disturbing dream I once had. Here’s the synopsis:
CHARACTERS:
1. Glenn Robertson, Mental Patient
2. Kate Spencer, Head Doctor
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Christmas is getting closer as Glenn’s mental state worsens.
SYNOPSIS: After losing his parents in a plane crash, Glenn regresses into childlike behavior and eventually has to be institutionalized. It’s getting close Christmas and he refuses to say anything else but, “I want presents.” Kate and her staff of nurses and doctors have tried everything in their power to medicate Glenn into a normal state, but he seems to be getting worse every day. In a last ditch effort to make progress, Kate assumes the unlikely role of Glenn’s mother-figure and does something special for the holidays.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
This will be the second drawing in a row that features a character from my latest WSS entry “The Theomancer”. It will be of Yeti, a gigantic mummy who serves as the gatekeeper between Krimson and Seven. Yeti is really just a direct copy of the WCW wrestler of the same name, but he’s different enough to avoid a lawsuit. Besides, Yeti gets a better push in “The Theomancer” than he ever did in WCW. After all, it’s hard to push a gigantic mummy when he’s best known for spooning Hulk Hogan and humping him from behind. I’m not kidding, that actually happened. What Culture jokes about it all the time.
***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“If you take all of the vowels out of Reince Priebus’s name, it says RNC PR BS.”
-Jim Cornette-
