Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Fan Fiction Group Therapy


I know this blog entry will sound ironic considering my last one was about how I don’t want to take time to decompress after a negative event. But just because I don’t want to, doesn’t mean others can’t benefit from it. I don’t project my insecurities on other people. I will say, however, that I’ve never been part of a group therapy session before, but I imagine it’s a lot like an AA meeting or a prayer clique. Since this is my group therapy session we’re talking about, there will obviously be some differences. For refreshments, there won’t be juice and cookies. Juice and cookies? What is this, kindergarten? How about some of the good stuff for a change? Hot wings! Pizza! Cheeseburgers! No, they’re not healthy for you, but then again, neither is a sugar-frosted cookie with a billion calories in one serving. The juice also probably contains high fructose corn syrup, which is worse than sugar in many ways.

Why am I writing a blog about group therapy? Because in all my time of taking in fictional stories, I’ve seen a lot of characters who clearly need it. They’re fucked up, they’re tearful, and for some of them it may be too late, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try. So here it is, ladies and gentlemen: my fan fiction group therapy roster. We’ll all get together and talk about our feelings while dining on something other than sugar and corn syrup.


I’ve beaten this topic to death in a previous blog entry where I incorporate Otherwise’s music into the canon. But that doesn’t make Landon Bryce’s induction into this group any less important. Look at him, he’s a wreck! He was held hostage by a lovey-dovey demon named Lucy Butler and brainwashed into believing that he was mediocre instead of brilliant. He could have gone places. He could have skyrocketed past the glass ceiling. Unfortunately, we never got to see future episodes of Millennium where Landon gets to rise above his kidnapping scenario. More than likely, if he believes the bullshit he was fed while he was being cuddled and kissed by Lucy Butler, then he’ll have a hard time holding down a job because he doesn’t believe in himself. He’ll also want to remain single because every woman he goes out with looks like Lucy in the end. Eat the cheeseburger, Landon. Eat it! It’s soul food!


If you’ve played this videogame before, you might admire Squall’s ability to give absolutely zero fucks about the people around him. No emotional attachments, no love interests, no friendships, just Squall Leonhart and a Linkin Park CD, though Linkin Park’s first album wouldn’t come out until a few years after Final Fantasy VIII. But really, can you blame Squall? He grew up in an orphanage and was left behind by the one person he thought he could trust: his older sister. He doesn’t want to get his heart broken again, so he tells the world to fuck off. Is anybody really that independent? Human beings are social animals by nature, so all of this wall-building has to make Squall lonely and depressed deep inside. He can fantasize about isolation all he wants, but even he wouldn’t be able to survive such an environment. Have a slice of pizza, Squall, and think about your future.


He couldn’t save Aerith, he couldn’t save himself, and he still has no fucking clue what “Dilly Dally Shilly Shally” means. Not even the love of Tifa Lockhart can snap him out of his depressive funk. In fact, the two might be having marital issues that they can’t work out on their own, so perhaps group therapy will be Cloud’s saving grace. He’s got a lot to talk about whether it’s his past battles, his love triangle, or being washed up in a river full of toxic waste. And when he holds a chicken wing in his hand and tries to take a bite, the other group members will notice how aggressively his hand is shaking. It could be PTSD. It could be depression. Or it could be a case of not having anymore fucks to give.


I’m talking strictly about the adult character in the movie, not the actual band members, although Roger Waters in particular could use some group therapy. But it’s true, the adult version of Pink just needs someone to talk to about his lost father or his abusive teacher or his cheating wife or his smothering mother. But instead, he builds a wall around himself and lets nobody in, not unlike Squall Leonhart. Within the confines of this wall, he goes bat shit insane and smashes his hotel room to pieces. How do you convince a guy with this much insanity to join a group therapy session? It’s not easy, but I hear the Sparkling Ices taste quite lovely, especially the out-of-stock green apple flavor.


Everything seemed to be going Cody’s way, especially in his original videogame Final Fight where he rescued his girlfriend Jessica and freed Metro City from the Mad Gear gang’s clutches. But then Cody was locked up in prison and transformed into a monster of a human being by the harsh system. He escaped twice as muscled and half as emotional. He doesn’t want his old girlfriend back. He doesn’t even want to rekindle his friendships with Guy and Haggar. All he wants in this world is the thrill of combat and then he’ll kindly step back behind the jail bars. If he does join group therapy, it’ll most likely be the judge’s order, though it’s hard to say no when a plate of steamed spinach is waiting for you.


I’ve also talked about George in another blog entry, but to bring you up to speed, he starts out in the movie thinking love is obsolete since it’s just chemicals in the brain fucking with you. He worked in a library and a female customer flirted with him only to be turned down for that specific reason. And then George meets his philosophical equal in Sophie and the anti-love myth is dispelled forever…at least until Sophie is revealed to already have a boyfriend by the movie’s end. Poor George. Poor, poor George. Have a seat next to Cody and enjoy a chicken wing. The chicken wing doesn’t mind that your heart is shattered into a million pieces. In fact, the worse condition your heart is in, the better it is for the chicken companies!


All this high schooler wanted was a circle of friends he could share is life with. He gets everything he wants and more when he meets step-siblings Patrick and Sam. Charlie falls head-over-heels for the lovely lady Sam, but is careful to keep his distance because he doesn’t want to ruin their friendship. He almost gets kicked out of the group permanently and that alone would have warranted group therapy. But then he regains the keys to the kingdom and is dragged out of the shadows by Sam. The two begin to have sex, but then Charlie has repressed flashbacks of being molested by his aunt and is rushed to a hospital. By the time he recovers, Sam and Patrick are off to college and Charlie still has more high school to complete. He’s both “happy and sad at the same time”. Pull up a chair, Charlie. It’s going to be along road.


There will be tears. There will be shakes. There will be pain. But most importantly, there will be recovery. That’s what I want for all of these fictional characters. But I refuse to end our sessions with the famous speech about “the wisdom to know the difference”. They already know what they can and can’t change and what they can and can’t accept. If they want a bright future, they have to fight for it. If you fight for your dreams, your dreams will fight for you, as said by Daniel Bryan on an episode of Smackdown when he was medically cleared for in-ring competition again. Part of this fight for the future includes unleashing a shit ton of pent-up rage. So after every meeting, we’ll stand up and let the growling sounds of Max Cavalera’s voice wash over us as he sings “Blood Fire War Hate” by Soulfly. Say it with me! “Blood! Fire! War! Hate! Blood! Fire! War! Hate!” Feels good, doesn’t it? Hell, some of these characters might end up joining a metal band, so they might as well get used to saying it. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!


“Someday, somehow, I’m gonna make it alright, but not right now. I know you’re wondering when. You’re the only one who knows that.

-Nickelback singing “Someday”-

Monday, March 19, 2018

Moving On


In all this time of doing blog entries about my distant past, you’re probably wondering why nothing serious comes up. The easy answer would be because talking about such horrible things makes my schizophrenia significantly worse, and that is god’s honest truth. But there’s more to it than just having a numbed out brain. The more important reason is because anytime something bad happens to me, all I want to do is move on with my life. I don’t want to take time to process it or talk it out, because that’s precious time lost that I could have spent doing creative work.

Time didn’t wait for me back then and it won’t wait for me now. High school didn’t slow down because I was in the early stages of schizophrenia. College didn’t wait for me to glue my broken heart back together. My writing career isn’t going to be put on hold because my brain doesn’t want to shut the fuck up. I don’t believe in taking mini-vacations just so I can mentally recover from something that should have been processed within seconds. Minor bad shit doesn’t feel like much to other people, but to a schizophrenic and autistic person like me, it feels like a hailstorm of bullets. I guess that makes me a special little snowflake, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter nor do I have it now.

Don’t get me wrong, nothing bad happened as of late; I’m merely speaking in general terms. Moving on with life without delay is something I cherish even if my mind or other people don’t agree. I don’t believe in slowing down for anything and that’s where I get my strong work ethic from. If my fingers are shooting out blood like a water pistol, I write anyways. If I don’t have hands at all, I’ll still find a way to write. If my brain wants to show me Clockwork Orange flashbacks of something that happened a few weeks ago, I’ll find a way to write. If I’m suffering from sleep apnea, I’ll give myself a quick head massage and slap myself in the face until I’m wide awake.

This is why I take lazy days so personally, because it’s a squandered opportunity to do something with my life, despite the fact that I had no say in the matter. If the lazy day is somebody else’s fault, then that’s extra hatred for that person, because that person stole precious creative time from me. That’s why I chose to beat the shit out of my bullies when I was in high school, to take back what I rightfully own.

But why am I so concerned about losing precious creative time considering I’m only 32 years old and have my whole life ahead of me? Because creativity is what gives me the most pleasure in this world. I look at a chapter of Silent Warrior or a fully published copy of Occupy Wrestling and I can proudly say to myself, “I made this!” The more time I spend away from my creative vices, the angrier I become.

For future reference, if something bad happens to me and I seem irritable, don’t ask me to talk about it and don’t overprotect me. Taking all of the time needed to process the emotions is time wasted. If I allow myself to take breaks from creative life to recover from psychological bullshit, then who’s to say that I won’t take them every single time? One break piles on top of the other and then it spirals out of control to where it’s been ages since my last creative project. For me personally, I see this as complacency and I can’t allow that to happen. If I tell you I want to move on from something, I want to move on as quickly as possible. If some guy says, “Idiot” to me under my breath, I don’t want to take more than a few seconds to process it. That’s the way brains should work. They should be tough and durable. But mine isn’t. It can be if I rush through processing it.

Thanks for reading this and understanding why I don’t talk about bad shit. The bad shit I do talk about is so far in the past that it doesn’t matter anymore. Either that, or I’m talking about it in a purely satirical and humorous way. My blog post a few weeks ago about The Thunder Eagles? That’s a funny memory to me, because I’m laughing at what a sore loser I used to be. Beating the shit out of other players because I lost? Come on, that’s self-depreciative comic gold! The heavier stuff will never make it onto my blog, because when people see that, they can’t stop talking to me about it, which results in overprotection, which results in spending too much time processing something and not enough time on creative work. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!


“Hey, you. Out there in the cold, getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me? Hey, you. Standing in the aisle with itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me? Hey, you. Don’t help them to bury the light. Don’t give in without a fight. Hey, you. Out there all alone, sitting naked by the phone, would you touch me? Hey, you. With your ear against the wall, waiting for someone to call out, will you touch me? Hey, you. Will you help me to carry the stone? Open your heart. I’m coming home. But it was only fantasy. The wall was too high, as you can see. No matter how he tried, he could not break free. And the worms ate into his brain. Hey, you. Out there on the road, always doing what you’re told, can you help me? Hey, you. Out there beyond the wall, breaking bubbles in the hall, can you help me? Hey, you. Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all. Together we stand, divided we fall.”

-Pink Floyd singing “Hey You”-

Silent Warrior, Chapter 22

“I wanna go home…take off this uniform and leave the show…but I’m waiting in this cell because I have to know…have I been guilty all this time?”

Scott George’s trembling rendition of “Stop” by Pink Floyd was met with a sarcastic golf clap from the shadows of his jail cell. A familiar voice said, “Good one, buddy. You really do have the prettiest little voice. The last time I heard singing that good, you were bawling like a big baby over your daddy’s grave.” With shadows now covering only half of his face like a neo-noir villain, Alan Young’s hideously transformed visage sent chills up Scott’s spine. Tattoos on his arms, a short Mohawk, and scars on his face marked Alan’s metamorphosis from childhood brat to demonic tormentor.

Unwilling to let this bruiser shake him any further, Scott descended into bathos by angrily joking, “What the hell were YOU doing at a graveyard anyways? I was grieving my dead father. What about you? You can’t get laid any other way, so you’re going to give necrophilia a try?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious, Scott. You’re just fucking marvelous. It’s especially ironic considering how you got yourself in this jail cell to begin with. Though I do admit, you couldn’t have found a better piece of ass than Adrienne fucking Simpson, I’ll tell you that right now.”

Scott bolted out of his bunk bed and shouted, “Don’t you ever talk that way about her again, you fat piece of shit!”

“Or what? You’re going to strangle me and get me kicked out of prison like you did on that bus ride? Come on, dude, you’ve got way too much to lose and you know it. You throw one punch at me and it’s off to the hole for you. Me? I don’t give a fuck where I go from here. The only thing I’ve got left to lose is my own sanity and even that’s questionable.”

Folding his arms and giving his cellmate the gorgon death stare, Scott asked, “What do you want from me, Alan? You want to keep making my life a living hell? What for? Why me? Why not somebody else? Answer me, damn it!”

Alan stood up quickly and barked, “You want to know why?! I’ll tell you why. I don’t do it because of your skinny ass body. I don’t do it because I can. I don’t even want your survivor’s benefits from your dear old daddy kicking the bucket. The reason I gave you hell all those years is because of who you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, because you’re too blind to see it. Your massive ego won’t let you. Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re a phony. You like to rage against the machine and all that bullshit. Guess what? I’ve always wanted to rage against the machine too. Growing up with Aloysius tends to do that to a man. All this talk about communities and worms and puppets and shit…if I ever do get thrown in the hole, that’s probably what I’m going to think about the most.”

Scott’s expression softened and his arms went limp at this revelation. But he would still hold his ground against the much larger and much more aggressive cellmate.

Alan wagged his finger at Scott and ranted, “Yeah, that’s right. The old Freudian excuse. I can play that card until the end of time. I abuse other people because I too was a victim of disgusting shit. That would be the convenient answer. But that’s not it. Aloysius is just one piece of the puzzle. It’s the whole world that fucks with my mind the most. And you, you’re the biggest hypocrite of them all. You claim to be about individuality and personal freedom, yet here you are sucking up to the teachers so that you can get the best grades. Don’t you see, Scott? You’re doing what they’re telling you to do. They’ve got you by the balls, buddy! Me? I don’t want a pointless career. I want to watch the world burn. Being in jail waiting for my sentence gave me time to think about it and that’s what I want most out of life.”

Scott half-grinned and shook his head before saying, “So that’s it, huh? Because life didn’t turn out the way you wanted, you want to watch the system around you collapse. Well, guess what, lard ass! My life wasn’t exactly a bed of roses either! I too have nightmares that keep me from getting the sleep I deserve! I haven’t eaten a decent meal in god knows how long! And yes, I’m in jail because the world wants me to be here! But I don’t want to watch the world burn! You know why? Because without a world to live in, there’d be no place for people like Adrienne to grow up. I know not everybody in the world is a Mr. Simpson clone. I don’t paint everybody with the same brush like you do. There are good people in this world and they’re the people I’m fighting for! I don’t care how long I have to stay in this cell, because I won’t let jail break me!”

Alan blitzed towards Scott, grabbed his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. “Bullshit!” the bully shouted. “You’re not going to beat the system that easily! Everybody who comes through here turns into the ugliest fucking monster imaginable! You’re no different from the rest of the losers in this jail! You’re going to break one way or another and if I have to be the one who breaks you, goddamn it, I will!”

“Go for it, Alan! Make a move! You’ll be taking those words to solitary confinement! It’s just like you said to me a few minutes ago! That shit works both ways, my friend! You want to take a swing at me?! Go ahead!”

Alan smiled sadistically and bore his yellow demonic fangs while clutching Scott’s shirt tighter than before. “If that’s what you want, then ask and ye shall receive!” Alan dropped his victim with a right hook to the gut, causing him to cough and wheeze violently. Scott even spit up a few droplets of blood. Alan grabbed his hair and said, “You see that? That’s what happens when you don’t eat your meat, let alone your pudding. Yeah, I can quote Pink Floyd too, buddy. Look around you: nobody’s coming to save you because nobody cares. I bet watching the world burn sounds pretty fucking good right now, doesn’t it?”

The next attack in Alan’s arsenal was a knee to the chest, bouncing Scott against the metal bunk bed and causing even more heavy, blood-laced breathing. “Pathetic. That’s all you are, Scott.” Alan turned around and sat down on his bed while watching his victim collected what was left of himself.

Scott sat against his bunk and heaved some more, his lungs and heart working overtime to make sure he didn’t drop dead right then and there. And then he mustered up enough oxygen to get these words out in a clear voice: “Is that all you got?”

Alan’s hamburger face morphed into monstrous rage when he stood back up and shouted, “No, it’s not all I got, you dumb shit!” He pulled a shank from under his pillow and glared down at his prey with venom and fire in his bulging eyes. “You just don’t know when to break, do you? That’s alright. You don’t ever have to worry about breaking ever again. As your daddy will tell you…dead men tell no tales!”

The bully jerked Scott up by his neck and held the blade to his throat, drawing a tiny droplet of sweet red juice. “You see that, Scotty boy? That’s what jail is really like. You haven’t been here that long and you’re already knocking on hell’s gates. Say hello to your dear old daddy for me!”

Scott’s rage glowed a brighter shade of red than the goop pouring out of his mouth, nose, and throat. A night in solitary confinement would have been a welcome time to rest his bones if it meant he could live another day. He forgot all about the possibility of losing his sanity in a dark room. Did he really have it to begin with?

Scott swung his leg backwards and made Alan a permanent cast member of the Nutcracker Suite, causing him to drop the blade and leaving him open for a sharp elbow to the nose. Alan’s already demonic face looked like it went through a wood chipper after that blood-curdling blow. Both combatants lay limp on the floor floating in and out of consciousness while the sounds of boots pounding the cement floor flooded their ears.

Scott could hear the cacophony of swear words and authoritative threats as both he and Alan were being dragged out of their cell, though in different directions. He could distinctly hear one of the guards threaten, “You’re in a lot of trouble, little boy!” Although, he couldn’t discern who it was being said to. Either way, Scott knew he was up shit creek without a paddle, judging from how roughly he was being dragged away from the scene of the fight.

Was it this easy to break in prison? Was there anybody out there truly strong enough to withstand such a torturous grind? Scott couldn’t think of one person that fit the bill. Even superheroes would go crazy in this shitty place if they didn’t get brutally murdered. Getting out on a sweetheart deal didn’t mean shit either. The prisoners were dead inside by the time they tasted freedom, thus ensuring this place’s status as a graveyard rather than a real housing facility. At least when death or insanity washed over Scott, he would be reunited with his father, which wasn’t much of a silver lining considering he would also lose Adrienne forever. Scott took a temporary vacation from the ultra madness when his vision faded to black.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Terrible Person

If you excuse torture and abuse
If you condone picking at their bones
If human happiness makes you irksome
Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

Call it tough love, call it what you will
You still make the public collectively ill
Beatings, insults, hatred, and more
Rated NC-17 for violence and gore
You’re not rehab, you’re a terrorist cell
You’re not a doctor, but a cultist from hell
You’re not a savior, you’re a fucking bully
You’re not a god, you’re fucking unholy

If you enjoy the times when you destroy
If you take their brains and drive them insane
If you take part in making teens feel worthless
Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!

You have no authority to enforce conformity
You have no balls to face the wrath of the majority
You have no business calling yourself an orderly
You have no right to smile ever so cordially
You have the right to watch your empires burn
You have the right to watch your victims unlearn
You have the right to fork over the Benjamins
‘Cause there’s no denying the courtroom evidence

Isolation is mutilation!
Condemnation is devastation!
Victimization is desecration!
Retaliation is our salvation!

Say goodbye to the white padded walls
Say goodbye to the screams in the halls
Say goodbye to your dystopian future
Say goodbye, you’re a fucking loser

If your methods count as weapons
If your beatings count as feedings
If your message becomes worthless
Congratulations, you’re a terrible person!
Congratulations, you’re a piece of shit!
Congratulations, you’re a perfect fit!
For a prison camp not unlike your own!
Congratulations, you’re fucking boned!

Friday, March 16, 2018

Silent Warrior, Chapter 21

As a handsome middle-aged gentleman in a brown ponytail stood by her side, Linda Williams took center stage of the gymnasium with a microphone in hand. She noticed the sullen expressions on her students’ faces as they filed into the bleachers one by one. Linda caught a glimpse of Adrienne Simpson sitting in the far upper corner by herself. The Principal’s heart ached for her and all of this new trauma she had to deal with. That was not to undermine the sadness of the other students filling the seats, all of which had slumped over postures and saggy frowns.

Right at the time everybody was seated where they needed to be, Linda tapped the microphone a few times and tested it for feedback. She gazed around at the audience before her with a combination of sympathy and strength in her face. She needed to be strong when others felt they had the strength sapped right out of them. Linda took a few breaths to steel her nerves and brought the microphone up to her lips to begin her oratory.

“Before I get started with this emergency school assembly, I want to get two talking points off my chest. First, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming today, students and teachers alike. I wish this was all under different circumstances, but it is what it is. And secondly,” Linda patted the ponytail-wearing gentleman on the shoulder and said, “This is Paul Corbin. He will be your new US history teacher as he’s taking over for the departed Tom Simpson. He’ll take good care of you and hopefully you’ll find him to your liking.”

Linda gazed down at her loafers to allow for a beat of silence. Reengaging the audience, she said, “I’m sure some of you heard by now what happened with Tom Simpson and why he’s not here today. For those of you who need to be brought up to speed, let’s just say he won’t be working here anymore. He made a bad decision and it cost him his job. I know that argument sounds familiar to those of you who were close to one Scott George. I know how quickly rumors can travel.”

Pacing back and forth with slowness in her step, Linda cleared her throat and said, “We can debate all day long about the morality of what Scott George did. Then again, we can also do the same thing for Mr. Simpson. And for Alan Young, another student whose name you might recognize. Varying opinions aside, I have a confession to make as it pertains to my tenure here at Perkins High.”

“I haven’t been a perfect Principal. I’ve made a few enemies here and there. But the one thing I can never forgive myself for…is allowing my own students to be victimized. I’ve been blind to the mistreatment going on around here. I thought it was just another day at the office. And then I saw a You Tube video of Scott George sobbing at his father’s grave while the so-called filmmaker Alan Young laughed in the background. That never should have been the ultimate breaking point and for that I’m sorry.”

Pointing her arm at the new teacher, she said, “As you can see from Mr. Corbin’s presence, there are going to be some changes around here. These changes are going to shake the very foundation of this once esteemed high school. No more abuses of power. No more hostile work environments. No more mediocre school lunches. Everything is going to change around here from top to bottom, left to right. Mind you, these changes aren’t going to happen overnight. Reforming a broken school takes time and effort. While I realize that patience isn’t always a virtue among everyone here today, it is needed if we’re to make these changes in a civilized and methodical way.

“To put it as delicately as possible, Scott George hit some bumps in the road during his educational experiences here. I’ve no doubt that many of you feel the same way. The only difference is, his story came to my attention first. And his story is the reason why these radical changes are happening in the first place. As long as they’re happening, I’d love know your stories as well. You know why? Because unlike what Tom Simpson had been preaching this whole time, democracy isn’t dead. Your voices matter now more than ever. You have the right to be heard and there’s not a teacher walking this earth that can take that away from you.

“Which brings me to my final talking point of the day. If you’ve been following the local news, you’d know that Scott is currently sitting in jail awaiting his final sentencing. The crime he committed had no victims, yet he currently has a five thousand dollar bail looming over his head. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before that bail will be revoked and his prison sentence will officially begin.

“Therefore, I am announcing to you all this morning that I’ve set up a Go Fund Me page to pay for his bail. The link to the page will be posted on the bulletin board outside of my office. I don’t expect any one person to fork over the full amount. In fact, I don’t want any of you to think that the new changes to this school will be contingent on how much money is donated to the cause. This isn’t extortion. This is purely optional. One dollar would be fine. A quarter. A nickel. Every little bit will help.

“If you’re wondering why you should care about a kid who was rebellious at his worst and tearful at his best, then know that I would do the same for any one of you if you were placed in a similar situation. No student deserves to be taken advantage of. No student deserves to be silenced. Every student has the right to an education should he or she decide to pursue it. I feel that way about Scott George, a kid with so much promise and so much of an upside that it breaks my heart to see him lose it all over an asinine loophole in the law he allegedly broke.

“I’m not asking you all for help. I’m pleading with you. I’m all but on my hands and knees. I’m asking for this school to be united, not torn apart by bullying or abuse of any kind. If there’s one thing Scott George will teach you all, it’s that empathy and love will go a lot further than empty disciplinary tactics and mindless conformity. He wants you all to be free thinkers. He wants you all to take advantage of the opportunities you have. He wants to see these changes to our school just as much as you all need them. I’ll close this assembly with one final plea: can you find it in your hearts to give Mr. George another chance?”

The expressions on the students’ faces spoke volumes: angry eyebrows, defeated frowns, and tense stares. One by one they left the gymnasium without waiting for Miss Williams to give permission to exit. They never said one word, presumably because for so long they had been fed the “democracy is dead” shtick like it was the worst tasting medicine imaginable, worse than any worm-infested food Scott George would eat in his new home. The only student who didn’t get up and leave was Adrienne Simpson, who pulled her knees up and tucked her head in her lap, feeling dejected and forlorn.

As soon as the bleachers were empty sans Adrienne, Paul Corbin placed a gentle hand on Linda Williams’s shoulder and said, “You did your best to convince them.”

“Did I really, Paul? Is this just another chapter of broken promises and ignorant leadership?” asked Linda in a sullen tone.

“Nobody’s perfect, Linda. Not you, not me, not Scott George himself. But that’s what makes us human. We grow, we adapt, and we learn things. Isn’t that what school is all about?”

“It’s too late for us now,” said Linda. “These changes should have been made long before Scott was taken into custody. I could have prevented all of this from happening. But instead, I sat by and did nothing. I was na├»ve to think everything was okay. Does anybody really tell you that everything is wrong in their world? For god’s sake, I should have never hired Tom in the first place.”

Linda’s stonewall strength had crumbled all around her and she couldn’t help but shed a few silent tears. How could she remain strong after all that’s happened? She believed it was all her fault and that she had no right to cry about it in the first place. But the tears kept coming, albeit in a silent sob that still caught the attention of Paul Corbin. The new history teacher gave the Principal a hug light enough to avoid awkwardness, but strong enough to know that he was by her side.

“Excuse me, Miss Williams?” said Adrienne, who was now standing within close range and Linda hadn’t even realized it until she picked her tear-soaked face up. The little freshman held out a twenty dollar bill and said, “I want to contribute this to Scott’s bail. It’s not much, but I hope it’s a step in the right direction. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”

A smile spread across Linda’s face despite the flowing tears. She accepted the twenty dollar bill and said, “Oh, Miss Simpson, bless your little heart. I know Scott means a lot to you. He means a lot to me too. Speaking of rainy days…” The last sadly joking sentence was punctuated by pointing at her own teary face, hence the raindrops.

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately too, Miss Williams. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re still one of the strongest women I know, next to my mom.”

Linda sighed, “I guess we all have to be strong now, don’t we? I just hope Scott feels the same way. Of course, it’s hard to be strong when you’re all alone behind those barred walls.”

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics of 2017


I said I was going to write one of these blog entries and by god I plan on delivering. It took a while, but the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards are finally released to the public. Before I get to the part where I combine my love for pro-wrestling with my love for shocking the shit out of people, I must make a few observations. Firstly, poor Bray Wyatt. Poor, poor Bray Wyatt. Worst Gimmick, Worst Feud of the Year (vs. Randy Orton), and Worst Match of the Year (also vs. Randy Orton). And secondly, I can see the irony in a wrestling machine like Daniel Bryan winning an award for Best Non-Wrestler. Yes, he’s been retired since 2016, but still, that’s kind of ironic. Now that those tidbits are out of the way, it’s time for some shock and awe…and maybe just a modicum of writing advice. A modicum may be all that you need tonight. As usual with these yearly journal entries, I’m going to start with the winner of the actual award and work my way down the list. There we eleven candidates this year: one winner, nine runner-ups, and one honorable mention. Pick your jaw up off the floor!


LIST ITEM: WWE promoting Jimmy Snuka as a hero in death.

THOUGHTS: What can be said about Jimmy Snuka? He was a legend. He was a high flyer. He was a Hall of Famer. You know what else he was? A suspect in the manslaughter of his former girlfriend Nancy Argentino. Of course, he was never convicted of the crime because he was declared legally incompetent to stand trial. Uh-huh. Sure he was. And what does WWE do after Snuka dies of pancreatic cancer? They play a video package of him looking like a million bucks inside the ring. The audience booed the shit out of this display and rightfully so. Jimmy Snuka didn’t remember murdering his girlfriend…but Pepperidge Farm remembers!


LIST ITEM: Jinder Mahal’s racist tirade against Shinsuke Nakamura.

THOUGHTS: If you’re living in the year 2017 or beyond, it’s probably not a good idea to compare a Japanese wrestler to Mr. Miyagi while doing fake karate moves in the ring. It’s also not a good idea to say the Japanese wrestler doesn’t “rook right”. And please, oh please, don’t say Mr. Nakamura looks like Pikachu having a seizure. Is it any wonder the audience chanted “That’s too far!” over and over again during these promos? Don’t we already get enough racism from our current president and the rise of the alt-right? Next thing you know, Jinder Mahal’s going to come out in a Pepe the Frog mask.


LIST ITEM: WWE using the Ultimate Warrior’s legacy to promote Susan G. Komen’s breast cancer cause.

THOUGHTS: It’s bad enough The Ultimate Warrior was once known for telling an Arab college student to “Get a towel!” It’s bad enough he said, “Queering doesn’t make the world work!” It’s bad enough he said he was happy that wrestling manager Bobby Heenan had cancer. Now you’re going to take this social pariah and put his face on breast cancer awareness campaigns? That’s like putting a climate change denier in charge of the EPA or a dumb shit in charge of the Board of Education. Oh wait…


LIST ITEM: Pushing Jinder Mahal has WWE Champion in order to please the Indian market.

THOUGHTS: Poor Jinder can’t catch a break, can he? He’s already the recipient of Most Overrated Wrestler in 2017 and he’s second place for Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic. Now he gets fourth place on the list as well. Let’s be honest: he wasn’t a very good champion. His matches sucked, his character development was non-existent, his monologues were derailed by a blown-out voice, and the only way he could get legitimate heel heat was by being a racist asshole. Imagine if Family Guy pushed Herbert the Pervert as their top protagonist. Actually, they could very well do that one day. Bad example!


LIST ITEM: Rizin MMA booking Gabi Garcia in fights against older and smaller women.

THOUGHTS: I think we can all agree that super muscular women shouldn’t be beating up on grandmas. Unless you want your promoted character to be seen as a super villain, it’s probably not a good idea to book him or her this way. I once joked with my brother James and his friend Blake that The Simpsons would be disturbing if Homer choked other characters besides Bart, namely Maggie (a baby), Marge (his wife), Santa’s Little Helper (the dog), or Abe (his father). Well, do you see where I’m going with this?


LIST ITEM: Kevin Owens head-butting Vince McMahon.

THOUGHTS: I’m actually okay with this one since Kevin Owens is supposed to be a jerk-ass heel and this is how he earns the audience’s hatred. I know, I know, Vince is an old man and shouldn’t be taking stiff head butts, but it was his own idea, so if he’s okay with it, I’m okay with it.


LIST ITEM: Sexy Star staying employed in wrestling even after intentionally breaking Rosemary’s arm.

THOUGHTS: The only way pro-wrestling works is if the contenders in the ring trust each other with their bodies. Yes, it’s supposed to look and feel as painful as possible, which is why it’s even more important to be careful in there. Well, Sexy Star wasn’t careful at all. In fact, she tore the shit out of Rosemary’s arm and blamed the victim for it. How nice. How fucking nice. There seems to be a lot of victim blaming these days, though for much worse crimes against humanity.


LIST ITEM: WWE encouraging bullying in the workplace while simultaneously pushing an anti-bullying campaign.

THOUGHTS: I already did a journal entry last year about Mauro Ranallo and his struggles with being harassed by JBL. But yeah, this is a company-wide problem that affects everybody employed. In 2011, WWE actually won the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award for pulling this shit with overweight and Bell’s Palsy-suffering announcer Jim Ross. I thought Mauro’s dilemma would be the winner in this case as well.


LIST ITEM: Conor McGregor’s racist comments against Floyd Mayweather, Jr.

THOUGHTS: Telling a black boxer to “dance, boy” and calling his family members “dancing monkeys”? Not cool. Not cool at all. It also doesn’t help that Conor once said that he’s “black from the waist down”. If Jinder Mahal can’t get away with pulling this shit against Shinsuke Nakamura, then Conor McGregor (regardless of his popularity) has to be held to the same standard. It did make for a lucrative feud between Conor and Floyd, but that’s beside the point.


LIST ITEM: Promotion of Antonio “Bigfoot” Silva vs. Rico Verhoeven.

THOUGHTS: If you thought booking Gabi Garcia against grandmas was cruel and unusual, get a load of this. Rico Verhoeven had earned his moniker of King of Kickboxing. He has a great record with wins over big names and has stayed fresh as a daisy in recent years. Bigfoot Silva? Not so much. He’s only won one match in the past few years and his many defeats were mostly by KO. And now Bigfoot wants to try his hand at kickboxing? It’s no surprise that he lost miserably against Rico, so all of this hype and promotion was for nothing. Oh well.


LIST ITEM: Bayley: This Is Your Life.

THOUGHTS: It takes a special kind of dork-a-puss to screw up a lovable character this much. As a WWE wrestler who helped pioneer the Women’s Revolution with her wild popularity and strong work ethic, Bayley seemed to be headed for big things. And then…the creative writing team, in all of the infinite wisdom, broadcast a segment called Bayley: This Is Your Life, where her opponent for a pay-per-view, Alexa Bliss, painted her as having a helicopter father who was there during her first kiss and during kindergarten class. But don’t worry, because Bayley will soon get her revenge, right? Wrong! She looked like a clown in this feud and the fans booed the shit out of her for it. Poor girl. Poor, poor girl. She deserved so much better than this.


Boy, that was a fucking feel-good read, wasn’t it? You’re not shocked or depressed at all, are you? That reminds me, be sure to buy a copy of my book American Darkness on Amazon and other online retailers! Oh, that was ill-timed. Feel free to shiver if you’d like. Hehe! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

Silent Warrior, Chapter 20

With the sun’s gentle rays caressing their skins and the ocean’s waves to lull them into comfort, Scott and Adrienne strolled along the beach together hand in hand without a care in the world. Scott’s tan cargo shorts clung to his hips like he actually had the body of an athlete. Adrienne’s purple bikini revealed her best physical features, though none could match the beauty of her smile as she pecked her boyfriend on the cheek.

Somewhere in one of the straw huts, a portable stereo played the underrated Sting classic “When We Dance”. And by god, the couple was going to do just that. Scott spun his girlfriend around and leaned her backwards while she lifted one of her gorgeous bare feet in the air. The two lovers shared another kiss together, this one much longer and more passionate than the first.

The two hugged each other and slow-danced to Sting’s lyrics. When Adrienne asked him why his face grew serious all of the sudden, Scott said, “Can we never leave this beach? Do we have to go back to Perkins City?”

“Trust me, babe, I’d love nothing more than to spend forever with you on this beach. We have everything we’ll ever need here: good food, gentle waves, and enough sunshine to keep us warm until the end of time,” said Adrienne in a seductive voice. Her face also grew serious when she finished her sentiment with, “Unfortunately, we have to go back soon. Vacations are only temporary as we both know from going to school all the time. It seems like time is just flying by and we can’t catch up with it.”

Scott embraced his girlfriend tightly and begged, “No, I’m not going back! Please don’t make me go back. I fucking hate that place. It’s like a reverse fucking Disneyland!”

Adrienne pushed him to a close distance and said, “I know, Scott. Trust me, I know. If I go back to Perkins City, my dad is just going to make my life a living hell, just like he did yours. Reality sucks, but that’s what life is.”

“I don’t want this life anymore,” confessed Scott. “I’ve waited all this time to be free and I’m not going to just have it snatched up from underneath me.”

“But then who’s going to pay the bills, honey? What will we do for money? This beach isn’t paying our rent. It’s just an escape from our responsibilities. Whether we like it or not, we’re part of a community.”

“No, don’t say that word! Don’t say the C-word!” snapped Scott as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears. “Don’t say that fucking word! I hate that word! Oh god, oh god, oh god, I hate that word!”

“Scott, please! You’re scaring me! I didn’t mean to trigger you!” said a frightened Adrienne as he gently rested her palm on her boyfriend’s shoulder. The minute Scott’s tears splashed on the soft sand, she hugged him around the head and comforted him with, “I’m sorry. I’ll never say that word again. We can stay here if you’d like. It’s not like this island is in short supply of jobs or anything like that.”

“Jobs?” wept Scott. “Who’s going to hire me? What boss in his right mind wants to hire a guy who falls to pieces after every little thing?”

Placing both hands on her boyfriend’s shoulders and giving him a stern look, Adrienne said, “You have to take responsibility to wake up from your nightmares. You can’t live this way forever, my dear. I can only do so much for you. Now it’s your turn to fight back against the world. You can’t let these people beat you so easily. Fight for me, Scott. Fight for us. Fight for our child!”

The two of them stood up slowly together and Scott’s watery eyes were now staring lovingly into his girlfriend’s sweet face. “You’re right, babe. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry I acted the way I did. Can you do me one last favor before we leave here? Kiss me. Kiss me as hard as you can. If I’m going to fight for what’s right, then I’m going to need all the strength I can get.”

“Of course I’ll kiss you, silly. Come here.” Just as promised, the two of them locked lips and swirled their tongues in each other’s mouths. Adrienne’s lips became much more aggressive as Scott held her closer.

Scott closed his eyes and enjoyed the passionate kiss…until he felt some strange presences crawling around on his tongue. He forcefully pulled away and his eyes shot open in horror at the face he was now gazing into. The visage of Aloysius Striker sang her operatic “Good Morning” song while Scott desperately spit out worm after worm, maggot after maggot. He stuck his index finger in his mouth and barfed the last of the worms onto the sand below, turning his body nearly inside out from the deadly force.

“Good morning to you! Good morning to you! Good morning, dear Scotty! Good morning to you!” Mrs. Striker’s voice became progressively deeper and more demonic as she sang her whimsical tune. Her teeth looked more dangerous than those of a great white shark. Her evilly-slanted eyes glowed with orange neon. The worms in the back of her throat slithered down her jaw and all Scott could do about it was scream his head off.

“Order! Order in the courtroom!” commanded the judge as he smashed his gavel and awakened Scott from his nightmare. Drenched in sweat and still wearing his hospital scrubs, he found himself back in the defendant’s chair with his lawyer by his side. Scott’s breathing grew deeper and deeper while his lawyer tried to calm him down with shoulder pats.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” asked the judge.

“We have, your honor,” said the lead juror. Scott’s hazy vision was now laser focused as his heart beat quickly and adrenaline flooded his nervous system. Even though his “vacation” with Adrienne was only temporary, he had to take that lesson to heart: fight for what you believe in. Fight for what’s right. Never give up. This internal monologue steeled his raw nerves to where he could focus on the verdict. No matter what the jury decided, this fight wouldn’t be over by a long shot and Scott showed that with his eyebrows furrowed.

“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, on one count statutory rape, we find the defendant Mr. Scott George…guilty as charged.”

“No!” cried Adrienne from a far corner of the courtroom while the judge’s gavel banging restored order to a chaotic situation. No amount of mallet whacking could drain the tears from Adrienne Simpson’s eyes as she hugged her mother tightly.

“Bail set at five thousand dollars. Thank you, members of the jury. Bailiff, please take the defendant away. I’ll hand down his sentence soon enough. Case dismissed,” said the judge before banging the gavel one last time.

The bailiff grabbed Scott’s arm and brought him to his feet before cuffing his hands behind his back and pulling him away. The defendant’s eyes watered as his lawyer mouthed the words, “I’m sorry for everything.” Scott nodded at him as he was being half-dragged down the aisle.

“Scott!” shouted Adrienne as she rushed to the center, stopping the bailiff and his charge in their tracks. She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and whisper-sobbed, “Promise me this isn’t over! Promise me you’ll fight through the pain!”

“I promise you, Adrienne. We will see each other again.” He tried to kiss her, but was immediately pulled away by the scruff of his neck. He never took his eyes off of his beautiful, yet sorrowful Adrienne Simpson, even when she turned away to hug her mother once more.

Before Scott could cross the threshold leading to the outside world, he distinctly heard his girlfriend shout, “I’m not a goddamn victim, you assholes!” The uncaring judge banged the gavel even louder in order to shut her up.

The one thing that raced through Scott’s mind as he was being hauled away into the police car was anxiety over whether or not he made a promise he couldn’t keep. Maybe the two of them would see each other again…in the next life. Maybe there could finally be justice in a political climate where there was none…in the next life. Maybe the world would finally pull its head out of its ass…in the next life.

Such a funny phrase for someone as atheistic as Scott George: the next life. He had only heard about its beauty through the Pop Evil song of the same name. Even without his trusty MP3 player, he could still hear Leigh Kakaty’s golden voice crooning that lovely rock tune to him. Scott was surprised that his mind was cooperative for a change instead of trying to force-feed him worms, or worse yet, the philosophy of a conformist community.

In many ways, the prison system was a “community” of its own. Everybody wore the same clothing. Everybody did the same activities. Ate the same disgusting food. Lived with the same disgusting people. Lived by the rules of the same disgusting prison guards. Lived under the thumb of a warden who could only be described as Aloysius Striker on steroids. And to think, that woman was actually a real person instead of a traumatic Floydian ghost.

That reminded Scott of something that brought out even more wormy feelings in his stomach: would he see Alan Young in prison too? What kind of person would he become after such a short time of captivity? Alan was already a nasty son of a bitch. What would he look like in an orange jumpsuit? Would he be covered in prison tattoos? Would he look twice as ugly as when he went in? Would he actually be good at fighting this time around? Scott somehow took solace in the idea that the other prisoners wouldn’t put up with his rotten attitude. But even that modicum of solace wasn’t enough to shut up the worms in Scott’s belly and brain. Where was a gavel when he needed one?