NAME: Wade Fish
AGE: 31
OCCUPATION: Prisoner
CANON: Pretty Colors
When certain people grow up with a tough life in a crime-infested neighborhood, they look for positive ways to leave it all behind. Some people turn to music, some turn to sports, some even go so far as to join the military. And then you have those who are so consumed with their demons that their only escape comes from the worst kind of drugs available, either from the streets or at the local Walgreen’s. Guess which kind of escapist Wade Fish turned out to be. I’ll give you a clue: it involves hypodermic needles, a snorting straw, and pill bottles.
When most people look at Wade, they only see his dirty appearance. They don’t see the past he tried to leave behind. He was bullied in school by teachers and students alike. He was abused by his step-father. Crime was everywhere in his ghetto neighborhood. At the age of 31, he still lived with his abusive step-father and frightened mother. To summarize everything I’ve just said, Wade was not only dealt a crappy hand, but he willingly gave up his chips in exchange for a life in the gutter.
If there was a drug within Wade’s reach, he did it and became a zombie afterwards. He swallowed pills despite not knowing what they were. He snorted cocaine despite never knowing where it came from. He shot heroin into his veins and formed infections around both arms. And when the high took over, he was unstoppable. Wade would lash out at anybody who passed him. It didn’t matter if you were a gangster, a school student, or even a cop on foot: if Wade had a knife, you were fucking dead. Unfortunately for him, he found the one cop who was willing to shoot him in the leg in order to subdue him
Though in today’s warrior cop world, Wade would have been dead a long time ago. But since I need a story worth writing, his story won’t end at the hands of a brutal police officer. While in prison, Wade is offered a chance at freedom on the condition that he undergoes “behavioral modification”. If this sounds at all like a cheap knockoff of either A Clockwork Orange or the fourth story in Tales From the Hood, it’s because Pretty Colors was. And just like Crazy K from the latter of the two movies I’ve mentioned, Wade didn’t give a fuck about anybody’s feelings; he just wanted an easy way back on the streets.
The best way to relieve someone of traumatic stress is to take away their demons or at least neutralize them. In a part of prison called The Diamond Room (which is a colorful version of Crazy K’s sensory deprivation chamber), Wade Fish can do just that by confronting the people from his past who fucked him over. One by one, the “demons” come to life. First it’s his mother. Then it’s his teacher. Then its his stepfather. And now it’s a multi-headed hydra with all three of their heads, plus the heads of the warden and the scientist who created The Diamond Room in the first place. Wade goes into an “I don’t give a fuck!” rage at each of his demons and ends up dying in the colorful room due to a stroke brought on by a seizure.
After Wade dies, the REAL warden and scientist enter the room and say that The Diamond Room, “Just needs some fine tuning.” Really? That was the problem with this whole setup: it wasn’t tweaked enough? Never mind that a human being’s life was on the line. And by the way, just like with any prisoner, Wade’s legacy was buried deep within the beaurocracy of the prison and his body was thrown away like common garbage. Wisdom, justice, and love, my ass.
Even though Wade’s disturbing past is enough of a reason for him to gain sympathy, he will be cast as a villain for the next time I use him. He technically could be a “sympathetic villain”. Maybe he can be like the narrator in “A Million Little Pieces” and just be a lovable asshole. Either that or he can be a low level henchman who’s doing it all for the smack. So many doors can be opened for Wade Fish. All that’s left is for him to walk through one of those doors and become a literary icon. Or I could just bury him again, that always works out so well.
***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“You get me slapped with a fine, you argue with the customers and I have to patch everything up, you get us thrown out of a funeral home for violating a corpse, and to top it all off, you ruin my relationship! I mean, what is your encore?! Do you anally rape my mother while pouring sugar in my gas tank?! You know what the real tragedy behind all of this is?! I’m not even supposed to be here today!”
-Dante Hicks from “Clerks”-
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Friday, February 20, 2015
Hair Masters and Introversion
WWE superstar Daniel Bryan is one lucky dude. He’s got main event status, he’s got a super hot wife, he’s got legions of adoring fans, but the one thing I will always be jealous over is his love of having long hair and a scraggly beard. In other words, he doesn’t have to spend any money at Hair Masters because he lets his hair grow out. I don’t have that kind of tolerance for my own hair whether it’s growing on my head or on my face. When it’s long, it needs to be buzzed to half an inch of hair or else it’ll annoy the shit out of me. I have fast-growing hair, so these appointments at Hair Masters happen once every two or three months.
And then once I get comfortable in that barber’s chair, the verbal diarrhea flies at a million miles an hour. As an introvert, I despise small talk. There’s no point to it, it’s mentally draining, and the extroverts who try to engage me in it don’t actually give two shits about the answers I give them. I suppose I could remedy this problem with my barbers by telling them I’m introverted, but that wouldn’t be socially appropriate, would it? Then again, caring what other people think of me isn’t one of my strong points. If I can make a bunch of giggly Texan women uncomfortable, I can do the same with my barbers. Here are a few of the stupid questions I’ve been asked at Hair Masters along with my awkward responses:
BARBER: What do you do?
ME: Nothing.
BARBER: Nothing?
ME: I’m unemployed.
BARBER: You’re just hanging around?
ME: I guess.
I’ve often contemplated giving the answer of “I work with homeless children in the Democratic Society of Who Gives a Fuck”, but that would probably be more awkward than telling the barber I don’t have a job. Susan suggested to me that I say I’m “In between jobs”, but I’m not since I don’t have an employment history. What am I supposed to do, lie? Anyways, continuing on with the conversations I’ve had…
BARBER: Are you doing anything fun today?
ME: No.
BARBER: Oh….What do you like to do for fun?
ME: Read and write.
BARBER: Oh cool! What do you like to write?
ME: A little bit of everything.
At this point, I wonder when my barber is going to figure out that my life isn’t that exciting. Apparently, they never do, so the bullshit keeps flying.
BARBER: Have you lived here all your life?
ME: No.
BARBER: Where are you from?
ME: Here. I just haven’t lived here all my life.
BARBER: Oh.
Unless you’re planning on coming over to my house and watching the WWE Network with me, you have no business asking me where I live. It’s irrelevant. It’s meaningless. But most of all, it’s bullshit!
BARBER: Are you excited for school?
ME: I don’t go to school.
BARBER: Are you home schooled?
ME: I’m 29 years old.
BARBER: Oh! Are you doing the college thing?
ME: I already graduated.
BARBER: Oh cool! What did you get your degree in?
ME: English.
BARBER: What are you doing with your degree?
ME: I’m trying to be an author.
BARBER: You know what would be cool? If you wrote a book about World War II.
ME: I’m not interested.
If this woman was any nosier than she already is, she would be a police bloodhound. What does she need this information for, anyways?! Is that that starved for WW2 literature that she needs to ask a complete stranger with no interest in history to write it for her?! Speaking of history…
BARBER: What would you recommend for me to read?
ME: What do you like?
BARBER: Historical fiction.
ME: I don’t read historical fiction, so I wouldn’t know.
BARBER: Oh, okay.
Actually, my answer wasn’t entirely true. The last piece of historical fiction I read was “The Sisters Brothers” by Patrick DeWitt. It’s a western, but I don’t think that’s what she had in mind. Besides, it didn’t come to me during the conversation, so I left it out.
BARBER: Do you have any brothers or sisters?
ME: I have an older brother.
BARBER: Did he get his English degree too?
ME: He got a pharmacy degree.
BARBER: Oh cool!
ME: Me and my brother don’t like the same things.
BARBER: Oh.
Jesus, woman, get your nose out of my ass already! I shouldn’t have to sit at my computer desk writing something other than a WW2 novel with a rectal donut on my seat cushion! Ugh! Anyways, after these boring conversations that don’t lead anywhere, I feel so mentally exhausted that I need a nap when I get home. When I pay my bill, I leave a five dollar tip regardless of how nosy the barber was. Hey, I got a good haircut and you can’t argue with a good haircut. Then again, it’s hard to fuck up a buzz cut with half an inch of hair remaining. Any asshole off of the streets can do it. Maybe I should get myself a Wahl clipper and forget the pointless banter altogether.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“It’s a meaningless end to the story. Got no time for my forgotten glory. And now just when I know what I’m after, it just brings me to laughter. Just save up all your nickels and dimes. Let’s see what you’ll find and you’ll know. I guess I’m living day to day. Just hope that you get led astray. Hell yeah. I guess I’m living day to day. Hear what I say. I just died for a piece of the pie, but I’d be glad just to feast on the pie crust.”
-Love Among Freaks singing “Clerks”-
And then once I get comfortable in that barber’s chair, the verbal diarrhea flies at a million miles an hour. As an introvert, I despise small talk. There’s no point to it, it’s mentally draining, and the extroverts who try to engage me in it don’t actually give two shits about the answers I give them. I suppose I could remedy this problem with my barbers by telling them I’m introverted, but that wouldn’t be socially appropriate, would it? Then again, caring what other people think of me isn’t one of my strong points. If I can make a bunch of giggly Texan women uncomfortable, I can do the same with my barbers. Here are a few of the stupid questions I’ve been asked at Hair Masters along with my awkward responses:
BARBER: What do you do?
ME: Nothing.
BARBER: Nothing?
ME: I’m unemployed.
BARBER: You’re just hanging around?
ME: I guess.
I’ve often contemplated giving the answer of “I work with homeless children in the Democratic Society of Who Gives a Fuck”, but that would probably be more awkward than telling the barber I don’t have a job. Susan suggested to me that I say I’m “In between jobs”, but I’m not since I don’t have an employment history. What am I supposed to do, lie? Anyways, continuing on with the conversations I’ve had…
BARBER: Are you doing anything fun today?
ME: No.
BARBER: Oh….What do you like to do for fun?
ME: Read and write.
BARBER: Oh cool! What do you like to write?
ME: A little bit of everything.
At this point, I wonder when my barber is going to figure out that my life isn’t that exciting. Apparently, they never do, so the bullshit keeps flying.
BARBER: Have you lived here all your life?
ME: No.
BARBER: Where are you from?
ME: Here. I just haven’t lived here all my life.
BARBER: Oh.
Unless you’re planning on coming over to my house and watching the WWE Network with me, you have no business asking me where I live. It’s irrelevant. It’s meaningless. But most of all, it’s bullshit!
BARBER: Are you excited for school?
ME: I don’t go to school.
BARBER: Are you home schooled?
ME: I’m 29 years old.
BARBER: Oh! Are you doing the college thing?
ME: I already graduated.
BARBER: Oh cool! What did you get your degree in?
ME: English.
BARBER: What are you doing with your degree?
ME: I’m trying to be an author.
BARBER: You know what would be cool? If you wrote a book about World War II.
ME: I’m not interested.
If this woman was any nosier than she already is, she would be a police bloodhound. What does she need this information for, anyways?! Is that that starved for WW2 literature that she needs to ask a complete stranger with no interest in history to write it for her?! Speaking of history…
BARBER: What would you recommend for me to read?
ME: What do you like?
BARBER: Historical fiction.
ME: I don’t read historical fiction, so I wouldn’t know.
BARBER: Oh, okay.
Actually, my answer wasn’t entirely true. The last piece of historical fiction I read was “The Sisters Brothers” by Patrick DeWitt. It’s a western, but I don’t think that’s what she had in mind. Besides, it didn’t come to me during the conversation, so I left it out.
BARBER: Do you have any brothers or sisters?
ME: I have an older brother.
BARBER: Did he get his English degree too?
ME: He got a pharmacy degree.
BARBER: Oh cool!
ME: Me and my brother don’t like the same things.
BARBER: Oh.
Jesus, woman, get your nose out of my ass already! I shouldn’t have to sit at my computer desk writing something other than a WW2 novel with a rectal donut on my seat cushion! Ugh! Anyways, after these boring conversations that don’t lead anywhere, I feel so mentally exhausted that I need a nap when I get home. When I pay my bill, I leave a five dollar tip regardless of how nosy the barber was. Hey, I got a good haircut and you can’t argue with a good haircut. Then again, it’s hard to fuck up a buzz cut with half an inch of hair remaining. Any asshole off of the streets can do it. Maybe I should get myself a Wahl clipper and forget the pointless banter altogether.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“It’s a meaningless end to the story. Got no time for my forgotten glory. And now just when I know what I’m after, it just brings me to laughter. Just save up all your nickels and dimes. Let’s see what you’ll find and you’ll know. I guess I’m living day to day. Just hope that you get led astray. Hell yeah. I guess I’m living day to day. Hear what I say. I just died for a piece of the pie, but I’d be glad just to feast on the pie crust.”
-Love Among Freaks singing “Clerks”-
Thursday, February 19, 2015
NCIS: New Orleans
TV SHOW TITLE: NCIS: New Orleans
CREATOR: Gary Glasberg
YEARS ACTIVE: 2014-present
GENRE: Crime Drama
RATING: TV-PG or TV-14, depending on the intensity of the violence
GRADE: Pass
Whenever a marine or navy sailor is murdered in post-Katrina New Orleans, it is the job of Special Agent Dwayne Pride and the rest of the crew of his NCIS branch to solve those crimes. It takes a lot of trickery, intelligence, and martial arts skills for the crew to find what they’re looking for. But once the job is done, it’s party time in the Big Easy. Lots of beads, lots of booze, lots of tasty food, and an endless supply of fun is what each Special Agent can look forward to at least once in every episode.
Just like with NCIS and NCIS: Los Angeles before it, the New Orleans spin-off has its fair share of colorful characters. The NCIS office is led by Dwayne Pride, a southern gentleman who can be tough when it matters and a maker of sweet potato pie when a friend or family member needs comfort. The two junior agents are Chris LaSalle (another southern gentleman who loves a good time) and Meredith Brody (a Michigan transplant who’s slowly learning the ways of New Orleans culture).
For behind the scenes detail, we have Dr. Loretta Wade (a medical examiner with infinite wisdom), Sebastian Lund (a geeky lab technician with a hunger for conspiracy theories), and Patton Plame (a wheelchair-bound computer hacker who tries to be cooler than Sebastian). With this many eccentric personalities coming together in one office building, witty dialogue, strong chemistry, and deep character development are bound to happen, which is why NCIS: New Orleans is so enjoyable.
And with that many three-dimensional characters running around, it’s only fitting that this series take place in New Orleans, an exciting town full of party animals, jazz, yummy food, black magic, and of course the serious side of it all, brutal murders of American soldiers. No matter how much stress is put on the NCIS team by these hard cases, they always seem to have a good time before and after the case is solved. And why wouldn’t they? New Orleans is a fun city to be in whether you’re vacationing for the first time or you live there full time. “Never a dull moment” is the phrase that usually comes to mind.
And of course, we have my mother’s favorite part of NCIS: New Orleans: the opening theme music. It’s a late 90’s rock song called “Boom Boom” by Big Head Todd and the Monsters. If you’re not familiar with it, go to You Tube and check it out. If you’d like a preview before you go, it’s the same song with the jazzy guitar and snare drum burst in between the lead singer going, “Boom, boom, boom, boom! Bang, bang, bang, bang! Ho, ho, ho, ho! Hey, yeah!” If there was one song in our collective music library that fits New Orleans culture, it’s that one. Every time I hear it, I expect some wild party animals to throw me some plastic beads. I don’t think they want to see my tits, though. Hehe!
Whether you’re a fan of the NCIS franchise or you just like good cop dramas, this show is for you. If you can find one thing in this show to complain about, you’re obviously not in the New Orleans spirit. Whenever there’s hardship or anger, they don’t whine and cry. They boogie! What’s that phrase LaSalle likes to say all the time? “It’s on like Donkey Kong!”
CREATOR: Gary Glasberg
YEARS ACTIVE: 2014-present
GENRE: Crime Drama
RATING: TV-PG or TV-14, depending on the intensity of the violence
GRADE: Pass
Whenever a marine or navy sailor is murdered in post-Katrina New Orleans, it is the job of Special Agent Dwayne Pride and the rest of the crew of his NCIS branch to solve those crimes. It takes a lot of trickery, intelligence, and martial arts skills for the crew to find what they’re looking for. But once the job is done, it’s party time in the Big Easy. Lots of beads, lots of booze, lots of tasty food, and an endless supply of fun is what each Special Agent can look forward to at least once in every episode.
Just like with NCIS and NCIS: Los Angeles before it, the New Orleans spin-off has its fair share of colorful characters. The NCIS office is led by Dwayne Pride, a southern gentleman who can be tough when it matters and a maker of sweet potato pie when a friend or family member needs comfort. The two junior agents are Chris LaSalle (another southern gentleman who loves a good time) and Meredith Brody (a Michigan transplant who’s slowly learning the ways of New Orleans culture).
For behind the scenes detail, we have Dr. Loretta Wade (a medical examiner with infinite wisdom), Sebastian Lund (a geeky lab technician with a hunger for conspiracy theories), and Patton Plame (a wheelchair-bound computer hacker who tries to be cooler than Sebastian). With this many eccentric personalities coming together in one office building, witty dialogue, strong chemistry, and deep character development are bound to happen, which is why NCIS: New Orleans is so enjoyable.
And with that many three-dimensional characters running around, it’s only fitting that this series take place in New Orleans, an exciting town full of party animals, jazz, yummy food, black magic, and of course the serious side of it all, brutal murders of American soldiers. No matter how much stress is put on the NCIS team by these hard cases, they always seem to have a good time before and after the case is solved. And why wouldn’t they? New Orleans is a fun city to be in whether you’re vacationing for the first time or you live there full time. “Never a dull moment” is the phrase that usually comes to mind.
And of course, we have my mother’s favorite part of NCIS: New Orleans: the opening theme music. It’s a late 90’s rock song called “Boom Boom” by Big Head Todd and the Monsters. If you’re not familiar with it, go to You Tube and check it out. If you’d like a preview before you go, it’s the same song with the jazzy guitar and snare drum burst in between the lead singer going, “Boom, boom, boom, boom! Bang, bang, bang, bang! Ho, ho, ho, ho! Hey, yeah!” If there was one song in our collective music library that fits New Orleans culture, it’s that one. Every time I hear it, I expect some wild party animals to throw me some plastic beads. I don’t think they want to see my tits, though. Hehe!
Whether you’re a fan of the NCIS franchise or you just like good cop dramas, this show is for you. If you can find one thing in this show to complain about, you’re obviously not in the New Orleans spirit. Whenever there’s hardship or anger, they don’t whine and cry. They boogie! What’s that phrase LaSalle likes to say all the time? “It’s on like Donkey Kong!”
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Picklebee's Legacy
The word Picklebee has a lot of sentimental value to me, which is fucked up if you read the rest of this blog post. When I first introduced it to my bestie Susan and niece Reina as a nickname for our cat Smokey, the two of them were unanimously against it. They felt it was too creepy for a cute critter like Smokey. I thought to myself, “How could a cute word like Picklebee have any creepy connotations?”
I still wonder that to this day. Pickles is an actual pet name that’s been used before. Bees are cute and cuddly (whenever they’re not stinging you). Put them together and you have a loving nickname. Susan and Reina weren’t sold on it. So one day during a yard sale, I wrote “Picklebee” on the sidewalk with pink chalk, scaring the crap out of any customer who saw it.
With all of these people taking note of how scary a simple affectionate name could be, I figured I wasn’t going to win the cuteness battle, so I might as well roll with the creepiness of it all. When I first introduced the name Picklebee to the internet, it was in the form of a short horror story I wrote for Good Reads called “Picklebee, God of Death”. If you’re not scared shitless already, you will be when you learn that Picklebee was an indestructible demonic cat who slashed the shit out of anybody she deemed unworthy.
She turned a psychotic pizza delivery guy into her own personal slave and slashed the throats of the cop and landlord who tried to evict that same guy. There was blood everywhere, and that was just the decorations of the guy’s apartment before the fight took place. To put it in more relatable terms, “Picklebee, God of Death” was Pet Cemetery on crack. It was so violent that I constantly worried about disqualification from that week’s contest. I wasn’t disqualified. Instead I ended up in last place with zero votes.
That short story will see the light of day one way or another. But what about the other creative connotation I gave the name Picklebee? In the WWE, the divas division is all about good looks and bad wrestling. I’m honestly frightened at the idea of an NXT diva not being able to clean house in that division, especially considering how underrated Paige was on the main roster. And then my prayers were answered within the confines of my own imagination.
The ultimate unholy alliance of female martial artists, each member a present or future subject on Garrison’s Library. You’ve got the vengeful mixed-martial artist Rachel Gustafson, the pissed off referee Devon Spirit Wolf, and then there’s Picklebee, the name that should be given to Fallon Fox if she ever wants to transition from MMA to pro-wrestling.
An Amazon, an Indian, and a transsexual walk into a bar. It’s not the start of a bad joke; it’s the precursor to a dominant barroom brawl for all three of these women. If these three could keep a hospital full of bar patrons, imagine what kind of Armageddon they could put the WWE divas division through. Sorry, Natalya, but you too are going to be a victim of this onslaught.
If the name Picklebee can’t be cute and cuddly, it’s going to be disastrous and apocalyptic. She is the God of Death. The skies will rain blood. The oceans will be covered in green slime. The roads will be paved with powdered bones. The mountains will be kicked over. The forests will be burned to ashes. Those who survive will live their lives as the God of Death’s slaves. Whether she’s a cute kitty cat, a brutal mixed-martial artist, or Cthulu with a vagina, nobody is safe from this hellfire wrath. That is, unless you feed her Temptations kitty treats at 3:00 in the morning.
***PROVERB OF THE DAY***
Whatever you do to your children, your children will do to the world.
***BY THE WAY***
This will be the first of many posts detailing my socially awkward behavior. That’s going to be a brand new category alongside reviews and character profiles. Be afraid. Be really fucking afraid!
I still wonder that to this day. Pickles is an actual pet name that’s been used before. Bees are cute and cuddly (whenever they’re not stinging you). Put them together and you have a loving nickname. Susan and Reina weren’t sold on it. So one day during a yard sale, I wrote “Picklebee” on the sidewalk with pink chalk, scaring the crap out of any customer who saw it.
With all of these people taking note of how scary a simple affectionate name could be, I figured I wasn’t going to win the cuteness battle, so I might as well roll with the creepiness of it all. When I first introduced the name Picklebee to the internet, it was in the form of a short horror story I wrote for Good Reads called “Picklebee, God of Death”. If you’re not scared shitless already, you will be when you learn that Picklebee was an indestructible demonic cat who slashed the shit out of anybody she deemed unworthy.
She turned a psychotic pizza delivery guy into her own personal slave and slashed the throats of the cop and landlord who tried to evict that same guy. There was blood everywhere, and that was just the decorations of the guy’s apartment before the fight took place. To put it in more relatable terms, “Picklebee, God of Death” was Pet Cemetery on crack. It was so violent that I constantly worried about disqualification from that week’s contest. I wasn’t disqualified. Instead I ended up in last place with zero votes.
That short story will see the light of day one way or another. But what about the other creative connotation I gave the name Picklebee? In the WWE, the divas division is all about good looks and bad wrestling. I’m honestly frightened at the idea of an NXT diva not being able to clean house in that division, especially considering how underrated Paige was on the main roster. And then my prayers were answered within the confines of my own imagination.
The ultimate unholy alliance of female martial artists, each member a present or future subject on Garrison’s Library. You’ve got the vengeful mixed-martial artist Rachel Gustafson, the pissed off referee Devon Spirit Wolf, and then there’s Picklebee, the name that should be given to Fallon Fox if she ever wants to transition from MMA to pro-wrestling.
An Amazon, an Indian, and a transsexual walk into a bar. It’s not the start of a bad joke; it’s the precursor to a dominant barroom brawl for all three of these women. If these three could keep a hospital full of bar patrons, imagine what kind of Armageddon they could put the WWE divas division through. Sorry, Natalya, but you too are going to be a victim of this onslaught.
If the name Picklebee can’t be cute and cuddly, it’s going to be disastrous and apocalyptic. She is the God of Death. The skies will rain blood. The oceans will be covered in green slime. The roads will be paved with powdered bones. The mountains will be kicked over. The forests will be burned to ashes. Those who survive will live their lives as the God of Death’s slaves. Whether she’s a cute kitty cat, a brutal mixed-martial artist, or Cthulu with a vagina, nobody is safe from this hellfire wrath. That is, unless you feed her Temptations kitty treats at 3:00 in the morning.
***PROVERB OF THE DAY***
Whatever you do to your children, your children will do to the world.
***BY THE WAY***
This will be the first of many posts detailing my socially awkward behavior. That’s going to be a brand new category alongside reviews and character profiles. Be afraid. Be really fucking afraid!
Monday, February 16, 2015
WWE NXT R Evolution: Adrian Neville vs. Sami Zayn
MATCH: Adrian Neville vs. Sami Zayn for the former’s NXT Championship
PROMOTION: WWE NXT
EVENT: R Evolution
YEAR: 2014
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
I’m not what anybody would call an “smark” when it comes to professional wrestling. The only way I know about a wrestler’s popularity is through how many positive awards they have won from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter (or at least have been nominated for). Whenever an award winner or nominee enters NXT, I’m always excited to see their debut whether it’s KENTA aka Hideo Itami, Bryan Danielson aka Daniel Bryan, or Kevin Steen aka Kevin Owens. Such was the case for the two NXT Championship contenders Adrian Neville and El Generico aka Sami Zayn.
These two wrestlers in particular have a lot in common. They’re both high-flying cruiserweights who defy gravity just for fun. They’re both technical geniuses when it comes to mat wrestling and martial arts. They’re both popular outside of the United States thanks to the advent of the internet. They both gained most of their experience in smaller promotions. Most importantly, these two ring warriors are the best of friends. There is one thing that separates them, however: prior to this match, Adrian Neville was a successful and long-reigning NXT Champion while Sami Zayn consistently lost important matches. So what does Sami Zayn do about it? Two things. He wrestles more aggressively and he puts his career on the line in this match.
The buildup to this match with Sami Zayn as the ultimate underdog was efficient enough to make Zayn and Neville’s feud worthy of another award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. With all this pressure on both men, you know they’re going to have to deliver an exciting and unforgettable match. It can’t just be good; it has to be excellent. It has to launch someone into an early Hall of Fame nomination. It has to be a permanent fixture not only on the audience’s DVR’s, but also their memories. And goddamn, did these two over-deliver.
If there was any slowness in this match, it was brief, yet important when it comes to building further drama. The rest of the match was one fast-paced, explosive, deadly battle. We got to see both wrestlers use their favorite moves and make them look good all over again. Whether it was a spike hurricanrana from Adrian Neville, an exploder suplex from Sami Zayn, an over the top rope splash to the floor from both men, a diving outside corner DDT from Zayn, or a sit-out jackknife power bomb from Neville, you’re getting your money’s worth in this match.
These two men hurt each other in the most creative and death-defying ways possible. They flew through the air and slammed each other to the ground with earth shattering force. It was amazing the mat nor the ground had body-shaped holes in them afterwards with this cartoonish display of physics. And just like a cartoon, they kept getting back up after every painful shot.
While the action was certainly a thrilling aspect of the match, the drama was just as capable of bringing people to the edge of their seats. The NXT commentators and Adrian Neville prior to this match questioned Sami Zayn’s willingness to take shortcuts to win big matches. Sami was the ultimate baby face in that he never gave in to the urge to cheat in any of his matches. Even when it mattered the most, Sami stayed true to his moral code.
When the referee was unconscious for the first time in the match, Sami checked to see if he was okay. When the referee got knocked out again and the championship belt was introduced to the ring, Sami struggled with himself as to whether he should use it as a weapon while no authority members were looking. He ended up tossing the belt and winning the honest way: by T-bone suplexing Neville into the turnbuckle and finishing him off with the Helluva Kick. When Sami Zayn went for the final pin, he got the 1-2-3 that evaded him for so long in the match and the NXT Championship was finally his.
When Sami Zayn won the title, it was the greatest victory in his wrestling career. The entire NXT roster, both heels and baby faces, celebrated with him and hoisted him high on their shoulders. He even continued to do the right thing when he extended his hand for a frustrated Adrian Neville to shake. Neville held that championship for a majority of 2014, so it was understandable that he kicked Sami’s hand away. But that kick was only to give way to an even bigger show of sportsmanship: a hug. Batista once said it to Eddie Guerrero in 2005 before the latter died: friends don’t shake hands; friends hug!
The ring was clearing of NXT superstars, Adrian Neville among them. All that was left was for Sami Zayn’s other longtime friend Kevin Owens to come out and congratulate him. These two grew up together in Ring of Honor and the independent circuit. They even won the 2010 award for Feud of the Year from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. Zayn and Owens did everything together. And then the unthinkable happened. Just when spirits couldn’t get any higher, Kevin Owens slammed Sami Zayn to the steel ramp and then power bombed his longtime friend against the edge of the ring, which is said to be the hardest part of the wrestling structure. Kevin Owens gave no further explanation for his actions while his best friend was wheeled out of the arena in an ambulance.
The high octane action and the mind-blowing drama come together to make a special match for NXT fans. They jumped out of their seats for the high flying moves, cheered like animals during the martial arts kicks, punches, and throws, cried like babies during Sami Zayn’s celebration, and cried even harder when Kevin Owens beat the crap out of him. Everything about this match was done to perfection by professional wrestlers with over a decade of experience. All of this hard work built up to this memorable moment. It will live within the fans forever, either as a haunting ghost or as an excited spirit.
PROMOTION: WWE NXT
EVENT: R Evolution
YEAR: 2014
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
I’m not what anybody would call an “smark” when it comes to professional wrestling. The only way I know about a wrestler’s popularity is through how many positive awards they have won from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter (or at least have been nominated for). Whenever an award winner or nominee enters NXT, I’m always excited to see their debut whether it’s KENTA aka Hideo Itami, Bryan Danielson aka Daniel Bryan, or Kevin Steen aka Kevin Owens. Such was the case for the two NXT Championship contenders Adrian Neville and El Generico aka Sami Zayn.
These two wrestlers in particular have a lot in common. They’re both high-flying cruiserweights who defy gravity just for fun. They’re both technical geniuses when it comes to mat wrestling and martial arts. They’re both popular outside of the United States thanks to the advent of the internet. They both gained most of their experience in smaller promotions. Most importantly, these two ring warriors are the best of friends. There is one thing that separates them, however: prior to this match, Adrian Neville was a successful and long-reigning NXT Champion while Sami Zayn consistently lost important matches. So what does Sami Zayn do about it? Two things. He wrestles more aggressively and he puts his career on the line in this match.
The buildup to this match with Sami Zayn as the ultimate underdog was efficient enough to make Zayn and Neville’s feud worthy of another award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. With all this pressure on both men, you know they’re going to have to deliver an exciting and unforgettable match. It can’t just be good; it has to be excellent. It has to launch someone into an early Hall of Fame nomination. It has to be a permanent fixture not only on the audience’s DVR’s, but also their memories. And goddamn, did these two over-deliver.
If there was any slowness in this match, it was brief, yet important when it comes to building further drama. The rest of the match was one fast-paced, explosive, deadly battle. We got to see both wrestlers use their favorite moves and make them look good all over again. Whether it was a spike hurricanrana from Adrian Neville, an exploder suplex from Sami Zayn, an over the top rope splash to the floor from both men, a diving outside corner DDT from Zayn, or a sit-out jackknife power bomb from Neville, you’re getting your money’s worth in this match.
These two men hurt each other in the most creative and death-defying ways possible. They flew through the air and slammed each other to the ground with earth shattering force. It was amazing the mat nor the ground had body-shaped holes in them afterwards with this cartoonish display of physics. And just like a cartoon, they kept getting back up after every painful shot.
While the action was certainly a thrilling aspect of the match, the drama was just as capable of bringing people to the edge of their seats. The NXT commentators and Adrian Neville prior to this match questioned Sami Zayn’s willingness to take shortcuts to win big matches. Sami was the ultimate baby face in that he never gave in to the urge to cheat in any of his matches. Even when it mattered the most, Sami stayed true to his moral code.
When the referee was unconscious for the first time in the match, Sami checked to see if he was okay. When the referee got knocked out again and the championship belt was introduced to the ring, Sami struggled with himself as to whether he should use it as a weapon while no authority members were looking. He ended up tossing the belt and winning the honest way: by T-bone suplexing Neville into the turnbuckle and finishing him off with the Helluva Kick. When Sami Zayn went for the final pin, he got the 1-2-3 that evaded him for so long in the match and the NXT Championship was finally his.
When Sami Zayn won the title, it was the greatest victory in his wrestling career. The entire NXT roster, both heels and baby faces, celebrated with him and hoisted him high on their shoulders. He even continued to do the right thing when he extended his hand for a frustrated Adrian Neville to shake. Neville held that championship for a majority of 2014, so it was understandable that he kicked Sami’s hand away. But that kick was only to give way to an even bigger show of sportsmanship: a hug. Batista once said it to Eddie Guerrero in 2005 before the latter died: friends don’t shake hands; friends hug!
The ring was clearing of NXT superstars, Adrian Neville among them. All that was left was for Sami Zayn’s other longtime friend Kevin Owens to come out and congratulate him. These two grew up together in Ring of Honor and the independent circuit. They even won the 2010 award for Feud of the Year from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. Zayn and Owens did everything together. And then the unthinkable happened. Just when spirits couldn’t get any higher, Kevin Owens slammed Sami Zayn to the steel ramp and then power bombed his longtime friend against the edge of the ring, which is said to be the hardest part of the wrestling structure. Kevin Owens gave no further explanation for his actions while his best friend was wheeled out of the arena in an ambulance.
The high octane action and the mind-blowing drama come together to make a special match for NXT fans. They jumped out of their seats for the high flying moves, cheered like animals during the martial arts kicks, punches, and throws, cried like babies during Sami Zayn’s celebration, and cried even harder when Kevin Owens beat the crap out of him. Everything about this match was done to perfection by professional wrestlers with over a decade of experience. All of this hard work built up to this memorable moment. It will live within the fans forever, either as a haunting ghost or as an excited spirit.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Corey Darkside
NAME: Corey Darkside
AGE: 35
OCCUPATION: Barbarian Gangster
CANON: Gangs of Kingston
Do you know very many barbarians named Corey? Even female ones; be honest. Can you picture someone with that given name charging at you with a big fucking battleaxe and splitting you like a log? If this was the year 2010 and I was still writing screenplays, then I would have made this a new trend. But in order for that trend to catch on, the movie script I write has to be successful, as in it has to be made into an actual, dee-dee-dee, movie! Port Orchard isn’t exactly a cinematic town and Hollywood is God knows how many miles away, so screenplays aren’t my best option. But a regular novel with a barbaric badass named Corey Darkside? That’s a little more workable.
Today’s criminal gangs aren’t known for being liberal-minded towards women. Politicians of the middle ages were even more sexist during their time in power. Combine these two elements and you have to wonder how a woman like Corey Darkside gets involved in a gang in the first place. She’s 6’5”, muscular, carries a giant battleaxe, and has a limited sex appeal. Needless to say, Corey would never be “sexed in”, not in a million years. And yet, she somehow became the faithful girlfriend of dwarf barbarian Edge Warbringer and the co-leader of his criminal empire. I know dwarves aren’t thought of as having high standards of beauty or charisma, so this relationship might actually work.
Edge and Corey were born for battle. If you don’t believe them, take a look at the mile high pile of dead bodies they leave behind. In the screenplay Gangs of Kingston, the streets are littered with corpses of gangsters and innocent people alike to where tripping over somebody’s bloody arm isn’t unheard of. The main character, an elf warrior named Jonah Jeriqee, had to side-wind past these big ass piles just to get something to drink at the pub. Going to the pub is a bad idea in and of itself since that’s where most of the violence happens. In fact, there’s not one square inch of Kingston that doesn’t reek of death, past, present, or future. You can thank Corey Darkside for at least part of that violence.
Would you believe it if I told you that Jonah Jeriqee actually survived an encounter with Corey? In Edge’s own underground mosh pit, no less! But how is that possible? Being an elf, Jonah is a skinny twig, so watching him swing a giant barbed club like he does looks ridiculous. Corey Darkside, on the other hand, looks more than comfortable when she swings her tower-sized battleaxe. There’s only one way to survive a battle with this war-torn beast of a woman: run. After a few cheap shots here and there, Jonah got out of there with his life, despite the fact that Corey is a faster runner than he is.
Trickery and stealth will not guarantee you a convincing victory, however, which is why Corey is still a threat to anybody she crosses. When she wins a battle, she fucking wins. Everyone else either barely survives by the skin of their teeth or gets ripped up like a piece of paper. It should make perfect sense that she be a high-profile villain in any story she’s a part of. She has the last name Darkside, for Christ’s sake! There’s no way an ultra-powerful warrior like this has any room for character development like a hero would. She’s like Deus Shadowheart with tits and a vagina: every fight with her has Deus Ex Machina implications.
The only way I could picture Corey Darkside as a believable hero would be if she was a professional wrestler. There were many large women before her who became successful with their size and god-like athleticism: Chyna, Awesome Kong, Beth Phoenix, Natalya, and Charlotte just to name a few. But if Corey is going to be a believable hero in the world of wrestling, she’s going to have to have a thick skin, especially if she gets a Most Overrated Wrestler award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. It may seem like a chump change award, but those awards are possible because the majority of wrestling fans vote for that shit. Size isn’t everything, but character is. Therefore, Corey is more likely to be a villainous barbarian gangster than a heroic professional wrestler. Well, I gave it a shot.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: What do you call a Samoan wrestler who eats cheap noodles?
A: Ramen Reigns.
AGE: 35
OCCUPATION: Barbarian Gangster
CANON: Gangs of Kingston
Do you know very many barbarians named Corey? Even female ones; be honest. Can you picture someone with that given name charging at you with a big fucking battleaxe and splitting you like a log? If this was the year 2010 and I was still writing screenplays, then I would have made this a new trend. But in order for that trend to catch on, the movie script I write has to be successful, as in it has to be made into an actual, dee-dee-dee, movie! Port Orchard isn’t exactly a cinematic town and Hollywood is God knows how many miles away, so screenplays aren’t my best option. But a regular novel with a barbaric badass named Corey Darkside? That’s a little more workable.
Today’s criminal gangs aren’t known for being liberal-minded towards women. Politicians of the middle ages were even more sexist during their time in power. Combine these two elements and you have to wonder how a woman like Corey Darkside gets involved in a gang in the first place. She’s 6’5”, muscular, carries a giant battleaxe, and has a limited sex appeal. Needless to say, Corey would never be “sexed in”, not in a million years. And yet, she somehow became the faithful girlfriend of dwarf barbarian Edge Warbringer and the co-leader of his criminal empire. I know dwarves aren’t thought of as having high standards of beauty or charisma, so this relationship might actually work.
Edge and Corey were born for battle. If you don’t believe them, take a look at the mile high pile of dead bodies they leave behind. In the screenplay Gangs of Kingston, the streets are littered with corpses of gangsters and innocent people alike to where tripping over somebody’s bloody arm isn’t unheard of. The main character, an elf warrior named Jonah Jeriqee, had to side-wind past these big ass piles just to get something to drink at the pub. Going to the pub is a bad idea in and of itself since that’s where most of the violence happens. In fact, there’s not one square inch of Kingston that doesn’t reek of death, past, present, or future. You can thank Corey Darkside for at least part of that violence.
Would you believe it if I told you that Jonah Jeriqee actually survived an encounter with Corey? In Edge’s own underground mosh pit, no less! But how is that possible? Being an elf, Jonah is a skinny twig, so watching him swing a giant barbed club like he does looks ridiculous. Corey Darkside, on the other hand, looks more than comfortable when she swings her tower-sized battleaxe. There’s only one way to survive a battle with this war-torn beast of a woman: run. After a few cheap shots here and there, Jonah got out of there with his life, despite the fact that Corey is a faster runner than he is.
Trickery and stealth will not guarantee you a convincing victory, however, which is why Corey is still a threat to anybody she crosses. When she wins a battle, she fucking wins. Everyone else either barely survives by the skin of their teeth or gets ripped up like a piece of paper. It should make perfect sense that she be a high-profile villain in any story she’s a part of. She has the last name Darkside, for Christ’s sake! There’s no way an ultra-powerful warrior like this has any room for character development like a hero would. She’s like Deus Shadowheart with tits and a vagina: every fight with her has Deus Ex Machina implications.
The only way I could picture Corey Darkside as a believable hero would be if she was a professional wrestler. There were many large women before her who became successful with their size and god-like athleticism: Chyna, Awesome Kong, Beth Phoenix, Natalya, and Charlotte just to name a few. But if Corey is going to be a believable hero in the world of wrestling, she’s going to have to have a thick skin, especially if she gets a Most Overrated Wrestler award from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter. It may seem like a chump change award, but those awards are possible because the majority of wrestling fans vote for that shit. Size isn’t everything, but character is. Therefore, Corey is more likely to be a villainous barbarian gangster than a heroic professional wrestler. Well, I gave it a shot.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
Q: What do you call a Samoan wrestler who eats cheap noodles?
A: Ramen Reigns.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Stormy Weather by Carl Hiaasen
BOOK TITLE: Stormy Weather
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 1995
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass
A hurricane passing through southern Florida has brought out all types of colorful characters wanting to exploit the stormy weather for their own personal gain. While on a honeymoon with his wife Bonnie, Max Lamb takes his camcorder and films the devastation of the hurricane for his own personal amusement. Edie Marsh and her psychopathic partner in crime Snapper come up with a plan for insurance fraud that involves a little blood splatter along the way on Snapper’s part. Tony Torres is trying to defend himself after several mobile homes he sold were ripped apart during the storm, mobile homes he guaranteed were safe.
In the middle of it all is Skink, a former governor who went off the deep end and became a diehard eco-warrior with loony methods of convincing people not to screw with nature. These weird ass characters and plenty of others come together eventually for a chaotic climax to a story about hurricanes.
If you’ve ever read anything from Carl Hiaasen before, you would take special note of that last word “chaotic”. The crazy characters all have a way of meeting each other and the results of their meetings only serves to intensify the insanity. But this isn’t just any chaos we’re talking about here. This is controlled chaos. That means Carl Hiaasen’s character count is high and he’s actually able to contain and develop them all within 388 pages.
Writing a Carl Hiaasen novel is a lot like running an insane asylum: you’ve got a lot of people to control and occasionally there will be rioting. Add to all of this a hurricane and things get out of hand rather quickly. Mr. Hiaasen must feel more like a babysitter at times instead of an author. I commend his ability to watch over that many people at one time.
I’ve said this before about other novels, but it bears repeating: a happy ending is not about IF it will happen, it’s about HOW. For an author, determining how a happy ending will occur will require believability. If you’re Carl Hiaasen, the happy ending will not only be believable (despite the story being told in a world of lunacy), it will also be hilariously fitting.
The main villain of this story as you will quickly find out is the trigger happy ass-hat known as Snapper, a white supremacist criminal who has a crooked jaw and an all around ugly face. Everybody in this book is guilty of exploitation, but only Snapper is treated as the biggest asshole in the book, no likeability at all. He might even be what TV Tropes calls a Complete Monster. While I won’t divulge what exactly happens to Snapper, I will give you one clue: it involves a certain red “club” that’s used to keep a steering wheel in place and prevent car theft. If your imagination isn’t as wild as Mr. Hiaasen’s, then I suggest reading the book to find out just what the hell I’m talking about.
Every Carl Hiaasen book I’ve read in my lifetime is either giggly, satisfying, agreeable, or all of the above. Stormy Weather is yet another triumph in Mr. Hiaasen’s legacy. He remains one of my favorite authors to this day, especially since he has something I value in a lot of authors: a fast pace. A passing grade will be given to this wonderful novel.
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 1995
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass
A hurricane passing through southern Florida has brought out all types of colorful characters wanting to exploit the stormy weather for their own personal gain. While on a honeymoon with his wife Bonnie, Max Lamb takes his camcorder and films the devastation of the hurricane for his own personal amusement. Edie Marsh and her psychopathic partner in crime Snapper come up with a plan for insurance fraud that involves a little blood splatter along the way on Snapper’s part. Tony Torres is trying to defend himself after several mobile homes he sold were ripped apart during the storm, mobile homes he guaranteed were safe.
In the middle of it all is Skink, a former governor who went off the deep end and became a diehard eco-warrior with loony methods of convincing people not to screw with nature. These weird ass characters and plenty of others come together eventually for a chaotic climax to a story about hurricanes.
If you’ve ever read anything from Carl Hiaasen before, you would take special note of that last word “chaotic”. The crazy characters all have a way of meeting each other and the results of their meetings only serves to intensify the insanity. But this isn’t just any chaos we’re talking about here. This is controlled chaos. That means Carl Hiaasen’s character count is high and he’s actually able to contain and develop them all within 388 pages.
Writing a Carl Hiaasen novel is a lot like running an insane asylum: you’ve got a lot of people to control and occasionally there will be rioting. Add to all of this a hurricane and things get out of hand rather quickly. Mr. Hiaasen must feel more like a babysitter at times instead of an author. I commend his ability to watch over that many people at one time.
I’ve said this before about other novels, but it bears repeating: a happy ending is not about IF it will happen, it’s about HOW. For an author, determining how a happy ending will occur will require believability. If you’re Carl Hiaasen, the happy ending will not only be believable (despite the story being told in a world of lunacy), it will also be hilariously fitting.
The main villain of this story as you will quickly find out is the trigger happy ass-hat known as Snapper, a white supremacist criminal who has a crooked jaw and an all around ugly face. Everybody in this book is guilty of exploitation, but only Snapper is treated as the biggest asshole in the book, no likeability at all. He might even be what TV Tropes calls a Complete Monster. While I won’t divulge what exactly happens to Snapper, I will give you one clue: it involves a certain red “club” that’s used to keep a steering wheel in place and prevent car theft. If your imagination isn’t as wild as Mr. Hiaasen’s, then I suggest reading the book to find out just what the hell I’m talking about.
Every Carl Hiaasen book I’ve read in my lifetime is either giggly, satisfying, agreeable, or all of the above. Stormy Weather is yet another triumph in Mr. Hiaasen’s legacy. He remains one of my favorite authors to this day, especially since he has something I value in a lot of authors: a fast pace. A passing grade will be given to this wonderful novel.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Tales From the Hood: Hardcore Convert
MOVIE TITLE: Tales From the Hood
SUB-STORY: Hardcore Convert
DIRECTOR: Rusty Cundieff
YEAR: 1995
GENRE: Gangster Horror
RATING: R for violence, vulgar language, and male nudity
GRADE: Pass
In the final story from the Tales From the Hood anthology, Jerome Johns aka Crazy K is a psychopathic gangster who goes on a rampage and eventually gets captured by the police. After serving four years of his life sentence, Crazy K meets Dr. Cushing, a scientist who gives him the chance of being released back on the streets on the condition that he undergoes “behavioral modification”.
Crazy K thinks this is an easy way out of jail, but the physical and psychological torture he is subjected to suggests otherwise. He’s forced to have a conversation with a racist serial killer, be strapped to a spinning table while watching violent footage, and be lowered into a sensory deprivation chamber to confront the ghosts of those he murdered. Is Crazy K capable of being a respectable human being or is he just a lost cause who “Doesn’t give a fuck”?
The idea of brainwashing a violent person into becoming a pacifist has been explored before, particularly in the Anthony Burgess novel which later became a movie “A Clockwork Orange”. The conditioning techniques used in both “A Clockwork Orange” and “Hardcore Convert” are similar in the sense that the subject will become violently ill after watching or attempting brutality. The difference between the two is that the conditioning in “A Clockwork Orange” actually does its job in making the main character into a “model citizen” while Crazy K continues to defy authority.
Experimental treatments are judged on a trial and error basis, so Crazy K’s rebellious ways are believable. In fact, his multiple F-bombs and aggressive tone make him a quotable character. Just don’t quote him in a public place where children are present. Also, when somebody asks you if you’re interested in science, don’t say, “I saw a few chemicals in my day.” That doesn’t sound promising. It’s funny as hell, but not promising.
Here’s the million dollar question that I’ve always had when watching this part of Tales From the Hood. During the spinning table scene, were the sexual overtones intentional or were they accidental? I’ve wrestled with this question plenty of times in my analysis of this movie. Crazy K is wearing nothing but a black g-string (which leaves very little to the imagination), he’s being tied to a table, he has a metal ball gag in his mouth and feeding tubes in his nostrils, he has electric pasties on his nipples, he has a spring-loaded clamp on his groin, and the women who are doing all of this to him are smoking hot. Even in her 50’s, Rosalind Cash (Dr. Cushing) was a gorgeous woman, so that furthers my last point.
To answer the question of whether the sexual overtones were intentional, I’m still on the fence on that one. Yes, the spinning table scene has all of those kinky elements going on, but it also has some rather disturbing ones. The slide show that Crazy K is being shown basically compares KKK lynchings to gangs shootings. These are all brutal photos, but the bold point is being made that black gangsters are no different from white supremacists in the sense that they both randomly kill other black people. And let’s not forget, these points are being made while Crazy K is being spun around on a torture table and becoming nauseated afterwards. If there was an attempt at fan service, it fell apart the minute the table started spinning.
You can look at this final Tales From the Hood story from any angle you want. You can jokingly call it “Fifty Shades of K” or “Clockwork Orgasm” all you want, but let’s not forget that there’s a serious tale of gang violence being told in this story. The fact that Crazy K can remain defiant after everything is done says something about our society: some people just can’t be cured. You can help them all you want, but in the end, it’s up to that individual to make a conscientious decision to change his or her life. Crazy K wanted an easy way to freedom and he got schooled instead. The easiest path to your goals isn’t always the best one. Cheaters never win and winners never cheat. That’s why Crazy K is in a coffin at Simms’ Funeral Home and not at home rebuilding his life. A passing grade for a tale of tragedy.
SUB-STORY: Hardcore Convert
DIRECTOR: Rusty Cundieff
YEAR: 1995
GENRE: Gangster Horror
RATING: R for violence, vulgar language, and male nudity
GRADE: Pass
In the final story from the Tales From the Hood anthology, Jerome Johns aka Crazy K is a psychopathic gangster who goes on a rampage and eventually gets captured by the police. After serving four years of his life sentence, Crazy K meets Dr. Cushing, a scientist who gives him the chance of being released back on the streets on the condition that he undergoes “behavioral modification”.
Crazy K thinks this is an easy way out of jail, but the physical and psychological torture he is subjected to suggests otherwise. He’s forced to have a conversation with a racist serial killer, be strapped to a spinning table while watching violent footage, and be lowered into a sensory deprivation chamber to confront the ghosts of those he murdered. Is Crazy K capable of being a respectable human being or is he just a lost cause who “Doesn’t give a fuck”?
The idea of brainwashing a violent person into becoming a pacifist has been explored before, particularly in the Anthony Burgess novel which later became a movie “A Clockwork Orange”. The conditioning techniques used in both “A Clockwork Orange” and “Hardcore Convert” are similar in the sense that the subject will become violently ill after watching or attempting brutality. The difference between the two is that the conditioning in “A Clockwork Orange” actually does its job in making the main character into a “model citizen” while Crazy K continues to defy authority.
Experimental treatments are judged on a trial and error basis, so Crazy K’s rebellious ways are believable. In fact, his multiple F-bombs and aggressive tone make him a quotable character. Just don’t quote him in a public place where children are present. Also, when somebody asks you if you’re interested in science, don’t say, “I saw a few chemicals in my day.” That doesn’t sound promising. It’s funny as hell, but not promising.
Here’s the million dollar question that I’ve always had when watching this part of Tales From the Hood. During the spinning table scene, were the sexual overtones intentional or were they accidental? I’ve wrestled with this question plenty of times in my analysis of this movie. Crazy K is wearing nothing but a black g-string (which leaves very little to the imagination), he’s being tied to a table, he has a metal ball gag in his mouth and feeding tubes in his nostrils, he has electric pasties on his nipples, he has a spring-loaded clamp on his groin, and the women who are doing all of this to him are smoking hot. Even in her 50’s, Rosalind Cash (Dr. Cushing) was a gorgeous woman, so that furthers my last point.
To answer the question of whether the sexual overtones were intentional, I’m still on the fence on that one. Yes, the spinning table scene has all of those kinky elements going on, but it also has some rather disturbing ones. The slide show that Crazy K is being shown basically compares KKK lynchings to gangs shootings. These are all brutal photos, but the bold point is being made that black gangsters are no different from white supremacists in the sense that they both randomly kill other black people. And let’s not forget, these points are being made while Crazy K is being spun around on a torture table and becoming nauseated afterwards. If there was an attempt at fan service, it fell apart the minute the table started spinning.
You can look at this final Tales From the Hood story from any angle you want. You can jokingly call it “Fifty Shades of K” or “Clockwork Orgasm” all you want, but let’s not forget that there’s a serious tale of gang violence being told in this story. The fact that Crazy K can remain defiant after everything is done says something about our society: some people just can’t be cured. You can help them all you want, but in the end, it’s up to that individual to make a conscientious decision to change his or her life. Crazy K wanted an easy way to freedom and he got schooled instead. The easiest path to your goals isn’t always the best one. Cheaters never win and winners never cheat. That’s why Crazy K is in a coffin at Simms’ Funeral Home and not at home rebuilding his life. A passing grade for a tale of tragedy.
The Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club
TEAM NAME: The Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club
CANON: Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer
NAME: Otis Norman
AGE: 30
OCCUPATION: Unemployed
NAME: Courtney Robyn
AGE: 28
OCCUPATION: Unemployed
There once was a time during the life of Garrison’s Library that I would blog about weird dreams I had. My blog was a place for creative fuel of all kinds, dreams being no exception. The reason I don’t do it anymore is because those small bursts of creative fuel usually don’t lead anywhere. They’re just a sequence of weird events that have no application to real life. And thus, we have a short story called Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer, where a psychopathic couple go on a rampage in the name of the same serial killer they worship so much. It was a short story so nonsensical that it was eventually dumped when I had to choose stories to publish in American Darkness.
Close your eyes and let me paint a picture for you of the two sole members of the Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club. If at any time you feel like you’re having an acid trip, you probably are and you should call 911, if not for yourself, then for Otis and Courtney. The two of them are unemployed, broke, and about to get kicked out of their poorly kept apartment. So what do they do about their economic situation? They start off by sneaking into an old man’s neighboring apartment and stealing clothes that would make Otis look like Jeffrey Dahmer: a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a fedora. Whether or not Jeffrey Dahmer actually wore those things is something that boggles my mind to this day.
Otis and Courtney hold hands together and skip down the stairs and toward their car like a couple in love. Not that two serial killer worshipers know anything about love, but who’s keeping score here? They get in their car and speed away before their landlord has a chance to harass them about rent money. During this million mile per hour chase down the streets and on the freeway, they cause so many accidents that they could be accused of committing genocide. That’s a lot of dead bodies and not enough morgues and graveyards to fill them. The cops couldn’t pull the couple over because the police too were involved in these horrendous and lethal accidents.
The reckless driving and the psychotic laughter was all for the purpose of going to the airport and sneaking on an airline flight to Moscow, Russia. Why are they going to Russia? To celebrate Halloween, of course. I know Russia is a mostly conservative country, so they probably don’t take Halloween as seriously as they would in, say, New Orleans. I’m not sure, because I didn’t research this, which is another mistake I made when writing Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer.
By the time Otis and Courtney hit the streets of Moscow, prostitutes and partygoers were hitting on Otis because of his Jeffrey Dahmer clothing. There was even a swarm of women who pulled him inside a nightclub while leaving a jealous Courtney out on the streets to freeze to death. She was so bitter and angry that she engaged in revenge sex with an entire hockey team. Otis found out what his girlfriend was doing, so he vomited his teeth into a garbage can. The story ended with Courtney sarcastically wishing her now ex-boyfriend a Happy Halloween.
Now do you know why Otis Norman and Courtney Robyn are unemployed? It’s not because I don’t have a use for psychotic characters. It’s because the story they were a part of didn’t make a goddamn lick of sense. Of course, nobody told me that I could have merely manipulated the details of my dream to fit a traditional narrative style. Imagine that: I can actually embellish details of my dreams! Who would’ve thunk it? But I’d better be careful, because the same people who sabotaged James Frey could sabotage me for being a big fucking liar! Cue the eye rolls.
The choice of clothing for Otis is also something I’d like to carry on should I use him or Courtney again. The Hawaiian shirt and fedora look is something currently being used by WWE wrestler Bray Wyatt, who coincidentally enough has the gimmick of a backwoods cult master. Does Otis Norman have what it takes to be a cultist? Absolutely. He’s the president of the Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club, for shit’s sake. For all we know, Courtney Robyn could be his deacon. Or his altar girl, depending on how sick he can actually be. With so much potential surrounding a creepy cultist gimmick, it won’t be long before Otis and Courtney find work again. Hell, I already wrote a short poem about them. But they can do more. They certainly can do more.
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
(RE: Paige licking her face.)
“You don’t have to sexually harass me in order to have a good match with me!”
-Natalya from “Total Divas”-
CANON: Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer
NAME: Otis Norman
AGE: 30
OCCUPATION: Unemployed
NAME: Courtney Robyn
AGE: 28
OCCUPATION: Unemployed
There once was a time during the life of Garrison’s Library that I would blog about weird dreams I had. My blog was a place for creative fuel of all kinds, dreams being no exception. The reason I don’t do it anymore is because those small bursts of creative fuel usually don’t lead anywhere. They’re just a sequence of weird events that have no application to real life. And thus, we have a short story called Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer, where a psychopathic couple go on a rampage in the name of the same serial killer they worship so much. It was a short story so nonsensical that it was eventually dumped when I had to choose stories to publish in American Darkness.
Close your eyes and let me paint a picture for you of the two sole members of the Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club. If at any time you feel like you’re having an acid trip, you probably are and you should call 911, if not for yourself, then for Otis and Courtney. The two of them are unemployed, broke, and about to get kicked out of their poorly kept apartment. So what do they do about their economic situation? They start off by sneaking into an old man’s neighboring apartment and stealing clothes that would make Otis look like Jeffrey Dahmer: a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a fedora. Whether or not Jeffrey Dahmer actually wore those things is something that boggles my mind to this day.
Otis and Courtney hold hands together and skip down the stairs and toward their car like a couple in love. Not that two serial killer worshipers know anything about love, but who’s keeping score here? They get in their car and speed away before their landlord has a chance to harass them about rent money. During this million mile per hour chase down the streets and on the freeway, they cause so many accidents that they could be accused of committing genocide. That’s a lot of dead bodies and not enough morgues and graveyards to fill them. The cops couldn’t pull the couple over because the police too were involved in these horrendous and lethal accidents.
The reckless driving and the psychotic laughter was all for the purpose of going to the airport and sneaking on an airline flight to Moscow, Russia. Why are they going to Russia? To celebrate Halloween, of course. I know Russia is a mostly conservative country, so they probably don’t take Halloween as seriously as they would in, say, New Orleans. I’m not sure, because I didn’t research this, which is another mistake I made when writing Ode to Jeffrey Dahmer.
By the time Otis and Courtney hit the streets of Moscow, prostitutes and partygoers were hitting on Otis because of his Jeffrey Dahmer clothing. There was even a swarm of women who pulled him inside a nightclub while leaving a jealous Courtney out on the streets to freeze to death. She was so bitter and angry that she engaged in revenge sex with an entire hockey team. Otis found out what his girlfriend was doing, so he vomited his teeth into a garbage can. The story ended with Courtney sarcastically wishing her now ex-boyfriend a Happy Halloween.
Now do you know why Otis Norman and Courtney Robyn are unemployed? It’s not because I don’t have a use for psychotic characters. It’s because the story they were a part of didn’t make a goddamn lick of sense. Of course, nobody told me that I could have merely manipulated the details of my dream to fit a traditional narrative style. Imagine that: I can actually embellish details of my dreams! Who would’ve thunk it? But I’d better be careful, because the same people who sabotaged James Frey could sabotage me for being a big fucking liar! Cue the eye rolls.
The choice of clothing for Otis is also something I’d like to carry on should I use him or Courtney again. The Hawaiian shirt and fedora look is something currently being used by WWE wrestler Bray Wyatt, who coincidentally enough has the gimmick of a backwoods cult master. Does Otis Norman have what it takes to be a cultist? Absolutely. He’s the president of the Jeffrey Dahmer Fan Club, for shit’s sake. For all we know, Courtney Robyn could be his deacon. Or his altar girl, depending on how sick he can actually be. With so much potential surrounding a creepy cultist gimmick, it won’t be long before Otis and Courtney find work again. Hell, I already wrote a short poem about them. But they can do more. They certainly can do more.
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
(RE: Paige licking her face.)
“You don’t have to sexually harass me in order to have a good match with me!”
-Natalya from “Total Divas”-
Friday, February 6, 2015
WWE Wrestlemania 28: Sheamus vs. Daniel Bryan
MATCH: Sheamus vs. Daniel Bryan for the latter’s World Heavyweight Championship
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Wrestlemania 28
YEAR: 2012
RATING: TV-PG for mild violence
GRADE: Fail
Sheamus was first on WWE television in 2009 as part of the revived version of ECW (which wasn’t anything like the original, unfortunately). He had the size, strength, and athleticism that WWE management loves in a potential World Champion. Naturally, they booked him to go on an undefeated streak for months on end, even having him win the WWE Championship in December of that year from John Cena in a Tables Match. While the muscular and gigantic Irishman was mowing over opponents left and right, he even caught the attention of the Wrestling Observer Newsletter in 2010, who deemed him the Most Improved Wrestler of that year.
Daniel Bryan is the exact opposite of Sheamus. He arrived on WWE television in 2010 as part of the show that replaced ECW called NXT, where he was a “rookie” learning from The Miz. From the first day in the WWE, Daniel Bryan was disrespected by his peers and even caused play-by-play announcer Michael Cole to turn heel in an effort to bury him on commentary. During his time on NXT, Bryan amassed a win-loss record of 0-10 and continued to be booked in losing situations throughout 2010 and 2011. He won the World Heavyweight Championship from the Big Show in December of 2011, but only because he had the Money in the Bank briefcase and cashed it in at a vulnerable opportunity.
All of this hatred for Bryan from WWE management stemmed from his “dorky” personality and short stature. And yet, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awarded him Match of the Year one time and Most Outstanding and Best Technical Wrestler multiple times during his career on the independent circuit. The clash of opinions between the “internet dorks” and WWE management was not lost on the audience.
Fast forward to 2012 where Sheamus is a wildly popular baby face and Daniel Bryan is a cowardly heel who celebrates disqualification and count-out victories. Sheamus won the Royal Rumble in January and got to choose which World Champion to face at Wrestlemania: CM Punk or Daniel Bryan. Sheamus chose the latter of those two and the match was booked.
But having a match booked in advance is very different from having a match properly promoted. In most normal championship matches, the baby face is the one who has to overcome insurmountable odds to win the belt. Not the case with Sheamus. He had the size and the violent momentum while Daniel Bryan was running away and being a sheepish coward. Betting the house on Sheamus winning in convincing fashion would make you a rich man by now.
And then the World Heavyweight Championship match took place at Wrestlemania 28. The fans in attendance were expecting a war between these two. They expected Sheamus’ powerful brawling style to clash with Daniel Bryan’s fast-paced technical style in a battle where concussions, blood, and welts would have been considered normal. Here’s how it really went down. Daniel Bryan’s storyline girlfriend AJ Lee gets on the apron and the two of them share a pre-match kiss. Daniel Bryan turns around and gets a Brogue Kick to the face, which is Sheamus’ finishing move. Sheamus pins Bryan 1-2-3 and wins the title in a record-setting 18 seconds. When Five Finger Death Punch put out the album “War Is the Answer”, they clearly didn’t have this drive-by abortion of a match in mind.
To say that the fans were pissed off would be an understatement. To say that they were in a riotous rage would be more appropriate assumption. The fans booed Sheamus out of the building (despite him being a baby face) and cheered wildly for Daniel Bryan (despite him being a heel). You have to remember that this is a new day in wrestling. The fans won’t blindly cheer for baby faces and blindly boo heels anymore. With universal internet access, you can find out backstage facts about your favorite wrestlers and form your own opinion of them. The fans still love Daniel Bryan to this day and cheer their heads off for him everywhere he goes. The WWE tried to bury his legacy and now he’s the most popular guy on the roster. The fans got ripped off and the bookers for this match have egg on their faces.
At this point, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that WWE management doesn’t enjoy the work of Daniel Bryan. However, I believe his attempted burial at Wrestlemania 28 had more to do with something else disturbing. A few weeks before his match with Sheamus, Daniel Bryan interfered in a match featuring Randy Orton and caused a No Contest when he clocked Orton in the back of the head with his title belt. Randy Orton was diagnosed with a concussion and written of WWE television for the next few weeks.
If you’re knowledgeable of backstage politics like I am, you know why concussing Randy Orton is a big deal. The man is the corporate face of WWE. He has all the big matches and all the movie deals, so he has a lot of power when it comes to making decisions about other wrestlers.
In 2009, he complained to management after a wrestler by the name of Mr. Kennedy “botched” a back suplex on him. Mr. Kennedy was fired the next day. Kofi Kingston was in a match with Orton and “botched” the ending. Now Kofi Kingston is a mid-card joke. Roman Reigns and Seth Rollins called Randy Orton out for botching part of the Money in the Bank Ladder Match in 2013. Those two lost their Tag Team Championship months later. So it’s okay for Orton to botch as many times as he wants, but for other people to botch is suddenly heresy. That’s how much power Randy Orton has; he’s untouchable. He just might be the reason why Daniel Bryan lost his championship in 18 seconds. I don’t know, but it’s a damn good guess.
Ever since that god-awful championship match, Sheamus continued to steamroll through opponents and Daniel Bryan continued to be underrated in defeat. But don’t feel too bad for Daniel Bryan, because after forming a successful tag team with Kane, the fans REALLY started to get behind him and he won three more World Titles. But here’s the thing: he didn’t win those titles by being cowardly and sneaky. He won them by being a superior wrestler to his opponents. Hell, at Wrestlemania 30, he defeated three future Hall of Famers in the same night to become the new World Champion, in what would be the most defining moment of Bryan’s career. The moral of the story: you can bury Bryan all you want, but he’s going to keep scratching and clawing until he breathes fresh oxygen once again.
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Wrestlemania 28
YEAR: 2012
RATING: TV-PG for mild violence
GRADE: Fail
Sheamus was first on WWE television in 2009 as part of the revived version of ECW (which wasn’t anything like the original, unfortunately). He had the size, strength, and athleticism that WWE management loves in a potential World Champion. Naturally, they booked him to go on an undefeated streak for months on end, even having him win the WWE Championship in December of that year from John Cena in a Tables Match. While the muscular and gigantic Irishman was mowing over opponents left and right, he even caught the attention of the Wrestling Observer Newsletter in 2010, who deemed him the Most Improved Wrestler of that year.
Daniel Bryan is the exact opposite of Sheamus. He arrived on WWE television in 2010 as part of the show that replaced ECW called NXT, where he was a “rookie” learning from The Miz. From the first day in the WWE, Daniel Bryan was disrespected by his peers and even caused play-by-play announcer Michael Cole to turn heel in an effort to bury him on commentary. During his time on NXT, Bryan amassed a win-loss record of 0-10 and continued to be booked in losing situations throughout 2010 and 2011. He won the World Heavyweight Championship from the Big Show in December of 2011, but only because he had the Money in the Bank briefcase and cashed it in at a vulnerable opportunity.
All of this hatred for Bryan from WWE management stemmed from his “dorky” personality and short stature. And yet, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awarded him Match of the Year one time and Most Outstanding and Best Technical Wrestler multiple times during his career on the independent circuit. The clash of opinions between the “internet dorks” and WWE management was not lost on the audience.
Fast forward to 2012 where Sheamus is a wildly popular baby face and Daniel Bryan is a cowardly heel who celebrates disqualification and count-out victories. Sheamus won the Royal Rumble in January and got to choose which World Champion to face at Wrestlemania: CM Punk or Daniel Bryan. Sheamus chose the latter of those two and the match was booked.
But having a match booked in advance is very different from having a match properly promoted. In most normal championship matches, the baby face is the one who has to overcome insurmountable odds to win the belt. Not the case with Sheamus. He had the size and the violent momentum while Daniel Bryan was running away and being a sheepish coward. Betting the house on Sheamus winning in convincing fashion would make you a rich man by now.
And then the World Heavyweight Championship match took place at Wrestlemania 28. The fans in attendance were expecting a war between these two. They expected Sheamus’ powerful brawling style to clash with Daniel Bryan’s fast-paced technical style in a battle where concussions, blood, and welts would have been considered normal. Here’s how it really went down. Daniel Bryan’s storyline girlfriend AJ Lee gets on the apron and the two of them share a pre-match kiss. Daniel Bryan turns around and gets a Brogue Kick to the face, which is Sheamus’ finishing move. Sheamus pins Bryan 1-2-3 and wins the title in a record-setting 18 seconds. When Five Finger Death Punch put out the album “War Is the Answer”, they clearly didn’t have this drive-by abortion of a match in mind.
To say that the fans were pissed off would be an understatement. To say that they were in a riotous rage would be more appropriate assumption. The fans booed Sheamus out of the building (despite him being a baby face) and cheered wildly for Daniel Bryan (despite him being a heel). You have to remember that this is a new day in wrestling. The fans won’t blindly cheer for baby faces and blindly boo heels anymore. With universal internet access, you can find out backstage facts about your favorite wrestlers and form your own opinion of them. The fans still love Daniel Bryan to this day and cheer their heads off for him everywhere he goes. The WWE tried to bury his legacy and now he’s the most popular guy on the roster. The fans got ripped off and the bookers for this match have egg on their faces.
At this point, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that WWE management doesn’t enjoy the work of Daniel Bryan. However, I believe his attempted burial at Wrestlemania 28 had more to do with something else disturbing. A few weeks before his match with Sheamus, Daniel Bryan interfered in a match featuring Randy Orton and caused a No Contest when he clocked Orton in the back of the head with his title belt. Randy Orton was diagnosed with a concussion and written of WWE television for the next few weeks.
If you’re knowledgeable of backstage politics like I am, you know why concussing Randy Orton is a big deal. The man is the corporate face of WWE. He has all the big matches and all the movie deals, so he has a lot of power when it comes to making decisions about other wrestlers.
In 2009, he complained to management after a wrestler by the name of Mr. Kennedy “botched” a back suplex on him. Mr. Kennedy was fired the next day. Kofi Kingston was in a match with Orton and “botched” the ending. Now Kofi Kingston is a mid-card joke. Roman Reigns and Seth Rollins called Randy Orton out for botching part of the Money in the Bank Ladder Match in 2013. Those two lost their Tag Team Championship months later. So it’s okay for Orton to botch as many times as he wants, but for other people to botch is suddenly heresy. That’s how much power Randy Orton has; he’s untouchable. He just might be the reason why Daniel Bryan lost his championship in 18 seconds. I don’t know, but it’s a damn good guess.
Ever since that god-awful championship match, Sheamus continued to steamroll through opponents and Daniel Bryan continued to be underrated in defeat. But don’t feel too bad for Daniel Bryan, because after forming a successful tag team with Kane, the fans REALLY started to get behind him and he won three more World Titles. But here’s the thing: he didn’t win those titles by being cowardly and sneaky. He won them by being a superior wrestler to his opponents. Hell, at Wrestlemania 30, he defeated three future Hall of Famers in the same night to become the new World Champion, in what would be the most defining moment of Bryan’s career. The moral of the story: you can bury Bryan all you want, but he’s going to keep scratching and clawing until he breathes fresh oxygen once again.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Wilde & Jung
TEAM NAME: Wilde & Jung
NAME: Bellatrix Wilde
AGE: 50
OCCUPATION: Mad Scientist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
NAME: Cletus Jung
AGE: 45
OCCUPATION: Monster Psychologist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
Ever since playing Final Fantasy IV and fighting the ultra-insane Dr. Lugae and his bumbling creation Barnabas, I’ve had an obsession with the mad scientist occupation. I went with that angle in 2002 when I created Dr. Scott Cain and Dr. Herman Stan (then known as Dr. James Lugae). After those two raped and sodomized everything in their paths, here I am in early 2011 thinking to myself, “How can I out-crazy those two freaks of nature?” Come on over, Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung. Because as American Bang once said, “We are wild and young! We have just begun!”
In order to out-crazy the likes of Scott Cain and Herman Stan, I had to make these two new characters into 100% Complete Monsters. It was the only way. Bellatrix and Cletus had a daughter together and they molested the shit out of her until she was a legal adult. Not shocked yet? How about the fact that they create and psychological taint monsters for a living and set them loose on the city? Still feeling numb? Then try this shit on for size: these two nut jobs decided to outdo themselves and create Gorgeous George, a slobbering, green blooded, razor fanged, heartless, brainless ogre who would have snapped Cletus Jung’s spine if Bellatrix Wilde wasn’t there to rescue him. It’s so nice to see such a beautiful couple working together…and then having hot tub sex afterwards.
In case Gorgeous George wasn’t doing enough damage to the fictional version of Portland, Cletus and Bellatrix pulled together some money and hired an assassin who’s twice as fucked up as they are, but two decades younger and ten times hotter. Her name was Nina Machete and her only job was to rape the shit out of an autistic trauma patient named Elijah Mellows and give him a goopy black version of the clap. Apparently, Elijah’s testimony would have been enough to lock Bellatrix and Cletus away for a long time, despite the fact that Portland’s police force is running scared.
With so much chaos, blood, and mayhem painting the streets of Portland, there were only so many ways to live under such a society. The first solution was a tragic one that claimed the life of one of Portland’s most profound psychologists: Dr. Charlie Graeme. He was the only hope for this city and even he cracked under pressure, even with the wisdom of a 55-year-old man. Dr. Graeme locked himself in his office and committed suicide via hanging from his work desk. He had no idea how many people cried for him and still wouldn’t know even to this day.
Dr. Charlie Graeme left one last solution for the people of Portland and that would be the second way of coping with the violence: leave the fucking city. You know your city is a crappy place to live when the only solution is to give up and let it burn to the fucking ground. To help with that was a very good friend of Dr. Graeme’s: an intercity bus driver named Kelly O’Brien. Her bus driving skills alone would be enough to transport the remaining population of Portland out of the city and to literally a tropical paradise. Elijah Mellows, who was riding in the seat right behind Kelly, led the passengers in singing “They Dance Alone” by Sting. That heartwarming moment alone was enough to bring hope to traumatized citizens of a citywide madhouse.
But whatever happened to Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung, the original two subjects of this blog post? Remember what I said about letting Portland burn to the ground? Well, legend has it that the chaos the two scientists have caused was so out of hand that the city did indeed collapse on itself and take those two nitwits with them. That’s what the legend says. Nobody knows for sure because nobody wants to go over there to find out and possibly get eaten by Gorgeous George. Or sodomized by Wilde and Jung, one of those two.
There are three reasons why Wilde & Jung was a flop. One, it was only 11 chapters long, which meant only so many words, which meant no agent would take it, so I didn’t try. Secondly, the style of writing I employed at the time could only be described as a hyperbolic joke every other sentence, which amounted to awkward and generally shitty writing on my part. But the third reason is the one that’s most important: because nobody likes Complete Monsters. Even the most hardcore horror fans will tell you that these kinds of characters are hard to deal with. There are devout BDSM practitioners who despise Christian Grey; that’s saying a lot! So if Wilde and Jung ever get the band back together, maybe I could tone down the CM level just a little bit.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“’More than happy.’ People like to say that a lot, don’t they. ‘Oh, I’ll be more than happy to do that for you.’ Doesn’t that sound like some kind of mental disease to you? ‘Aw, man, we had to lock him up in the loony bin. He just wasn’t right in the head. He was…more than happy!’”
-George Carlin-
NAME: Bellatrix Wilde
AGE: 50
OCCUPATION: Mad Scientist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
NAME: Cletus Jung
AGE: 45
OCCUPATION: Monster Psychologist
CANON: Wilde & Jung
Ever since playing Final Fantasy IV and fighting the ultra-insane Dr. Lugae and his bumbling creation Barnabas, I’ve had an obsession with the mad scientist occupation. I went with that angle in 2002 when I created Dr. Scott Cain and Dr. Herman Stan (then known as Dr. James Lugae). After those two raped and sodomized everything in their paths, here I am in early 2011 thinking to myself, “How can I out-crazy those two freaks of nature?” Come on over, Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung. Because as American Bang once said, “We are wild and young! We have just begun!”
In order to out-crazy the likes of Scott Cain and Herman Stan, I had to make these two new characters into 100% Complete Monsters. It was the only way. Bellatrix and Cletus had a daughter together and they molested the shit out of her until she was a legal adult. Not shocked yet? How about the fact that they create and psychological taint monsters for a living and set them loose on the city? Still feeling numb? Then try this shit on for size: these two nut jobs decided to outdo themselves and create Gorgeous George, a slobbering, green blooded, razor fanged, heartless, brainless ogre who would have snapped Cletus Jung’s spine if Bellatrix Wilde wasn’t there to rescue him. It’s so nice to see such a beautiful couple working together…and then having hot tub sex afterwards.
In case Gorgeous George wasn’t doing enough damage to the fictional version of Portland, Cletus and Bellatrix pulled together some money and hired an assassin who’s twice as fucked up as they are, but two decades younger and ten times hotter. Her name was Nina Machete and her only job was to rape the shit out of an autistic trauma patient named Elijah Mellows and give him a goopy black version of the clap. Apparently, Elijah’s testimony would have been enough to lock Bellatrix and Cletus away for a long time, despite the fact that Portland’s police force is running scared.
With so much chaos, blood, and mayhem painting the streets of Portland, there were only so many ways to live under such a society. The first solution was a tragic one that claimed the life of one of Portland’s most profound psychologists: Dr. Charlie Graeme. He was the only hope for this city and even he cracked under pressure, even with the wisdom of a 55-year-old man. Dr. Graeme locked himself in his office and committed suicide via hanging from his work desk. He had no idea how many people cried for him and still wouldn’t know even to this day.
Dr. Charlie Graeme left one last solution for the people of Portland and that would be the second way of coping with the violence: leave the fucking city. You know your city is a crappy place to live when the only solution is to give up and let it burn to the fucking ground. To help with that was a very good friend of Dr. Graeme’s: an intercity bus driver named Kelly O’Brien. Her bus driving skills alone would be enough to transport the remaining population of Portland out of the city and to literally a tropical paradise. Elijah Mellows, who was riding in the seat right behind Kelly, led the passengers in singing “They Dance Alone” by Sting. That heartwarming moment alone was enough to bring hope to traumatized citizens of a citywide madhouse.
But whatever happened to Bellatrix Wilde and Cletus Jung, the original two subjects of this blog post? Remember what I said about letting Portland burn to the ground? Well, legend has it that the chaos the two scientists have caused was so out of hand that the city did indeed collapse on itself and take those two nitwits with them. That’s what the legend says. Nobody knows for sure because nobody wants to go over there to find out and possibly get eaten by Gorgeous George. Or sodomized by Wilde and Jung, one of those two.
There are three reasons why Wilde & Jung was a flop. One, it was only 11 chapters long, which meant only so many words, which meant no agent would take it, so I didn’t try. Secondly, the style of writing I employed at the time could only be described as a hyperbolic joke every other sentence, which amounted to awkward and generally shitty writing on my part. But the third reason is the one that’s most important: because nobody likes Complete Monsters. Even the most hardcore horror fans will tell you that these kinds of characters are hard to deal with. There are devout BDSM practitioners who despise Christian Grey; that’s saying a lot! So if Wilde and Jung ever get the band back together, maybe I could tone down the CM level just a little bit.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“’More than happy.’ People like to say that a lot, don’t they. ‘Oh, I’ll be more than happy to do that for you.’ Doesn’t that sound like some kind of mental disease to you? ‘Aw, man, we had to lock him up in the loony bin. He just wasn’t right in the head. He was…more than happy!’”
-George Carlin-
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Pulp Fiction
MOVIE TITLE: Pulp Fiction
DIRECTOR: Quentin Tarantino
YEAR: 1994
GENRE: Crime Drama
RATING: R for violence, blood, frequent vulgar language, and sodomy
GRADE: Extra Credit
The overall Pulp Fiction story is a telling of four different crime stories and how by the end of the movie they all intertwine into one underbelly tale. The first quarter of the movie sees low-rent hit men Jules and Vincent retrieving a valuable briefcase for their boss Marcellus Wallace at the expense of the punk kids who stole it.
The second quarter sees Vincent taking Marcellus’ wife Mia out for dinner and dancing at Jack Rabbit Slims and then having to revive her after an overdose.
The third quarter sees heavyweight boxer Butch Coolidge double-crossing Marcellus and then having to secretly retrieve a valuable golden watch from his apartment.
The final portion of the story goes back to the first where Vincent accidentally shoots an informant in Jules’ car and the two of them need to get off the road for a while. Four tales of bloodshed, forced sex, and drug abuse; what else could you ask for in an R-rated crime drama?
There are many theories as to why Pulp Fiction isn’t shown chronologically. My personal theory is because of each character’s path to development. The further the movie goes, the more personal and profound the development.
The first story shows Jules and Vincent doing their job successfully and retrieving a stupid briefcase. It’s early in the story, so not a lot of development will take place.
The second story sees Vincent shooting adrenaline into Mia’s heart and the two of them going from being awkward strangers to the best of friends.
The third story sees Butch rescuing Marcellus Wallace from being sodomized in a pawn shop and the two of them resolving their differences.
But the fourth story, as in the middle of the chronology, is where Jules transforms from a heartless mafia grunt to a soldier of God and the spreader of peaceful messages. We start off with retrieving a stupid briefcase to a total heel to face turn, with some friendships made in the middle. It doesn’t get more developed than that.
The one element of the story that really turned this movie into a cult classic was the dialogue Tarantino wrote for each of his characters. The director grew up in the underbelly of society and absorbed a lot of the vulgar, racist, and sexual dialogue that was used by those criminals.
Criminals have no need for class or political correctness, so the dialogue is perfect for this movie. I’ve personally tried to adopt Quentin Tarantino’s style of speech into my own writing and it sounded sloppy. Mr. Tarantino is the master of what he does; often imitated, never duplicated.
Because of such colorful and creative language, Pulp Fiction is easily one of the most quotable movies of all time. To me and my family personally, quoting this movie is a tradition. There was even a time when I had the entire movie memorized.
Every conversation in this movie counted for something whether it was the sensuality of foot massages, the absence of a certain “sign” in front of Jimmy’s lawn, pigs being filthy animals and therefore inedible, or two rapist serial killers using a child’s nursery rhyme to randomly determine their next victim. If your ears aren’t open for this kick-ass dialogue, then you’re missing out on a huge portion of what makes this movie special.
After hearing everything that needs to be heard, do you at all feel like taking out your wallet (the one that says “Bad Motherfucker”) and forking over some cash to see this 90’s classic? Not only will you say “yes” one time, but you’ll watch this movie over and over again until every last word is etched in your mind and you can recite the whole thing by heart.
It should be no surprise that a movie with this much of a lasting effect would get an Extra Credit grade not only from little old me, but from every movie critic on the planet. That is, unless of course you have a 5th grade point of view and are too grossed out by the sodomy in the third story (but are perfectly okay with Butch performing oral sex on his girlfriend).
DIRECTOR: Quentin Tarantino
YEAR: 1994
GENRE: Crime Drama
RATING: R for violence, blood, frequent vulgar language, and sodomy
GRADE: Extra Credit
The overall Pulp Fiction story is a telling of four different crime stories and how by the end of the movie they all intertwine into one underbelly tale. The first quarter of the movie sees low-rent hit men Jules and Vincent retrieving a valuable briefcase for their boss Marcellus Wallace at the expense of the punk kids who stole it.
The second quarter sees Vincent taking Marcellus’ wife Mia out for dinner and dancing at Jack Rabbit Slims and then having to revive her after an overdose.
The third quarter sees heavyweight boxer Butch Coolidge double-crossing Marcellus and then having to secretly retrieve a valuable golden watch from his apartment.
The final portion of the story goes back to the first where Vincent accidentally shoots an informant in Jules’ car and the two of them need to get off the road for a while. Four tales of bloodshed, forced sex, and drug abuse; what else could you ask for in an R-rated crime drama?
There are many theories as to why Pulp Fiction isn’t shown chronologically. My personal theory is because of each character’s path to development. The further the movie goes, the more personal and profound the development.
The first story shows Jules and Vincent doing their job successfully and retrieving a stupid briefcase. It’s early in the story, so not a lot of development will take place.
The second story sees Vincent shooting adrenaline into Mia’s heart and the two of them going from being awkward strangers to the best of friends.
The third story sees Butch rescuing Marcellus Wallace from being sodomized in a pawn shop and the two of them resolving their differences.
But the fourth story, as in the middle of the chronology, is where Jules transforms from a heartless mafia grunt to a soldier of God and the spreader of peaceful messages. We start off with retrieving a stupid briefcase to a total heel to face turn, with some friendships made in the middle. It doesn’t get more developed than that.
The one element of the story that really turned this movie into a cult classic was the dialogue Tarantino wrote for each of his characters. The director grew up in the underbelly of society and absorbed a lot of the vulgar, racist, and sexual dialogue that was used by those criminals.
Criminals have no need for class or political correctness, so the dialogue is perfect for this movie. I’ve personally tried to adopt Quentin Tarantino’s style of speech into my own writing and it sounded sloppy. Mr. Tarantino is the master of what he does; often imitated, never duplicated.
Because of such colorful and creative language, Pulp Fiction is easily one of the most quotable movies of all time. To me and my family personally, quoting this movie is a tradition. There was even a time when I had the entire movie memorized.
Every conversation in this movie counted for something whether it was the sensuality of foot massages, the absence of a certain “sign” in front of Jimmy’s lawn, pigs being filthy animals and therefore inedible, or two rapist serial killers using a child’s nursery rhyme to randomly determine their next victim. If your ears aren’t open for this kick-ass dialogue, then you’re missing out on a huge portion of what makes this movie special.
After hearing everything that needs to be heard, do you at all feel like taking out your wallet (the one that says “Bad Motherfucker”) and forking over some cash to see this 90’s classic? Not only will you say “yes” one time, but you’ll watch this movie over and over again until every last word is etched in your mind and you can recite the whole thing by heart.
It should be no surprise that a movie with this much of a lasting effect would get an Extra Credit grade not only from little old me, but from every movie critic on the planet. That is, unless of course you have a 5th grade point of view and are too grossed out by the sodomy in the third story (but are perfectly okay with Butch performing oral sex on his girlfriend).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)