MATCH: Dean Ambrose vs. Kevin Owens in a Last Man Standing match for Ambrose’s Intercontinental Championship
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Royal Rumble
YEAR: 2016
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Working the independent circuit in professional wrestling will put hair on your genitals. Working that many matches around the world will give you a myriad of styles that will ultimately become your move set. In Mexico, the luchadors fly around the ring like ninjas. In Japan, they hit each other hard enough to turn the human body into one big purple bruise. In Europe, they do the exact same thing, but with emphasis on technical brawling instead of honor-bound martial arts. And then when you finally make your trip to WWE NXT and ultimately their main roster, you’ll have the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand.
Such are the success stories of Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens, two badass warriors who cut their teeth for over a decade on the independent circuit. Dean Ambrose has United States and Intercontinental Championship reigns under his belt while Kevin Owens has NXT gold and an Intercontinental belt reign as well. At the Tables, Ladders, and Chairs pay-per-view in 2015, it was Dean Ambrose who won his first IC Championship from Kevin Owens. Ever since then, Owens has been in a horrible mood, bullying and brutalizing anybody in his path, Ambrose included.
There was only one way a rivalry of this much hatred could be settled: Last Man Standing rules at the Royal Rumble. There are no pin-falls, submissions, count-outs, or disqualifications. All you have to do to win this match is beat the living shit out of your opponent so badly that he cannot answer the referee’s ten-count. Heel announcer John Layfield put it best when he said the only thing limiting the competitors in this match is their own imaginations.
When you’re called The Lunatic Fringe like Dean Ambrose is, your schizophrenic visions pretty much guarantee you a colorful and violent imagination. Kevin Owens is a brawler by nature, so he’s no less dangerous with a steel chair or a wooden table. Ambrose and Owens wasted no time in putting their violent visions to good use. They started the match by slugging it out and watching each other get dizzy.
Then the action spilled to the outside and things really got chaotic. Kevin Owens was launched over the English-speaking announce table and landed in Michael Cole’s lap, thus breaking the poor guy’s glasses. Once he got power back in his headsets, Cole was actually cheering on Ambrose when he was swinging a bamboo cane at Owens.
Once the toys were out, they didn’t go to waste, no, sir. Kevin Owens power bombed Dean Ambrose through steel chairs, spear tackled him through the time keeper’s barricade, and fisherman suplexed him through a wooden table. And Ambrose was still staggering to his feet ready for a fight! The man doesn’t quit!
Then it was Ambrose’s turn to put a serious beating on his opponent. A double arm DDT on a steel chair would do the trick. So would an elbow drop through the Spanish announce table. And then there were more whacks with the bamboo stick. The steel stairs had seen crashes and burns from both men.
After enduring all of this hardcore violence, you would expect both men to be bleeding, burned out, and ready for ambulance rides. Hell, they hit each other so hard that maybe a hearse was necessary. They stood up on wobbly legs and punched each other some more. Kevin Owens gave his opponent a pop-up power bomb and Ambrose, being the loony tune he was, got up and wrapped a steel chair around Owens’ head before boxing him in the face.
A normal man would have quit under these combative circumstances. He would have nightmares for months and would have chugged enough Xanax to kill an elephant. He would have had hospital bills that most one-percent billionaires couldn’t even afford. These two warriors aren’t normal men. They get up and smash each other some more with steel chairs, bamboo canes, fists, feet, and head butts. And then they smash each other some more. And smash each other some more. At this point, the referee could count to a thousand. He could wait for a whole decade to go by and they would still thrash each other endlessly.
But it was one mistake by Kevin Owens that cost him the match. He set up two wooden tables outside the ring and stacked one on top of the other. Owens was also perched on the top turnbuckle, presumably for a moonsault. And then Dean Ambrose jolted back to life once more and shoved Owens off the turnbuckle, sending the Canadian grizzly crashing through both tables. Owens shivered several times in his laying position, but made no attempt to pull himself to his feet. At the count of ten, Dean Ambrose was declared the winner and undisputed Intercontinental Champion.
With the crowd chanting “This is awesome!” and carrying their momentum into the Royal Rumble match itself, it’s clear there were no losers in this match. Dean Ambrose is the rightful IC Champion, but Kevin Owens is a winner too in my mind. Those two beat the living shit out of each other so badly that they limped their way into the Royal Rumble match. How they weren’t even in wheelchairs was a mystery to everybody there. How Kevin Owens managed to eliminate fellow independent wrestler AJ Styles is beyond me. How Dean Ambrose was one of the final two men in that match left standing is something that would stump Nostradamus.
The fact that two men could put on an apocalyptic brawl and still be able to compete later on in the night should be a testament to how tough pro-wrestlers are. Getting clotheslined or body slammed is bad enough. Being driven through tables, smashed with a kendo stick, and slammed through steel chairs takes more guts than the stomach has room for. It was amazing Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens didn’t have their own guts spread all over the arena that night. Yes, it’s a TV-PG rated pay-per-view, but you wouldn’t know it from how banged up and battered these ring warriors were afterwards. I’d even say this is an early contender for Match of the Year in 2016. Congratulations, you two. You just made an entire arena full of people shit their pants with excitement. Now it REALLY looks like a battlefield out there!
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Friday, January 29, 2016
Barber Talk
Pete Silva didn’t just have a fuzzy head of hair; he had a national forest. It was hanging in his eyes, his ears, and sometimes his mouth. It wouldn’t be surprising to anyone if squirrels and chipmunks actually lived in that dandruff infested scalp of his. Getting his hair chopped off was the easy part. Maintaining a conversation with his hairstylist required social skills he didn’t want nor possess. All this talk about useless shit that didn’t matter in the end left Pete feeling exhausted afterwards. Just buzz my damn hair and get on with the show, he said in his mind.
It seemed as though every barber or hairstylist establishment he went to had an all extrovert policy. Just yack, yack, yack, all the time. When he waddled his heavy ass into The Men’s Club, he could tell right away it was going to be more of the same. Every hairstylist was busy cutting hair and they were all motor-mouthing at one hundred miles per hour. “Oh, shit,” Pete said softly to himself.
He considered turning around and getting his haircut somewhere else when a girl with a cutesy voice said, “Hi! Are you Pete Silva?” He just had to make an appointment didn’t he? The voice belonged to a petite woman with long blond hair with pink streaks in it. Her black tank top and black pants looked cute on her, but Pete clearly didn’t come here for a date. The pink-haired woman said, “I’m Natalie Altar and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. So what kind of haircut are we doing today?”
“Uh…uh, just a buzz cut with half an inch of hair all around,” said Pete in his usual flat affect voice. Natalie summoned him to her station with a wave of her finger and sure enough, all three hundred plus pounds of Pete Silva came crashing down in the plush barber’s chair. Natalie jumped backwards at the sudden plop, but shook her head no dismissively and wrapped the obligatory cape around her client.
As soon as the hairstylist pulled out the shears, the obligatory chitchat began. “So what do you do for a living, Pete?”
There was never an easy way for the shaggy-haired client to answer this question. As long as this woman was going to make him feel awkward, he was going to do the same with her. “I’m unemployed,” he said in an Eeyore voice.
Natalie was just about to turn the clippers on and then froze while darting her eyes from side to side at the nonchalant response. “Okay, um…okay!” She turned them on and wasted little time in trimming Pete’s wheat field of hair. She let out little nervous giggles as she tried to figure out what to ask this gentleman next. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
Pete Silva remained stoic and nonchalant when he said, “Stuff.” When he was asked what kind of “stuff”, Pete said, “The usual stuff.”
Once again Natalie Altar’s eyes darted from place to place and she could see other hairstylists and customers staring at her and Pete. She tried to speed up her shaving motion to end this conversation as quickly as possible, but she pulled one of his hairs and Pete let out a grizzly bear roar of pain. “Sorry!” Natalie said as she held her face in her free hand in embarrassment.
There was silence between client and hairstylist for just a little while, but already, Pete’s head was looking a lot cleaner and more comfortable. Natalie then made the mistake of asking yet another foolish question: “So, have you lived in Paulson City all of your life?” As soon as she got the world’s most bored “No,” response, she could have let it go right there. Instead, she asked, “Where are you from?” In the same unexcited tone, Pete Silva said, “Here!”
Natalie let out a sigh and hung her head as she continued to shave Pete’s. Before she knew it, the awkward conversation and the job itself was finished. Pete Silva looked like a new man with a clean scalp and the remains of his hair circled around his feet like a puppy warming his toes.
Letting the awkwardness dissolve into thin air was probably the wisest move that could be made. But yet again, Natalie couldn’t leave well enough alone. She rested her arm on the barber’s chair and looked at Pete through the mirror judgingly before saying, “It’s all done, Mr. Silva. Although, if I could say one thing…you really…really…really need to work on your social skills.”
“What’s wrong with my social skills?” asked Pete in the same medicated tone he’d been using since he entered The Men’s Club.
“Well, it’s not so much the fact that you don’t care about this conversation; it’s how you said the things you said. For example, you didn’t have to tell me that you were unemployed. You could have said that you were looking for work or that you were in between jobs,” said Natalie.
“But I’m not looking for work,” explained Pete. “Every time I apply somewhere, the supervisor is too much of a cheap bastard to hire me.”
Natalie’s eyes shot up and her jaw dropped to the ground. “Wow, Pete! You think your social skills or lack thereof might have something to do with you being unemployed?”
Pete shrugged his chubby shoulders and said, “Why should they? I didn’t apply for customer service.”
“Yes, but you still have to make a good impression in the job interview! If you talk to your supervisor the way you talked to me tonight, nobody’s going to hire you!” said Natalie with flying hand gestures. Pete used the sides of the chair to help himself to his feet and started to walk away. “Hey, where’re you going? You haven’t paid your bill yet!”
Pete turned around and shoved his sausage finger in Natalie’s face as he said, “Hey, listen, jerk! Maybe the reason I didn’t give you the answers you wanted tonight was because I don’t like having meaningless conversations! You stand there and you ask a bunch of pointless questions about my economic status and you’re never satisfied with the answers! Well, not everybody who comes in here enjoys yakking about stupid bullshit! Why don’t you talk about something I’m actually interested in!”
“You never told me what you were interested in! You just said, ‘The usual stuff!’” said Natalie, the last part being a mockery of Pete’s bass voice.
“That’s because nobody else in this fucking city shares my goddamn values! Do you know of anyone else here who watches wrestling and plays Dungeons & Dragons? No, because those people don’t exist here! I didn’t have any friends in college and I don’t have any friends now! So unless you know somebody who shares the same shit that I do, then that’s how it’s going to stay for a long, long time!” shouted Pete, attracting the watching eyes of hairstylists and customers alike.
“So is that what it takes for somebody to be your friend? They have to like the same things you do? But that’s not what friendship is about! It’s about opening your mind to different things! You think all of my friends are into dance music and reality shows? No, they’re not! But they’re still my friends because I allow them to be! You need to open up every once and a while! Maybe if you told me more about your passions, I would have listened! But instead you kept giving me these lame answers!” screamed Natalie.
The shouting match was turned up to maximum volume when Pete stuck his chubby jowls into Natalie’s heart shaped face and yelled, “You want to know what I used to do for a living?! Huh?! I was a janitor!” Natalie shrugged her shoulders in a half-scared, half-confused manner. She was definitely backing off and quaking in her sandals after that outburst. Pete explained, “I was a janitor at a porn theater! I cleaned up stuff that would make everyone in this room barf all over the floor!” While he didn’t get barf, one customer gagged.
Pete breathed heavily in and out while Natalie’s eyes along with everyone else’s were wide in horror. He said in a lower and calmer voice, “Here’s the deal. I don’t know how to work a cash box and I don’t know how to cut hair. I majored in psychology when I was going to college, so that means I have even less skills. But if you’re so interested in teaching me about social skills, making friends, and having a good job, maybe YOU should hire me. I’m sure there’s something here I can do. Otherwise, I have no problem with living off weekly checks from my mom.”
Natalie sighed and held her forehead in her hand while contemplating everything Pete said. She breathed deeply in and out to stave off nervousness and then opened her eyes again to give Pete the verdict. “Here’s what I’m willing to do,” she said in a calm voice, much like Pete’s. “You said you were a janitor at…that place before you lost your job.” She tried not to say “porn theater” since those two words together made her shiver. “There’s a broom and a dustpan in the back closet. If you agree to sweep the floors tonight, I will take you to a fast food restaurant of your choice and…pay for your meal.”
Pete smiled for the first time since arriving and looked around at the hairy tiled floor. “That’s a lot of hair,” he said in his best Captain Obvious voice.
“It is,” said Natalie. “That means you’re getting a super-sized meal tonight. And if you do a good enough job, maybe this will turn into a full-time thing. And when it does, you and I are going to be opening up to each other a lot more. So what do you say? Does this sound good to you or not?”
Pete took a moment to consider the deal and nodded in agreement. “Let’s do this.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Natalie. “If this ends up becoming an actual job, don’t tell people you sweep up hair for a living. You could just say, ‘I work at The Men’s Club’. I mean, when you worked at…that place before here…did you seriously tell people you were mopping up…you know…?”
“What?” Pete asked. “You mean dude nectar?”
Natalie screamed in disgust while covering her ears and saying, “La-la-la!” over and over again. The patrons and other hairstylists on the other hand were laughing their asses off. One of the male clients said, “He’s a keeper!”
It seemed as though every barber or hairstylist establishment he went to had an all extrovert policy. Just yack, yack, yack, all the time. When he waddled his heavy ass into The Men’s Club, he could tell right away it was going to be more of the same. Every hairstylist was busy cutting hair and they were all motor-mouthing at one hundred miles per hour. “Oh, shit,” Pete said softly to himself.
He considered turning around and getting his haircut somewhere else when a girl with a cutesy voice said, “Hi! Are you Pete Silva?” He just had to make an appointment didn’t he? The voice belonged to a petite woman with long blond hair with pink streaks in it. Her black tank top and black pants looked cute on her, but Pete clearly didn’t come here for a date. The pink-haired woman said, “I’m Natalie Altar and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. So what kind of haircut are we doing today?”
“Uh…uh, just a buzz cut with half an inch of hair all around,” said Pete in his usual flat affect voice. Natalie summoned him to her station with a wave of her finger and sure enough, all three hundred plus pounds of Pete Silva came crashing down in the plush barber’s chair. Natalie jumped backwards at the sudden plop, but shook her head no dismissively and wrapped the obligatory cape around her client.
As soon as the hairstylist pulled out the shears, the obligatory chitchat began. “So what do you do for a living, Pete?”
There was never an easy way for the shaggy-haired client to answer this question. As long as this woman was going to make him feel awkward, he was going to do the same with her. “I’m unemployed,” he said in an Eeyore voice.
Natalie was just about to turn the clippers on and then froze while darting her eyes from side to side at the nonchalant response. “Okay, um…okay!” She turned them on and wasted little time in trimming Pete’s wheat field of hair. She let out little nervous giggles as she tried to figure out what to ask this gentleman next. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
Pete Silva remained stoic and nonchalant when he said, “Stuff.” When he was asked what kind of “stuff”, Pete said, “The usual stuff.”
Once again Natalie Altar’s eyes darted from place to place and she could see other hairstylists and customers staring at her and Pete. She tried to speed up her shaving motion to end this conversation as quickly as possible, but she pulled one of his hairs and Pete let out a grizzly bear roar of pain. “Sorry!” Natalie said as she held her face in her free hand in embarrassment.
There was silence between client and hairstylist for just a little while, but already, Pete’s head was looking a lot cleaner and more comfortable. Natalie then made the mistake of asking yet another foolish question: “So, have you lived in Paulson City all of your life?” As soon as she got the world’s most bored “No,” response, she could have let it go right there. Instead, she asked, “Where are you from?” In the same unexcited tone, Pete Silva said, “Here!”
Natalie let out a sigh and hung her head as she continued to shave Pete’s. Before she knew it, the awkward conversation and the job itself was finished. Pete Silva looked like a new man with a clean scalp and the remains of his hair circled around his feet like a puppy warming his toes.
Letting the awkwardness dissolve into thin air was probably the wisest move that could be made. But yet again, Natalie couldn’t leave well enough alone. She rested her arm on the barber’s chair and looked at Pete through the mirror judgingly before saying, “It’s all done, Mr. Silva. Although, if I could say one thing…you really…really…really need to work on your social skills.”
“What’s wrong with my social skills?” asked Pete in the same medicated tone he’d been using since he entered The Men’s Club.
“Well, it’s not so much the fact that you don’t care about this conversation; it’s how you said the things you said. For example, you didn’t have to tell me that you were unemployed. You could have said that you were looking for work or that you were in between jobs,” said Natalie.
“But I’m not looking for work,” explained Pete. “Every time I apply somewhere, the supervisor is too much of a cheap bastard to hire me.”
Natalie’s eyes shot up and her jaw dropped to the ground. “Wow, Pete! You think your social skills or lack thereof might have something to do with you being unemployed?”
Pete shrugged his chubby shoulders and said, “Why should they? I didn’t apply for customer service.”
“Yes, but you still have to make a good impression in the job interview! If you talk to your supervisor the way you talked to me tonight, nobody’s going to hire you!” said Natalie with flying hand gestures. Pete used the sides of the chair to help himself to his feet and started to walk away. “Hey, where’re you going? You haven’t paid your bill yet!”
Pete turned around and shoved his sausage finger in Natalie’s face as he said, “Hey, listen, jerk! Maybe the reason I didn’t give you the answers you wanted tonight was because I don’t like having meaningless conversations! You stand there and you ask a bunch of pointless questions about my economic status and you’re never satisfied with the answers! Well, not everybody who comes in here enjoys yakking about stupid bullshit! Why don’t you talk about something I’m actually interested in!”
“You never told me what you were interested in! You just said, ‘The usual stuff!’” said Natalie, the last part being a mockery of Pete’s bass voice.
“That’s because nobody else in this fucking city shares my goddamn values! Do you know of anyone else here who watches wrestling and plays Dungeons & Dragons? No, because those people don’t exist here! I didn’t have any friends in college and I don’t have any friends now! So unless you know somebody who shares the same shit that I do, then that’s how it’s going to stay for a long, long time!” shouted Pete, attracting the watching eyes of hairstylists and customers alike.
“So is that what it takes for somebody to be your friend? They have to like the same things you do? But that’s not what friendship is about! It’s about opening your mind to different things! You think all of my friends are into dance music and reality shows? No, they’re not! But they’re still my friends because I allow them to be! You need to open up every once and a while! Maybe if you told me more about your passions, I would have listened! But instead you kept giving me these lame answers!” screamed Natalie.
The shouting match was turned up to maximum volume when Pete stuck his chubby jowls into Natalie’s heart shaped face and yelled, “You want to know what I used to do for a living?! Huh?! I was a janitor!” Natalie shrugged her shoulders in a half-scared, half-confused manner. She was definitely backing off and quaking in her sandals after that outburst. Pete explained, “I was a janitor at a porn theater! I cleaned up stuff that would make everyone in this room barf all over the floor!” While he didn’t get barf, one customer gagged.
Pete breathed heavily in and out while Natalie’s eyes along with everyone else’s were wide in horror. He said in a lower and calmer voice, “Here’s the deal. I don’t know how to work a cash box and I don’t know how to cut hair. I majored in psychology when I was going to college, so that means I have even less skills. But if you’re so interested in teaching me about social skills, making friends, and having a good job, maybe YOU should hire me. I’m sure there’s something here I can do. Otherwise, I have no problem with living off weekly checks from my mom.”
Natalie sighed and held her forehead in her hand while contemplating everything Pete said. She breathed deeply in and out to stave off nervousness and then opened her eyes again to give Pete the verdict. “Here’s what I’m willing to do,” she said in a calm voice, much like Pete’s. “You said you were a janitor at…that place before you lost your job.” She tried not to say “porn theater” since those two words together made her shiver. “There’s a broom and a dustpan in the back closet. If you agree to sweep the floors tonight, I will take you to a fast food restaurant of your choice and…pay for your meal.”
Pete smiled for the first time since arriving and looked around at the hairy tiled floor. “That’s a lot of hair,” he said in his best Captain Obvious voice.
“It is,” said Natalie. “That means you’re getting a super-sized meal tonight. And if you do a good enough job, maybe this will turn into a full-time thing. And when it does, you and I are going to be opening up to each other a lot more. So what do you say? Does this sound good to you or not?”
Pete took a moment to consider the deal and nodded in agreement. “Let’s do this.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Natalie. “If this ends up becoming an actual job, don’t tell people you sweep up hair for a living. You could just say, ‘I work at The Men’s Club’. I mean, when you worked at…that place before here…did you seriously tell people you were mopping up…you know…?”
“What?” Pete asked. “You mean dude nectar?”
Natalie screamed in disgust while covering her ears and saying, “La-la-la!” over and over again. The patrons and other hairstylists on the other hand were laughing their asses off. One of the male clients said, “He’s a keeper!”
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Most Disgusting Promotional Tactics of 2015
***MOST DISGUSTING PROMOTIONAL TACTICS OF 2015***
With the internet as prominent as it is and with backstage politics as easily accessible as they are, wrestling has easily become the most criticized form of entertainment, even by its own fans. A lot of the negativity stems from certain fans not seeing their favorite wrestlers succeed (Cesaro) or seeing their most hated wrestlers get an elevator ride to the top (Kane). It’s hard to maintain a positive attitude among the spoiled fans, but I’ve managed to do so and enjoy wrestling for what it truly is: entertainment.
Yes, I know this journal is about a negative award given by the Wrestling Observer Newsletter every year. I talk about it often, but not because I’m a negative human being. These award winners and runner-ups are a huge source of creative fuel for me. Creative fuel is essential to the life of an author. That, and I love to shock the shit out of people from time to time. The 2015 WON awards have been revealed and in this particular category, there were seven different candidates (one winner, six runner-ups). I’m going to work my way from the top of the list (the winner) to the very bottom. Starting with…
***AWARD WINNER***
EVENT: WWE using Reid Flair’s death to promote a feud between Charlotte and Paige.
REASON: I’ve talked about this before in the past and I’ll only speak briefly about it in the present. Death is a sensitive subject and to approach it with such classlessness is going to bring a lot of people either to tears or a boiling point. It was the case in 2013 when Paul Bearer’s death was exploited and in 2006 when Eddie Guerrero’s was as well.
EXAMPLE: The Westboro Baptist Church are the worst offenders when it comes to insensitivity toward the dead. They hold up “God Hates Fags” signs at funerals, claiming that God is killing off these now-dead people because America’s approval of homosexuality. I could actually picture a Fred Phelps caricature being used on an episode of WWE Raw and then that manager getting a Worst Gimmick award.
***FIRST RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE botching the Divas Revolution.
REASON: Bringing up three badass female athletes to the main WWE roster seemed like a good idea on paper, but it doesn’t change the fact that WWE women’s matches are much different from NXT women’s matches. In NXT, the women are strong role models and bold risk takers, thus ensuring them five-star match accolades. In WWE, the women are sophomoric and have awkward choreography. In other words, nothing has changed on the main roster.
EXAMPLE: Let’s say for instance there’s a high fantasy story taking place and there’s a war going on between an army of orcs, an army of dwarves, and an army of elves. That’s a lot of goddamn warriors and that has potential for a lot of goddamn bloodshed. But let’s say the warriors get drunk and start fighting like middle schoolers. The best you could hope for at this point is a draw.
***SECOND RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: James Storm pushes Mickie James into an oncoming train.
REASON: I haven’t watched TNA since I gave up on them in late 2011. Having said that, we can all agree that it’s not very nice to push a defenseless woman into a moving train. Obviously, Mickie James didn’t die; it was a way to write her off television. But given the fact that trains are big fucking machines that move at a fierce goddamn velocity, the thought of Mickie James’ guts being spread all over the train station is just gross.
EXAMPLE: I used to watch episodes of Dudley Do-Right where the love interest of the main character would be tied onto railroad tracks while a steam train is blitzing her way. It’s a kid’s cartoon, so obviously the love interest was never splattered into a pile of blood and guts. But if you really think about it, that’s a screwed up way to kill somebody, especially a helpless woman whose only role on the show is to be saved by the masculine hero. That’s like something from Criminal Minds.
***THIRD RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE exploiting Connor “The Crusher” Michalek when giving him the Warrior Award.
REASON: TV shows get accused of exploiting their guests all the time. Dr. Phil does it on a regular basis when he brings rape victims onto his show. The Biggest Loser is basically one big fat joke that spans several seasons. And now you’ve got WWE super fan and childhood cancer victim Connor Michalek being paraded around to show what great guys the WWE are…months before they exploit the death of Reid Flair.
EXAMPLE: I think I’ve already covered the examples when I brought up Dr. Phil and The Biggest Loser. What I haven’t covered is that every October, WWE parades around breast cancer survivors as part of their alliance with Susan G. Komen. The WWE neglects to mention that Susan G. Komen was responsible for de-funding Planned Parenthood and that the CEO of SGK pockets most of the donations.
***FOURTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Lucha Underground televising matches where men beat up women.
REASON: With all of this talk in today’s world about “rape culture” and “a woman’s place”, haven’t these poor girls suffered enough without being assaulted by men on a weekly basis? I will admit that the WWE’s Stephanie McMahon is a pain in the ass and deserves a Worst Gimmick award in the most vile way. It doesn’t change the fact that if she was booked in a match to get a KO punch from The Big Show, the WWE would win this award and not the Lucha Underground. If you want Stephanie McMahon to get her ass kicked so badly, have Ronda Rousey do it; she won’t let you down. Plus, Ronda is all woman.
EXAMPLE: The movies North Country and Iron-Jawed Angels are perfect examples of male supremacy. You’ve got men sexually harassing and physically beating these women all because these females want the same societal status as their dick-swinging counterparts. I’ve seen North Country and it was the most disturbing movie I’ve ever watched. I haven’t seen Iron-Jawed Angels, nor do I want to since it’s basically the same male supremacy over and over again.
***FIFTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Michael Cole doing a broken neck storyline directly after Perro Aguayo, Jr. died from whiplash.
REASON: I’m sure this wasn’t intentional mockery of Perro Aguayo’s situation, but the timing couldn’t have been worse than if it was 2005 and the WWE did a terrorist storyline on the day of the London bombings. Timing is everything when it comes to sensitive subjects. Which leads me to my next example…
EXAMPLE: Back in 2011, Fox pulled episodes of Family Guy, The Cleveland Show, and American Dad off the air because they were all about stormy weather and a hurricane had just past through…I forget where. Imagine that backlash against Fox if they hadn’t pulled those episodes, as if Seth MacFarlane doesn’t catch enough shit already.
***FINAL RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE blackballing Hulk Hogan for his racist remarks in 2012 and then lionizing The Ultimate Warrior, who said just as bad or worse things in public.
REASON: Racism is racism no matter who it comes from. The only difference between Hulk Hogan and The Ultimate Warrior is that the latter is now dead and lionizing him would be the only way to honor his memory. Then again, if praising the dead was standard operating procedure, Chris Benoit would be a first ballot WWE Hall of Famer.
EXAMPLE: Racism is a touchy subject no matter which political or news channel you dial into. Donald Trump shoots his mouth off on a regular basis about Arabs, Mexicans, and black people, yet people cheer him on and encourage it. But whenever Al Sharpton talks about white privilege, suddenly the hammer gets brought down with a stiffness.
***CONCLUSION***
Creative fuel can come from anywhere. As far as the creative fuel from MDPT awards go, this is my way of not allowing tragedies to go to waste. Whenever authors write a story, there has to be a main problem and the protagonist has to go through hell in order to solve that problem. When drawing inspiration from these seven horrifying wrestling stories, think about that for a moment.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
As long as the WWE is putting together tag teams based on their initials, let’s go old school with the pairing of Sting and Ted DiBiase (Team STD). Don’t worry about them giving you cross-body blocks, because Team STD is easy to catch.
With the internet as prominent as it is and with backstage politics as easily accessible as they are, wrestling has easily become the most criticized form of entertainment, even by its own fans. A lot of the negativity stems from certain fans not seeing their favorite wrestlers succeed (Cesaro) or seeing their most hated wrestlers get an elevator ride to the top (Kane). It’s hard to maintain a positive attitude among the spoiled fans, but I’ve managed to do so and enjoy wrestling for what it truly is: entertainment.
Yes, I know this journal is about a negative award given by the Wrestling Observer Newsletter every year. I talk about it often, but not because I’m a negative human being. These award winners and runner-ups are a huge source of creative fuel for me. Creative fuel is essential to the life of an author. That, and I love to shock the shit out of people from time to time. The 2015 WON awards have been revealed and in this particular category, there were seven different candidates (one winner, six runner-ups). I’m going to work my way from the top of the list (the winner) to the very bottom. Starting with…
***AWARD WINNER***
EVENT: WWE using Reid Flair’s death to promote a feud between Charlotte and Paige.
REASON: I’ve talked about this before in the past and I’ll only speak briefly about it in the present. Death is a sensitive subject and to approach it with such classlessness is going to bring a lot of people either to tears or a boiling point. It was the case in 2013 when Paul Bearer’s death was exploited and in 2006 when Eddie Guerrero’s was as well.
EXAMPLE: The Westboro Baptist Church are the worst offenders when it comes to insensitivity toward the dead. They hold up “God Hates Fags” signs at funerals, claiming that God is killing off these now-dead people because America’s approval of homosexuality. I could actually picture a Fred Phelps caricature being used on an episode of WWE Raw and then that manager getting a Worst Gimmick award.
***FIRST RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE botching the Divas Revolution.
REASON: Bringing up three badass female athletes to the main WWE roster seemed like a good idea on paper, but it doesn’t change the fact that WWE women’s matches are much different from NXT women’s matches. In NXT, the women are strong role models and bold risk takers, thus ensuring them five-star match accolades. In WWE, the women are sophomoric and have awkward choreography. In other words, nothing has changed on the main roster.
EXAMPLE: Let’s say for instance there’s a high fantasy story taking place and there’s a war going on between an army of orcs, an army of dwarves, and an army of elves. That’s a lot of goddamn warriors and that has potential for a lot of goddamn bloodshed. But let’s say the warriors get drunk and start fighting like middle schoolers. The best you could hope for at this point is a draw.
***SECOND RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: James Storm pushes Mickie James into an oncoming train.
REASON: I haven’t watched TNA since I gave up on them in late 2011. Having said that, we can all agree that it’s not very nice to push a defenseless woman into a moving train. Obviously, Mickie James didn’t die; it was a way to write her off television. But given the fact that trains are big fucking machines that move at a fierce goddamn velocity, the thought of Mickie James’ guts being spread all over the train station is just gross.
EXAMPLE: I used to watch episodes of Dudley Do-Right where the love interest of the main character would be tied onto railroad tracks while a steam train is blitzing her way. It’s a kid’s cartoon, so obviously the love interest was never splattered into a pile of blood and guts. But if you really think about it, that’s a screwed up way to kill somebody, especially a helpless woman whose only role on the show is to be saved by the masculine hero. That’s like something from Criminal Minds.
***THIRD RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE exploiting Connor “The Crusher” Michalek when giving him the Warrior Award.
REASON: TV shows get accused of exploiting their guests all the time. Dr. Phil does it on a regular basis when he brings rape victims onto his show. The Biggest Loser is basically one big fat joke that spans several seasons. And now you’ve got WWE super fan and childhood cancer victim Connor Michalek being paraded around to show what great guys the WWE are…months before they exploit the death of Reid Flair.
EXAMPLE: I think I’ve already covered the examples when I brought up Dr. Phil and The Biggest Loser. What I haven’t covered is that every October, WWE parades around breast cancer survivors as part of their alliance with Susan G. Komen. The WWE neglects to mention that Susan G. Komen was responsible for de-funding Planned Parenthood and that the CEO of SGK pockets most of the donations.
***FOURTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Lucha Underground televising matches where men beat up women.
REASON: With all of this talk in today’s world about “rape culture” and “a woman’s place”, haven’t these poor girls suffered enough without being assaulted by men on a weekly basis? I will admit that the WWE’s Stephanie McMahon is a pain in the ass and deserves a Worst Gimmick award in the most vile way. It doesn’t change the fact that if she was booked in a match to get a KO punch from The Big Show, the WWE would win this award and not the Lucha Underground. If you want Stephanie McMahon to get her ass kicked so badly, have Ronda Rousey do it; she won’t let you down. Plus, Ronda is all woman.
EXAMPLE: The movies North Country and Iron-Jawed Angels are perfect examples of male supremacy. You’ve got men sexually harassing and physically beating these women all because these females want the same societal status as their dick-swinging counterparts. I’ve seen North Country and it was the most disturbing movie I’ve ever watched. I haven’t seen Iron-Jawed Angels, nor do I want to since it’s basically the same male supremacy over and over again.
***FIFTH RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: Michael Cole doing a broken neck storyline directly after Perro Aguayo, Jr. died from whiplash.
REASON: I’m sure this wasn’t intentional mockery of Perro Aguayo’s situation, but the timing couldn’t have been worse than if it was 2005 and the WWE did a terrorist storyline on the day of the London bombings. Timing is everything when it comes to sensitive subjects. Which leads me to my next example…
EXAMPLE: Back in 2011, Fox pulled episodes of Family Guy, The Cleveland Show, and American Dad off the air because they were all about stormy weather and a hurricane had just past through…I forget where. Imagine that backlash against Fox if they hadn’t pulled those episodes, as if Seth MacFarlane doesn’t catch enough shit already.
***FINAL RUNNER-UP***
EVENT: WWE blackballing Hulk Hogan for his racist remarks in 2012 and then lionizing The Ultimate Warrior, who said just as bad or worse things in public.
REASON: Racism is racism no matter who it comes from. The only difference between Hulk Hogan and The Ultimate Warrior is that the latter is now dead and lionizing him would be the only way to honor his memory. Then again, if praising the dead was standard operating procedure, Chris Benoit would be a first ballot WWE Hall of Famer.
EXAMPLE: Racism is a touchy subject no matter which political or news channel you dial into. Donald Trump shoots his mouth off on a regular basis about Arabs, Mexicans, and black people, yet people cheer him on and encourage it. But whenever Al Sharpton talks about white privilege, suddenly the hammer gets brought down with a stiffness.
***CONCLUSION***
Creative fuel can come from anywhere. As far as the creative fuel from MDPT awards go, this is my way of not allowing tragedies to go to waste. Whenever authors write a story, there has to be a main problem and the protagonist has to go through hell in order to solve that problem. When drawing inspiration from these seven horrifying wrestling stories, think about that for a moment.
***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***
As long as the WWE is putting together tag teams based on their initials, let’s go old school with the pairing of Sting and Ted DiBiase (Team STD). Don’t worry about them giving you cross-body blocks, because Team STD is easy to catch.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Nike Nut Sack
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 1
Every man has his price and yours was pretty low
But you’re watching that cash exponentially grow
The puppet strings are wrapped around your throat
And it’s all in the name of an all-American C-note
You repeat what they say like they’re your opinions
When really you’re just another one of their minions
They own everything of yours, including your life
To sweeten this deal, they’re going to need your wife
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 2
Did you ever think to ask the million dollar question?
How many of these sins are funding federal elections?
How many of these kids worked themselves to death?
How many corporate executives will benefit in the end?
To ask these questions, you need a mind of your own
But you were too busy taking selfies with your phone
The hash tags are flying across the worldwide web
While the world’s pain is flying right over your head
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
HOOK
Your friends got pissed off and they walked away
Your family wondered why you’d ever go astray
Your heart is broken, but don’t mind the noise
Because your palms are greased by the big boys
EXTENDED CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
Play basketball even though you’re not an athlete
Ride in limousines with party chicks named Ashley
Drink all the champagne and snort all the cocaine
When you’re all fucked up, you’re the one to blame
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 1
Every man has his price and yours was pretty low
But you’re watching that cash exponentially grow
The puppet strings are wrapped around your throat
And it’s all in the name of an all-American C-note
You repeat what they say like they’re your opinions
When really you’re just another one of their minions
They own everything of yours, including your life
To sweeten this deal, they’re going to need your wife
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
VERSE 2
Did you ever think to ask the million dollar question?
How many of these sins are funding federal elections?
How many of these kids worked themselves to death?
How many corporate executives will benefit in the end?
To ask these questions, you need a mind of your own
But you were too busy taking selfies with your phone
The hash tags are flying across the worldwide web
While the world’s pain is flying right over your head
CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
HOOK
Your friends got pissed off and they walked away
Your family wondered why you’d ever go astray
Your heart is broken, but don’t mind the noise
Because your palms are greased by the big boys
EXTENDED CHORUS
You signed a contract, now you wear the clothes
You take a thousand selfies so everybody knows
Get hundred dollar bills shoved up your butt crack
Wearing Adidas jockstraps on your Nike nut sack
Play basketball even though you’re not an athlete
Ride in limousines with party chicks named Ashley
Drink all the champagne and snort all the cocaine
When you’re all fucked up, you’re the one to blame
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Adapting to Change
***ADAPTING TO CHANGE***
We live in an era where everything we do has the potential for artistic merit. In the past, I’ve covered topics like reusing abandoned buildings, home improvement, and building Magic: the Gathering decks, all of which qualify as being creative projects if done in an innovative way. I’d like to add something else to this list, an underrated form of creativity that often gets taken for granted: adapting to change. As long as we live our lives, life will give us all the change we need. Whether it’s good change or bad change, the only way we can seek to improve ourselves is by rising from the ashes every time.
Writers have to adapt to change on a regular basis, especially if they’re working one-on-one with an editor. An editor’s job is simple: read an author’s manuscript and point out what things worked, what things didn’t, and what could be done to improve the things that didn’t. It is not an editor’s job, however, to make these changes for you. Yes, you have a better idea of what to change, but it’s ultimately up to you to decide how you will change those things. Even if an editor gives you a solution at your request, you, the author, are ultimately the one who says “yes” or “no” to that decision. When a writer has successfully adapted to the changes his manuscript is presented with, he will have a stronger product. He may have to edit several more times after that, but every time the literature will become stronger.
Episodic television shows have to adapt to change all the time. A screenwriter can produce weeks, months, or even seasons of television far in advance. But if an actor leaves the show, budgets become constrained, or the ratings aren’t high enough, adapting to change becomes more important than ever and all of that advance television has to be rewritten and reedited to accommodate those changes.
The original version of NCIS (Washington DC) has gone through several lineup changes during its current thirteen year run. In 2005, Sasha Alexander (Special Agent Caitlin Todd) left the show for unknown reasons, so her character was sniped by an Israeli terrorist named Ari. Ever since then, the audience was treated to Ziva David, a socially awkward, yet badass Probationary Agent. In 2013, Cote de Pablo (Ziva’s actor) left the show also for unknown reasons, so her character went back to Israel due to crippling guilt. She was replaced by socially awkward NSA analyst turned NCIS Special Agent Ellie Bishop. Don’t worry, because Emily Wickersham (Ellie’s actor) isn’t going anywhere for the time being. Michael Weatherly (Tony DiNozzo) on the other hand is leaving at the end of this current season. So many changes, so little time.
The WWE has to adapt to changes all the time, so that will keep the creative writers busy for a long, long time. In 2015, there were a shit ton of injuries that prevented certain wrestlers from competing. Seth Rollins tweaked his knee and had to give up the WWE World Heavyweight Championship, which is currently being held by his former Shield mate Roman Reigns. Daniel Bryan suffered a concussion and had to give up the Intercontinental Championship, which was won by Ryback in an Elimination Chamber match, won by Kevin Owens at Night of Champions, and won by Dean Ambrose at Tables, Ladders, and Chairs. Then Tyson Kidd, Cesaro, John Cena, and Sting started getting injured. The Divas division wasn’t safe either since Paige had concussion issues, Sasha Banks injured her knee, Nikki Bella snapped her neck, and Rosa Mendes became a mother for the first time in her life. Choosing wrestlers to take these injured workers’ places is a critical decision that must be made on the fly. Entire storylines have to be rewritten all over again to accommodate these new wrestlers.
Just like with every journal, I’m going to use my own life as an example as well. My life is for the most part pretty routine, humble, and satisfying. Major changes in my life are rare, but when they do happen, they usually come in the form of a schizophrenic attack. Offensive images and sounds will invade my mind to where I “flinch” away from them to minimize the pain. But as I flinch from them, I’m also flinching from other aspects of my life that I derive pleasure from, the most important one being heavy metal music. How do I adapt to a schizophrenic attack? Listening to more new age music is my most common method. I’ve written a shit ton of heavy metal song lyrics during schizophrenic episodes and they were well received by the public. But just recently, I’ve had to learn how to confront my schizophrenic demons. I had to play the images and sounds in my head so many times without flinching until the fear of them is conquered and dead. I’m no longer afraid of my own mental demons because I looked them in the eye and said, “Fuck you, I’m not moving!” The gatekeepers to my happiness have gone home…but for how long?
Change can come in many forms: a new city to live in, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a physical injury, and many others that are easy to relate to. Learning how to live a normal life in the face of these changes is what will make you strong enough to never regret those changes happening. Change is inevitable, but strength is forever. No amount of change will make life impossibly hard to live. You simply learn to work around those issues and face the next challenge with a warrior’s spirit. Any piece of art can be created from the remains of destruction. The main character from Pink Floyd the Wall smashed up his hotel room and turned the broken furniture into a collage. It’s an insane way to think about it, but then again, insanity and creativity have strong ties to each other. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
The next warrior to be drawn will be a villainess named Domino Gunn. If you’ve been following my art career in 2007, you would have seen her in a movie script called World of Darkness, where she was a lingerie-wearing dark paladin whose weapon of choice was a ball in chain. In today’s world, she’s a villainess in the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Stone Cold”. She tries to seduce the vengeful barbarian Brutus Warpath, but gets her throat ripped out instead. A lovely fate for a lovely lady.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DANTE: You know what the real tragedy of all of this is? I’m not even supposed to be here today!
RANDAL: Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go again trying to pass the buck like I’m the source of all your fucking misery! Who closed the store to play hockey?! Who closed the store to go to a funeral?! Who tried to win back his ex-girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one?! You want to blame somebody for all of this?! Blame yourself! “I’m not even supposed to be here today!” You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here! You came here on your own volition! You like to think the weight of the world is on your shoulders like, “This place would fall apart if Dante wasn’t here!” You overcompensate for having what’s basically a monkey’s job! You push fucking buttons! Anybody can waltz in here and do what we do! You make it sound so much more epic, so much more important than it really is! Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante! And badly, I might add! I work in a shitty video store, badly as well! You know, that guy Jay has it right! He has no illusions about what he does for a living! Us, we like to think we’re so much more important than the people who come in here to buy a newspaper or, God forbid, cigarettes! We look down on those people like we’re so advanced! Well, if we’re so fucking advanced, why are we working here?!
-Clerks-
We live in an era where everything we do has the potential for artistic merit. In the past, I’ve covered topics like reusing abandoned buildings, home improvement, and building Magic: the Gathering decks, all of which qualify as being creative projects if done in an innovative way. I’d like to add something else to this list, an underrated form of creativity that often gets taken for granted: adapting to change. As long as we live our lives, life will give us all the change we need. Whether it’s good change or bad change, the only way we can seek to improve ourselves is by rising from the ashes every time.
Writers have to adapt to change on a regular basis, especially if they’re working one-on-one with an editor. An editor’s job is simple: read an author’s manuscript and point out what things worked, what things didn’t, and what could be done to improve the things that didn’t. It is not an editor’s job, however, to make these changes for you. Yes, you have a better idea of what to change, but it’s ultimately up to you to decide how you will change those things. Even if an editor gives you a solution at your request, you, the author, are ultimately the one who says “yes” or “no” to that decision. When a writer has successfully adapted to the changes his manuscript is presented with, he will have a stronger product. He may have to edit several more times after that, but every time the literature will become stronger.
Episodic television shows have to adapt to change all the time. A screenwriter can produce weeks, months, or even seasons of television far in advance. But if an actor leaves the show, budgets become constrained, or the ratings aren’t high enough, adapting to change becomes more important than ever and all of that advance television has to be rewritten and reedited to accommodate those changes.
The original version of NCIS (Washington DC) has gone through several lineup changes during its current thirteen year run. In 2005, Sasha Alexander (Special Agent Caitlin Todd) left the show for unknown reasons, so her character was sniped by an Israeli terrorist named Ari. Ever since then, the audience was treated to Ziva David, a socially awkward, yet badass Probationary Agent. In 2013, Cote de Pablo (Ziva’s actor) left the show also for unknown reasons, so her character went back to Israel due to crippling guilt. She was replaced by socially awkward NSA analyst turned NCIS Special Agent Ellie Bishop. Don’t worry, because Emily Wickersham (Ellie’s actor) isn’t going anywhere for the time being. Michael Weatherly (Tony DiNozzo) on the other hand is leaving at the end of this current season. So many changes, so little time.
The WWE has to adapt to changes all the time, so that will keep the creative writers busy for a long, long time. In 2015, there were a shit ton of injuries that prevented certain wrestlers from competing. Seth Rollins tweaked his knee and had to give up the WWE World Heavyweight Championship, which is currently being held by his former Shield mate Roman Reigns. Daniel Bryan suffered a concussion and had to give up the Intercontinental Championship, which was won by Ryback in an Elimination Chamber match, won by Kevin Owens at Night of Champions, and won by Dean Ambrose at Tables, Ladders, and Chairs. Then Tyson Kidd, Cesaro, John Cena, and Sting started getting injured. The Divas division wasn’t safe either since Paige had concussion issues, Sasha Banks injured her knee, Nikki Bella snapped her neck, and Rosa Mendes became a mother for the first time in her life. Choosing wrestlers to take these injured workers’ places is a critical decision that must be made on the fly. Entire storylines have to be rewritten all over again to accommodate these new wrestlers.
Just like with every journal, I’m going to use my own life as an example as well. My life is for the most part pretty routine, humble, and satisfying. Major changes in my life are rare, but when they do happen, they usually come in the form of a schizophrenic attack. Offensive images and sounds will invade my mind to where I “flinch” away from them to minimize the pain. But as I flinch from them, I’m also flinching from other aspects of my life that I derive pleasure from, the most important one being heavy metal music. How do I adapt to a schizophrenic attack? Listening to more new age music is my most common method. I’ve written a shit ton of heavy metal song lyrics during schizophrenic episodes and they were well received by the public. But just recently, I’ve had to learn how to confront my schizophrenic demons. I had to play the images and sounds in my head so many times without flinching until the fear of them is conquered and dead. I’m no longer afraid of my own mental demons because I looked them in the eye and said, “Fuck you, I’m not moving!” The gatekeepers to my happiness have gone home…but for how long?
Change can come in many forms: a new city to live in, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job, a physical injury, and many others that are easy to relate to. Learning how to live a normal life in the face of these changes is what will make you strong enough to never regret those changes happening. Change is inevitable, but strength is forever. No amount of change will make life impossibly hard to live. You simply learn to work around those issues and face the next challenge with a warrior’s spirit. Any piece of art can be created from the remains of destruction. The main character from Pink Floyd the Wall smashed up his hotel room and turned the broken furniture into a collage. It’s an insane way to think about it, but then again, insanity and creativity have strong ties to each other. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
The next warrior to be drawn will be a villainess named Domino Gunn. If you’ve been following my art career in 2007, you would have seen her in a movie script called World of Darkness, where she was a lingerie-wearing dark paladin whose weapon of choice was a ball in chain. In today’s world, she’s a villainess in the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Stone Cold”. She tries to seduce the vengeful barbarian Brutus Warpath, but gets her throat ripped out instead. A lovely fate for a lovely lady.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
DANTE: You know what the real tragedy of all of this is? I’m not even supposed to be here today!
RANDAL: Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go again trying to pass the buck like I’m the source of all your fucking misery! Who closed the store to play hockey?! Who closed the store to go to a funeral?! Who tried to win back his ex-girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one?! You want to blame somebody for all of this?! Blame yourself! “I’m not even supposed to be here today!” You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here! You came here on your own volition! You like to think the weight of the world is on your shoulders like, “This place would fall apart if Dante wasn’t here!” You overcompensate for having what’s basically a monkey’s job! You push fucking buttons! Anybody can waltz in here and do what we do! You make it sound so much more epic, so much more important than it really is! Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante! And badly, I might add! I work in a shitty video store, badly as well! You know, that guy Jay has it right! He has no illusions about what he does for a living! Us, we like to think we’re so much more important than the people who come in here to buy a newspaper or, God forbid, cigarettes! We look down on those people like we’re so advanced! Well, if we’re so fucking advanced, why are we working here?!
-Clerks-
Kill Me or I'll Quit
What a waste of fucking time, said Norman Long in his head. He sat on one of the fluffy couches of the Lion Pie Hotel with his back hunched over and his head hung low. Every once and a while, he would ball up his fist and pound the couch cushion he was sitting on. Anyone who was around him and saw the act of frustration walked a little faster toward wherever they were going, even going so far as to shield their children.
Norman Long had the look of a brooding high school nerd even though he was much older. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt. His beard was out of control as well. His glasses had a hard time staying on the bridge of his nose while he held his head in that position. The black leather jacket, blue jeans, and white Star Wars T-shirt gave off a gothic geek combination to anyone who actually had the stones to judge him at that moment.
“Kill me or I’ll quit!” In the finals of the Magic: the Gathering card game tournament, those were the simple instructions Norman gave to his opponent, Larry Bryce, a middle aged man with a gray and brown ponytail and beard, glasses of his own, and a black Pink Floyd T-shirt with gray jeans and sandals. Peace, love, and understanding was the motto Larry portrayed with his hippie ensemble. In fact, the final match was so peaceful that Norman actually considered falling asleep to show his boredom.
Larry could have finished off this overly drawn out game of Magic: the Gathering anytime he wanted. He had an army of creatures in play and they were much bigger and stronger than Norman’s piddly ass Llanawar Elves. Just one big ass stampede of ogres, orcs, and berserkers and the battlefield would have been covered in elf juice and Norman’s tears. But instead, Larry decided to stall for as long as he could just so he could flaunt his arrogant might. He didn’t kill Norman off in that game. Norman packed up his cards and forfeited the game, leaving the older player with a big fat five thousand dollar check.
Had this been a friendly game, Larry’s sins would have been forgivable in Norman’s eyes. But it was five thousand dollars, which would have been enough to cover his travel and hotel expenses while still having enough to pay his apartment bills back home and get something extra for fun. He could have bought World of Warcraft action figures. A new laptop. An MP3 player with thirty gigabytes of memory. But instead, Norman sat in the hotel lobby with pieces of his broken heart in his hands and a possible eviction notice on the way.
Just when he was ready to burst into a waterfall of tears, he felt a feeble hand pat him gently on the shoulder while the person said, “Good game!” That voice belonged to Larry Bryce, who walked past him only to stop at Norman asking him in an aggressive tone what he said. The defeated MTG player stood up and scowled at Larry with vicious eyebrows and dewy eyeballs.
“Come on, man, it’s just a game. You’re pissed off about a game of Magic?” said Larry.
“Don’t bullshit me, Larry!” grunted Norman, catching the attention of clerks and patrons around him. “You could have ended that game anytime you wanted! Instead you chose the cheap way to win by boring me to tears! Magic games are supposed to be fast-paced and fun! That’s the whole reason I started playing in the first place! Well, guess what, Larry! I’ve played against arrogant nut sacks like you before! And if there are more people like you out there…” Norman pulled his deck of Magic cards out of his jacket pocket and said, “I don’t need this anymore! I quit!” With a basketball like hand motion, he threw his deck into a nearby garbage can.
Larry shook his head no and pulled the deck out of the garbage can. “You know, buddy, if you’re not going to play anymore, then don’t waste a perfectly good deck of cards. There are lots of players in this hotel who would love to have something like this.”
“And once again, you’re so full of shit that you’re bursting at the fucking seams!” shouted Norman with more vigor than before. He speed-walked up to Larry and pulled the deck of cards out of his hands before ripping them into pieces. He then threw the pieces of confetti into Larry’s face and watched him shake his head no yet again.
“Do you have any idea how expensive Magic: the Gathering cards can be? That’s easily hundreds of dollars down the drain, buddy. Look, if you want to have a conniption over a game of Magic, that’s fine with me, but don’t take your anger out on those expensive cards. You wouldn’t rip up the Mona Lisa in a fit of rage, would you?”
Norman smiled psychotically and shook his head before grabbing Larry by his Pink Floyd T-shirt and grunting through gritted teeth, “No, asshole! I’ll rip you up instead!” From there, shoves and punches were thrown between the two Magic players. Several bystanders, including hotel staff, tried to break them up, but they too were met with strikes and shoves. There was even one instance where Norman and Larry both dove over the couch together.
***
In hindsight, fist fighting over a game of Magic (even though five thousand dollars were on the line) was dumber than eating a pepperoni pizza in Israel. In the Paulson City Police Department holding cell, Larry and Norman sat across from each other with hunched over spines and wicked facial expressions. They were the only ones that night who had to cause trouble, thus they were alone together. They could have ripped each other apart that night if it wasn’t for the guard standing at the entrance.
They didn’t speak to each other for a whole half hour before Larry broke the silence with, “Just so you know, you’re going to be serving this jail sentence alone, buddy. I’ve five thousand dollars richer, which means I can post bail. What have you got to show for your rage, huh? You could have sold those Magic cards to a lucky kid and have your bail posted as well. Instead you chose to…”
“Can it, Larry!” interrupted Norman. The tension between the two troublemakers would have had the hotel patrons and staff quaking in their shoes if they were still at the Lion Pie. “You think you’ve got me figured out? You think you know what the hell is going on here? That deck wouldn’t have done anybody good anyways! It lost to yours, right? It didn’t make me five thousand dollars richer, did it?”
“That’s all you care about?” asked Larry when he stood up. “You play Magic: the Gathering for money? It would be a cool professional gig, but that’s not something that would look good on a resume. You know what looks good on a resume? Being a tech support guy for five long years and providing for a wife and two children. That’s what I’m doing with my life. Playing Magic is just for fun. Did you already forget how to have fun?”
“Sure!” yelled Norman as he stood up and put his face in Larry’s. “I’ll have all the fun in the world when I get my ass evicted! I was depending on that five thousand dollars to keep my apartment! Not only am I now going to be homeless, but I have this mental image of you rubbing it in my face during the tournament finals! So from now on, every time I beg someone on the street corner for money, I’m going to see your smiling jackass face handing me a bottle cap or a rusty wing nut!”
“First of all, dingus!” screamed Larry. “You don’t have to worry about being homeless, because you’re going to jail for assault! Second of all, if you were so dependent on rent money that you’d take a chance with a Magic: the Gathering tournament, you might be taken to a nut house instead of jail, because that’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of! Only one person could have won that tournament! One person out of God knows how many! Somebody had to win and that someone was me! I’ve got news for you, buddy-boy! There’s always somebody out there who’s going to be better than you! The only reason why I won was because I had the luck of the draw when others didn’t!”
Larry shook his head, chuckled in frustration, and sat back down on the bench. “You took a chance and your chance didn’t pay off. Then again, you shouldn’t expect it to. Magic: the Gathering is based on fairytales. Real life is not, my friend.”
Those harsh, but true words hit Norman like a heavyweight boxer’s punch to the gut. His eyes were sore, his heart was broken yet again, and all he could do was sit on his side of the holding cell and wait for dawn to come. Larry was an arrogant Magic player, but he was right on all levels. This was the fuel Norman would take with him to the dream world that night. He curled up on the bench and hugged himself for warmth. He didn’t want to look at Larry anymore because of what other harsh truths he had in store. No more hammers brought down on Norman. Just sleep. Just a long, dreamless, haunted sleep.
***
The sunshine-filled morning descended upon the police station. No amount of burning light could wake Norman up from his empty slumber. A knight stick rapping the cell door repeatedly, however, was just obnoxious enough to bring Norman Long back into reality. The stiff and sore sleepyhead slowly sat upright in his bench as his eyes adjusted to the morning light. He looked around and thought he was still exhausted when he saw that the cell door was open. It was the furthest thing from a dream, however. “Mr. Norman James Long? You’re free to go.”
Norman formed a confused look on his face before the prison guard said, “What are you waiting for? I said you’re free to go!” The dejected Magic player stood up and trudged out of the holding cell. He was guided to the front desk to collect his personal belongings in a manila envelope. He opened the envelope once he got outside the station and sat down on the concrete stairs to inspect everything.
Glasses? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Cell phone? Hell yeah. An ass load of cash? Check. Wait a minute. An ass load of cash? With a note attached to it? What the hell was going on here. Norman unfolded the piece of paper and read it with much clearer eyes than when he exited the station.
“Dear Norman: I have to admit that I acted like an ass back at the Lion Pie Hotel. I’m sorry about that. There’s no excuse for drawing the game out that long and I could tell you were pissed off about it. I posted bail for you and there should be enough cash in this envelope to pay off your rent for the month. If you unwrap the wad of cash, you’ll see something else in there that will bring your hopes up. I’m bailing you out on one condition: you’re getting back into Magic and you and I are going to play more often until you’re good enough to enjoy yourself. Never give up. Never. Yours truly, Larry Bryce.”
Norman pulled the rubber band off of the wad of cash and saw a deck of Magic: the Gathering cards underneath. He looked through them and saw the same hulking ogres and dragons Larry used to defeat him. A tear escaped Norman’s eye and gently splashed the manila envelope. “Thank you, Larry,” he said softly to himself.
Norman Long had the look of a brooding high school nerd even though he was much older. His black hair was shaggy and unkempt. His beard was out of control as well. His glasses had a hard time staying on the bridge of his nose while he held his head in that position. The black leather jacket, blue jeans, and white Star Wars T-shirt gave off a gothic geek combination to anyone who actually had the stones to judge him at that moment.
“Kill me or I’ll quit!” In the finals of the Magic: the Gathering card game tournament, those were the simple instructions Norman gave to his opponent, Larry Bryce, a middle aged man with a gray and brown ponytail and beard, glasses of his own, and a black Pink Floyd T-shirt with gray jeans and sandals. Peace, love, and understanding was the motto Larry portrayed with his hippie ensemble. In fact, the final match was so peaceful that Norman actually considered falling asleep to show his boredom.
Larry could have finished off this overly drawn out game of Magic: the Gathering anytime he wanted. He had an army of creatures in play and they were much bigger and stronger than Norman’s piddly ass Llanawar Elves. Just one big ass stampede of ogres, orcs, and berserkers and the battlefield would have been covered in elf juice and Norman’s tears. But instead, Larry decided to stall for as long as he could just so he could flaunt his arrogant might. He didn’t kill Norman off in that game. Norman packed up his cards and forfeited the game, leaving the older player with a big fat five thousand dollar check.
Had this been a friendly game, Larry’s sins would have been forgivable in Norman’s eyes. But it was five thousand dollars, which would have been enough to cover his travel and hotel expenses while still having enough to pay his apartment bills back home and get something extra for fun. He could have bought World of Warcraft action figures. A new laptop. An MP3 player with thirty gigabytes of memory. But instead, Norman sat in the hotel lobby with pieces of his broken heart in his hands and a possible eviction notice on the way.
Just when he was ready to burst into a waterfall of tears, he felt a feeble hand pat him gently on the shoulder while the person said, “Good game!” That voice belonged to Larry Bryce, who walked past him only to stop at Norman asking him in an aggressive tone what he said. The defeated MTG player stood up and scowled at Larry with vicious eyebrows and dewy eyeballs.
“Come on, man, it’s just a game. You’re pissed off about a game of Magic?” said Larry.
“Don’t bullshit me, Larry!” grunted Norman, catching the attention of clerks and patrons around him. “You could have ended that game anytime you wanted! Instead you chose the cheap way to win by boring me to tears! Magic games are supposed to be fast-paced and fun! That’s the whole reason I started playing in the first place! Well, guess what, Larry! I’ve played against arrogant nut sacks like you before! And if there are more people like you out there…” Norman pulled his deck of Magic cards out of his jacket pocket and said, “I don’t need this anymore! I quit!” With a basketball like hand motion, he threw his deck into a nearby garbage can.
Larry shook his head no and pulled the deck out of the garbage can. “You know, buddy, if you’re not going to play anymore, then don’t waste a perfectly good deck of cards. There are lots of players in this hotel who would love to have something like this.”
“And once again, you’re so full of shit that you’re bursting at the fucking seams!” shouted Norman with more vigor than before. He speed-walked up to Larry and pulled the deck of cards out of his hands before ripping them into pieces. He then threw the pieces of confetti into Larry’s face and watched him shake his head no yet again.
“Do you have any idea how expensive Magic: the Gathering cards can be? That’s easily hundreds of dollars down the drain, buddy. Look, if you want to have a conniption over a game of Magic, that’s fine with me, but don’t take your anger out on those expensive cards. You wouldn’t rip up the Mona Lisa in a fit of rage, would you?”
Norman smiled psychotically and shook his head before grabbing Larry by his Pink Floyd T-shirt and grunting through gritted teeth, “No, asshole! I’ll rip you up instead!” From there, shoves and punches were thrown between the two Magic players. Several bystanders, including hotel staff, tried to break them up, but they too were met with strikes and shoves. There was even one instance where Norman and Larry both dove over the couch together.
***
In hindsight, fist fighting over a game of Magic (even though five thousand dollars were on the line) was dumber than eating a pepperoni pizza in Israel. In the Paulson City Police Department holding cell, Larry and Norman sat across from each other with hunched over spines and wicked facial expressions. They were the only ones that night who had to cause trouble, thus they were alone together. They could have ripped each other apart that night if it wasn’t for the guard standing at the entrance.
They didn’t speak to each other for a whole half hour before Larry broke the silence with, “Just so you know, you’re going to be serving this jail sentence alone, buddy. I’ve five thousand dollars richer, which means I can post bail. What have you got to show for your rage, huh? You could have sold those Magic cards to a lucky kid and have your bail posted as well. Instead you chose to…”
“Can it, Larry!” interrupted Norman. The tension between the two troublemakers would have had the hotel patrons and staff quaking in their shoes if they were still at the Lion Pie. “You think you’ve got me figured out? You think you know what the hell is going on here? That deck wouldn’t have done anybody good anyways! It lost to yours, right? It didn’t make me five thousand dollars richer, did it?”
“That’s all you care about?” asked Larry when he stood up. “You play Magic: the Gathering for money? It would be a cool professional gig, but that’s not something that would look good on a resume. You know what looks good on a resume? Being a tech support guy for five long years and providing for a wife and two children. That’s what I’m doing with my life. Playing Magic is just for fun. Did you already forget how to have fun?”
“Sure!” yelled Norman as he stood up and put his face in Larry’s. “I’ll have all the fun in the world when I get my ass evicted! I was depending on that five thousand dollars to keep my apartment! Not only am I now going to be homeless, but I have this mental image of you rubbing it in my face during the tournament finals! So from now on, every time I beg someone on the street corner for money, I’m going to see your smiling jackass face handing me a bottle cap or a rusty wing nut!”
“First of all, dingus!” screamed Larry. “You don’t have to worry about being homeless, because you’re going to jail for assault! Second of all, if you were so dependent on rent money that you’d take a chance with a Magic: the Gathering tournament, you might be taken to a nut house instead of jail, because that’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of! Only one person could have won that tournament! One person out of God knows how many! Somebody had to win and that someone was me! I’ve got news for you, buddy-boy! There’s always somebody out there who’s going to be better than you! The only reason why I won was because I had the luck of the draw when others didn’t!”
Larry shook his head, chuckled in frustration, and sat back down on the bench. “You took a chance and your chance didn’t pay off. Then again, you shouldn’t expect it to. Magic: the Gathering is based on fairytales. Real life is not, my friend.”
Those harsh, but true words hit Norman like a heavyweight boxer’s punch to the gut. His eyes were sore, his heart was broken yet again, and all he could do was sit on his side of the holding cell and wait for dawn to come. Larry was an arrogant Magic player, but he was right on all levels. This was the fuel Norman would take with him to the dream world that night. He curled up on the bench and hugged himself for warmth. He didn’t want to look at Larry anymore because of what other harsh truths he had in store. No more hammers brought down on Norman. Just sleep. Just a long, dreamless, haunted sleep.
***
The sunshine-filled morning descended upon the police station. No amount of burning light could wake Norman up from his empty slumber. A knight stick rapping the cell door repeatedly, however, was just obnoxious enough to bring Norman Long back into reality. The stiff and sore sleepyhead slowly sat upright in his bench as his eyes adjusted to the morning light. He looked around and thought he was still exhausted when he saw that the cell door was open. It was the furthest thing from a dream, however. “Mr. Norman James Long? You’re free to go.”
Norman formed a confused look on his face before the prison guard said, “What are you waiting for? I said you’re free to go!” The dejected Magic player stood up and trudged out of the holding cell. He was guided to the front desk to collect his personal belongings in a manila envelope. He opened the envelope once he got outside the station and sat down on the concrete stairs to inspect everything.
Glasses? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Cell phone? Hell yeah. An ass load of cash? Check. Wait a minute. An ass load of cash? With a note attached to it? What the hell was going on here. Norman unfolded the piece of paper and read it with much clearer eyes than when he exited the station.
“Dear Norman: I have to admit that I acted like an ass back at the Lion Pie Hotel. I’m sorry about that. There’s no excuse for drawing the game out that long and I could tell you were pissed off about it. I posted bail for you and there should be enough cash in this envelope to pay off your rent for the month. If you unwrap the wad of cash, you’ll see something else in there that will bring your hopes up. I’m bailing you out on one condition: you’re getting back into Magic and you and I are going to play more often until you’re good enough to enjoy yourself. Never give up. Never. Yours truly, Larry Bryce.”
Norman pulled the rubber band off of the wad of cash and saw a deck of Magic: the Gathering cards underneath. He looked through them and saw the same hulking ogres and dragons Larry used to defeat him. A tear escaped Norman’s eye and gently splashed the manila envelope. “Thank you, Larry,” he said softly to himself.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Gatekeeper
CHORUS 1
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who is wearing the crown!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Your empire of bloodlust will crumble down!
VERSE 1
On my road to recovery, I find a brick wall
So I pick up a war hammer and smash it all
Destroyed to powder and grains of sand
I’m one step closer to the promised land
CHORUS 2
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who’s polluting the sound!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
My lungs of steel will never let me drown!
VERSE 2
My road to redemption is covered with monsters
So I pick up an axe and lead them to the slaughter
Blood, bones, and pieces of shredded skin
The fucking war of the century is mine to win
CHORUS 3
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who holds the golden key!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Here‘s what happens when you fuck with me!
HOOK
A punch to the face, blood all over the place
A knee to the gut, knock you on your butt
A blade to your throat, your last ounce of hope
Is dangling by a thread of the hangman’s rope
VERSE 3
My road to victory is paved in teardrops
Yet I see no red sign that tells me to stop
Life is an endless road of dried up scars
Death is now forever written in the stars
CHORUS 4
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who points the gun at me!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
I know what you’re doing, it’s not hard to see!
You’re just another obstacle in my fucking way!
A brand new challenge and a brand new day!
I conquer that shit with barbaric dragon’s fire!
Keep them all coming, because I’ll never tire!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who is wearing the crown!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Your empire of bloodlust will crumble down!
VERSE 1
On my road to recovery, I find a brick wall
So I pick up a war hammer and smash it all
Destroyed to powder and grains of sand
I’m one step closer to the promised land
CHORUS 2
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who’s polluting the sound!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
My lungs of steel will never let me drown!
VERSE 2
My road to redemption is covered with monsters
So I pick up an axe and lead them to the slaughter
Blood, bones, and pieces of shredded skin
The fucking war of the century is mine to win
CHORUS 3
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who holds the golden key!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
Here‘s what happens when you fuck with me!
HOOK
A punch to the face, blood all over the place
A knee to the gut, knock you on your butt
A blade to your throat, your last ounce of hope
Is dangling by a thread of the hangman’s rope
VERSE 3
My road to victory is paved in teardrops
Yet I see no red sign that tells me to stop
Life is an endless road of dried up scars
Death is now forever written in the stars
CHORUS 4
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
You are the one who points the gun at me!
You are the gatekeeper! You are the gatekeeper!
I know what you’re doing, it’s not hard to see!
You’re just another obstacle in my fucking way!
A brand new challenge and a brand new day!
I conquer that shit with barbaric dragon’s fire!
Keep them all coming, because I’ll never tire!
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Computer Rage
***COMPUTER RAGE***
Good news, potty mouths! Scientific studies are showing that people who swear have a higher understanding of English language skills than people who don’t. This is indeed good news for me, because most of my horrific swearing bouts have come at the expense of my computer. Anytime my computer slows down, freezes, or just plain stops working, it’s not enough just to sit and wait. No, I have to unleash a firestorm of curses at the computer, most of which would land me in jail if I said them to a human being. For the first time ever, I will provide everyone here with a transcript of the most offensive, god-awful insults I’ve ever screamed at my computer. I’m purposefully excluding homophobic slurs from this transcript because I have too much respect for the LGBT community to post them. Otherwise, happy reading!
“Quit douching around!”
“You stupid ass computer!”
“Get moving, bitch!”
“Get your ass in gear!”
“Get your ass online!”
“I’m going to smack the shit out of you, you stupid son of a bitch!”
“I’m going to put my dick in your CD drive!”
“Goddamn it, move!”
“Don’t you disconnect! Don’t you fucking disconnect! Goddamn it!”
“I hope you goddamn die, you fucking computer!”
“Go to hell, you piece of shit!”
“You’re going to get your ass kicked if you don’t move your fucking ass!”
“Blow me! Blow me, blow me, blow me!”
“Screw you, you douche-bag!”
“I’m going to take a big fucking shit on you if you don’t move!”
“Play the goddamn fucking song!”
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!”
What can I say? It’s a healthy way to release angry stress. It’s not healthy for everyone in my house who has to listen to me, but it’s healthy for me. I’ll take a firestorm of swear words over squeezing a rubber ball or doing yoga any day of the fucking week. See what I did there? We’ve got ears, say cheers, bitches!
***OCCUPY WRESTLING***
I plan on posting this journal on many websites and Deviant Art is one of them. If you follow me on Deviant Art, then you’ve probably noticed a few chapters of Occupy Wrestling stacked up in your inbox, my most recent one being number five. I hope I get to sit down and edit some more on a regular basis. If I can bulldoze the first American Darkness book, I can probably do the same with Occupy Wrestling. We’ll just have to wait and see.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Up next on deck is my second attempt at drawing a female character since making Danielle Courtney look like Marilyn Manson in drag. My niece Reina seems to think Miss Courtney looks like a “sassy black lady with a puppet face”. Hehehehehe! Here’s to hoping Hannah Jason looks a little more pleasant. Who’s Hannah Jason? She’s the magic-wielding assassin from “Bee Jay the Glutinous” who protects the little orange kitty from Raul Thunderstone’s cruelty. Hannah is modeled after the Diablo II sorceress, so maybe that will influence what I chose for a reference picture. Eh, maybe not.
***REINA***
On the 19th of this month, Reina will be celebrating her 12th birthday with me and the family. It’s hard to believe that my little baby niece is on the precipice of teen-hood. Holy shit! She wants to celebrate this coming-of-age milestone by playing in the swimming pool at the YMCA and by seeing the new Star Wars movie at the Regal Cinemas. I got her two presents for her special day, but I won’t be divulging what they are since Reina could potentially read this online and have her surprise spoiled. I hope she likes them! Happy Birthday, Reina-Bear! It’d be nice if everyone who reads this wishes her a Happy Birthday as well.
***TWEET OF THE DAY***
(RE: having a high character ranking in UFC’s latest videogame)
“Not since Samus Aran was revealed to be a woman have dummies been this butt hurt about a video game.”
-CM Punk-
Good news, potty mouths! Scientific studies are showing that people who swear have a higher understanding of English language skills than people who don’t. This is indeed good news for me, because most of my horrific swearing bouts have come at the expense of my computer. Anytime my computer slows down, freezes, or just plain stops working, it’s not enough just to sit and wait. No, I have to unleash a firestorm of curses at the computer, most of which would land me in jail if I said them to a human being. For the first time ever, I will provide everyone here with a transcript of the most offensive, god-awful insults I’ve ever screamed at my computer. I’m purposefully excluding homophobic slurs from this transcript because I have too much respect for the LGBT community to post them. Otherwise, happy reading!
“Quit douching around!”
“You stupid ass computer!”
“Get moving, bitch!”
“Get your ass in gear!”
“Get your ass online!”
“I’m going to smack the shit out of you, you stupid son of a bitch!”
“I’m going to put my dick in your CD drive!”
“Goddamn it, move!”
“Don’t you disconnect! Don’t you fucking disconnect! Goddamn it!”
“I hope you goddamn die, you fucking computer!”
“Go to hell, you piece of shit!”
“You’re going to get your ass kicked if you don’t move your fucking ass!”
“Blow me! Blow me, blow me, blow me!”
“Screw you, you douche-bag!”
“I’m going to take a big fucking shit on you if you don’t move!”
“Play the goddamn fucking song!”
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!”
What can I say? It’s a healthy way to release angry stress. It’s not healthy for everyone in my house who has to listen to me, but it’s healthy for me. I’ll take a firestorm of swear words over squeezing a rubber ball or doing yoga any day of the fucking week. See what I did there? We’ve got ears, say cheers, bitches!
***OCCUPY WRESTLING***
I plan on posting this journal on many websites and Deviant Art is one of them. If you follow me on Deviant Art, then you’ve probably noticed a few chapters of Occupy Wrestling stacked up in your inbox, my most recent one being number five. I hope I get to sit down and edit some more on a regular basis. If I can bulldoze the first American Darkness book, I can probably do the same with Occupy Wrestling. We’ll just have to wait and see.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Up next on deck is my second attempt at drawing a female character since making Danielle Courtney look like Marilyn Manson in drag. My niece Reina seems to think Miss Courtney looks like a “sassy black lady with a puppet face”. Hehehehehe! Here’s to hoping Hannah Jason looks a little more pleasant. Who’s Hannah Jason? She’s the magic-wielding assassin from “Bee Jay the Glutinous” who protects the little orange kitty from Raul Thunderstone’s cruelty. Hannah is modeled after the Diablo II sorceress, so maybe that will influence what I chose for a reference picture. Eh, maybe not.
***REINA***
On the 19th of this month, Reina will be celebrating her 12th birthday with me and the family. It’s hard to believe that my little baby niece is on the precipice of teen-hood. Holy shit! She wants to celebrate this coming-of-age milestone by playing in the swimming pool at the YMCA and by seeing the new Star Wars movie at the Regal Cinemas. I got her two presents for her special day, but I won’t be divulging what they are since Reina could potentially read this online and have her surprise spoiled. I hope she likes them! Happy Birthday, Reina-Bear! It’d be nice if everyone who reads this wishes her a Happy Birthday as well.
***TWEET OF THE DAY***
(RE: having a high character ranking in UFC’s latest videogame)
“Not since Samus Aran was revealed to be a woman have dummies been this butt hurt about a video game.”
-CM Punk-
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Necrocosm
VERSE 1
We’ve got hot and heavy action all night long
We’ve got hard-hitting brawlers so fucking strong
We’ve got hulking ogres who lift shit with ease
We’ve got flying ninjas who float through the breeze
Yet no matter how hard they smash each other
You all bitch and whine like you want your mothers
You might as well be asleep or even clinically dead
There aren’t enough pillows for all of your heads
CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
VERSE 2
The battered warriors are wondering what went wrong
Was the violence and mania just a little too damn strong?
Were the battle cries and political speeches too damn long?
Have you all had enough of this heavy metal song?
Too fucking bad, sit your asses in your comfy seats
Enjoy the fucking show and let us know your heart beats
The necrocosm is going out of business forever
Because zombies don’t give a shit about fiery weather
CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
HOOK
You wasted your money for a ticket you didn’t want
Then you rant online in the biggest fucking word font
You bitch and whine like an entitled little baby brat
Still the bloody warriors slam each other to the mat
EXTENDED CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
A casket match is meant for the fighters only
Not for the bitchy fans so righteous and holy
The necrocosm doesn’t want your blood money
The necrocosm doesn’t think you’re fucking funny
We’ve got hot and heavy action all night long
We’ve got hard-hitting brawlers so fucking strong
We’ve got hulking ogres who lift shit with ease
We’ve got flying ninjas who float through the breeze
Yet no matter how hard they smash each other
You all bitch and whine like you want your mothers
You might as well be asleep or even clinically dead
There aren’t enough pillows for all of your heads
CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
VERSE 2
The battered warriors are wondering what went wrong
Was the violence and mania just a little too damn strong?
Were the battle cries and political speeches too damn long?
Have you all had enough of this heavy metal song?
Too fucking bad, sit your asses in your comfy seats
Enjoy the fucking show and let us know your heart beats
The necrocosm is going out of business forever
Because zombies don’t give a shit about fiery weather
CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
HOOK
You wasted your money for a ticket you didn’t want
Then you rant online in the biggest fucking word font
You bitch and whine like an entitled little baby brat
Still the bloody warriors slam each other to the mat
EXTENDED CHORUS
Did you come here under protest or to see a show?
Scream like a horde of demons so we all know
Instead you fall asleep in your shallow graves
The necrocosm is what you all secretly crave
A casket match is meant for the fighters only
Not for the bitchy fans so righteous and holy
The necrocosm doesn’t want your blood money
The necrocosm doesn’t think you’re fucking funny
Friday, January 15, 2016
Predator
VERSE 1
You took something of mine I may never get back
You took something of mine in a vicious attack
My soul, my sanity, my very spiritual essence
Taken away by the world’s harshest lessons
Never turn your back on a hungry predator
When it comes to the past, you can’t be the editor
Dormant and dumb, that’s how you left me
I might as well be a package of fresh meat
CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?
VERSE 2
I let my guard down for the shortest of seconds
You were already waiting for me with your weapon
Sex and love became known as boots and blood
Of all the nights, this is my least romantic one
I want to vomit, but nothing is coming up
I want to cry, but my eyes are drying up
All that remain are flashbacks and numbness
How can anybody in their right mind love this?
CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?
VERSE 3
Disgust and distrust are all the same to me
I’ve learned to hate you to the highest degree
So much venom running deep in my veins
Knowing none of this could ever be the same
I think about slaying my demons every night
With brutal barbarism and a warrior’s might
But in the end, I’m back on the same page
Another day to continue this cycle of rage
CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?
VERSE 4
Demons and predators both equal shit
They like to say, “You’ve asked for it!”
No honor among thieves of the heart and soul
Bury all the wasted pieces in a fiery hole
You disgust me, so do all who support you
The gentleman in me says to just report you
Gentleman I am not, only a vengeful madman
Who will leave you bloodied in the badlands
You took something of mine I may never get back
You took something of mine in a vicious attack
My soul, my sanity, my very spiritual essence
Taken away by the world’s harshest lessons
Never turn your back on a hungry predator
When it comes to the past, you can’t be the editor
Dormant and dumb, that’s how you left me
I might as well be a package of fresh meat
CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?
VERSE 2
I let my guard down for the shortest of seconds
You were already waiting for me with your weapon
Sex and love became known as boots and blood
Of all the nights, this is my least romantic one
I want to vomit, but nothing is coming up
I want to cry, but my eyes are drying up
All that remain are flashbacks and numbness
How can anybody in their right mind love this?
CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?
VERSE 3
Disgust and distrust are all the same to me
I’ve learned to hate you to the highest degree
So much venom running deep in my veins
Knowing none of this could ever be the same
I think about slaying my demons every night
With brutal barbarism and a warrior’s might
But in the end, I’m back on the same page
Another day to continue this cycle of rage
CHORUS
The tears, the pain, they were all for nothing
When all I wanted was the smallest something
How can I rise from the smoldering ashes
When you dictate my fate like a fascist?
VERSE 4
Demons and predators both equal shit
They like to say, “You’ve asked for it!”
No honor among thieves of the heart and soul
Bury all the wasted pieces in a fiery hole
You disgust me, so do all who support you
The gentleman in me says to just report you
Gentleman I am not, only a vengeful madman
Who will leave you bloodied in the badlands
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
I Owe You Nothing
It didn’t matter how many times Tina Williamson replayed the incidents in her head, because they made less sense with every mental edit. What part about “No!” did John Link not understand? It was a two-letter word that even the most rudimentary English speakers could understand. Regardless of how many times she said it, John kept on asking her out on dates as if high school romance had become a war of attrition. At first it was just a simple series of requests. Then John started saying things like “You owe me!” and tugging on her clothing, almost enough to pull them off.
When these frightening thoughts prevented Tina from concentrating on school work, she decided enough was enough. Giving a D+ to a hardworking student like her was unjustifiable. She had to tell someone of John Link’s misdeeds. Why not start with her parents? That should have been a secure conversation to have. She couldn’t imagine going to the Principal with something like this, considering the school’s track record with handling student complaints.
As Tina gingerly walked home, her legs and arms shook not just because of the cold weather, but also because she didn’t know what the hell she was going to say. She stared through her thick-rimmed, fogged up glasses with dead emptiness. She stuffed her hands in her blue jeans pockets, but the denim wasn’t thick enough to protect against the cold. The black skull cap and pink sweater didn’t do much good either since she was still shaking. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone in her room with the heater blasting at maximum power. It would have been like a sweet Hawaiian breeze, the calm before the storm of knowing she eventually had to talk to her parents.
She finally made it to her house and fumbled with her keys. Her hands shook so badly that they fell out of her grip once she pulled them out of her pockets. It took her a while to get a good grasp while bending over, but once she did, she wasted no time in unlocking the door and being in the comfort of her…well, comfortable home. At least it was supposed to be comfortable.
Tina’s eyes widened with horror as she shut the door behind her. Her jaw was quivering and her teeth were chattering at the sight of John Link sitting on the living room couch with her parents, Kenny and Melissa Williamson. John, who wore his studded leather jacket and black jeans, had his arm around Melissa while the two of them plus Kenny laughed like a happy family should.
“Tina, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us about this handsome young boy?” said Melissa with a charming smile. “He was going on and on about how he’d love to have you as a date to the winter dance.”
“He’s a stud, Tina. He’ll take good care of you like a grown man should. Hell, I’d even call him husband material!” said Kenny as he ruffled John’s spiky blond hair.
The image of those three sitting together laughing, joking, and buttering each other up lit a fire in Tina’s belly. She threw her brown leather book bag on the plush chair opposite of the couch and folded her arms while giving John Link the gorgon death stare. “How many times do I have to tell you no? Are you deaf? Do you need a hearing aid? Or are you just plain stupid?”
“Tina, don’t be rude to your guest!” insisted Melissa.
“No, I’ve had it with this shit!” screamed Tina as she threw her arms by her side. “I’m tired of this Neanderthal coming around me thinking I owe him a fucking relationship! I’ve got news for you, dumb-ass! I owe you nothing! You’re not entitled to free sex! You’re entitled to get the hell out of my house before I call 9-1-1!”
John stood up and extended his arms in a “calm down” manner and said, “Hey, hey, hey! There’s no need for that, Tina. I just want to take you out and show you a good time. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I was just telling your folks here that it would be a great idea for us to get dinner at your favorite Italian place after we mingled at the winter dance. Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“Not nearly as much fun as watching you being dragged away in handcuffs!” screamed Tina.
The mock boyfriend hung his head and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. With a solemn attitude, he said, “Okay, okay. You’re absolutely right, Tina. You’ve said no to me for a long time now and I’m just too thickheaded to get the point. I’ll be on my way soon enough.” A beat of silence hung in the air and cold chills were building within the Williamson family. “But then again,” said John. “You’ve shown me disrespect just now and…and…I can’t let that slide!”
John pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket and put a bullet in Kenny’s leg. The old man dropped to the floor clutching his bloody wound and howling in agony while Melissa knelt beside him, also screaming like a demon. Tina’s eyes shot up as she held her hand to her mouth while watching this scene unfold. She tried to help her father, but John kept his gun trained on her and said, “Hey! Back off!”
Holding her hands in the air defensively, Tina said, “He needs help, John! He needs an ambulance!”
“For God’s sake, Tina! Why couldn’t you just say yes to the poor man!” yelled Kenny in between fits of pain.
“Your dad has a point there, sweet cheeks. All of this could have gone away if you just said one simple word. One word, three letters, one of them being a Y. That’s all you had to do. Instead…” John twisted his head around eccentrically and said, “You had to reject me and make me feel like a worthless piece of shit! Do you think I’m a piece of shit, Tina?! Huh?! Do you think you can label me like that?!”
John fired another bullet, this time into Melissa’s back, causing her to wail at her loudest. Tina wailed as well when she screamed, “Stop it! Leave them alone! They’re my family!”
“Now look what you’ve done, Tina! How could you do this to your mommy and daddy! We’ve worked so hard for you!” screamed Kenny before he went back to clutching his leg and grunting through his teeth.
And then Tina Williamson had a moment of clarity. Here was this maniac standing in her living room with a loaded pistol and her own parents were putting the blame on her for refusing John’s advances. Tina’s parents always had a conservative state of mind where women were subservient to men. But Tina never bought it for a minute. She was nobody’s slave. She was her own woman and she planned on keeping it that way. But with a pistol pointed at her face, her options were limited. Just one word could change it all.
“Yes.” Tina let that word hang in the air for a while so that it could resonate throughout the room. In a calm manner, she said, “You win, John. If you want to date me, you can. But first, there’s something I want from you.”
“You’re in no position to be making demands, lady! I’m the one with the gun! I give the orders!” screamed John.
“All I wanted was a kiss. Why can’t we start things over with just a nice kiss?” said Tina. Those words hung in the air as well. Every syllable could be felt by all in the form of blood chilling and temporary silence from screaming in agony.
A smile formed on John’s face when he said, “Okay, baby. That’s actually a good idea.” He lowered his weapon as the two of them came together in the center of the living room for what would be a passionate make-out session. It started with a peck on the lips. Then their tongues danced in each other’s mouths. And then once John’s tongue advanced passed Tina’s teeth, she bit down hard and amputated the oral organ.
John dropped his gun and held his rapidly bleeding mouth while shrieking in pain. He tried to swear, but there was too much blood and not enough tongue for words to be formed. It all sounded like a monster’s gargling. In the time it took John to sprawl across the ground and dribble blood on the carpet, Tina picked up the fallen gun and put a bullet into the sex offender’s head, causing Melissa and Kenny to squeal in fear and jump backwards a little bit, but not too far since they were still in god-awful pain.
Tina never fired a gun before in her life, yet she slew John Link like a professional assassin. Her arms were shaking, her eyes were teary, and she could barely stand up as she trembled.
“Tina…sweetie?” said Melissa in a soft voice. “Give me the gun and we’ll take care of this for you.” No answer.
“Come on, Tina, what are you waiting for? Give your mother the goddamn gun!” insisted Kenny.
In a sudden burst of volcanic anger, Tina pointed the gun at her parents and yelled, “You sold me up the fucking river with no paddle! Die, you motherfuckers! Die!” She unloaded the last remaining bullets on both of her parents, leaving the living room with three dead bodies and one sobbing girl.
Tina threw the empty gun aside and dropped to her knees, letting her sore red eyeballs drain onto what was left of the now bloodstained carpet. She could see it all unfold before her. It didn’t happen yet, but it was going to. Tina would be sentenced to life in prison, the newspapers would label her a psycho, her fellow classmates (male and female) would laugh at her, and it would all boil down to one stupid question that nobody should ask: “Why didn’t she just say yes?” The disgusting thoughts caused Tina to vomit heavily onto the carpet before laying down in her own mess and passing out. She knew the world was cruel to women, but she didn’t know how bad it had gotten until that day.
When these frightening thoughts prevented Tina from concentrating on school work, she decided enough was enough. Giving a D+ to a hardworking student like her was unjustifiable. She had to tell someone of John Link’s misdeeds. Why not start with her parents? That should have been a secure conversation to have. She couldn’t imagine going to the Principal with something like this, considering the school’s track record with handling student complaints.
As Tina gingerly walked home, her legs and arms shook not just because of the cold weather, but also because she didn’t know what the hell she was going to say. She stared through her thick-rimmed, fogged up glasses with dead emptiness. She stuffed her hands in her blue jeans pockets, but the denim wasn’t thick enough to protect against the cold. The black skull cap and pink sweater didn’t do much good either since she was still shaking. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone in her room with the heater blasting at maximum power. It would have been like a sweet Hawaiian breeze, the calm before the storm of knowing she eventually had to talk to her parents.
She finally made it to her house and fumbled with her keys. Her hands shook so badly that they fell out of her grip once she pulled them out of her pockets. It took her a while to get a good grasp while bending over, but once she did, she wasted no time in unlocking the door and being in the comfort of her…well, comfortable home. At least it was supposed to be comfortable.
Tina’s eyes widened with horror as she shut the door behind her. Her jaw was quivering and her teeth were chattering at the sight of John Link sitting on the living room couch with her parents, Kenny and Melissa Williamson. John, who wore his studded leather jacket and black jeans, had his arm around Melissa while the two of them plus Kenny laughed like a happy family should.
“Tina, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us about this handsome young boy?” said Melissa with a charming smile. “He was going on and on about how he’d love to have you as a date to the winter dance.”
“He’s a stud, Tina. He’ll take good care of you like a grown man should. Hell, I’d even call him husband material!” said Kenny as he ruffled John’s spiky blond hair.
The image of those three sitting together laughing, joking, and buttering each other up lit a fire in Tina’s belly. She threw her brown leather book bag on the plush chair opposite of the couch and folded her arms while giving John Link the gorgon death stare. “How many times do I have to tell you no? Are you deaf? Do you need a hearing aid? Or are you just plain stupid?”
“Tina, don’t be rude to your guest!” insisted Melissa.
“No, I’ve had it with this shit!” screamed Tina as she threw her arms by her side. “I’m tired of this Neanderthal coming around me thinking I owe him a fucking relationship! I’ve got news for you, dumb-ass! I owe you nothing! You’re not entitled to free sex! You’re entitled to get the hell out of my house before I call 9-1-1!”
John stood up and extended his arms in a “calm down” manner and said, “Hey, hey, hey! There’s no need for that, Tina. I just want to take you out and show you a good time. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I was just telling your folks here that it would be a great idea for us to get dinner at your favorite Italian place after we mingled at the winter dance. Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“Not nearly as much fun as watching you being dragged away in handcuffs!” screamed Tina.
The mock boyfriend hung his head and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. With a solemn attitude, he said, “Okay, okay. You’re absolutely right, Tina. You’ve said no to me for a long time now and I’m just too thickheaded to get the point. I’ll be on my way soon enough.” A beat of silence hung in the air and cold chills were building within the Williamson family. “But then again,” said John. “You’ve shown me disrespect just now and…and…I can’t let that slide!”
John pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket and put a bullet in Kenny’s leg. The old man dropped to the floor clutching his bloody wound and howling in agony while Melissa knelt beside him, also screaming like a demon. Tina’s eyes shot up as she held her hand to her mouth while watching this scene unfold. She tried to help her father, but John kept his gun trained on her and said, “Hey! Back off!”
Holding her hands in the air defensively, Tina said, “He needs help, John! He needs an ambulance!”
“For God’s sake, Tina! Why couldn’t you just say yes to the poor man!” yelled Kenny in between fits of pain.
“Your dad has a point there, sweet cheeks. All of this could have gone away if you just said one simple word. One word, three letters, one of them being a Y. That’s all you had to do. Instead…” John twisted his head around eccentrically and said, “You had to reject me and make me feel like a worthless piece of shit! Do you think I’m a piece of shit, Tina?! Huh?! Do you think you can label me like that?!”
John fired another bullet, this time into Melissa’s back, causing her to wail at her loudest. Tina wailed as well when she screamed, “Stop it! Leave them alone! They’re my family!”
“Now look what you’ve done, Tina! How could you do this to your mommy and daddy! We’ve worked so hard for you!” screamed Kenny before he went back to clutching his leg and grunting through his teeth.
And then Tina Williamson had a moment of clarity. Here was this maniac standing in her living room with a loaded pistol and her own parents were putting the blame on her for refusing John’s advances. Tina’s parents always had a conservative state of mind where women were subservient to men. But Tina never bought it for a minute. She was nobody’s slave. She was her own woman and she planned on keeping it that way. But with a pistol pointed at her face, her options were limited. Just one word could change it all.
“Yes.” Tina let that word hang in the air for a while so that it could resonate throughout the room. In a calm manner, she said, “You win, John. If you want to date me, you can. But first, there’s something I want from you.”
“You’re in no position to be making demands, lady! I’m the one with the gun! I give the orders!” screamed John.
“All I wanted was a kiss. Why can’t we start things over with just a nice kiss?” said Tina. Those words hung in the air as well. Every syllable could be felt by all in the form of blood chilling and temporary silence from screaming in agony.
A smile formed on John’s face when he said, “Okay, baby. That’s actually a good idea.” He lowered his weapon as the two of them came together in the center of the living room for what would be a passionate make-out session. It started with a peck on the lips. Then their tongues danced in each other’s mouths. And then once John’s tongue advanced passed Tina’s teeth, she bit down hard and amputated the oral organ.
John dropped his gun and held his rapidly bleeding mouth while shrieking in pain. He tried to swear, but there was too much blood and not enough tongue for words to be formed. It all sounded like a monster’s gargling. In the time it took John to sprawl across the ground and dribble blood on the carpet, Tina picked up the fallen gun and put a bullet into the sex offender’s head, causing Melissa and Kenny to squeal in fear and jump backwards a little bit, but not too far since they were still in god-awful pain.
Tina never fired a gun before in her life, yet she slew John Link like a professional assassin. Her arms were shaking, her eyes were teary, and she could barely stand up as she trembled.
“Tina…sweetie?” said Melissa in a soft voice. “Give me the gun and we’ll take care of this for you.” No answer.
“Come on, Tina, what are you waiting for? Give your mother the goddamn gun!” insisted Kenny.
In a sudden burst of volcanic anger, Tina pointed the gun at her parents and yelled, “You sold me up the fucking river with no paddle! Die, you motherfuckers! Die!” She unloaded the last remaining bullets on both of her parents, leaving the living room with three dead bodies and one sobbing girl.
Tina threw the empty gun aside and dropped to her knees, letting her sore red eyeballs drain onto what was left of the now bloodstained carpet. She could see it all unfold before her. It didn’t happen yet, but it was going to. Tina would be sentenced to life in prison, the newspapers would label her a psycho, her fellow classmates (male and female) would laugh at her, and it would all boil down to one stupid question that nobody should ask: “Why didn’t she just say yes?” The disgusting thoughts caused Tina to vomit heavily onto the carpet before laying down in her own mess and passing out. She knew the world was cruel to women, but she didn’t know how bad it had gotten until that day.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Scary Masks
***SCARY MASKS***
If you go to my Face Book page (which is under my real name Garrison Haines-Temons), you will see that my profile picture is me wearing Corey Taylor’s Slipknot mask. I wore a different Slipknot mask on Halloween, but the scariness was the same as evidenced by little children crying, screaming, and parting from my walking path like the Red Sea. Scaring the shit out of everyone around me is fun because I already get enough grief for being socially awkward, so why not go the full nine when it comes to traumatizing people? Why does Halloween terror only get to happen once a year? This journal will document some of my favorite creepy masks throughout history and maybe give you all ideas for scaring the shit out of people on October 31st. Starting with…
***SLIPKNOT HORROR MOVIE MASKS***
If you wear one of these masks, you’re a part of something special. You open your ears to the grinding vocals of Corey Taylor and the thrashing heavy metal music the rest of Slipknot brings. Although the music comes off as angry, energetic, and devilish, the people of this band would never inflict harm on another human being. The violent fantasies are just that: fantasies. Each mask comes from classic horror cinema and was designed to carry out the legacy of psychological torture. Corey Taylor’s most recent mask comes from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Mick Thomson’s mask is a modification of Hannibal Lecter’s hockey mask. Shawn Crahan’s clown mask is based off of Stephen King’s horrifying monster Pennywise. Though his name escapes me, the guy who wears the gimp mask with the long leather nose drew inspiration from Alex’s mask from A Clockwork Orange during the rape scene. If you’re not chilled to your core, you were dead from pants-pissing fright a long time ago, my friend. Then again, that’s how most close-minded folks meet their fate.
***PINK FLOYD THE WALL PUTTY FACES***
If you wear this kind of mask, you’ve lost so much of your individuality that you blend in with the rest of the crowd. A flesh-colored mask with two large holes for the eyes and one large hole for the mouth, that might as well be your driver’s license photo. But you didn’t give up on your individuality without a fight. It had to be taken from you via negative reinforcement, which came in the form of coercion, violence, or most common, insults. When someone insults a part of your life, the insulting words leech onto that part of your mind like parasites. Try as you might to derive pleasure from that part of your life, all you’ll get is a playback of those negative words, so you avoid it as much as possible. And when you avoid it, you avoid other things that give you pleasure and hope until you no longer have a face of your own. Fighting for your individuality has become more important now than it ever has been with the emergence of the millennial generation, a group of youngsters who follow their own paths to success and prefer creative expression over dull corporate politics.
***PHANTO FROM SUPER MARIO BROTHERS 2***
You don’t have to worry about having this creepy visage on your face, because Phanto is a sentient being. Two downward curved eyeholes followed by a wide grin, Phanto has one job in Super Mario Brothers 2: to guard the golden key and punish those who take it with intimidation and incessant ramming. Not all Phanto masks have this assignment. Some of them are hanging on the walls of whatever dungeon Mario is in just for a frightening ambience. The hallway leading to King Wart and his vegetable machine is lined with a row of dormant Phanto masks. They won’t hurt you physically, but mentally, you’re on high alert even after King Wart is nauseous from being force-fed vegetables. Looking into those pitch black eyes and knowing you’re being smiled at is enough to give most Nintendo-playing millennials lifelong nightmares. If Phanto’s mouth was capable of forming words, what would he say to you? “Run!”
***HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD GANGSTER MASKS***
If you’re wearing one of these masks, you know the struggles of the originators of these visages. Hollywood Undead is a rap rock band who in their words have nearly died for the music they made. Hollywood isn’t exactly the safest place on earth with its history of gang violence, police corruption, and influx of dangerous drugs. To be a member of Hollywood Undead means you’ve survived these mean streets and you live to tell your tales through rapping lyrics and heavy metal instrumentation. You played a million empty shows to only family and friends, but the minute My Space discovered you, your popularity took off and your scary visages are recognizable from miles away. Keep on rhyming, boys. Keep on head banging. If anybody wants to deliver their negative hate to you, let them know just what it’s like to survive California’s toughest neighborhoods. Most trolls would crap their pants at such visuals, as if the masks aren’t scary enough.
***OCCUPY WALL STREET’S GUY FAWKES MASKS***
Every Guy Fawkes mask is identical with the curved moustache, soul patch beard, and debonair face. But make no mistake about it: you didn’t lose your individuality by joining this movement. You joined it because you’re sick of the top one-percent trying to strip you of everything you love. You ask for “free shit” because getting it with today’s wages would be impossible with bills and screw jobs serving as obstacles. Though vocal you may be, you still are capable of the same amount of peace and serenity as any other legitimate protester. But the corrupt police department doesn’t always know this. If they see you with a Guy Fawkes mask, they will not hesitate to beat and pummel you while pinning false charges and making false arrests. The one-percent think they’ve won after such a bloody battle with authority. But they haven’t. They’re merely proving a point we’ve known all along and the Guy Fawkes clan is here to spread that awareness worldwide. Those who listen to you will feel empowered. Those who don’t will feel unjustifiably safe.
***THE WYATT FAMILY’S SHEEP MASKS***
Unlike the members of Slipknot, the WWE’s backwoods cult known as The Wyatt Family enjoy the opportunity to bring violence and hatred to every battle with other WWE superstars. It’s not enough that Erick Rowan (the white sheep) and Braun Strowman (the black sheep) are nearly seven feet tall and weigh in excess of 300 lbs. of muscle and murder. They also have to wear creepy-looking animal masks that do little more than solidify their loyalty to not only their brother Luke Harper, but their leader Bray Wyatt. Very few people have waged war with the Wyatts and emerged survivors, let alone victorious. These men are huge, they have scraggly beards, they stink like a swamp, and two of their members feel the need to wear sheep masks. If they carried sickles, chainsaws, and knives to the ring with them, they would complete their serial killer images. When Bray Wyatt tells you to “Run!”, that’s the wisest advice anybody can give you. Stretch your legs, get your cardio in, because it’s going to be the longest and most exhausting marathon you’ll be a part of.
***CONCLUSION***
If somebody calls you a coward for “hiding behind” one of these masks, just allow them to get a better look at you and then we’ll see who’s shitting their pants at the end of the confrontation. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
A new week is already here, which means a new prompt has been released. This time we’re dealing with the topic of “homecomings”, which is good news for me because I happen to have a synopsis ready for such an occasion. My story will be called “I Owe You Nothing” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
John Link, Sexual Harasser
Tina Williamson, Victim
Kenny Williamson, Tina’s Father
Melissa Williamson, Tina’s Mother
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The story begins with Tina returning home from school.
SYNOPSIS: Prior to the events of this story, John had repeatedly asked Tina out on dates during school time and Tina’s answer was always a definitive no. Fast forward to the actual story and Tina comes home from school to see John in the living room chatting with her parents and buttering them up. Tina continues to resist John’s advances despite coercion from him, Kenny, and Melissa. The situation reaches its boiling point when John pulls a gun out of his coat pocket and demands a yes answer at the threat of Tina being shot.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Danielle Courtney’s drawing yielded some…interesting results, particularly those of Marilyn Manson comparisons. I can’t say they’re wrong. Hehe! This next drawing will be different because the character is actually supposed to look manly. He’s a human necromancer named Angelo Rude and he’s the lead villain of a short story that used to be called “conform”, but is now called “Dead Man Walking”. Dance, skeletons! Dance!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“If you’re 555, then I’m 666!”
-Slipknot singing “The Heretic Anthem”-
If you go to my Face Book page (which is under my real name Garrison Haines-Temons), you will see that my profile picture is me wearing Corey Taylor’s Slipknot mask. I wore a different Slipknot mask on Halloween, but the scariness was the same as evidenced by little children crying, screaming, and parting from my walking path like the Red Sea. Scaring the shit out of everyone around me is fun because I already get enough grief for being socially awkward, so why not go the full nine when it comes to traumatizing people? Why does Halloween terror only get to happen once a year? This journal will document some of my favorite creepy masks throughout history and maybe give you all ideas for scaring the shit out of people on October 31st. Starting with…
***SLIPKNOT HORROR MOVIE MASKS***
If you wear one of these masks, you’re a part of something special. You open your ears to the grinding vocals of Corey Taylor and the thrashing heavy metal music the rest of Slipknot brings. Although the music comes off as angry, energetic, and devilish, the people of this band would never inflict harm on another human being. The violent fantasies are just that: fantasies. Each mask comes from classic horror cinema and was designed to carry out the legacy of psychological torture. Corey Taylor’s most recent mask comes from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Mick Thomson’s mask is a modification of Hannibal Lecter’s hockey mask. Shawn Crahan’s clown mask is based off of Stephen King’s horrifying monster Pennywise. Though his name escapes me, the guy who wears the gimp mask with the long leather nose drew inspiration from Alex’s mask from A Clockwork Orange during the rape scene. If you’re not chilled to your core, you were dead from pants-pissing fright a long time ago, my friend. Then again, that’s how most close-minded folks meet their fate.
***PINK FLOYD THE WALL PUTTY FACES***
If you wear this kind of mask, you’ve lost so much of your individuality that you blend in with the rest of the crowd. A flesh-colored mask with two large holes for the eyes and one large hole for the mouth, that might as well be your driver’s license photo. But you didn’t give up on your individuality without a fight. It had to be taken from you via negative reinforcement, which came in the form of coercion, violence, or most common, insults. When someone insults a part of your life, the insulting words leech onto that part of your mind like parasites. Try as you might to derive pleasure from that part of your life, all you’ll get is a playback of those negative words, so you avoid it as much as possible. And when you avoid it, you avoid other things that give you pleasure and hope until you no longer have a face of your own. Fighting for your individuality has become more important now than it ever has been with the emergence of the millennial generation, a group of youngsters who follow their own paths to success and prefer creative expression over dull corporate politics.
***PHANTO FROM SUPER MARIO BROTHERS 2***
You don’t have to worry about having this creepy visage on your face, because Phanto is a sentient being. Two downward curved eyeholes followed by a wide grin, Phanto has one job in Super Mario Brothers 2: to guard the golden key and punish those who take it with intimidation and incessant ramming. Not all Phanto masks have this assignment. Some of them are hanging on the walls of whatever dungeon Mario is in just for a frightening ambience. The hallway leading to King Wart and his vegetable machine is lined with a row of dormant Phanto masks. They won’t hurt you physically, but mentally, you’re on high alert even after King Wart is nauseous from being force-fed vegetables. Looking into those pitch black eyes and knowing you’re being smiled at is enough to give most Nintendo-playing millennials lifelong nightmares. If Phanto’s mouth was capable of forming words, what would he say to you? “Run!”
***HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD GANGSTER MASKS***
If you’re wearing one of these masks, you know the struggles of the originators of these visages. Hollywood Undead is a rap rock band who in their words have nearly died for the music they made. Hollywood isn’t exactly the safest place on earth with its history of gang violence, police corruption, and influx of dangerous drugs. To be a member of Hollywood Undead means you’ve survived these mean streets and you live to tell your tales through rapping lyrics and heavy metal instrumentation. You played a million empty shows to only family and friends, but the minute My Space discovered you, your popularity took off and your scary visages are recognizable from miles away. Keep on rhyming, boys. Keep on head banging. If anybody wants to deliver their negative hate to you, let them know just what it’s like to survive California’s toughest neighborhoods. Most trolls would crap their pants at such visuals, as if the masks aren’t scary enough.
***OCCUPY WALL STREET’S GUY FAWKES MASKS***
Every Guy Fawkes mask is identical with the curved moustache, soul patch beard, and debonair face. But make no mistake about it: you didn’t lose your individuality by joining this movement. You joined it because you’re sick of the top one-percent trying to strip you of everything you love. You ask for “free shit” because getting it with today’s wages would be impossible with bills and screw jobs serving as obstacles. Though vocal you may be, you still are capable of the same amount of peace and serenity as any other legitimate protester. But the corrupt police department doesn’t always know this. If they see you with a Guy Fawkes mask, they will not hesitate to beat and pummel you while pinning false charges and making false arrests. The one-percent think they’ve won after such a bloody battle with authority. But they haven’t. They’re merely proving a point we’ve known all along and the Guy Fawkes clan is here to spread that awareness worldwide. Those who listen to you will feel empowered. Those who don’t will feel unjustifiably safe.
***THE WYATT FAMILY’S SHEEP MASKS***
Unlike the members of Slipknot, the WWE’s backwoods cult known as The Wyatt Family enjoy the opportunity to bring violence and hatred to every battle with other WWE superstars. It’s not enough that Erick Rowan (the white sheep) and Braun Strowman (the black sheep) are nearly seven feet tall and weigh in excess of 300 lbs. of muscle and murder. They also have to wear creepy-looking animal masks that do little more than solidify their loyalty to not only their brother Luke Harper, but their leader Bray Wyatt. Very few people have waged war with the Wyatts and emerged survivors, let alone victorious. These men are huge, they have scraggly beards, they stink like a swamp, and two of their members feel the need to wear sheep masks. If they carried sickles, chainsaws, and knives to the ring with them, they would complete their serial killer images. When Bray Wyatt tells you to “Run!”, that’s the wisest advice anybody can give you. Stretch your legs, get your cardio in, because it’s going to be the longest and most exhausting marathon you’ll be a part of.
***CONCLUSION***
If somebody calls you a coward for “hiding behind” one of these masks, just allow them to get a better look at you and then we’ll see who’s shitting their pants at the end of the confrontation. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
A new week is already here, which means a new prompt has been released. This time we’re dealing with the topic of “homecomings”, which is good news for me because I happen to have a synopsis ready for such an occasion. My story will be called “I Owe You Nothing” and it goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
John Link, Sexual Harasser
Tina Williamson, Victim
Kenny Williamson, Tina’s Father
Melissa Williamson, Tina’s Mother
PROMPT CONFORMITY: The story begins with Tina returning home from school.
SYNOPSIS: Prior to the events of this story, John had repeatedly asked Tina out on dates during school time and Tina’s answer was always a definitive no. Fast forward to the actual story and Tina comes home from school to see John in the living room chatting with her parents and buttering them up. Tina continues to resist John’s advances despite coercion from him, Kenny, and Melissa. The situation reaches its boiling point when John pulls a gun out of his coat pocket and demands a yes answer at the threat of Tina being shot.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Danielle Courtney’s drawing yielded some…interesting results, particularly those of Marilyn Manson comparisons. I can’t say they’re wrong. Hehe! This next drawing will be different because the character is actually supposed to look manly. He’s a human necromancer named Angelo Rude and he’s the lead villain of a short story that used to be called “conform”, but is now called “Dead Man Walking”. Dance, skeletons! Dance!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“If you’re 555, then I’m 666!”
-Slipknot singing “The Heretic Anthem”-
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Sunday School
VERSE 1
Masturbating doesn’t make you a sinner
Jumping for Jesus doesn’t make you a winner
Having a wife doesn’t guarantee dinner
You were told otherwise by the holy swindlers
It’s all a distraction from the bigger picture
The altar boy with his finger on the trigger
The barrel pointed to his sweating forehead
The only way he could learn how to forget
CHORUS
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
VERSE 2
Bend his little body over the holy altar
Make him scream in pain, make him holler
To you it’s just business, not worth a bother
Just drown him in the river, the Baptist water
Your deadly sins tend to go unnoticed
The police do nothing, though they know this
A transfer request to a different church
You can do it all again, except much worse
EXTENDED CHORUS 1
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
We’re not singing in the choir!
We’re picking up the phone!
We’re going to tell anyone who will listen!
Something they’ve already known!
VERSE 3
Heaven doesn’t want you, neither does hell
Neither does the chime of the funeral bells
Neither does the water of the holy wells
Nobody is buying the things that you sell
We know it’s bullshit, we don’t say it enough
What you did to that boy was far from love
Tell us the truth, we don’t scare so easy
Though the news makes us feel queasy
EXTENDED CHORUS 2
We’re not going to the mega church!
We’re protesting outside!
We’re not going on your private jet!
We’re forming a line!
We’re not going on your holy mission!
We’re turning the tide!
Keep your hands off our fucking bodies!
I’ll see you on the dark side!
Masturbating doesn’t make you a sinner
Jumping for Jesus doesn’t make you a winner
Having a wife doesn’t guarantee dinner
You were told otherwise by the holy swindlers
It’s all a distraction from the bigger picture
The altar boy with his finger on the trigger
The barrel pointed to his sweating forehead
The only way he could learn how to forget
CHORUS
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
VERSE 2
Bend his little body over the holy altar
Make him scream in pain, make him holler
To you it’s just business, not worth a bother
Just drown him in the river, the Baptist water
Your deadly sins tend to go unnoticed
The police do nothing, though they know this
A transfer request to a different church
You can do it all again, except much worse
EXTENDED CHORUS 1
We’re not going to Sunday School!
We’re staying home!
We’re not joining the congregation!
We’re doing this alone!
We’re not singing in the choir!
We’re picking up the phone!
We’re going to tell anyone who will listen!
Something they’ve already known!
VERSE 3
Heaven doesn’t want you, neither does hell
Neither does the chime of the funeral bells
Neither does the water of the holy wells
Nobody is buying the things that you sell
We know it’s bullshit, we don’t say it enough
What you did to that boy was far from love
Tell us the truth, we don’t scare so easy
Though the news makes us feel queasy
EXTENDED CHORUS 2
We’re not going to the mega church!
We’re protesting outside!
We’re not going on your private jet!
We’re forming a line!
We’re not going on your holy mission!
We’re turning the tide!
Keep your hands off our fucking bodies!
I’ll see you on the dark side!
Ancient Spirits of Evil
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 1
Death and decay is what they bring
To every hunk of land and living thing
In eternal pain and suffering we scream
Nightmare fuel for an innocent dream
Man, woman, child, it means nothing
To ancient spirits not known for loving
Lightning and shadows is their currency
The world is theirs for all damn eternity
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 2
They harvest the souls of those in power
Rain down on the poor with a fiery shower
Playing politics like it’s a game of D&D
Ripping the land from under you and me
This shit has continued for many centuries
Yet we look at each other like brutal enemies
What the fuck is happening to our dying world?
When will the ancient ones’ flags unfurl?
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 3
The ghosts of this earth will never rest
We constantly put this planet to the test
Smog, war, hunger, it’s all the same
This is what it takes to make us tame
Digging in the dumpster for a peach pit
Climbing to the top, you’ll never reach it
History teaches us that we never learn
Ancient spirits of evil watch us all burn
HOOK
This isn’t something you can teach at college
Nobody else gives a damn about knowledge
Wisdom has always been in short supply
We’re left to the vultures to feast and fly
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 1
Death and decay is what they bring
To every hunk of land and living thing
In eternal pain and suffering we scream
Nightmare fuel for an innocent dream
Man, woman, child, it means nothing
To ancient spirits not known for loving
Lightning and shadows is their currency
The world is theirs for all damn eternity
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 2
They harvest the souls of those in power
Rain down on the poor with a fiery shower
Playing politics like it’s a game of D&D
Ripping the land from under you and me
This shit has continued for many centuries
Yet we look at each other like brutal enemies
What the fuck is happening to our dying world?
When will the ancient ones’ flags unfurl?
CHORUS
Ancient spirits of evil!
Souls of skeletal people!
This earth will not heal!
It’s all of theirs to steal!
VERSE 3
The ghosts of this earth will never rest
We constantly put this planet to the test
Smog, war, hunger, it’s all the same
This is what it takes to make us tame
Digging in the dumpster for a peach pit
Climbing to the top, you’ll never reach it
History teaches us that we never learn
Ancient spirits of evil watch us all burn
HOOK
This isn’t something you can teach at college
Nobody else gives a damn about knowledge
Wisdom has always been in short supply
We’re left to the vultures to feast and fly
Self-Pressure
***SELF-PRESSURE***
Dr. Phil McGraw may be full of shit most of the time, but he at least has one thing right: the words we tell ourselves are so powerful that we blindly believe them. If you’re sending yourself negative messages, you’re going to feel sad and angry. If you’re sending yourself positive messages, your self-esteem will be a lot higher.
The same thing goes for the kind of pressure we put on ourselves in order to be successful. Some people do well under such pressure, others crack. When you’re putting the weight of the world on your shoulders, successes and failures become that much more amplified in the way they feel emotionally. But sometimes we put so much pressure on ourselves that no amount of success will satisfy us.
As artists, being unsatisfied with success is a way of life for us. We don’t like to rest on our laurels and that’s a good thing. The creative urge takes over and we continually make more and more pieces of art. But what about our “off” days? What happens when circumstances prevent us from doing our best or doing anything at all? Then the pressure we put on ourselves gives way to negativity and we feel awful about that day. It doesn’t matter what those circumstances are, because in our minds, there are no excuses.
Athletes feel this way all the time since they’re constantly put in pressure cooker situations. In his second match in the UFC, Conor McGregor put on a martial arts clinic against fellow upstart Max Holloway. Although Conor won the match by unanimous decision, he was pissed off with himself because he wanted to win either by knockout or submission. He doesn’t even care how good the match was; he still wanted to win convincingly instead of leaving things in the judges’ hands. He put the weight of the world on his shoulders and it crushed him.
I also put a lot of pressure on myself as many of you know by now. Some days, I’m a working stiff who can put out a short story, a blog entry, a WWE match review, and a drawing all in one day well still being able to read 30 pages of whatever novel I’m on. On those days, I feel high as a kite and nothing can take my big ass down. And then there are those “off” days where I get either so little done or nothing at all done. At the end of those days, I feel empty inside and it’s an awful feeling. Hell, there have been days when I wrote a short story for the WSS and it was the best damn thing I’ve written so far. Yet, I still feel like shit because I don’t feel like it’s enough.
My reasons for putting this much pressure on myself are simple. I’m unemployed and have no social life, which means I have all the time in the world to work on my creative projects. There are people out there who are employed fulltime and go to work anyways even during their “off” days. I feel like I have to constantly prove to myself that I’m just as hardworking as those who have jobs as pay taxes. I don’t know why, but I constantly do. When I go through just one day, one single day, of lazing around, the pressure I put on myself turns me into coal dust instead of a diamond in the rough.
Is self-pressure a good motivator or is it just a way to make people feel like shit? It all depends on how well you work under pressure. Some people achieve great things when the weight of the world is crashing down on them. Some people don’t and they panic easily. Because I’m an autistic schizophrenic introvert, I have increased sensitivity to all stimuli, including the kind I inflict on myself. When the pressure caves down on me, I feel horrible. So maybe it’s a good idea for me to ease some of the self-pressure and be a happy guy no matter what happens.
Anybody can miss one day of creative work. And when you do force yourself to work under extreme conditions, you don’t always put out the best product possible. If anything, these one day breaks of mine are ways to recover mentally so that when I’m ready, I can put out 110% effort and give an A+ performance. Teachers always advise students to get good nutrition and have a regular exercise routine. You know why? Because teachers want their students to have as many “on” days as possible and the only way to do that is by being healthy and getting enough sleep.
So what do you guys think of all of this? Do you put an overwhelming amount of pressure on yourselves as well? If so, do you become a diamond or coal dust? Do you believe alleviating some of this pressure will help you? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***MUSIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
“Some may call it a curse, a life like mine. But others, a blessing. It’s certainly a lonely life, but a fulfilling one and the best. It’s my cross to bear and I’ll bear it gladly. Someone has to take a stand against evil. Why should it not be me?”
-Mother Maiden from the Within Temptation song “Why Not Me?”-
Dr. Phil McGraw may be full of shit most of the time, but he at least has one thing right: the words we tell ourselves are so powerful that we blindly believe them. If you’re sending yourself negative messages, you’re going to feel sad and angry. If you’re sending yourself positive messages, your self-esteem will be a lot higher.
The same thing goes for the kind of pressure we put on ourselves in order to be successful. Some people do well under such pressure, others crack. When you’re putting the weight of the world on your shoulders, successes and failures become that much more amplified in the way they feel emotionally. But sometimes we put so much pressure on ourselves that no amount of success will satisfy us.
As artists, being unsatisfied with success is a way of life for us. We don’t like to rest on our laurels and that’s a good thing. The creative urge takes over and we continually make more and more pieces of art. But what about our “off” days? What happens when circumstances prevent us from doing our best or doing anything at all? Then the pressure we put on ourselves gives way to negativity and we feel awful about that day. It doesn’t matter what those circumstances are, because in our minds, there are no excuses.
Athletes feel this way all the time since they’re constantly put in pressure cooker situations. In his second match in the UFC, Conor McGregor put on a martial arts clinic against fellow upstart Max Holloway. Although Conor won the match by unanimous decision, he was pissed off with himself because he wanted to win either by knockout or submission. He doesn’t even care how good the match was; he still wanted to win convincingly instead of leaving things in the judges’ hands. He put the weight of the world on his shoulders and it crushed him.
I also put a lot of pressure on myself as many of you know by now. Some days, I’m a working stiff who can put out a short story, a blog entry, a WWE match review, and a drawing all in one day well still being able to read 30 pages of whatever novel I’m on. On those days, I feel high as a kite and nothing can take my big ass down. And then there are those “off” days where I get either so little done or nothing at all done. At the end of those days, I feel empty inside and it’s an awful feeling. Hell, there have been days when I wrote a short story for the WSS and it was the best damn thing I’ve written so far. Yet, I still feel like shit because I don’t feel like it’s enough.
My reasons for putting this much pressure on myself are simple. I’m unemployed and have no social life, which means I have all the time in the world to work on my creative projects. There are people out there who are employed fulltime and go to work anyways even during their “off” days. I feel like I have to constantly prove to myself that I’m just as hardworking as those who have jobs as pay taxes. I don’t know why, but I constantly do. When I go through just one day, one single day, of lazing around, the pressure I put on myself turns me into coal dust instead of a diamond in the rough.
Is self-pressure a good motivator or is it just a way to make people feel like shit? It all depends on how well you work under pressure. Some people achieve great things when the weight of the world is crashing down on them. Some people don’t and they panic easily. Because I’m an autistic schizophrenic introvert, I have increased sensitivity to all stimuli, including the kind I inflict on myself. When the pressure caves down on me, I feel horrible. So maybe it’s a good idea for me to ease some of the self-pressure and be a happy guy no matter what happens.
Anybody can miss one day of creative work. And when you do force yourself to work under extreme conditions, you don’t always put out the best product possible. If anything, these one day breaks of mine are ways to recover mentally so that when I’m ready, I can put out 110% effort and give an A+ performance. Teachers always advise students to get good nutrition and have a regular exercise routine. You know why? Because teachers want their students to have as many “on” days as possible and the only way to do that is by being healthy and getting enough sleep.
So what do you guys think of all of this? Do you put an overwhelming amount of pressure on yourselves as well? If so, do you become a diamond or coal dust? Do you believe alleviating some of this pressure will help you? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***MUSIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
“Some may call it a curse, a life like mine. But others, a blessing. It’s certainly a lonely life, but a fulfilling one and the best. It’s my cross to bear and I’ll bear it gladly. Someone has to take a stand against evil. Why should it not be me?”
-Mother Maiden from the Within Temptation song “Why Not Me?”-
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Happy Meal
“Going to McDonald’s to eat a salad is like going to a prostitute for a hug.” CJ Blake giggled when she saw that Face Book meme on her smart phone. Judging from her hunched posture and droopy expression, however, that would be the only moment of happiness she had in a long period of time. She dredged into McDonald’s looking like someone had killed her puppy-duppy. Her blond hair was disheveled, her frail hands were stuffed in her black hoodie pockets, and her blue jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed in days.
When Miss Blake surveyed the restaurant with her bloodshot eyes, she found that except for the clerks and Ronald McDonald mascot, she was all alone for the evening. Given her circumstances, being alone was both a positive and a negative. She would have her meal all to herself, but no cute guy to share it with.
The clerk at the counter, Leon Tobin, didn’t look any better when it came to being stressed out by depression. The only reason his lanky figure was upright was because such posture was necessary for looking superior in an argument. His furrowed brows and quick movements on the register gave away more of his angry attitude.
“Welcome to McDonald’s, ma’am. What can I get started for you?” asked Leon in a professional, yet bothered tone. His fingers on the cash register were going to blitz and scramble once this order was taken.
Without looking at the menu above, CJ Blake knew exactly what she wanted: “Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, a Twenty-Piece McNugget with no sauce, a large vanilla shake, and a large coke?”
The only reason Leon hesitated when punching the numbers in the register was out of surprise that a cute girl would order such a big meal and ruin her lovely figure. The moment of hesitation was brief and the total was otherwise quickly added up. “That’ll be nineteen dollars even.”
CJ languidly fiddled around in her hoodie pockets and paid Leon with a twenty dollar bill, thus receiving one dollar in change. Without even waiting for the clerk to give her the order number, CJ dragged herself over to a nearby table and hung her head low. A small tear formed in her eye and dropped onto the table to create a tiny splash.
After giving the cooks CJ’s order, Leon stood behind the counter with his arms folded and watched his only customer with concern. He knew the personal affairs of his clientele were none of his damn business, so going over to ask what was wrong was out of the question. Besides, he had enough problems of his own that evening to be getting personally involved. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Watching CJ wallow in her depressive state made his heart ache on the inside. Either that or Leon’s dinner wasn’t sitting well with him.
Miss Blake continued to sit at her table with her head slouched over and her energy low. She probably wouldn’t have noticed if her food was ready. Garrett Fox dressed as Ronald McDonald, on the other hand, caused her to jump back and gasp. Garrett said, “Hey there, little girl!” in a deep, goofy voice. “You don’t have to be sour! Your meal is coming up soon and you’re going to have a wonderful time! If you want to order anything else…”
“Get the fuck away from me before I punch that silly red nose of yours through your goddamn skull,” said CJ in her usual languid voice.
“You heard her, Garrett. She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Take five,” said Leon, still with his arms folded behind the counter.
Garrett Fox’s eyes danced back and forth between CJ and Leon, not knowing where to go at first. He then took off his Ronald mask to reveal shaggy brown hair and a lion’s mane underneath before stomping over to Leon to angrily whisper, “What the hell are you doing?! We’re supposed to be selling her as much food as possible and you’re getting in my way again!”
“Her order was nineteen dollars even. She doesn’t need any more of this processed crap.”
With his arms flailing like a cartoon character, Garrett said, “Are you kidding me right now? Where’s your spirit? The only way we’re going to stay in business is by being enthusiastic about it. Smile, damn it! Have some fun!”
“Fun?!” said Leon with a raised voice. “You think this is fun for me?! You think taking orders from snotty people gives me pleasure?! Shit, man, I could go on forever about the screaming old people and the bratty teenagers who wouldn’t leave me alone for just one minute! That’s it! I can’t do this anymore!”
Garrett placed both of his gloved hands on either side of Leon’s face and said, “Think of your baby son, Leon! What’s he going to do if he finds out that daddy’s a quitter?!”
Leon swatted Garrett’s hands away, pointed a finger at him, and yelled, “Don’t you ever mention my family again, you son of a bitch! You know nothing about them!”
The two McDonald’s employees shoved and wrestled with each other over the counter with the other workers seemingly ignorant to what was going on out there. The last person expected to care, CJ Blake, suddenly stood up from the table and shouted, “Stop it! Stop this shit right now!”
Leon Tobin and Garrett Fox stopped their countertop roughhousing and gave CJ their wide-eyed attention. She screamed, “I came here to McDonald’s to get away from the fighting, not to watch more of it! You guys think you had it rough? Try getting in a nasty breakup with your lover! I’m talking about a really nasty breakup!”
To prove her point, CJ pulled her right hand out of her pocket and revealed red knuckles and pink scrapes. “Holy shit!” said Garrett.
“Yeah, you’re damn right that hurts! What hurts even more is the fact that every one of my family and friends keeps giving me the ‘I told you so!’ speech! I told you so, I told you so! So excuse me if I make your cooks work a little harder to get me a big ass meal! Shit, man, I already have a big ass.” CJ sat back down and buried her face in her folded arms. Tears soaked her hoodie sleeves while she breathed quickly in and out.
“Order up!” said one of the cooks.
Leon snapped out of his trance long enough to swipe the tray of food onto the floor and yell, “No! That’s not how this is going down!” He climbed over the counter and left Garrett in a dumbfounded state of mind as he lay on the counter staring at CJ.
As soon as the disgruntled clerk took a seat across from her, the depressed ex-girlfriend said, “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you right now. And why did you throw around my food like that? You’re an asshole.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Leon before he held CJ’s bruised hand in both of his own. “I am an asshole. I spent the last few days snapping at people when they just wanted their meals. We both had a bad couple of days. But you know what? Eating all that food isn’t going to make you feel better. It’s going to make you feel like shit. You’re going to be sluggish, you’re going to be slow, and you’re going to be struggling for air all the time. It’s almost like you wanted to commit suicide or something.”
CJ lifted her head to reveal her wet face and said, “I’m diabetic.” Garrett and Leon’s eyes shot up in horror and their lips quivered in fear. “That’s right. I came here to die tonight. It doesn’t matter how many times I punched my boyfriend, those nude photos of me are going to be on the internet forever. And no, I don’t care about telling a complete stranger all of this, because I’m not going to be around long enough to feel awkward about it.”
The depressed lady buried her tearful face in her arms yet again and sobbed away with Leon watching her in shock. He never let go of her hand. He snapped at enough people already and he wasn’t about to take his anger out on another poor soul. CJ had enough people angry with her already. What she needed more than anything was a kindred soul.
“You don’t need to die tonight. You need to start over,” said Leon. “If all your friend and family keep saying, ‘I told you so’, then you need new friends and new family members. Maybe I can be the one who helps you with that.”
“Yeah right!” said CJ. “How can you help me? You just said yourself that you spent the last few days yelling at customers!”
“I did. And it was stupid. I need to start over as well. Do you know how I plan to start over? Come with me and I’ll show you.” Leon helped the shaky CJ stand up and the two of them put their arms around each other’s shoulders as they walked out of McDonald’s in protest. To prove his run was over, Leon took off his McDonald’s hat and ripped off the shirt to his uniform.
CJ smiled at Leon and whistled flirtingly. Another short moment of happiness that would hopefully evolve into a longer one with Leon by her side. Their temporary chuckles ended when the two of them saw Garrett shamelessly eating CJ’s order off of the floor. “What?” the mascot said. “It’s a five minute rule.”
“That’s five seconds, you dummy!” said CJ before she and Leon walked away from McDonald’s forever.
When Miss Blake surveyed the restaurant with her bloodshot eyes, she found that except for the clerks and Ronald McDonald mascot, she was all alone for the evening. Given her circumstances, being alone was both a positive and a negative. She would have her meal all to herself, but no cute guy to share it with.
The clerk at the counter, Leon Tobin, didn’t look any better when it came to being stressed out by depression. The only reason his lanky figure was upright was because such posture was necessary for looking superior in an argument. His furrowed brows and quick movements on the register gave away more of his angry attitude.
“Welcome to McDonald’s, ma’am. What can I get started for you?” asked Leon in a professional, yet bothered tone. His fingers on the cash register were going to blitz and scramble once this order was taken.
Without looking at the menu above, CJ Blake knew exactly what she wanted: “Can I get a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, a Twenty-Piece McNugget with no sauce, a large vanilla shake, and a large coke?”
The only reason Leon hesitated when punching the numbers in the register was out of surprise that a cute girl would order such a big meal and ruin her lovely figure. The moment of hesitation was brief and the total was otherwise quickly added up. “That’ll be nineteen dollars even.”
CJ languidly fiddled around in her hoodie pockets and paid Leon with a twenty dollar bill, thus receiving one dollar in change. Without even waiting for the clerk to give her the order number, CJ dragged herself over to a nearby table and hung her head low. A small tear formed in her eye and dropped onto the table to create a tiny splash.
After giving the cooks CJ’s order, Leon stood behind the counter with his arms folded and watched his only customer with concern. He knew the personal affairs of his clientele were none of his damn business, so going over to ask what was wrong was out of the question. Besides, he had enough problems of his own that evening to be getting personally involved. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Watching CJ wallow in her depressive state made his heart ache on the inside. Either that or Leon’s dinner wasn’t sitting well with him.
Miss Blake continued to sit at her table with her head slouched over and her energy low. She probably wouldn’t have noticed if her food was ready. Garrett Fox dressed as Ronald McDonald, on the other hand, caused her to jump back and gasp. Garrett said, “Hey there, little girl!” in a deep, goofy voice. “You don’t have to be sour! Your meal is coming up soon and you’re going to have a wonderful time! If you want to order anything else…”
“Get the fuck away from me before I punch that silly red nose of yours through your goddamn skull,” said CJ in her usual languid voice.
“You heard her, Garrett. She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Take five,” said Leon, still with his arms folded behind the counter.
Garrett Fox’s eyes danced back and forth between CJ and Leon, not knowing where to go at first. He then took off his Ronald mask to reveal shaggy brown hair and a lion’s mane underneath before stomping over to Leon to angrily whisper, “What the hell are you doing?! We’re supposed to be selling her as much food as possible and you’re getting in my way again!”
“Her order was nineteen dollars even. She doesn’t need any more of this processed crap.”
With his arms flailing like a cartoon character, Garrett said, “Are you kidding me right now? Where’s your spirit? The only way we’re going to stay in business is by being enthusiastic about it. Smile, damn it! Have some fun!”
“Fun?!” said Leon with a raised voice. “You think this is fun for me?! You think taking orders from snotty people gives me pleasure?! Shit, man, I could go on forever about the screaming old people and the bratty teenagers who wouldn’t leave me alone for just one minute! That’s it! I can’t do this anymore!”
Garrett placed both of his gloved hands on either side of Leon’s face and said, “Think of your baby son, Leon! What’s he going to do if he finds out that daddy’s a quitter?!”
Leon swatted Garrett’s hands away, pointed a finger at him, and yelled, “Don’t you ever mention my family again, you son of a bitch! You know nothing about them!”
The two McDonald’s employees shoved and wrestled with each other over the counter with the other workers seemingly ignorant to what was going on out there. The last person expected to care, CJ Blake, suddenly stood up from the table and shouted, “Stop it! Stop this shit right now!”
Leon Tobin and Garrett Fox stopped their countertop roughhousing and gave CJ their wide-eyed attention. She screamed, “I came here to McDonald’s to get away from the fighting, not to watch more of it! You guys think you had it rough? Try getting in a nasty breakup with your lover! I’m talking about a really nasty breakup!”
To prove her point, CJ pulled her right hand out of her pocket and revealed red knuckles and pink scrapes. “Holy shit!” said Garrett.
“Yeah, you’re damn right that hurts! What hurts even more is the fact that every one of my family and friends keeps giving me the ‘I told you so!’ speech! I told you so, I told you so! So excuse me if I make your cooks work a little harder to get me a big ass meal! Shit, man, I already have a big ass.” CJ sat back down and buried her face in her folded arms. Tears soaked her hoodie sleeves while she breathed quickly in and out.
“Order up!” said one of the cooks.
Leon snapped out of his trance long enough to swipe the tray of food onto the floor and yell, “No! That’s not how this is going down!” He climbed over the counter and left Garrett in a dumbfounded state of mind as he lay on the counter staring at CJ.
As soon as the disgruntled clerk took a seat across from her, the depressed ex-girlfriend said, “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you right now. And why did you throw around my food like that? You’re an asshole.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Leon before he held CJ’s bruised hand in both of his own. “I am an asshole. I spent the last few days snapping at people when they just wanted their meals. We both had a bad couple of days. But you know what? Eating all that food isn’t going to make you feel better. It’s going to make you feel like shit. You’re going to be sluggish, you’re going to be slow, and you’re going to be struggling for air all the time. It’s almost like you wanted to commit suicide or something.”
CJ lifted her head to reveal her wet face and said, “I’m diabetic.” Garrett and Leon’s eyes shot up in horror and their lips quivered in fear. “That’s right. I came here to die tonight. It doesn’t matter how many times I punched my boyfriend, those nude photos of me are going to be on the internet forever. And no, I don’t care about telling a complete stranger all of this, because I’m not going to be around long enough to feel awkward about it.”
The depressed lady buried her tearful face in her arms yet again and sobbed away with Leon watching her in shock. He never let go of her hand. He snapped at enough people already and he wasn’t about to take his anger out on another poor soul. CJ had enough people angry with her already. What she needed more than anything was a kindred soul.
“You don’t need to die tonight. You need to start over,” said Leon. “If all your friend and family keep saying, ‘I told you so’, then you need new friends and new family members. Maybe I can be the one who helps you with that.”
“Yeah right!” said CJ. “How can you help me? You just said yourself that you spent the last few days yelling at customers!”
“I did. And it was stupid. I need to start over as well. Do you know how I plan to start over? Come with me and I’ll show you.” Leon helped the shaky CJ stand up and the two of them put their arms around each other’s shoulders as they walked out of McDonald’s in protest. To prove his run was over, Leon took off his McDonald’s hat and ripped off the shirt to his uniform.
CJ smiled at Leon and whistled flirtingly. Another short moment of happiness that would hopefully evolve into a longer one with Leon by her side. Their temporary chuckles ended when the two of them saw Garrett shamelessly eating CJ’s order off of the floor. “What?” the mascot said. “It’s a five minute rule.”
“That’s five seconds, you dummy!” said CJ before she and Leon walked away from McDonald’s forever.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
San Diego
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 1
Building blocks are no longer just toys
They add some color to schizophrenic noise
The ogre and dragon went to war today
The mini-figures have been laid to waste
Emmet and Metal Beard make things weird
Chaotic minds make them a team to be feared
Let’s build a bridge to the next adventure
With all these bricks from the shopping center
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 2
The beaches look like heaven today
Soaked forever in ultraviolet rays
Lovely ladies chilling in swimsuits
Fluffy puppies take their masters’ route
Frisbees flying in the clear blue sky
Flower children blow smoke to get high
I’ll laze in the sand until time stands still
If you don’t stay, then I damn sure will
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 3
A bowl of mac and cheese if you please
A plate of fried rice tastes so nice
Who cares about calories when it feels good?
Wolf all that down? You knew I would
Dinner and a show on the cinema screen
R-rated heaven it’s so sick and obscene
Getting on that plane is the hardest part
Of giving San Diego my soul and heart
HOOK
December ‘14 was when my smile returned
When the world finally no longer burned
I held onto paradise with an iron tight grip
As I soak in the hot tub for one last dip
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 1
Building blocks are no longer just toys
They add some color to schizophrenic noise
The ogre and dragon went to war today
The mini-figures have been laid to waste
Emmet and Metal Beard make things weird
Chaotic minds make them a team to be feared
Let’s build a bridge to the next adventure
With all these bricks from the shopping center
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 2
The beaches look like heaven today
Soaked forever in ultraviolet rays
Lovely ladies chilling in swimsuits
Fluffy puppies take their masters’ route
Frisbees flying in the clear blue sky
Flower children blow smoke to get high
I’ll laze in the sand until time stands still
If you don’t stay, then I damn sure will
CHORUS
I left my tears in San Diego
I left my heart in the land of Legos
I left my soul in the sandy beaches
Innocence reborn is what this teaches
VERSE 3
A bowl of mac and cheese if you please
A plate of fried rice tastes so nice
Who cares about calories when it feels good?
Wolf all that down? You knew I would
Dinner and a show on the cinema screen
R-rated heaven it’s so sick and obscene
Getting on that plane is the hardest part
Of giving San Diego my soul and heart
HOOK
December ‘14 was when my smile returned
When the world finally no longer burned
I held onto paradise with an iron tight grip
As I soak in the hot tub for one last dip
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)