Self-Esteem

***SELF-ESTEEM***

When I watched George Carlin perform standup comedy for the last time in 2008, he ripped into people who believed in The Self-Esteem Movement. He argued that making all children feel special only makes them complacent and incompetent as students and workers. Because Carlin was a huge influence on me back then and still is today, I took his word as gospel and never questioned it. And then I saw another comedy routine he did back in the 1990’s where he slammed the environmental movement and liberals in general. Naturally, there’s a disagreement between us.

So as long as I’m learning to question what everyone says, what can be said about The Self-Esteem Movement? Yes, it’s important to have children who will grow up to be winners in life. I get that. Hard work, passion, and dedication are the keys to success. But what happens when they have a setback? Do they deserve to feel poorly about themselves afterwards? Such negative thoughts can take you to a dark place in life. Drugs, alcohol, sadness, suicide, self-harm, so many negative ways to cope with a heavy loss.

I’m currently reading Ronda Rousey’s “My Fight / Your Fight” memoir and there’s a lot to be said about her inner strength. Her judoka mother was always hard on her when she suffered a loss in a judo competition. Her mother also made Ronda compete through pain and injuries as if they’re completely ignorable. The proof is in the pudding: Ronda Rousey was undefeated for twelve MMA fights, she’s a former Women’s Bantamweight Champion, she’s wanted for movie roles, and she’s making a shit load of money.

But then there are the times in life when Ronda lost. Her most recent defeat was at the hands of Holly Holm, who kicked her in the head to earn a KO victory and the UFC Women’s Bantamweight Championship. Because she was conditioned to feel poorly after a loss, Ronda had suicidal thoughts as revealed in an interview with Ellen DeGeneres. I’m glad she never acted on those harmful thoughts, but what if she had? What if she didn’t have her UFC boyfriend Travis Browne to be her rock? What if her mother didn’t occasionally come to her rescue? Then what?

Is it possible to have a balance between the two extremes? Can children be told they’re special and be successful people at the same time? Consider this quote: “It’s easier to build up a child than to repair an adult.” Suffering losses and feeling bad about doesn’t “build character”. Remember that scene in Full Metal Jacket where Private Pyle shoots his sadistic drill instructor and then himself? That’s one instance where tough love goes wrong and it’s probably not an isolated incident.

Thinking highly of yourself has to account for something. If you don’t believe in your own abilities, what makes you think anybody else will? You can experience failure and still have the wherewithal to change your strategy and turn your life around.

The WSS group at Good Reads recently launched an e-magazine where the stories and poems of the contest winners would be featured. I have to admit, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed, I initially felt sorry for myself because I hadn’t won a contest since 2014 when I entered “Luna the Moon Kitty”. I didn’t think this launch celebration had anything to do with me. And then I remembered that the WSS is still all about friendly competition and helping each other succeed. If my story didn’t get exposure on the e-magazine, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. There are other ways to get exposure and the WSS will still hold true to their principles of being a friendly community. God, I love those guys!

If you want to feel good about yourselves, you have my permission. I won’t give you grief for receiving a “participation trophy” after playing a game of little league baseball. The fact that you even want to play baseball and have the athleticism to do so should say a lot about you. I’m over 300 lbs., so there’s no way I’m becoming an athlete of any kind in the near future, which means no participation trophy. Sports are hard to play and hard to be good at, which is why I stay away from them and stick to what I’m good at: writing, drawing, and photography. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

As part of the WSS’s newly launched e-magazine, they’re holding a monthly contest in addition to the weekly ones, so I figured, why not write another story? This one will be called “Medicine Man” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Tetra Engel, Thief
Jax Nightshade, Dark Paladin
Anya Kolobalos, Gangster

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Tetra wants to give his cancer-stricken sister a fresh start in life by healing her.

SYNOPSIS: Jax is the innovator of “maggot therapy” and charges excessively high prices to cure his patients. When Tetra’s sister develops breast cancer, instead of forking over his life savings, he goes out and attempts to steal the maggots from Jax. In addition to the so-called “Medicine Man”, Tetra also has to be weary of Anya, a spear-wielding gangster who wants to steal the maggots to make recreational drugs to sell at an even higher price. It’s a three-way battle on the rooftop of Jax’s satanic church. Who will survive?


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The next drawing I will turn out is of Caitlin Sparks, the rebellious swordswoman from “Sage Against the Machine”, which I wrote independently of the WSS contests. I’m trying to think of a cool costume for her, but nothing’s coming to mind just yet. Eh, I’ll figure it out eventually.


***POISON TONGUE TALES***

I’ve been busy editing the shit out of short stories and so far, so good. If I have my way, there will be one day where I edit six at a time just like I did today. The next to be bulldozed will be…

Guns, Drugs, and Misogyny

The Happy Slasher

Harvest Moon

Hell Yeah

I, Barbarian

If I Offer You My Soul (the one that coincidentally features a character named Ashley Marie)


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: Here’s what I don’t understand about you: you have a driver’s license, you can operate a grownup vehicle, but after you drive a go-kart, you somehow feel better about yourself.

RANDAL: Look, it just centers me, okay? Kind of like the way jerking off in the men’s bathroom at work centers you.

DANTE: Hey, that was one time and it wasn’t to center me.

RANDAL: You’re right. It was to cum.

DANTE: So why did we have to drive all the way out here just so you can ride the go-karts?

RANDAL: Look, I don’t want to jerk off in the bathroom at work. What if I’m going and a customer comes in all sex nuts and retard strong? Next thing you know, I’m fighting him off while he tries to jam my dick in his mouth.

DANTE: The likeliest of scenarios.

RANDAL: Yeah, well, I don’t know about you, but cumming centers me.

DANTE: Man, that shit Lance said must have really bothered you.

RANDAL: Oh, fuck him. He’s an asshole. He always was. I’m sorry I let him bother me for even a minute. At least I got a go-kart trip out of it.

DANTE: Why do the go-karts help?

RANDAL: They just remind me of a better time in my life.

DANTE: Like when?

RANDAL: When we were young and the world was right there in front of us.

DANTE: You’re not that old.

RANDAL: I know, but sometimes I think the world left us behind a long time ago.

DANTE: You can do something about that.

RANDAL: I told you, I’m not jerking off in the men’s bathroom at Mooby’s.

DANTE: No, not that. Have you ever thought about leaving Mooby’s and changing your situation in life?

RANDAL: What’s the point? Besides, why do you give a shit? You’re leaving.

-Clerks II-

Giving Up On Romance

VERSE 1
An army of girl crushes narrowed down to one
High speed chases have never been so much fun
The diamond ring that costs god knows how much
The divorce bill from the one you couldn’t trust
Broken and alone is what you’ve truly become
Liberty for your ex and only justice for some
Do you remember the fun times you’ve had?
Or does the stinging pain just hurt so damn bad?

CHORUS 1
Giving up on romance!
Never stood a single chance!
Giving up on romance!
This will be your final dance!

VERSE 2
Sex education says to wait until you’re married
How can that be when you’re dead and buried?
How does a broken heart heal instantaneously?
How do you know she’s feeling simultaneously?
Sell that golden ring for a hundred million bucks
Tell the whole world you don’t give two fucks
Everyone I know is tired of all the fights for two
Once everything is done, there’s one thing left to do

CHORUS 2
Giving up on romance!
Tighten that belt around your pants!
Giving up on romance!
Let them know your final stance!

VERSE 3
The army of crushes has been taken down to zero
There are only villains left, none of them are heroes
Your knight in shining armor has blood on his sword
Your fairytale princess has been taken by the horde
Romantic fiction is a statement so damn repetitive
One hundred other suitors feel so damn competitive
This is not your fight and she is not your prize
If you’re blinded by beauty, then just open your eyes

CHORUS 3
Giving up on romance!
Sick of being in a fucking trance!
Giving up on romance!
I could go on with a hundred rants!
Chugging alcohol!
Bouncing off the padded walls!
Crashing on the bed!
This stone cold heart is dead!

Putting the Ass in Assault Rifle

Flipping hamburgers and cooking French fries at Monster Burger wasn’t doing much for Nikita Croft’s college dreams. She was only nineteen years old and was already feeling the stresses of someone four times her age. Her posture was hunched over, her eyes were baggy, and any smile she gave her customers was forced with all of her strength. Cooking unhealthy food wasn’t the bad part. Dealing with angry customers who didn’t get exactly what they wanted made Nikita wish she had a gun to put to her own head. She could picture her brains, skull, and short black hair splattering all over the restaurant walls to create her own version of modern art.

When the well-known Easton family came strutting through the glass doors, Nikita’s suicidal fantasies of using a gun on herself were replaced with eye-widening, posture-straightening fear. The chubby, buzz-cut having Luke Easton and his long blond haired wife Rachel each came in with assault rifles strapped to their backs. Their baby son Brian was being pushed in a stroller by Rachel.

The Easton family’s presence caused various patrons to slowly cower away in fear, hide behind their booths, and hide underneath their tables. Some of the clerks behind the counter had their wide eyes locked on the family while other clerks had them locked on Nikita wondering what she was going to do. She was in charge of the register at the moment, so it would only make sense that this responsibility would fall on her, weak voiced and trembling through she was.

Luke Easton squinted his eyes as he surveyed the patrons backing away from them in pants-wetting fear. “What? What the hell’s your guys’ problem? You don’t like these rifles we’ve got strapped to our backs? Tough shit! This is America! Get used to it!”

“Uh, actually, sir…” said Nikita in a shy voice before tenderly clearing her throat. “Weapons are not allowed in Monster Burger. If you want service, you’ll have to go back to your vehicle and…put them away.”

Some of the patrons were sneaking their way around on the floor and bolting out of the front doors. Others stayed in their crouched positions and whimpered helplessly. Nobody even thought about calling the cops on their smart phones due to the fear of incurring Luke and Rachel’s wrath.

“You listen here, little lady,” snapped Luke as he marched toward the counter. “Me and my family came here for some burgers and fries! We’re hungry as hell! Now you can either make them or we’re going to have a problem!”

“Sir, we will make whatever you want if you’d just…put your guns back in your vehicle,” said Nikita without even looking Luke in the eyes.

Rachel pushed baby Brian’s stroller up to the counter and got involved in the heated debate. “I don’t know what your problem is, lady, but we’re not leaving until we get our food! We’re standing up for our second amendment rights! If you don’t like what we’re doing, then we can get your ass deported back to Canada!”

Nikita’s dialogue was getting messy as she kneeled to the floor and cried her eyes out. Everybody counted on her to be the brave authoritarian, but nobody counted on the Easton family to bring weapons into the restaurant. She lifted her head up and turned to her fellow clerks before saying, “I’m sorry! I can’t do this anymore!”

“Hold on there, Nikita!” said the dress shirt and tie-wearing manager of Monster Burger, Chance Rivers. Despite the lack of enthusiasm Nikita Croft showed for her job on a regular basis, Chance had always been there for her whether she needed comfort or a short-term loan. Being a good boss to his employees was part of the reason so many would-be college students worked for him. This time was no different.

“Mr. and Mrs. Easton! I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask both of you to leave my restaurant!” said Chance with a gentle hand on Nikita’s shoulder and a firm tone to the rifle-wielding family.

“We’re not doing anything wrong!” complained Rachel. “We have just as much right to be here as all of these people!” Most of those people had cleared out of the restaurant in shirt-sweating and pants-pissing fear.

“The hell you do!” barked Chance as he jumped over the counter and got in Rachel and Luke’s faces. “You’re putting my customers and my employees in huge danger by bringing those things in here! Nobody wants to be around you two right now! I’m losing customers because nobody really wants to get accidentally shot! Or in your case, purposefully!”

Luke grabbed Chance’s shirt and slammed him against the counter while breathing heavily in and out and drooling with anger. The clerks and cooks began to scramble out of the kitchen and bolt towards the front door. Nikita on the other hand was curled up in the fetal position on the floor still shedding tears. Yes, she was suicidal earlier in the day, but that all changed when she started to see what death really looked like up close.

“I’m not going to have this argument with you, Mr. Boss Man!” yelled Luke through gritted teeth. “Either you cook our food or else we’re going to have problems!”

Chance’s frightened expression and shivering body were being beefed up with adrenaline. It was now or never for him, his employees, and his customers. The manager reached behind the corpulent Luke and tried to wrestle the gun away from him. But Luke was too powerful and showed it when he hurled Chance to the ground, causing his ribs to ache and violent coughs to sound off across the restaurant.

“Luke, calm down. It’ll be okay, sweetie,” said a nervous Rachel, who was backing away slowly. She wasn’t changing political alignments, she was a shivering mess.

Luke armed himself with his assault rifle and clicked the pump handle. He looked down at the injured Chance Rivers with disdain and fiery hatred. “I’m getting sick of you Yankee liberal motherfuckers taking my rights away! I never wanted to fire this thing off today, but I’ll be glad to…”

Luke’s raging oratory was disrupted by his gun accidentally going off. Nikita and Chance held their ears and screamed in both pain and terror. Rachel, on the other hand, looked down at her baby stroller and saw the most horrifying thing a mother could imagine. She silently shed tears and dropped to her knees, shaking and cowering over the accidental death of Brian. She slowly unhooked her assault rifle and tossed it to the ground.

Everything had fallen silent with Chance and Nikita looking on in horror. Luke was shaking as he slowly made his way to his kneeling and silently praying wife Rachel. He gently put one of his powerful hands on her shoulder only to have her brush it away and yell, “Don’t touch me!”

As Luke fell to his knees and sobbed as well, Chance grabbed onto the counter and heaved himself to his feet. With his hands on his ribs and a limp in his step, he approached Nikita and told her to use the phone in his office to dial 9-1-1. With a nod of approval and her head hung in sorrow, Nikita did as she was told.

Luke lifted his heavy head and looked at Chance with a face full of tears and a nose full of snot. “Well? Go ahead. Say it, Mr. Boss Man. Say that you were right and we were wrong. Tell me how proud you are of being right.”

“I’m not going to say any of those things,” said Chance. He limped his way over to the sobbing Easton couple and put both of his hands on their shoulders in a comforting way. “I’m sorry for your loss,” said Chance in a genuine tone. “If you want to say a prayer for baby Brian, I’m not going to try and stop you. The police are on their way, though, so if you’re going to do it, use that time wisely.”

Luke and Rachel nodded their approval at Chance before bowing their heads and saying their final prayers.

Meanwhile, Nikita dragged herself to the main dining area and looked at her boss with red, swollen, baggy eyes. “Mr. Rivers? You’ve been an awesome boss to me. You’re an awesome boss now. But I can’t do this anymore. I quit.”

The sullen expression on Chance’s face said it all: “I don’t blame you, Nikita. Nobody blames you at all.” The two of them actually shared a hug before Nikita languidly made her way out of the restaurant for the last time. She thought about all the heartache she had to endure of dealing with customers who were just as bad as the Eastons. Were there better jobs out there? Of course. Were there better bosses than Chance Rivers? Probably not. Nikita Croft wouldn’t spend the rest of the day worrying about college money. It was hard to read bank statements and take them seriously with both eyes full of burning tears.

A Real Woman

The girl’s locker room at Richmond High School was alive with chatter and giggling. These girls talked about everything whether it was the latest rumors, boys, their parents, or whatever. The mass conversation fell into deep silence when Jenny Andrews entered the locker room wearing blond hair extensions, a Papa Roach tank top , a denim skirt, and high heeled sneakers.

As Jenny was getting changed into her workout clothes, the other girls glared their evilest glares at her with their arms folded. She pretended not to pay attention to them, but when she took off her skirt to change into black shorts, her penis was exposed to every one of these girls. Such was the focus of these girls’ wicked stares.

“Jonny? What the hell are you doing here? This is the girl’s locker room, you pervert!” The girl who said that was the tallest, most intimidating, and meanest of the group of girls, Melissa Moore. She was decked out in a white Richmond High T-shirt and neon green shorts. Her muscular legs looked like they could do some damage if she threw a hard enough kick. Her long hair was as black as her soul, and no, she didn’t require extensions.

Jenny sheepishly turned around to face Melissa, but crouched backwards in fear and said, “It’s not Jonny. It’s Jenny.”

“Of course, what was I thinking? You come in here dressed in a skirt and high heels and I should automatically assume you’re a fucking woman. Your dick is as clear as day, buddy. Go change in the boy’s locker room like you’re supposed to!” said Melissa as she pointed at Jenny with her manicured index finger.

Silence overtook the room and anxiety built up in Jenny’s stomach. She gagged and coughed, but that was the only sign of backing down she would give. Melissa marched over, her bare feet slamming hard on the tile floor. “Hey! Are you deaf?!” she yelled before grabbing Jenny by her shirt and slamming her back first against the steel lockers. “I told you to get out of here! You’re a boy! You need to change in the boy’s locker room, asshole!”

Jenny Andrews winced and cowered in Melissa’s tight grip. The transgender student couldn’t even muster any intense energy when she said, “Fuck you, Melissa. You’re a whore.”

The entire girl’s locker room laughed at Jenny’s weak attempt at bravery while Melissa only gave an amused half-smile. “You’re tough, Jonny. You’re tough. I never knew you had the balls to stand up to me. Oh wait, yes, I did, because you’re a guy!”

The Amazonian Melissa Moore powerfully tossed Jenny to the center of the locker room.  While the transsexual was down, every girl started kicking and clawing at her. Bumps, bruises, and cuts were forming all over Jenny’s legs, arms, and ribs. But her biggest signs of pain were her eyes dribbling with tears and her demonic shouts to tell her attackers to stop. Her screams were then being muffled by blood pouring out of her throat in tiny drops.

Jenny Andrews could have very well died in this locker room if it hadn’t been for a cloud of white smoke blasting through and forcing the girls to cough violently. As soon as they wiped their eyes and got most of their oxygen back, they saw their gym teacher, Jessica Sullivan, holding a fire extinguisher with a scrunched up, angry facial expression. “Who’s leading this mob?” she asked in a firm, yet low key tone.

The girls were quick to point at Melissa Moore, who looked less like a giantess and more like a guilty fool covered in white powder. Her facial expression was that of a courtroom defendant who was just given the death penalty. Her shoulders were slouched and her breathing was slower.

Miss Sullivan, with the fire extinguisher still pointed on her target, marched over to Melissa, almost touched faces with her, and said, “What the hell is wrong with you? You and your lackeys could have killed this poor girl. Is that what you want? You want to be a murderer? Tell me, Melissa: who taught you how to hate? It sure as shit wasn’t anybody from this school.”

Melissa struggled to find the words, but said, “I was just trying to get this pervert out of our locker room. Come on, Miss Sullivan. He’s a guy! There’s no telling what he could have done to us!”

Miss Sullivan looked down at Jenny Andrews, who was on her knees sobbing this whole time and nursing her lumpy wounds. “She looks like a real woman to me,” said the gym teacher.

“Are you kidding me? We saw his dick!” said Melissa.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about this poor girl’s genitals? Why, because she’s a transsexual and it’s suddenly okay to talk to them like that? What about you, Melissa? Is it okay if I talk about your genitals? How’s your vagina doing these days? You don’t have any green pus leaking out of it, do you? You might want to see a doctor about that!” said Miss Sullivan.

Melissa hung her head in shame, but Jessica wasn’t done yet. “Here’s what I want you to do. And everyone here needs to listen up as well. I want each and every one of you to get dressed and go to the principal’s office. Let the principal know just how hateful and disgusting each and every one of you are!”

“As opposed to the trans whore over here?” said Melissa while pointing at Jenny, who then stood up and threw a wild punch to her jaw, knocking the bigot to the ground and causing her gums to bleed. The other girls gasped in horror while Jenny looked down on Melissa with fiery eyes. After the transsexual spit a wad of blood on the floor, Melissa said through her own bloody mouth, “See? See what she just did?! Punish her too!”

Miss Sullivan made a flat tire noise and said, “I didn’t see a goddamn thing. Now get up, get dressed, and get your ass to the principal’s office.”

The result didn’t come without the girls whispering about how their punishment was “bullshit” and slamming their locker doors as hard as they could, but get dressed and exit the locker room they did. As the bigoted girls made their way to the principal’s office, it was just Jenny and Miss Sullivan alone together.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything,” said Jenny through quivering lips.

“You don’t have to thank me, Jenny. I was happy to do it for you. If nobody else has your back around here, then I do. I’ve seen the worst of what this high school has to offer and it’s not going to get easier for you. You have to fight for what you believe in. You have to fight for your individuality. Maybe it’s not a good idea to do it through physicality, but if you have to defend yourself, there’s no other way,” said Jessica in a soft and caring voice.

Jenny wiped her tears and blood off of her face and sorrowfully said, “Ever since I came out as a woman, people have been treating me differently. I see their stares. I hear their whispers. But this is the first time I’ve been assaulted since then. Well, the first at this school. My own family won’t back me up on this. They still think I’m a man.”

As the transgender girl cried some more, Miss Sullivan put down the fire extinguisher and gave her a tender hug. With a whispery voice, she said, “Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some pain. You’re not a man. You’re the most beautiful woman in this whole school. You’re going to make it through high school and you’re going to be stronger for it. We need more women like you, Jenny, and less like Melissa.”

When their embrace broke, Jenny asked, “Why are you helping me? I know you’re a teacher and that’s your job, but…”

“Yes, I am a teacher,” said Miss Sullivan. “But I also hold a secret I’ve never told anybody before until now. You’ve probably heard the whispers about me personally and though I haven’t said it yet, it is true. I’m a lesbian. And I’m married to the most amazing woman in the world. Some people were cool with that, others weren’t. Quite frankly, I don’t care what people think of me and you shouldn’t either. What matters most is what you and I feel on the inside. A real woman listens to her heart, not her critics.”

Jenny wiped more tears and blood from her face and for the first time in a long time smiled a beautiful white-toothed smile. “Thank you, Miss Sullivan. I needed to hear that.”

“And thank you, Jenny, for not letting those girls take your smile away from you,” said the gym teacher. “Picture perfect, that’s what it is.”

Slip Away

***SLIP AWAY***

If you’re single and you’re agonizing about it, stay as far away as possible from “Slip Away” by David Arkenstone and Charlee Brooks. The melodic and gentle piano, the somber bagpipes, and Charlee Brooks’ gorgeous voice will all come together to open those floodgates you call tear ducts. I have to be honest with you guys: Valentine’s Day was depressing this year. I’ve pretty much given up on agonizing over my single status, but I was so depressed that day that I ordered a pizza and ate the whole thing. The next day was much better, but Valentine’s Day was just…bleh! “Slip Away” was one of the songs I made the mistake of listening to on that lonely day. Here are the lyrics:


VERSE 1
The seasons change
And age our temporary souls
Chasing fate
Along it's winding road
Flames burn bright and pass into smoke
But our love
Will dance among the stars
Down the streets of gold

PRE-CHORUS
I am bound to you
By more than what divides us

CHORUS
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
Into an endless stream
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
And you can rescue me
Close your eyes
And drift into a shining memory
I'll see you again where the sky touches the sea

VERSE 2
And with your love
You've painted vivid colors on my heart
Your light will always illuminate my dark

PRE-CHORUS
I am bound to you
By more than what divides us

CHORUS
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
Into an endless stream
Slip away, slip away sweet lover
And you can rescue me
Close your eyes
And drift into a shining memory
I'll see you again where the sky touches the sea

ABRIDGED VERSE 1
The seasons change
And age our temporary souls
Chasing fate
Along it's winding road


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

For this week’s contest, the authors were given a list of quotes to choose from as their prompt. I chose mine and now I have a story to write. I’ve been needing an excuse to write “A Real Woman” for months now, especially after John Oliver did one of his monologues about transgender struggles.


CHARACTERS:

Jenny Andrews, Transgender Gym Student
Melissa Moore, Transphobic Bully
Jessica Sullivan, Kindred Spirit Gym Teacher
Random Female Gym Students

QUOTE OF CHOICE: "Behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain." -Bob Dylan

SYNOPSIS: In the girls locker room at Richmond High School, a male-to-female transgender student named Jenny shows up to get changed into her workout clothes. She is confronted by Melissa, who believes she’s still a man and encourages other female students to gang up on her. A few cuts and bruises on Jenny’s body later, Miss Sullivan shows up to back everyone away and tend to the injured transsexual.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Faye Blood’s drawing is now up and she is the second Dark Fantasy Warrior to be done with colored pencils. Up next, we’ve got another fierce fighting female: Jill Henderson, the racist mercenary from “Born to Die”. She was a giantess among insects, both in terms of physical stature and intimidating power.


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RANDAL: Oh, what? What’s with you, man? You haven’t said anything for like twenty minutes! What the hell’s your problem?

DANTE: This life.

RANDAL: This life?

DANTE: Why do I have this life?

RANDAL: Have some chips, you’ll feel better.

DANTE: I’m stick in this pit working for less than a slave’s wages, I’m working on my day off, the goddamn steel shutters are closed, I smell like shoe polish, I have to deal with every backward ass fuck on the planet, my ex-girlfriend is catatonic after fucking a dead guy, and my present girlfriend has sucked thirty-six dicks.

RANDAL: Thirty-seven.

DANTE: My life’s in the shitter right now and if you don’t mind I’d like to stew a bit.

-Clerks-


***POST-SCRIPT***

Speaking of Clerks, does anybody here know if Kevin Smith is officially planning to make a third Clerks movie? The last time I heard, it’s going to feature a love triangle between Dante, Becky from the second movie, and Veronica from the first. I could be wrong.

Dancing with Mary Jane

“Justice will find you!” With blood in her lungs and a slowing pulse, those were the last words of Tara Greenlee after being gunned down by Officers Frank Hennessy and Sylvester James. Her head dropped to the sidewalk and her mouth expelled a puddle of life juices. Everyone around her recorded the scene on their cell phones. Some of them screamed in horror. Others burst into a waterfall of tears. Frank and Sylvester laughed at all of them and rubbed their eyes in mockery. All of this violence over a bag of medical marijuana, which Sylvester was dancing around with and flashing in the faces of bystanders.

Because Tara Greenlee’s killers were on-duty cops, they didn’t get the death penalty or even life in prison for their heinousness. They were suspended with pay for a whole month. There were factory workers, teachers, grocery store clerks, and others who worked their asses off their entire lives without getting so much as a day off. In Paulson City, if you were on the police force, all you had to do to enjoy a month-long vacation was brutalize civilians.

How would Frank and Sylvester spend their vacation? They could have gone on a Caribbean Cruise. They could have gone mountain climbing in the Rockies. They could have sat on their asses on a Florida beach. But since Tara Greenlee’s “contraband” was still in their possession, they had other ideas of how to kill a month quicker than they killed her.

The “festivities” would take place at Officer Frank Hennessy’s house, particularly in his living room where the flat screen TV hung on the wall and a bowl full of potato chips was resting on the marble coffee table. Frank was already stuffing his pudgy, bearded face with chips when there was a knock on the door followed by, “It’s me, Sylvester!” Frank answered the door and the two corrupt cops high-fived and hugged each other like their bromance was much more than that. Frank was especially cheery when his skinny buddy flashed the bag of Mary Jane they had unlawfully taken from Miss Greenlee.

“So, what are we watching tonight, my friend? Are we gonna go all out and watch The Matrix? Maybe we should watch a Tim Burton movie or something. Or how about that Pink Floyd movie!” said a giddy Sylvester James.

“I got something better than all of those,” said Frank. He pulled a DVD out of his collection called “The Best of Both Worlds”, the container showing naked hermaphroditic women drooling for sex.

Sylvester clapped his hands and laughed like a little kid in a toy store. He bounced his way to the couch and allowed Frank to put the DVD in the player. The two rogue cops began rolling up little marijuana cigarettes as the “hot action” was being shown on the video screen. As soon as Frank pulled out a Zippo lighter and lit both of their joints, the two cops sank into the couch like quicksand. With dopey red eyes and drooling smiles, they watched the porn movie with fluttering in their hearts for the double-organ actresses.

The first twenty minutes of the movie revolved around Sylvester and Frank sitting crouched forward to hide their “little problems”. They laughed like donkeys as they smacked each other with couch pillows and jokingly called each other “fags”. The fun and festivities came to an abrupt halt when Frank relaxed in the sofa and started seeing the porn starlets in a much different way.

One of the naked women’s skin started necrotizing into a black and red lava mix. She grew fangs that looked like little daggers as they hung down to her bottom lip. Red scaly dragon wings sprouted from her back. A brown hairy tail sprouted as well. Her fingernails grew to the size of Freddy Kruger’s blades. When she screamed at Frank, she sounded like a grizzly bear ready to maul its helpless prey.

“Dude, is this some good shit or what?” said Sylvester, who at this point looked less like a mop-haired beanpole and more like a fire-eyed zombie with blue skin.

Frank was hard-pressed to disagree with his partner’s statement. “Yeah, man. That bitch had some good shit on her. I love the war on drugs!”

The demonic woman got on all fours and crawled out of the television set, shattering the coffee table upon making her arrival. She let out another beastly roar, which caused Frank to wet his pants and Sylvester to laugh like a fool. “Come on, man, this shit ain’t real! It’s just a hallucination!” said Officer James, who then got his whole head bitten off by the frightening woman.

Frank was crawling over the couch arm and screaming in terror while Sylvester’s headless body squirted a fountain of blood in the air. The demon woman licked her lips after sloppily masticating what was left of her victim’s dome. “Mmmmm, delicious!” she said in a throaty voice before roaring again.

Officer Hennessy crawled on the hardwood floor and let out panicky groans. The demonic woman jumped in front of him and revealed her true face. She now had the scraggly dark hair and bloodshot eyes of Tara Greenlee. Frank got into a fetal position and cried like a little bitch. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what I did! Just please, leave me alone!”

Tara grabbed Frank by his white shirt’s collar pulled his face close to hers, smiling like a skeleton with slimy dental hygiene. “It’s too late for atonement, my friend!” she said in her growling voice. “You took something from me that I fought for since I was a little child! That marijuana was for breast cancer! I was about to make a full recovery when you and that bloody piece of garbage over there shot me in cold blood!” Tara was breathing deeply and grunting in between cadences.

Tears were dribbling down Frank’s cheeks as he kept saying, “I’m sorry!” over and over again. Tara smiled her sick smile at him and chucked him halfway across the room, where he crashed through his desk and screamed with a mixture of fright and pain. The monstrous avenger pointed at Frank Hennessy and laughed while taking pictures of him on a smart phone she produced with her magical powers. She even rubbed her eyes sarcastically and said, “Boohoo!” with even more mockery.

The irony wasn’t lost on Frank, who in his moment of crippling pain and grueling tears felt around for something he could use to defend himself. It was then he remembered the desk was where he kept his pistol. Tara continued to horse laugh, but Frank would have the last word when he found his pistol and opened fire.

Every bullet hole that pierced Tara’s skin let out a volcanic eruption of blood and organs until the whole living room floor was flooded up to Frank’s ankles (now that he was standing on wobbly legs). He limped and trudged through the murky flood until he saw Tara on her knees screaming and crying in agony. “You little bitch!” yelled Frank before he jumped on her and rained down relentless fists upon her horrifying visage. Her cheek bones, nose, and teeth were cracking and splitting with every hard shot. Frank even held Tara’s head under the blood flood in an attempt to drown her. After a while of kicking and bubbling, the demon stopped moving.

Frank, ignorant of the pain he felt crashing through his own desk, held his arms up in victory and shouted, “Yes! How does that feel, you little skank! Nobody screws with the Paulson City Police! Nobody! We’re number one!” He repeated that last line over and over again until the pain finally caught up to him and he passed out on the bloody floor.

A bright new morning was shining its sunlight through Frank’s windows. The rays felt like little flamethrowers against his eyes. His head was thumping like a bass drum. He coughed violently as he woke up for the day. After rolling on his back and slowly opening his eyes, he saw his fellow police officers looking down on him and confirming he was alive.

The cops pulled Frank to his feet and he suddenly got a better view of what was going on around him. No demons. No fangs. No claws. No dragon wings. The only blood stain in the whole living room was the one left behind by Sylvester, who was being carted away on a gurney with a light blue blanket draped over his corpse.

“Franklin George Hennessy? You’re being placed under arrest for the murder of Officer Sylvester Kenneth James. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to legal counsel. If you can’t afford a lawyer, one will be provided to you by the state. Do you have any questions about these rights?” said one of the cops while Frank’s hands were being cuffed behind his back.

Frank did have a question and it was a good one too: “What the fuck just happened here?!”

Volcanic

***VOLCANIC***

This is awesome. Whenever I’m desperate for a journal topic, I could just talk about the lyrics to a powerful song I like. This is my third song blog since giving up the practice on Garrison’s Library so many years ago. As it turns out, it actually helps pain the picture for my readers when I post the full lyrics from top to bottom. What’re we looking at today? Formaldehyde. Necrolium. Nitro Benzine. This thing actually has over seven thousand chemicals. Don’t get me started on what they do to you. Stunted lung growth. Prematurely wrinkled skin. Tooth loss. Cancer. Okay, so I may have stolen that from an antismoking commercial. What we’re really looking at is a song that produces more smoke than any cigarette ever could. It’s called “Volcanic” and it’s by Death Angel. Death Angel normally produces heavy thrash metal, but “Volcanic” is soft and gentle. Here’s how it goes:


VERSE 1
Sick and tired of living with this grief
Done with all the sorrow and the pain
Asphyxiated can no longer breathe
Anesthetized until I've gone insane
So carry all this baggage when you leave
Swallow all those bitter pills you take
Blame it on the world, blame it on me
Tolerated too much of your game

CHORUS
Temperamental, unpredictable
The sky turns black when I exhale

VERSE 2
A change of weather come around too much
A sign of a deeper cut
Lying dormant on a bed of nails
Without warning, violently erupt
So bleed the molten river from my veins
Collapse upon myself, disintegrate
Shame upon the world and shame on me
Hate the player but don't hate the game

CHORUS
Temperamental, unpredictable
The sky turns black when I exhale

VERSE 3
So condescend and patronize my lead
Persecute the innocent again
Rain down on the world and rain on me
Ticking like a bomb that's got your name

CHORUS
Temperamental, unpredictable
The sky turns black when I exhale


Don’t you feel better already?


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

I’m definitely cutting it close when it comes to getting my entry in for this week’s contest, which is about “Last Words”. My main reason for a late entry has to do with going out in public the past few days and then feeling exhausted when I come home. Public life isn’t good for introverts, but working out at the gym is necessary for my health, so I go along with it. This week’s story is the first sci-fi/fantasy/horror one I’ve done since completing fifty stories for Poison Tongue Tales, which hasn’t been published yet. It’s called “Dancing with Mary Jane” and it goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

Frank Hennessy, Corrupt Cop
Sylvester James, Corrupt Cop
Tara Greenlee, Cancer Patient

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Tara’s last words are, “Justice will find you!”

SYNOPSIS: Frank and Sylvester confiscate medical marijuana from Tara and shoot her when she “resists”. The two corrupt cops go over to Frank’s house and smoke the marijuana themselves while throwing their own party. During the “festivities”, Frank and Sylvester see Tara as a ghost monster and think they’re just hallucinating. When the vengeful spirit proves otherwise, Frank and Sylvester are in a bloody fight for their lives.

FUN FACT: It’s only a coincidence that Tara, a marijuana user, has “Green” in her last name. No play on words here.


***CORNY HEAVY METAL JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when Phil Anselmo multiplies a bunch of numbers together?
A: Math For War.


***POST-SCRIPT***

If you don’t listen to Pantera, you won’t know why that’s funny. If you really need to scratch your head that badly, I suggest you wash your hair with Head & Shoulders dandruff shampoo.

Where to Invade Next

MOVIE TITLE: Where to Invade Next
DIRECTOR: Michael Moore
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Political Documentary
RATING: R for language and nudity
GRADE: Extra Credit

As America falls behind in education, healthcare, employment, and overall happiness, Michael Moore sets sail to “invade” countries by “stealing” their ideas on how to run society so that he can bring them back to America. In Finland, there is no homework in school. In France, childhood nutrition is of utmost importance. In Italy, taking eight weeks of paid vacation is the law of the land. These, among other stress-relieving ideas, were originally American ideas, but somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten how to use them. Mr. Moore’s positive attitude toward bringing change to his home country with these now European ideas makes the educational experience that much more fun to watch on screen.

While Michael Moore was shooting footage in Italy, he said something that set the tone for the entire movie in terms of positivity and stress-relief: “I’m here to pick the flowers, not the weeds.” In other words, while he acknowledges that life isn’t perfect in these other countries, they at least got some things right. By “picking the flowers”, Mr. Moore is highlighting all of the positive things about these countries to give the people of America hope for a better day. The overall theme we’re dealing with is happiness among the citizens. When citizens are happy, they’re more productive, they’re more educated, and they learn to take care of each other in a civilized way. In Norway for example, the prison system focuses on rehabilitation and not revenge. They have only a 20% relapse rate while vengeful America has a whopping 80%. Holy shit!

There’s also a history lesson to be learned when it comes to American culture and it was highlighted in Michael’s trip to Germany, where the people take responsibility for their Hitler-tainted past and ensure it never happens again. In America, a country built on Indian genocide and black slavery, it took a few centuries to reinvent slavery and deny racism in the process. After the civil rights movement, black people and other minorities had equal rights. Years later, drugs marketed to the “urban folk” became illegal and minorities started getting locked up left and right. Many of the products we use today are thanks to free labor from the prison system. It’s disturbing as hell and Michael Moore has no problem shining a bright neon light on the problem.

Focusing on happiness and being taught history are both excellent traits to have in a movie, but the one thing that changed me as a human being was suddenly having the urge to travel to and maybe live in other places outside of America. I’ve been on vacation to Canada and I loved every minute of it. But what about Germany? What about France? What about Denmark? Now that I know what exactly is out there, the travel bug bit me like an alligator in the Florida Everglades. Yes, it would mean having to sit on a plane for hours on end, but I’m sure arrangements could be made ahead of time to make crossing the ocean bearable. Maybe there are airlines with beds instead of seats. Maybe I could book a private flight. Maybe I could take a cruise ship across the water. Rekindling my interest in culture and history was something that needed to happen since I’d been out of college since 2009 and I wasn’t taking in enough creative fuel.

Of course, there are going to be some Negative Nancies and Debbie Downers out there who will call Michael Moore’s cinema “bullshit”. I’m sure he’s heard that insult several times throughout his long and illustrious career. Hell, some directors tried to make entire documentaries slamming Michael Moore and his “scare tactics”. To those conservative critics who are so quick to judge, I have three words for you: “Look it up”. Get online and find out just how serene and peaceful Norway’s prison system is. Google just how much respect women have in Iceland since the worker’s strike in 1975. If you’re still steaming mad about what Mr. Moore talks about in his movies, maybe you should go to Italy and take an eight week vacation from work. Feel the stress and unhealthiness slipping away from your pain-wracked body!

Medusa

VERSE 1
The eyes of Medusa turn you to stone
Chilling your skin right down to the bone
For all of your sins, it’s too late to atone
The palace gates are your brand new home

CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race

VERSE 2
The fangs of Medusa chew through your throat
Spilling your blood and guts in the acidic moat
The tongue of Medusa says her goodbyes
As she glares at you with those devilish eyes

CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race

HOOK
She’s the twenty-first century heartbreaker
She’ll lead you straight to the undertaker
Into the hands of your own damn creator
How much will it take for you to hate her?

VERSE 3
The soul of Medusa is empty and frozen
She is the one that you’ve clearly chosen
Seduced into a life of poverty and hell
You don’t have the urge to kiss and tell

EXTENDED CHORUS
Snakes for hair, ice for a heart
Demonic flesh for body parts
Look at her face, it’s time to embrace
Your final fate in this human race
The underworld gods are laughing
The hellhounds’ claws are slashing
Was any of this lust worth it in the end?
Be sure to give her your regards to send

Bent To Fly

***BENT TO FLY***

The last journal entry had to do with song lyrics that resonated with me and this one will be no different except for the song in question. As I was at the YMCA doing my water-walking today, the Slash and Myles Kennedy song “Bent To Fly” came up on my waterproof MP3 player. Until today, I never paid close attention to what the lyrics really were. Now that I’m home and I’m reading the lyrics online, I realize just how powerful this song really is. Like the singer, I too had aspirations of living independently from my parents. Not because it would actually benefit me, but because society told me that that’s what success looks like. And then I started taking classes at WWU and living in a dormitory with three strangers. I’d never felt so alone in my life. No animals, no family, very few people who were permanent friends, I went to Bellingham and had nobody to turn to. Because of my loneliness and isolation at WWU, I was constantly depressed, bored, and in a negative state of mind. My family in Port Orchard has always been my go-to place for love and friendship whether it came from my parents, my brother, his girlfriend, their daughter, or my pets. I don’t live at home purely out of financial stability. I live there because my family loves me and I love them. When I listened to “Bent to Fly” today and paid closer attention to the lyrics, they hit me almost as hard as the lyrics to “In Perfect Harmony” by Within Temptation. Take a look.


VERSE 1
Mama, don't you cry
Don't you worry
I cannot stay here any longer
The time has come to find
A distant calling
That only seems to get much stronger
And I know it's hard
To see the one you come to lean on make his way
Far beyond the womb
But I can't stay

CHORUS
I won't stop running
I'm only getting closer
To getting off the ground this time
The sky is calling
The wind is at my shoulders
Won't let this chance pass me by
Mama, I'm bent to fly

VERSE 2
Remember yesterday
Before the storm
Before the innocence was lost
I promised I would stay
Forevermore
But every boy in time moves on
Your wounds will heal someday
This I know
But I am restless and so torn
Mama, I can't stay here anymore

HOOK
I can feel it coming
A perfect storm is rising
Gotta say my last goodbye


Who would’ve known that such sensitivity could come from two hard rock badasses like Slash and Myles Kennedy? We’ve got tears, say beers! Wait, that’s not how it goes.


***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

SUSAN: If you see a girl you like, just ask her if she wants to get some coffee with you.

ME: I don’t like coffee.

SUSAN: She might like coffee, you ass! What are you going to do, ask her out for some cheese and energy drinks?!

Cemetery Gate

A vacation getaway at Stone Mountain was just what AJ Robbins and Eve Mills needed to clear their heads and recharge their batteries. For the lovely brunette Eve, kayaking down the river and hiking nature trails made her feel relaxed at the end of the day. AJ, on the other hand, always seemed jumpy at the possibility of wildlife, shivered at the thought of drowning in the river, and was winded from the long days of activity. When Eve snuggled under the covers at night in their rented cabin, she was smiling calmly. When AJ snuggled with her, he was shaky and nervous.

On the last night of their vacation, AJ was sitting at the fireplace of their cabin cooking juicy and tender steaks. It was the only time he seemed at peace with himself, the mindless activity, the warmth of the fire, and the smell of the oak.

But this was more than just a simple case of introversion vs. extroversion. Eve was watching her man from the comfort of the sofa. Judging from AJ’s nervous shaking and quick exhaustion, she knew something was bothering him. Before actually agreeing to this vacation, he was adamant about it being an alternative to going to their tenth annual high school reunion. He was keeping a secret deep down inside and Eve intended to flush it out.

The slender lady looked comfortably sexy in her navy blue college sweatpants, white T-shirt, and bare feet. She smiled her warmest smile as she approached AJ with the intention of massaging his shoulders. The minute those lovely hands touched down on his flannel shirt, the blond pony tailed boyfriend jumped nervously once again, his only means of quiet erased for the rest of the evening.

“Jesus, honey, don’t ever sneak up on me like that again. You almost made me drop the steaks into the fire,” said AJ. He was cooking them on a cast iron skillet that was suspended over the cracking flames.

“I’m sorry, dear. I was just trying to give you a back rub,” said Eve with her hand on her man’s shoulder. “This is supposed to be a vacation and yet here you are looking stressed out all the time. This is supposed to be your way out of going to our high school reunion.”

“I know what it’s supposed to be!” snapped AJ as he turned his head around and stood up shortly after. Eve was beginning to backpedal in slight fear. Her boyfriend then steadied his voice and said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

Knowing the apology was genuine, Eve held both of AJ’s hands in hers and looked lovingly into his icy blue eyes with a hint of concern. “You’ve been acting funny ever since we got here. You never acted this way before. Ever since I mentioned the possibility of us going to that reunion, you’ve become a completely different person.” Eve wrapped her affectionate, slender arms around AJ’s neck and asked, “Are you hiding something from me? If you have something to say, you need to say it.”

AJ sighed and brushed his girlfriend’s arms away before dejectedly saying, “Leave me alone.” and plopping down on the hemp cushioned sofa.

Eve folded her arms and said, “Actually, no, I’m not going to leave you alone. You know why? Because I love you and I don’t want any secrets to get in the way of our relationship. Come on, AJ, admit it. You are acting strangely.”

The boyfriend shrugged his shoulders and mouthed a few indecipherable words before saying, “I don’t want to talk about it. I really don’t. I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you want to hear, but some things should just be left alone.” He pointed at his own forehead and said, “You see this? This is a cemetery gate to all the things that go on in my brain. When you bring up bad memories, you’re committing grave robbery.”

“So you admit that there’s something bothering you right now,” said Eve Mills.

Once again, AJ Robbins shrugged his shoulders and tried to put together a sentence. He finally succeeded in doing so when he said, “What difference does it make? I mean, that shit was ten years ago! Ten years! You’re going to bring up things from ten years ago?! What are you, my fucking shrink?!”

“No, AJ, I’m your girlfriend. Sometimes I have to play the role of your mother, but most of the time, I’m your girlfriend. As such, if something’s wrong with my man, I need to take care of him and make sure he’s okay. I’m going to ask you this one more time, AJ: what’s going on here?”

AJ quickly stood up and stared daggers at his girlfriend as he made his way to the fireplace to check on the steaks. He used a metal spatula to put one on each plate and then delivered Eve her meal. “You hungry? Eat up.”

Eve stared daggers right back at her boyfriend. She took her steak off the plate and never broke eye contact as she trudged to the window and tossed it outside for the squirrels and rabbits of Stone Mountain. “Actually, AJ, no, I’m not hungry. In fact, I feel kind of sick to my stomach right now.” Her voice was getting progressively louder as she spoke. “I’m sick of the fact that I’m helpless to do anything for you because you won’t open up about what’s bothering you! This isn’t just a little annoyance we’re talking about here! This is something that’s affecting both of us! We came to Stone Mountain to have a good time and to relax! You clearly haven’t been able to do either and now you’re pretty much ruining our time together! So much for that five hundred dollar deposit!”

AJ threw his steak plate against the adjacent wall and watched the drippy piece of meat slime it’s way down the oak wood. Eve jumped backwards in fear against the sofa before AJ stood over her and made his announcement: “I’m gay.”

A deafening silence stood between them with AJ’s muscles tensing and Eve’s eyes getting teary eyed and her body shaking. After a while of sharing the only peace and quiet they could get together, AJ Robbins sat down on the sofa next to Eve Mills and said, “That’s what’s been bothering me all this time. I love you, Eve, but not in that way. I probably should have told you earlier, but…I just couldn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to end this way.”

Eve’s tears started piling up in her eyes and she could do nothing but bury her face in her hands and sob away. AJ patted her on the back and said, “That’s right, Eve. Cry it all out. Get those tears out of your system. You know who else feels like crying right now? Me. I’ve been wanting to cry since I was eighteen years old and going to high school. But men aren’t allowed to cry, you see, because that makes us weak and that reinforces the “faggot” stereotype.”

Eve breathed heavily in and out as she was sobbing. She slowly lifted her face out of her hands and looked her boyfriend in the eyes. “A whole year, AJ. You let a whole year of our relationship go by without telling me this. Why? Why would you do this to me?”

“You know what? You’re right. You’re one hundred percent right,” said AJ sarcastically as he stood up and paced around the log cabin to make his emotional oratory. “If I had just advertised my sexuality a long time ago, none of this would have happened! Because that’s what gay people like me do: we go around advertising ourselves like common whores! That way, there will be no surprises after the football team beats the shit out of us and calls us faggots and queers! Or in my case, getting sodomized by the FUCKING CAPTAIN!!”

The outburst that oozed with sarcasm and anger brought an even more powerful flood of tears from Eve Mills’ eyes. “I’m sorry, AJ! I didn’t mean it like that! I just wanted to know what was going on with you!”

“Are you happy now? Are you happy to learn that not only is your boyfriend gay, but he also got raped in high school? Does that tickle your fancy? Does that butter your bread? Come on, Eve, pull your head from your ass! Not everything has to be black and white! But then again, I think that crucifix around your neck is cutting off the blood flow to your brain!”

Eve’s shirt was stained with a million teardrops and her heart was shattered like a pot of roses. She allowed her emotional silence to speak volumes about how hurt she was. But just when it looked like she didn’t know how to react, she stood up slowly and sluggishly approached her then-boyfriend. Her face was wet, her lips were pouting, and her nose was running. But just like old times, she held AJ’s hands in hers with so much tenderness.

“Listen to me, AJ,” said Eve in a soft and tender voice. “You are who you are and I am who I am. I know this will never work between us and I’m actually glad this all came out before we had the chance to marry. But…” She was taking heavy breaths of sorrow. “If we can just put aside everything for one minute, I have one last thing I want you to do for me and then we’ll go our separate ways. AJ? I want you to hug me as tight as you can. We don’t have to kiss. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I just want a hug. You probably wouldn’t like my dad given what you’ve said about my crucifix, but the one way he would always make me feel better was by hugging me. It felt so warm.”

“That’s all you want, Eve? A simple hug?” asked AJ in a soft voice.

“Yes, AJ, that’s all I want. I still do love you and I always will. But if this is goodbye, then I want my new life to start out the right way,” said Eve in a trembling voice. A moment of hesitation stood between them. And then there it was: the all-important embrace that felt warmer than any fireplace could. Eve’s tears were drying up quickly and AJ was able to feel peace once again. A hug. A simple hug was what concluded a year of misguided romance. And it was a simple hug that started things over again.

"Sick Puppy" by Carl Hiaasen

BOOK TITLE: Sick Puppy
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 1999
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass

Twilly Spree is a twenty-something Floridian eco-warrior who would gladly beat somebody’s ass if they screwed with Mother Nature. The first of his victims in this story is Palmer Stoat, a sleazy lobbyist who shamelessly chucks food wrappers out of the window of his car. Mr. Stoat becomes even more disgusting when he tries to put together a political deal to build a bridge to Toad Island, thus burying the wildlife beneath the sand. To teach him a valuable lesson in respecting the earth, Twilly will go to some vile lengths whether it’s filling Palmer’s car with dung beetles, filling his other car with a dump truck’s haul, kidnapping his dog, or kidnapping his wife Desie, who’s already sickened with him anyways. Other colorful characters join the fray in an extortion scenario more chaotic than a deadly hurricane.

When finding things to love about Carl Hiaasen’s work, the colorful characters are the first to come to mind. After Twilly beats up some college drunkards for injuring a seagull with beer cans, you pretty much have no choice but to like the guy. The kidnapped doggie, Boodle/McGuinn, proves to be a sweetie pie and pivotal to bringing the story to its wild conclusion. Even the main villain of the story, Mr. Gash, has some quirky habits, such as listening to tapes of violent 9-1-1 calls while dubbing them with dramatic classical music. But none are quirkier than the returning Clinton “Skink” Tyree, a braid-bearded, shower cap-wearing, glass eye-having, and nearly naked eco-terrorist with a delightfully misanthropic side to him. There’s not one character in this book who won’t strike the reader as wonderfully weird.

But as much as you love to read about these cartoon-like characters, some of them you’ll wish a nasty fate upon. Mr. Gash is a sociopath hit man, so he should go first on the barbecue rack. Palmer Stoat is already a classless litterbug, but he’s also a heartless wildlife hunter with worse marksmanship than Ray Charles. Robert Clapley is a huge part of the bridge deal that’s going to kill off wildlife, but he also has a psychotic fetish for Barbies (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Governor Dick Artemus is just as…well…dickish as his first name suggests with his sleazy politics and loudmouthed behavior. No need to worry about these morons making it to the finish line, because sooner or later, everybody, and I mean everybody from this book gets what they deserve. Such is the way of Mother Earth.

If you’re intimidated by the fact that this book is five hundred plus pages long, relax. Carl Hiaasen’s thrillers always dictate a fast pace without neglecting the finer details of his prose. Everything is shown like a movie on TV from the details of Mr. Gash’s god-awful haircut to the creative way in which he gets his comeuppance. Even when Mr. Hiaasen is giving a History Channel-like lecture on the back stories of his characters, you can still enjoy the ride and not feel like he’s trying too hard to maintain your interest. Trust me, he doesn’t have to try at all. After several decades of writing these kinds of humorous novels, kick-ass environmental storytelling is as easy to him as breathing in and out.

Although Carl Hiaasen novels are entertaining and fun to read, there’s also an important message behind all of the chaotic violence, Sick Puppy being no exception. The message of land and animal preservation is highly apparent in this book since we actually get to see what kinds of shady deals go on between lobbyists and politicians, both Democrat and Republican. Money controls everything in politics and as long as there’s lots of it going around, nobody’s going to care what happens to the baby toads or cuddly squirrels of Toad Island. If on the other hand you actually have a soul like Twilly Spree and Clinton Tyree do, you’ll realize that there are more important things in this world that money such as intelligence and decency. Will Carl Hiaasen’s novels change the minds of ignorant people? I hope they do. A passing grade goes to this wonderfully crafted piece of literature.

In Perfect Harmony

***IN PERFECT HARMONY***

I have no idea why, but the lyrics to the Within Temptation song “In Perfect Harmony” made me dewy eyed when I read them online. That’s not the same is full-fledged crying, but it was close. I still hold the 2007 record for the last time I bawled like a baby. But if you all want to know what these lyrics are, keep reading. You might get dewy eyed too.


VERSE 1
In a world so far away
At the end of a closing day
A little child was born and raised
Deep in the forest on a hidden place
Mother never saw his face

CHORUS
Ancient spirits of the forest
Made him king of elves and trees
He was the only human being
Who lived in harmony
In perfect harmony

VERSE 2
The woods protected, fulfilled his needs
Fruit by birds, honey by bees
He found shelter under trees
He grew up in their company
They became his family

VERSE 3
A thousand seasons
They passed him by
So many times, have said goodbye
And when the spirits called out his name
To join forever, forever to stay
A forest spirit he became


The question of the day is: did anybody else become teary when they read that or am I just fluff and stuff? We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

A new week means a new prompt. This time we’ve got “cabin” as our keyword and it turns out only one of my synopses fits the prompt. My story this week will be called “Cemetery Gates” (named after the Pantera song) and it goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

AJ Robbins, Traumatized Boyfriend
Eve Mills, Loving Girlfriend

PROMPT CONFORMITY: AJ and Eve are spending a weekend together in a cabin.

SYNOPSIS: AJ and Eve have been a couple for a long time now and all of the sudden Eve feels like her boyfriend is keeping secrets from her. When the two of them eat dinner together, she presses him about it and AJ becomes defensive. The secrets he’s been keeping are too traumatic for him to talk about and he prefers to keep those memories buried forever. AJ even refers to his mind as a cemetery gate since it keeps a graveyard of buried secrets underneath. The argument between this couple is a classic debate between having no secrets and respecting traumatic privacy.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The last drawing I did was of Levi Lincoln, who’s basically Bray Wyatt in a British Guard shako. Up next? Marcus Edge from “Stardust”, who’s basically Clinton “Skink” Tyree from Carl Hiaasen’s novels with druidic magic and a hotter temper. Mitch O’Connor (space mercenary from “Stardust”) could have worn all the armor he wanted to, but his ass was lunch meat the minute Marcus Edge laid eyes on him. Yikes!


***OCCUPY WRESTLING***

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been moving any faster than a snail’s pace when editing these chapters. But getting them edited I’ve been doing and it will continue with chapter six and seven, where the police get a nasty surprise in the form of hooded druids with snake masks and magical powers. Where the hell is Marcus Edge when you need him? Better yet, where the hell is Mitch McLeod when Debra Winter needs him?!


***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do pop music and scissors have in common?
A: Rock beats both of them.