Thursday, March 31, 2016

I Dream of Weird Shit


I say all the time that dreams are a rich source of creative fuel. They’re like Vitamin B12 for the schizophrenic mind (trust me, this is real science; look it up). Last night’s visit to the subconscious theater was one that qualified as cinematic wizardry. Or a psychotic cluster fuck, one of those two. Either way, I’m going to harvest as much creative fuel as I can from this once in a lifetime acid trip. Here’s how the dream went:

I started the dream by opening a newspaper and reading about male-to-female transgender MMA fighter Fallon Fox confronting Ronda Rousey at one of her press conferences…wielding a crossbow. That’s right, folks. A crossbow. Not a shotgun. Not an AK-47. A crossbow. Nobody around me was asking why Fallon Fox was holding a crossbow. They wondered what kind it was and how many rounds it could carry. This was the one instance where it was okay to complain about unfair advantages in a one-on-one situation. A crossbow, for shit’s sake!

I put down the newspaper and get to work at my family-owned toy store. My occupational dreams have come true; I get to work with toys! I was setting up various Bionicle figures on the display table and even playing with some of them. My videogame playing brother signed a package for a shipment of Double Dragon games…for the PS4. A beat-‘em-up side-scroller from the 1980’s is now on Playstation 4. Where the fuck have Jimmy and Billy Lee been this whole time?! I missed those guys!

And then I actually start to play a copy of the game. Seeing as how it’s on the newest generation of videogame consoles, the game is ten times harder than its Regular Nintendo predecessors. The first level is a ski resort crawling with anthropomorphic wolves carrying big fucking swords. The creatures themselves aren’t so scary. It was when they grabbed Billy Lee and bashed him over the head several times with the handles of their blades that I decided to lower the difficulty and try again.

The ski resort level was the same, but this time I was fighting baby dolls with milk bottles. The same health bar-draining beatdown happens all over again. The dolls force feed me sleep-inducing milk while the other dolls punch and kick me while I’m down. I throw the control and say, “I don’t want to play anymore!”

I couldn’t play the videogame any further anyways, because it was time for me to clock out from the toy store and spends some time with my babysitter. This thirty-year-old man actually has a babysitter! And that babysitter has some cute daughters who are about my age. I tell everybody how beautiful they are and they get creeped out.

Instead of talking about beauty, we watch a TV show about aliens disguised as people roaming the earth and preparing it for an invasion. For the main character, we have a bald guy in a trench coat and a hat with his face concealed as he goes around ratting on these aliens to the authorities. Every time he successfully squeals on an alien, he gets a new identity under the Witness Protection Program and continues roaming the earth to do his detective work. He one time ratted out an entire restaurant because the aliens were making racist jokes about Europeans. Aliens getting accused of xenophobia: the irony could not be clearer.

After the end credits rolled, the closing logo featured a guy getting hit by a car and flying through the air, getting hit by another car and flying through the air, getting hit by a train and flying through the air again, and then getting his nose chopped off by a helicopter’s propellers. In the words of the pilot, “That’s one dead motherfucker!” For some reason, I thought that closing logo was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.

I woke up this afternoon at about two o’clock and I didn’t want to do anything for the rest of the day. I was so exhausted from ongoing sleep apnea issues that writing was impossible until now. I also didn’t feel like watching WWE NXT or Smackdown this evening, instead electing to watch the NXT Takeover special in Dallas tomorrow night and Wrestlemania 32 on Sunday.

Losing an entire day of potential work to sleep apnea is something that has plagued me throughout my whole career. Some days I’d have energy, some days I didn’t. Today was the latter and I felt awful about it. Not to worry, because I finally scheduled a sleep study which will take place on June 8th, five days after my 31st birthday and three days before seeing Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in Auburn. Chances are good I will need an oxygen mask, which I won’t mind as long as it gives me the energy I need in my day-to-day routine.

As of now, I have a short story to write for the WSS and a chapter to edit the hell out of in Occupy Wrestling. Those things don’t just write themselves. At least now I have some funky creative fuel to power me through my short stories. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


Q: What do you call it when the voices in your head laugh at you for having dirty underwear?

A: Skids-ophrenia.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Youth of the Nation


Even though some of the songs on my iTunes play list are considered “Christian rock”, I am by no means religious. But even with my proud atheist liberal stance, I can appreciate the message of POD’s “Youth of a Nation”. Instead of trying to push an agenda, the song is simply a mourning of all of the lives lost due to school shootings. In all of the debates going on politically, the one thing we always seem to forget is to care for one another and be the best neighbors we can be. Hugs and hair fuzzles can go a long way. Hell, it may even be the last time you get to do something like that for the ones you love. Show your love often and in huge volumes. People remember that sort of thing, so much so that they’ll take it to the grave with them when the time finally comes to die. Here are the lyrics to “Youth of a Nation”:

Last day of the rest of my life
I wish I would've known
Cause I didn't kiss my mama goodbye
I didn't tell her that I loved her and how much I care
Or thank my pops for all the talks
And all the wisdom he shared
Unaware, I just did what I always do
Everyday, the same routine
Before I skate off to school
But who knew that this day wasn't like the rest
Instead of taking a test
I took two to the chest
Call me blind, but I didn't see it coming
Everybody was running
But I couldn't hear nothing
Except gun blasts, it happened so fast
I don't really know this kid
Even though I sit by him in class
Maybe this kid was reaching out for love
Or maybe for a moment
He forgot who he was
Or maybe this kid just wanted to be hugged
Whatever it was
I know it's because
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
Little Suzy, she was only twelve
She was given the world
With every chance to excel
Hang with the boys and hear the stories they tell
She might act kind of proud
But no respect for herself
She finds love in all the wrong places
The same situations
Just different faces
Changed up her pace since her daddy left her
Too bad he never told her
She deserved much better
Johnny boy always played the fool
He broke all the rules
So you would think he was cool
He was never really one of the guys
No matter how hard he tried
Often thought of suicide
It's kind of hard when you ain't got no friends
He put his life to an end
They might remember him then
You cross the line and there's no turning back
Told the world how he felt
With the sound of a gat
We are, We are, the youth of the nation
Who's to blame for the lives that tragedies claim
No matter what you say
It don't take away the pain
That I feel inside, I'm tired of all the lies
Don't nobody know why
It's the blind leading the blind
I guess that's the way the story goes
Will it ever make sense
Somebody's got to know
There's got to be more to life than this
There's got to be more to everything
I thought exists
We are, We are, the youth of the nation


It’s a brand new week and a brand new prompt. This time we’ve got “Deception” and a story called “Exposed”, which goes like this:


Trent O’Neil, Math Teacher
Juliet Farrell, Freshman Student

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Trent deceived the whole school into thinking he was a decent human being.

SYNOPSIS: In order to improve her math grade, Juliet has been spending extra time after school with Trent as her unofficial tutor. On the eve of a midterm test, Trent leaves the classroom to use the toilet and forgets to lock his desk drawers. Juliet goes to leave her extra credit assignment on the desk and gets suspicious when one of the drawers is ajar. She opens it and becomes horrified when she sees nude photos of herself neatly stacked inside. Trent comes back from his bathroom break and tries to “explain” how nude photos of Juliet ended up in his desk. The student tries to escape, but the teacher is blocking the only exit. It’s fight or flight for the little freshman and she hits hard.


With the completion of Chapter Ten’s editing chores, I have officially crossed the halfway threshold of this novel. Ten more chapters and we’re ready to rock and roll. Ten more chapters. I can do ten more chapters. The eleventh one will probably get a complete overhaul since it’s the scene where Nina Jordan traces one of Keegan’s prison phone calls to an abandoned gas station. At least I think that’s the one, I’m not sure. If it is, then I’ll have to involve a large number of cops along with the ever-present Snakes of Jehovah. I can do this. I can goddamn do this.


DWAYNE PRIDE: Lay off the bee puns!
SONJA PERCY: Yeah, it’s not like this is a sting operation.

-NCIS: New Orleans-


Speaking of that TV show, John Oliver asked a very important question in one of his “Last Week Tonight” episodes: “How can there be that many dead navy sailors in New Orleans?!”

Monday, March 28, 2016

No Means No

Reading the same words over and over again drained the life out of Selena Gray and Jasmine Shelley’s eyes to where they could just fall asleep at the library. Every letter of their textbooks looked as dull and gray as rainy weather. They had been cramming this useless information for hours while hunched over their table drifting in and out of slumber.

“Jesus Christ, what time is it?” asked the dark-haired Selena with no life in her voice.

“Time to go to bed. This is ridiculous,” said the blond-haired Jasmine with a yawn punctuating her sentence. “I swear to god, if I don’t pass this test, I’m going to be pissed. I dumped way too much money into this damn college to just let it all go to waste.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Selena as she stretched out her arms and squinted.

When the two students stood up, pushed their chairs in, and stretched some more, Jasmine had a quizzical look on her face while walking toward the library window. “Do you hear that? There’s something going on outside. It’s like some yelling or something.” She thought about it some more and then her sleepy eyes widened to alertness. “Oh, no, no ,no, not this!”

Jasmine and Selena headed over to the window and cracked it open just a pinch. The boisterous voices outside belonged to the Sigma Alpha Alpha (ASS) Fraternity, all of them barrel-chested, all of them wearing red sweaters with their logo, and all of them holding a banner that emulated their chant. “No means yes! Yes means anal!”

“Oh my god…oh my god…” said Jasmine with tears in her eyes as she slid down the wall and parked her rump on the floor. She kept repeating herself while holding her head and rocking back and forth. When Selena knelt down to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, Jasmine finally said, “There’s a boy down there that I used to date. Max Tyler. He’s the one with the blond hair combed back. I can’t let him see me up here. We’ve got to get out of this fucking library!”

Selena hugged her friend around the head and said in a soothing voice, “Okay, calm down, we’ll get out of here. I think there’s a back exit in this library that leads to the woods. Once we get there, we’re hitting the ground running. Hell, I think our physics books called this velocity or some shit like that. Come on, let’s go.”

The two students stood up and left their books behind when they speed-walked their way to the back exit. Once they touched the door handle together, they stopped and took deep breaths in preparation for what came next. Selena asked, “Are you ready? One, two, three!”

On three the door burst open and the two female students bolted out to the woods at the highest velocity with no regard for their tiredness or physical wellbeing. If they had to drain every ounce of energy running through these woods, they would keep going until their feet were bleeding. They weaved throughout the trees and foliage and were already breathing heavily. Only a few seconds later, they were hunched over. Their tongues were aching and their ribs felt like they were on fire. But keep running they did.

In this mad sprint to nowhere in particular, there wasn’t much time to take in the dark surroundings. Because of that, Selena didn’t notice an oncoming deer when it got excited and kicked its hind legs into her stomach, driving the air from her body like a deflated balloon. After the deer ran off, Selena found herself on her knees trying to suck in as much air as she possibly could. She coughed violently while blood poured from her lips.

Jasmine rushed to her friend’s aid and knelt beside her with a light hug. “Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Once Selena was done coughing and puking up blood, she rolled over on her back holding her stomach and said, “What good is 9-1-1 going to do? There aren’t even any police watching those assholes at the college! What the hell’s going on here?” She pounded the ground in frustration, but that only sent a flood of pain through her stomach and caused her to heave more blood.

In the midst of this first aid excitement, Jasmine still managed to hear leaves crunching and twigs snapping under somebody’s boot. She immediately thought the worst and pulled her wounded friend as far away from the noises as possible. In her exhausted state, Jasmine still managed to find a hollow log to take temporary shelter in alongside Selena.

Once the two crawled inside, Jasmine placed a gentle finger on Selena’s lips and whispered, “You have to be quiet, there’s somebody out there. Try not to cough.” Selena couldn’t help it and let out a drop of blood before Jasmine shushed her again.

The leaves and sticks crunching grew louder and closer to the hollow log. A familiar male voice said in a singsong voice, “Oh, Jasmine. I know you’re out here. I can still hear you saying no from a mile away, babe. Well, you can say no all you want, but you know what no really means, right? Forget all that feminist bullshit for one night and just let me have some of that action!”

Jasmine felt her breathing getting heavy as the memories of dating Max Tyler flooded back to numb her mind. The vaginal groping in the movie theater. The breast grabbing in public. The smacks on the ass. The persistent requests for sex and the increased aggressiveness in Max’s voice each time Jasmine said no. Each of these frightening scenes made her wonder why she would even date such a caveman in the first place. Her heavy breathing became even heavier as anger mixed in with her anxiety. If it wasn’t for Selena giving a slight shush, Jasmine wouldn’t have put her own hand over her mouth.

“Oh, Jasmine-Pie, come out, come out wherever you are! If I don’t find you, my buds will. I didn’t like the idea of sharing you at first, but I could see it happening one day. I totally could!” Max’s combat boots were at the opening of the hollow log facing the left direction, a scene which almost made Jasmine gasp in fear. She resisted the urge yet again when she felt something furry crawling up her leg. No! It wouldn’t happen like this!

Jasmine petted the furry animal that was mounted on her leg and suffered a few blood-drawing bites on her finger. She didn’t scream as the little guy ran inside her hoodie pockets. In fact, she crawled out of the hollow log with him. “Jasmine, what are you doing?!” Selena whispered aggressively. “Get back here!”

Outside the log, Max was still strolling around the woods with a goofy grin on his face and his hands in his sweater pockets. “Come on, baby girl, give me a kiss!” he said while making lip smacking noises.

“Kiss this, you pervert! No means no!” shouted Jasmine. When Max turned around to face his ex-girlfriend, a squirrel jumped out of her hands and into his face, chewing his cheeks and nose with a voracious appetite. The frat boy backpedaled and screamed curses when he tried to pull the little munchkin off his face.

The squirrel was about to finish his delicious dessert and then it jumped off when Max tripped over another log and rolled down the hill. He crashed head first against one of the trees and was unconscious and bleeding almost instantly. He might have even been dead.

Jasmine breathed heavy sighs of relief as she knelt down on a pile of leaves and let the floodgates pour like rain. It was finally over. No truly meant no this time. Her moment of victory was ruined when she heard Selena cough up more blood as she crawled out of the hollow log. Jasmine rushed to her aid and petted her hair before saying, “It’s okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital. It’s all over.”

“Woo-hoo! Lesbian make-out scene, yeah!” shouted one of the male voices from the crowd. A whole group of frat boys dressed in sweaters and khakis were standing only a few feet away from where Jasmine and Selena were.

“Go away! Get out of here! Can’t you see she’s hurt!” shouted a sobbing Jasmine.

“Yeah, we know. You know who else is hurt? Max! I don’t see you doing anything for him! Maybe you should go down that hill and give him mouth-to-mouth!” said one of the frat boys before the whole group of them laughed like donkeys.

Selena managed to roll over onto her stomach and get on her hands and knees. In a raspy voice, she said, “Go to hell!” and then spit a wad of blood at one of the frat boy’s feet. That one guy formed an angry face and marched over to get his “free pussy” when he felt the world’s deadliest kick to the nuts. He crumpled over and spat up even more blood than Selena did.

The other frat boys began scurrying away when they saw that the same wild deer from before had reared its head again, kicking, bucking, and being a wild warrior in general. Jasmine got a good look at the deer’s face and saw that it was foaming at the mouth when it took a big bite out of the frat boy’s arm, causing him to squeal in pain.

The deer danced and flailed around some more before curling inward and flopping on the ground in death. Its foaming mouth was flooding with even more poison now that it was dead.

“Hey, Jasmine,” said Selena before coughing some more. “Remember how I said calling 9-1-1 would be useless? I may have lied a little bit. It maybe useless, it may not be. But it’s our only fucking hope.”

Jasmine tenderly held Selena’s head in her arms while dialing 9-1-1 on her smart phone. “Yeah, I need an ambulance to come out to Braxton Woods. My best friend was kicked by a deer.” She looked empathetically at the frat boy and Max Tyler before saying, “There are two other people who need medical attention too.”

“Just let them die, Jasmine!” shouted Selena.

“Shut up!” whispered Jasmine angrily. She talked back into the phone, “Oh, and one more thing. The deer died of rabies. Okay, thanks! Bye!” The stresses of the day caused the exhausted Jasmine Shelley to roll over on her back and gaze at the night sky. It wasn’t long before tiny raindrops pricked her skin, but she didn’t care. She never felt safer than in this moment of victory.

“We’re supposed to be better than those guys, Selena,” said Jasmine. “That’s why I included them in the ambulance call. Besides, if you really want them to learn what “no means no” stands for, wait until they go to prison!” Jasmine and Selena’s smiles were brighter than any full moon out this evening.

Friday, March 25, 2016

The Undertaker

The bitter taste of wheat beer slid down Heath Danielson’s throat like a flash flood of numbness. It was like drinking horse piss, but it was effective at making him forget how badly his father was screwed over when he lost his bakery to the bank. Heath also forgot that he was supposed to behave in a gentlemanly manner when drinking at this particular bar.

When he fell asleep, his face landed right into a neighboring woman’s chest. All of her screams and slaps across the head were like flies buzzing: a mere annoyance. It was the beefy bouncer who grabbed Heath by his scraggly brown hair and floppy arm that finally made him realize how fucked up he had become. Being tossed out on the streets and landing firmly on the unforgiving concrete was not a mere annoyance. The scrapes and bruises were proof of that.

In his brain-dead ecstasy, Heath managed to pull himself up off the ground using a parked car as leverage. Staying up would prove to be harder as he stumbled and crawled his way down the sidewalk. He occasionally let out an obnoxious burp and everybody in his vicinity scurried away from him. Cars began honking at him as if their horns were enough to awaken him from his drunken nightmare.

All Heath really wanted to do was find a nice place to empty his bladder, which was the size of a snow tire. He couldn’t go back to the bar or any other place of business since he was too drunk to read their signs. He did however find a nice shade of darkness where he was convinced he was the only one there. Perfect!

Heath waddled and stumbled into the darkness until his forehead hit a brick wall and temporarily woke him up. He had a lump where he smacked his head, but it was as good a place as any to drain the lizard. He struggled to find his jeans zipper, but eventually unzipped it and let the urine pour from his system like the floodgates of bliss. This simple bodily function put a stupid grin on Heath’s face, as if it was the only form of happiness he could experience since his father had to close his bakery.

Once his bladder was drained, Heath tucked his thingamabob back in his pants and unwittingly gave himself a zipper injury. The spark of pain got a yelp out of him as well as the temporary ability to read what was in front of him. The drunkard’s eyes grew wide and his body was shaking violently at what he saw. He just pissed on the memorial of Zell “The Undertaker” Jardine.

“Oh, shit!” Heath said to himself. Before he could turn around and run away, a trench-coat wearing arm rose up from the grave and grabbed him around his throat, squeezing with the strength a silverback gorilla. Even without significant oxygen and a brain full of booze, Heath could easily make out this zombie’s features: an old man with white horseshoe hair, muscles upon muscles, and a trench coat that carried god knows what. Zell tossed Heath on the ground and allowed him to hack and wheeze what little oxygen he could back into his body.

As soon as the lush was breathing normally (albeit with raspy overtones), he had the urge to relieve himself once again when he saw Zell pull a long, bloody, and jagged machete out of his trench coat. “I’m going to enjoy every minute of this,” said the former war hero. “Which one of your limbs should I cut off first? Your arms? Your legs? Or maybe I should make that zipper injury feel like a paper cut and hack off your tiny dick!”

Heath crawled backwards and waved his hand defensively as he tried to plead his case to someone nicknamed “The Undertaker”. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know that was your grave!” The lush let out another sickening burp. “I’m just really pissed off tonight. You see, my dad just had to close his…”

“Silence!” shouted Zell. Heath’s breaths were getting faster and deeper with every step The Undertaker took towards him. The sounds of militia boots hitting the pavement were loud and clear to even someone with drunken vision. “I didn’t spend ten years in a government prison getting tortured half to death just so I could have disrespectful faggots like you pissing on my grave! All I want is a little peace and quite and you can’t even give that to me! You and your disgusting burping; it’s damn insulting!”

Heath’s eyes were cascading with tears when he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Jardine. I’m really sorry. Please don’t kill me. I’m fucking drunk as a skunk right now. I don’t even know where the hell I am right now. I’ll give you your peace and quiet if you’d just let me go.”

Zell’s demonic eyes rolled backwards when he reached down and grabbed Heath by his shirt collar to hoist him up, holding the jagged machete to his throat in the process. “If you have any brain cells left in that thick skull of yours, then you’d better start begging for your life a lot better than that. I’ve cut up many demons and undead warriors with this machete and it would be an honor to take your head off as well. Go ahead, you little bitch! Scream for your life!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! Please let me go! My father needs me!” shouted Heath in a pathetic voice, prompting Zell to release his shirt collar and allow him to drop to the ground. The demonic zombie still had the machete pointed at his would-be victim. Heath waved his hands defensively and said, “Look, man. I’m just the son of a baker. I used to be before the goddamn bank took everything away. You just said you were in a government prison for ten years. Didn’t you feel like doing…you know…something drastic?” That last sentence was punctuated by another burp.

“Every damn day I felt like doing something drastic!” shouted Zell. He allowed that comment to hang in the air for a few long seconds before putting his instrument of destruction back in his trench coat. “Every damn day,” he said with more compassion. “Even when I got out of that prison and we eventually won the war, things were never the same. The story doesn’t end just because the author puts his pen down. I had nightmares when the war was over. Sometimes I’d wake up and wouldn’t know where I was. And yes, I did a lot of drinking during that time, even more so than you.”

Heath looked up at his now calmed down assailant with compassion of his own. And then he turned his head to the side and puked his guts out. Some of the flowing stomach acid managed to dirty up Zell’s boots, which once again put a sadistic frown on the war hero’s face. After wiping the bile from his mouth with his jacket sleeve, Heath realized what he just did and said in that same pathetic voice, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please, don’t kill me!”

Zell’s eyes rolled back and he this time picked Heath up by his unwashed hair before pulling the machete back out to hold it to the drunkard’s throat. Mr. Danielson cried like a little baby with his tears coming as quickly as his puke. The zombie warrior shouted, “Shut up! Stop your blubbering, little boy!” The tears had dried up. “So that’s how your story’s going to end, huh? You’re just going to let these corrupt banks do whatever they want with your father’s business? One that he worked so hard to obtain?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” said a whiny-voiced Heath.

The Undertaker pressed the blade against Heath’s throat even harder, drawing a little speck of blood and causing the raspy breaths to come more rapidly. And then Zell turned the blade over and put the handle of the weapon in Heath’s shaking hands. “I have no more use for this now that I’m dead and gone. But for you, my friend, it’s not too late. Take this blade and show those asshole bankers that you’re not one to be fucked with!”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t just attack them like that!” said Heath.

“You’re right,” said Zell sarcastically. “They’re just going to give your father’s bakery back to you like civilized gentlemen. Because that’s how the real world works: everything is handed to you and nothing has to be fought for. That’s why I have my own tombstone where I’m resting more comfortably than I would in a Hilton Hotel.”

Heath could feel the cold steel in his hand. It was such a simple weapon of war with jagged edges and many lives claimed. A prolific war hero was passing down his instrument of death to a mere drunkard who never thought he could change the world with a bloody slash. This blade made Heath Danielson feel powerful. It made him feel revolutionary. Those suit-wearing jackasses at Babylon Bank didn’t stand a chance against him. They could have all the beefy security and all the brutal cops they wanted and they would all fall down one by one. A sea of blood would overtake the streets as the souls of those claimed by this machete would be burning in hellfire for all eternity.

“You can count on me, Mr. Jardine. Nobody steals from the Danielson family! Nobody!” shouted Heath…right before he puked up another meal on Zell’s legs.

“For God’s sake, man, don’t ever drink that much alcohol again!” shouted the zombie before shoving the drunkard down on the ground.

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

General Update: Creative Fuel


I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. I say this all the time and it bears to be repeated. Creative fuel can come from the strangest places and it can result in some of the strangest pieces of art imaginable. I kept wondering if the Hulk Hogan dream I had in my last journal would amount to anything and it just might. And then things just rolled on from there. Here’s a general update on all of the short story synopses I’ve created, dreams I’ve had, and movies I’ve seen. If you feel inspired by any of this to do something of your own, then that means my journal was a success. If not, well, at least now I have something to talk about. Starting with the synopsis I plan on using for this week’s WSS contest (Breaking the Habit)….



Zell Jardine, The Undertaker
Heath Danielson, Depressed Drunk

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Hopefully, this encounter with Zell will break Heath’s drinking habit.

CREATIVE FUEL: The Undertaker from the WWE, a legendary wrestler who will compete at Wrestlemania 32 against Shane McMahon in a Hell in a Cell match. If Shane wins, he will gain control of the WWE and The Undertaker will be out of a job.

SYNOPSIS: After his father’s bakery goes out of business, Heath nurses his sadness at a bar and gets so drunk that the bartender orders him to leave. Not knowing where he is now, he stops to relieve himself in a random spot in the street. When his vision comes back into focus, Heath realizes he just urinated on Zell Jardine’s grave. Zell’s hand rises from below and grabs the drunk by his throat. “The Undertaker” as he’s called is hell bent on murdering Heath in cold blood. Mr. Danielson tries to explain his situation and say he’s sorry, but he’s too drunk to put words together.



Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling
Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego
Kasabian, Alien Lord
Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors

CREATIVE FUEL: Hulk Hogan dream.

SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.



Leon Archer, Vengeful Brother
Bryan Hicks, Former Bully

CREATIVE FUEL: Episode of Family Guy where Peter confronts an ex-bully of his who is now physically disabled.

SYNOPSIS: Leon finds the permanent address of Bryan Hicks, a former high school jock who bullied Leon’s brother to the point of suicide. Years of tension built up inside Mr. Archer, but when he sees Bryan bedridden in his apartment due to cancer, he’s faced with a moral dilemma. Will he beat the crap out of a weakened former bully or will that make him just as bad as Mr. Hicks used to be? Bryan tries to convince Leon that he’s a changed man who would go back in time and make different decisions if that was possible. Five years of lonely anger dictates otherwise for Leon.



Steve Jones, Frightened Boyfriend
Kathryn Marsh, Angry Girlfriend

CREATIVE FUEL: The Gorgon Video logo at the beginning of the “Faces of Death” movies.

SYNOPSIS: Steve and Kathryn had been dating for several months and are already living together. They’ve also been fighting a lot recently, giving Steve ideas of breaking up with his girlfriend. When he comes home late from work one night, Kathryn tears into him verbally, prompting Steve to give into his designs of ending the relationship. Kathryn bursts into tears on the couch and then transforms into a gorgon to terrorize her lover some more. Steve tries to talk some sense into her, but he’s too terrified to put words together. He’s also trying not to look Kathryn in the eyes lest he be turned to stone.



King Blizzard, Tyrannical Giant
Jason Clark, Farmer

CREATIVE FUEL: Giant gold and bronze action figure I used to have of Sabertooth from “X-Men”. I called it King Blizzard for the sake of the play dates I used to have with my childhood friend Lance.

SYNOPSIS: For centuries, King Blizzard has bullied the people of The Zeal Empire by stealing food from their farms and tromping all over the land if he doesn’t get what he wants. In the past, soldiers and mages have all been sent out to slay the giant, but all that did was lead them to the slaughter. For as long as he owned his farm, Jason would always be someone who surrendered his food without incident. That changes on the day he decides to stand up to the giant. He might get himself stomped on in the process, but in his mind, it’s better than living life without his family, whom Blizzard killed when his “payment” was late one year.


As many of you already know, I have a Deviant Art friend named Zero Urrea and we’ve been friends since 2009. Last night, I had a weird dream about him where I went to his house and his TV was showing an anime about a bisexual monster farmer. Zero came home dressed in camouflage pants and carrying an AK-47 over his shoulders. He also miraculously had brown skin (he’s white in real life). The two of us went on a road trip together to drive me back to Port Orchard. On our way there, we saw that all of the amusements parks in the world were melting into liquid. In an effort to enjoy one of them while we could, we swam in the current the melted water was making. Then I woke up from that dream when my brother James wanted to take me to the YMCA and I didn’t want to go.


I saw that movie earlier tonight with my mom and Reina. While I won’t write a review for it since it would contain spoilers, I will say that it’s one of the rare mediums that deserve an Extra Credit (five-star) score. It was fucking awesome to say the least. When we were driving home from the cinema, Reina said that I reminded her of Chewbacca from the film. I’m not that hairy and I can’t shoot a crossbow worth a damn, but I do growl and groan a lot, so the comparison is apt.


On WWE television, Jerry Lawler always has nicknames for his fellow announcers based on their initials. He calls Byron Saxton BS (bullshit) and Mauro Ranallo MR (mentally retarded). If Tom Philips was part of the team, he would be called TP (toilet paper). If Daniel Bryan ever decided to become an announcer, he would be called DB (douche bag). Such unfortunate initials to have when calling the Smackdown action with The King.

Thursday, March 17, 2016

Hulk Hogan Dream


I’ve always known that dreams could be an awesome source of creative fuel. I never expected one of them to be a short story idea for the WSS. Now that I’m wide awake and I’ve processed everything that happened in the dream, I’m not sure if it’ll even become a future story. Maybe I could be convinced into writing it by whoever’s reading this blog entry. Ready or not, here it comes!

The main character in the story was played by me, though I don’t remember the person’s name. All I know is that I was captured by an alien race with squid-like faces and taken to their flying saucer’s prison cells. They should have patted me down for weaponry before locking me up, because I had the one weapon that would put me in beast mode forever: Hulk Hogan’s Hall of Fame ring. I slipped it on my finger and transformed into the former WWE wrestler, the healthy 1980’s version. I ripped the bars off the cell and started beating the crap out of squid-faced aliens with big boots, clotheslines, suplexes, body slams, and leg drops (did I get all of his five moves of doom?). And then I got to the helm of the ship where the master alien was waiting for me. Soon I was joined by The Ultimate Warrior and the two of us beat the crap out of the alien leader together. I woke up thinking this would make a good short story idea, but now I’m not sure.

And now that I think about it, if I did write this story, it would be considered fan fiction since WWE owns the name Hulk Hogan. Although, with the racism scandal in 2015, they don’t want anything to do with him anymore and pretty much scrubbed him from their history. So the question now becomes, if I write this story and it’s considered fan fiction, can I be sued for publishing it and if so, by who: Hulk Hogan himself or the WWE? At this point, I’m better off using an entirely different character instead of Hogan, but it wouldn’t have the same effect or meaning. Copyright laws are fickle bitches.


“Team PCB calling themselves the most dominant divas in WWE is like Donald Trump saying his favorite holiday is Cinqo De Mayo.”

-Nikki Bella-

Tuesday, March 15, 2016


The rain poured down on the helpless African diamond miners like the tears of those sent to heaven by Andrew Bradley’s bullets and grenades. A whole line of skinny workers were on their knees with their arms bound behind their backs and their heads down in shame. Some of them were so skinny that their bones were visible. Some of them didn’t have arms or hands. Some of them were as young as seven years old. All of them shivered at both the sensation of cold rain and the fear of the mercenary for hire standing behind them with an AK-47 in hand.

“Alright, you little wankers, listen up!” said Andrew Bradley in his tone-deaf English accent. “I came here for one reason and one reason only: the Ninja Ruby is here in this exact diamond mine. I’d better get some answers as to where the hell it is or else all of you are getting bullets! Not excuses, not questions, but bullets! Bullets in your head! Bullets in your back! Bullets up your arse!”

With his muscular and hairy body, black tank top, camouflage pants, and eye patch over his right eye, Andrew was a specimen of intimidation. The worst part about that? He could back it up. When he wasn’t getting answers from the bound up miners, he took the butt of his rifle and smashed it in the back of a random worker’s head. The worker screamed in pain as he laid on the ground with his wound bleeding like crazy.

“Consider that your final warning, you little twerps! If I don’t hear an answer soon, I’m going to start shooting!” screamed Andrew as he fired his automatic rifle in the sky and laughed his ass off.

And then a shuriken flew past the scene and lopped off the tip of the AK-47. Another one flew past and exploded the ammo card. One more flew by and was centimeters away from taking off Andrew’s trigger finger if he didn’t drop his weapon in time.

One of the workers smiled up at Andrew and said, “You want to know where the Ninja Ruby is? You can find it on that cave. There’s just one problem: you won’t make it out alive!”

“Is that a threat? Huh? Is that a threat?!” Andrew roared when he pulled out a bowie knife and held it to the smiling worker’s throat. “You’d better wipe that god-awful grin off your face or else you’ll get a Columbian necktie! We’ll see if you’ll be smiling after that!”

A blowgun dart whizzed by and struck Andrew in his thick leg. He hopped away from the “smart-assed” worker and grimaced in pain. With one swift jerk, he pulled the dart from his leg and allowed it to bleed minimally. He stared down the cave with gritted yellow teeth and a death grip on his knife’s handle. “That’s it! You want to screw around with me! I’ll slash your fucking head off and drink your nigger blood!”

Andrew marched into the cave and lit up his club-like flashlight. No matter where he shined it, he couldn’t find even the slightest clue as to where the perpetrator might be. “Alright, you little pansy!” shouted the mercenary. “I’ve had just about enough of your smart-assed trickery! If you won’t come out of here with your hands raised to the sky, I’ll blast this goddamn cave back to the Stone Age! I’ve got enough dynamite in my truck to shake the entire earth to its core!”

“That won’t be necessary, my friend.” Andrew turned around and saw that the source of the deep-voiced dialogue came from a man dressed in multi-colored robes with a demon’s mask over his face and a katana in his hand. “My name is DJ Rouge. You wanted to know where the Ninja’s Ruby was. Here it is. Come and take it.” DJ removed his eye patch and revealed a beautiful red gem in his socket.

Andrew looked at the ruby with O-mouthed awe as it shined brightly enough to illuminate the whole cave. DJ pulled the gem out of his eye socket and threw it out of the entrance to the cave, darkening the atmosphere yet again except for Andrew’s flashlight. “What are you waiting for? Go fetch, you hideous dog!” said DJ.

“You cheeky little bastard!” yelled Andrew as he charged up to DJ while swinging wildly with his bowie knife and flashlight. Every blow he threw scraped dust off the cave walls and ground, sometimes even taking whole stones. But never once did Andrew hit his target, who was moving with acrobatic quickness and calm stealth.

“You can’t play defense forever, you little swine!” yelled Andrew. He was right. DJ slashed the mercenary’s flashlight in half with his blade and darkened the room once more. The only light remaining was at the entrance, which was still somewhat dim due to this cold weather. “Where are you?! Where are you, you little bastard?!” bellowed Andrew.

With darkness as his ally, DJ threw knees and elbows to Andrew’s ribs, stomach, and face. Each blow shook the brute’s body and made a resounding thud. But even with a few crunches here and there, Andrew boldly said, “Is that all you’ve got?!” DJ then threw a sweep kick and knocked the British warrior on his ass.

Instead of growling in pain, Andrew did so in frustration and got up immediately to throw random punches and kicks in the dark. Not one of them found its target and instead all he got were DJ’s kicks to his thick legs, almost buckling his knees. “Where are you, you little creep?!” yelled Andrew Bradley.

The mercenary threw another uppercut, but this time hit the ceiling with such force that a rock came down and bonked DJ Rouge on the head, prompting him to let out a small “Ow!” That one mistake was enough for Andrew to grab DJ around his throat and pin him against the wall with brutal force.

The mercenary squeezed with such force that he could feel DJ’s throat becoming thinner and his neck bones popping. “You hear that, you little shit?! That’s the sound of your own undoing! Are you ready to tap out?! Are you ready to give up?! Huh?! Huh?! HUH?!”

DJ was on the verge of passing out or having his neck snapped when the sound of a loud explosion boomed across the mine fields. Andrew’s grip weakened as he started to worry. “Oh no!” he yelled out before releasing the chokehold and running out of the mine. He could hear DJ coughing violently with bloodily, but the music to Andrew’s ears was ruined when he saw his truck bursting into flames.

“No! No, no, no!” yelled Andrew. He dropped to his knees and cried pathetically, though the African workers would have no sympathy for him. They stood around the explosion with their arms folded and their expressions angry.

“What was that you said about having enough explosions to shake the earth?” said one of the workers in a mocking tone.

“Oh, go to hell, you little jerk-offs!” cried Andrew. “All I wanted was a little ruby for my bosses! It wasn’t personal! It was just business!”

“Ruby? You mean this?” said the worker as he pulled out the brightly shining stone. “Go ahead. Take it. It’s yours.” Except he didn’t just hand it over. He threw the gem right into Andrew’s good eye and caused him to scream pathetically some more. His eye was squished like an olive and all he could do was roll around like a wounded animal.

And then the gem was ripped from Andrew’s good eye and a blade was held to his throat. DJ’s familiar voice said, “These people you held captive. They were never meant to be slaves for your corporate banks. I came here to free them. They’re not just ‘cheeky bastards’. They’re hard workers who deserve much better than the treatment you gave them today.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want! Just don’t hurt me! I’ll never come by here again!” pleaded Andrew.

“Anything I want, huh? Alright then. Tell me who you work for and I might let you go.”

The next morning at Babylon Bank, the chubby, white-haired CEO received a package in his office. He smiled at it with his saggy jowls and opened it up like it was a Christmas present. It was delivered by Andrew Bradley, so he was expecting a brightly shining Ninja Ruby. Instead all he got was pieces of Andrew’s hair and his heart. A bloody, sloppy heart that would have been cold even without the dry ice. The CEO screamed in a tone-deaf voice that would have woken up the dead, including Andrew Bradley.

Monday, March 14, 2016

Congratulations, Piper!


Early this morning, my cute little squeaker kitty Piper was named Cat of the Day. Sitka came before her in 2014 and the tradition continues in 2016 with Piper-Diaper. So congratulations, little Squeak, for capturing the hearts of the internet with your diva charm! You’re getting extra petting tonight! The link to Piper’s Cat of the Day nomination can both be found in my Deviant Art ID widget and in this blog entry. Go ahead: soak it all in! ^_^

It’s also worth a few seconds of your time to read the sweet comments from the Cat of the Day community. Everybody loves Piper-Diaper! If it seems like I’m living vicariously through the fame of my cat, it’s because I am. Then again, giving an animal a good home and a happy life is an important thing for all pet owners to do. You may have a nice, friendly Piper in your home as well who depends on you for love and petting. ^_^


The new computer works great and it’s all thanks to my awesome brother James for helping me set it up and not allowing me to make the same downloading mistakes I made with the first one. There’s going to be a lot more animal pictures, dark fantasy warrior drawings, and most importantly, literature. Lots and lots of literature. I didn’t leave the internet: I took a three day vacation. Now, let’s get some work done!



-Piper, March 14th, 2016 Cat of the Day-

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Computer Stiuation


Hey, everybody. I told some people on Good Reads and Face Book about my current computer situation, but I haven’t gone into full detail until now. So, ready or not, here it goes. Yesterday evening, I bought a new computer from Best Buy since my most recent one is nine years old and freezes too often for my tastes. I set up the new computer and do my usual things from downloading Google Chrome, downloading AVG Antivirus, and installing Microsoft Office 2003 (since it’s the only software that will read my backed up writing files).

So far, so good. And then I start ripping CD’s onto the new computer using Windows Media Player and that’s when everything turned to shit. Some CD’s were skipping even though they’re in mint condition and some CD’s have tracks that won’t rip at all (“Apex Predator” by Cavalera Conspiracy). And then when I want to use WMA or any other program for that matter, the computer freezes and goes to a black screen. Once I’m on the black screen, I’m not capable of doing anything, so I have to shut down the computer by hitting the power button.

The moral of the story: new computers shouldn’t freeze or act up in any way, shape, or form. Earlier today, we exchanged the recently bought freezing computer for a brand new one that hasn’t been set up yet. Chances are, the second computer will be better since two defective computers in one sitting is highly unlikely. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have a backup plan. And a backup plan to go with that backup plan. And a backup plan to go with that backup plan. And so on and so forth.

I’m currently using my parents’ downstairs computer to write this journal, but it’s not the same as having my own, which means a few things will be hindered until the new computer is set up and a-okay. I had to drop out of the WSS contest this week, so there won’t be a short story called “Ninja” in the near future, though I may write it after the contest is over and add it to Poison Tongue Tales 2: Warrior Spirit anyways. There also won’t be rock songs for the day on Face Book and there won’t be any other forms of creativity until the computer is ready to go. Technology frustrates me, yet I can’t do business without it. Reina once joked that I was in an abusive relationship with my old computer. I can’t say she’s wrong or that she’s not funny. Hehe!

If it seems like I’m not on the internet as often as I used to be, it’s because of everything I just explained in this blog entry. I will say this: one way or another, my creative career will continue. I will have a working computer and I will keep plugging away. It’s hard to maintain a gung-ho attitude about all of this given how angry I get at malfunctioning technology, but it may be my saving grace. Good manners don’t cost anything, never forget Pink Floyd lyrics.



“I’ll believe a long-nosed Pinocchio before I believe anything Kevin Owens has to say.”

-Byron Saxton aka BS-

Thursday, March 10, 2016

Song of Myself


This past Monday night, instead of watching WWE Raw, I went to the Showbox SoDo in Seattle to listen to the epic music of Nightwish along with their opening acts Sonata Arctica and Delain. It was a fun and exciting night, one that I will cherish as much as when I saw them in 2008 at the same venue, if not more so. Nightwish was one of the many bands that got me through a lonely life at college from 2007 to 2009. To repay them for their awesomeness, I will do another lyric journal, but with their namesake. “Song of Myself” was released on their 2011 album Imaginarium, the final CD to feature second lead singer Anette Olzon. While I don’t know if her departure was on sour terms, I do miss her a lot, but that’s not to take anything away from Floor Jansen, who’s just as awesome as her first two predecessors. But no matter who the lead singer is, she’ll have Tuomas Holopainen’s genius lyrics to guide her through every song. Let’s get busy!

The nightingale is still locked in the cage
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs
An old oak sheltering me from the blue
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys

A song of me song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me verse in need
Of a pure-heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

All that great heart lying still
In silent suffering
Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end
What is left for encore
Is the same old dead boy's song
Sung in silence
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

A midnight flight into Covington Woods
A princess and a panther by my side
These are Territories I live for
I'd still give mt everything to love you more

A silent symphony
A hollow opus #1, 2,3

Sometimes the sky is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

Resting pipes, verse of bore
Rusting keys without a door

Sometimes the within is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,
with a begging bowl in his shaking hand.
Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices.
I do, but walk by.

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic
It's half-light and he's in tears.
When he finally comes his eyes are cascading.

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me.
All pride has left his wild eyes.
I wish I had my leg to spare.

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars.
She's never loved him more.

An obese girl enters an elevator with me.
All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck.
Terribly sweet perfume deafens me.
She's going to dinner alone.
That makes her even more beautiful.

I see a model's face on a brick wall.
A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill.
A city that worships flesh.

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering
man telling his story
It was you, the grass under my bare feet
The campfire in the dead of night
The heavenly black of sky and sea

It was us
Roaming the rainy roads, combing the gilded beaches
Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn
Bathing in places no-one's seen before
Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island
Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature
In early air of the dawn of life
A sight to silence the heavens

I want to travel where life travels,
following its permanent lead
Where the air tastes like snow music
Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden
I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture
I would bathe in a world of sensation
Love, goodness and simplicity
(While violated and imprisoned by technology)

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment
I used to experience true love
That love remains infinite,
as I'll never be the man my father is

How can you "just be yourself"
when you don't know who you are?
Stop saying "I know how you feel"
How could anyone know how another feels?

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar,
whore, politician, wrongdoer?
I am, you are, all of them already

Dear child, stop working, go play
Forget every rule
There's no fear in a dream

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"
- a child asked me
"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

I've never been so close to truth as then
I touched its silver lining

Death is the winner in any war
Nothing noble in dying for your religion
For your country
For ideology, for faith
For another man, yes

Paper is dead without words
Ink idle without a poem
All the world dead without stories
Without love and disarming beauty

Careless realism costs souls

Ever seen the Lord smile?
All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man?
Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks?
Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is
All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground

I see all those empty cradles and wonder
If man will never change

I, too, wish to be a decent manboy but all I am
Is smoke and mirrors
Still given everything, may I be deserving

And there forever remains the change from G to Em


Although I posted “Medicine Man” online yesterday, that wasn’t the one that will go into this week’s contest. I have different plans for the “paper hearts” prompt. It’s called “Ninja” and is named after a Skindred song, much like “Medicine Man” is named after a Pantera song. Here’s the synopsis to “Ninja”:


DJ Rouge, African Assassin
Andrew Bradley, English Mercenary

PROMPT CONFORMITY: DJ leaves behind paper hearts as his calling card.

SYNOPSIS: Andrew is assigned by Babylon Bank to raid an African diamond mine in an attempt to bring them a priceless rock known as the Ninja’s Ruby. When he gets there, armed with an AK-47 and a belt of grenades, he begins slaying mine workers and rebel soldiers left and right with no absence of malice. The actual rock he’s looking for isn’t in the mine itself, but in the eye socket of a sword-slinging vigilante named DJ Rouge, who also came to the diamond mine, but to free the slaves instead of kill them. DJ and Andrew engage in a heated battle over the gem and the former’s quickness and stealth earns him the nickname “African Ninja” from his opponent.


Up next on the barbecue rack is Courtney Robyn, the psycho-bitch serial killer from “Mastodon”. Is it strange to say that this murderer is scarier to be around than a raging version of the eponymous animal in question? Shit, I’d rather get stepped on by a wild beast than get stabbed in the chest by Courtney Robyn.


KEVIN OWENS: What happened to the guy with the weird hair and the glasses?

MICHAEL COLE: Mauro Ranallo is ill this week.

KEVIN OWENS: Yeah, he probably got sick from listening to your commentary.

MICHAEL COLE: That’s nice.

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Medicine Man

Maggot therapy wasn’t the prettiest form of medicine nor was it the safest. And yet, Tetra Engel knew he had to have it. It was his sister Lily’s only chance at survival. Dressed in brown rags with a demon mask over his face, Tetra took deep breaths in and out in order to calm his nerves. One wrong move could mean certain death. Then again, knowing that there was arguing going on inside the Church of Darkness could prove to be a worthy distraction for those guarding the maggot farm.

Tetra pulled out a rope with a hook at the end of it and twirled it over his head. As the whooshing noises were getting progressively louder, he threw the hook with all of his might and hit his target: the rim of the church’s roof. He was certain the maggot farm was on the top level and getting in through the roof would be his best shot at stealing the medicine.

With the hook firmly grasping its target, Tetra held the rope and walked up the wall of the church. His faith in maggot therapy was met with stomach wrenching anxiety as he saw the designs in the multi-colored windows. He saw minotaurs slashing the throats of small children with sling blades, death angels breathing fire on veiled women, and dragons spitting acid on helpless farm animals. Such violent imagery caused Tetra to puke in his mouth a little bit as he was scaling the wall.

His blood also started to chill when he heard the argument within the church intensifying. Voices were throatier and louder. Plus, the sounds of weapons clanging together and wooden furniture breaking didn’t relieve Tetra’s anxiety any further. He took a break from climbing and wiped the cold sweat off of his forehead. He also spit out some bile onto the street below and then continued climbing until he reached the tiptop of the church.

The rooftop was ordinary enough with its flat stone surface. Nothing unusual there. And then Tetra Engel saw the steeple, which depicted a baldheaded vampire chowing down on a unicorn’s neck and splattering blood every which way. “God, these people are fucking disgusting!” said Tetra silently to himself.

Before the cunning rogue could take his first step, the middle smashed open and a purple light beam shone from within the church. Flying from that magical beam was a dark-skinned woman with a red Mohawk, a black halter top, and black baggy jeans. As she rolled backwards toward Tetra, the metal spear she was carrying dropped in his lap. Tetra tossed the spear aside and crawled over to get a closer look at her.

As soon as he saw who she was, the thief cowered backwards in an anxiety-driven crabwalk until he was at the corner of the roof. Being a thief gave Tetra a certain level of street wisdom. This woman was Anya Kolobalos, the leader of the Blood Dagger Syndicate. Anybody who messed with her would end up as a little shit on the floor after she gutted them alive with her spear and drank their blood like religious Kool-Aid.

Anybody except the dark paladin who sprouted black demon wings and flew gracefully up the purple light beam and onto the rooftop. This man was Jax Nightshade, the innovator of maggot therapy and the city’s most vile businessman. His black trench coat and steel armor underneath gave him that villainous look he always wanted. The baldheaded, dark-skinned knight slowly walked over to Anya and Tetra with a bloody smile on his face.

“Well, well, well, it looks like we’re not alone after all, Anya. I didn’t know my church had a rat infestation. In fact, those are the two biggest rats I’ve ever seen in my life,” said Jax in a smooth baritone voice that sent chills up Tetra’s spine. “Which one of you shall I exterminate first? Should I just play a game of spin the bottle? How about ink-a-dink? Or maybe I’ll just take both of you at the same time. Yeah, that’ll be lovely!”

Tetra stuttered, “L-L-Listen, Mr. Nightshade. I didn’t come here for any trouble. I just want s-s-s-s-ome of your maggots. My sister Lilly has breast cancer and I was hoping th-th-th-that…”

“Shut up, you sniveling cretin!” shouted Jax in a voice that mustered up intense winds. He smiled evilly once again and said, “Of course, if you want to have access to my maggots, you’ll have to pay just like everyone else. But judging from those rags you’re wearing, it doesn’t look like you have deep pockets full of gold. Couple that with the fact that you came here through the rooftop instead of the front doors and I know exactly what’s going on. You’re a thief. You’re a liar. You’re a fucking sewer rat!”

This arguing allowed Anya enough time to pick herself and her spear off the ground before charging at Jax with rapid fire thrusts. Jax held a purple cloud of energy in his hand like a shield and blocked every single one of those shots with perfection. The dark paladin then slapped the gangster across the face and sent her rolling to the ground. He jumped on her chest and began raining down punches with green lightning around his fists. Anya covered her face with her arms before reaching up with her free leg and placing a kick to the back of Jax’s head to stop the assault.

The dark paladin rolled off of the gangster and clutched the back of his head in mock pain. He even let out some unconvincing “ouches”. Anya tried to pick herself up off the ground again, but her arms were fried and she couldn’t get a stable grip. Out of the corners of their eyes, the two of them saw Tetra trying to pick the lock to the trap door that lead into the maggot farm.

“Hey! Those are mine, bitch!” screamed Anya as she crawled agonizingly across the roof. Tetra shot up and said, “Uh-oh!” while looking for a way out. He tried to run back to the grappling hook, but was intercepted by a flying Jax Nightshade, who grabbed the thief by his neck with one hand and hoisted him in the air.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted off of this roof? You can fly like a birdie if you want!” said Jax with a sick smile and gritted teeth. He dragged Tetra kicking and wheezing by his neck to the edge of the roof. Still holding the thief by his throat, Jax dangled him over the edge and forced him to look at the street below.

Tetra’s vision was fading from being strangled, but when he saw how high he was off the ground, his stomach had a knot the size of a watermelon and his eyes were tearing up like rivers. He thought of his cancer-stricken sister Lilly and how he had failed her not only as a caregiver, but also as a brother. His last supply of oxygen would be spent thinking of how shitty of a way this was to die. His eyelids were getting heavy and he was ready to sleep his life away.

And then Jax let go of his grip and Tetra got a whirlwind of oxygen back into his lungs. He snapped back to reality and had enough alertness to grab the rope next to him and hold on for dear life. His hacking and wheezing caused him to slip down a few notches, but not without looking up and seeing Jax Nightshade with a metal spear through his head. The dark paladin’s purple and green magic faded out and he fell over the edge of the church, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and a bloody splatter. The spear went all the way through his head upon impact and spread his brains all over the cement ground.

Tetra heard the sounds of Anya moaning in pain. Her burned arms gave their last ounce of strength when they put the spear through Jax’s head. This was Tetra’s chance to break into the maggot farm. With the little strength he had left after being choked, the rogue pulled himself up the rope while grunting and straining along the way. He fell down a few notches, but then started walking along the wall like he did before. He made it over the lip of the roof and rolled around on the stone floor. He laid there for a while taking deep breaths in and out and smiling to himself.

And then his breathing was hindered when he felt the presence of Anya Kolobalos sitting on his stomach with her bloody and blackened fist raised high. Her other fist grabbed Tetra’s hair and she said, “I have had it with you fucking street rats! I’ve still got one more punch left in me and guess who’s going to get it!”

Tetra grabbed hold of Anya’s hair-grabbing arm and sunk his teeth into the fried meat. She squealed and rolled on the ground in pain afterwards while bleeding all over the rooftop. The thief took a few more deep breaths and rolled over to pick himself up. Anya tried to do the same, but Tetra quickly wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisted her up, and used the last of his dying strength to suplex her over the edge. The gangster hit the ground doubled over and snapped her neck while shattering her skull on the pavement.

The thief looked over the lip of the roof and smiled in satisfaction as he saw two of the biggest scumbags lying on the ground dead and bloodied. “What a couple of morons,” he said to himself while laying on the ground and catching his breath once more. Those maggots were as good as his.

The next morning, Tetra, without his demon mask, crept happily into Lilly’s bedroom and saw her lying in her bed peacefully with a smile on her face and her hands folded in front of her. Even with a bald head and a weak body, she still looked like a beautiful warrior. “Pssp! Lilly, wake up! I have something for you!”

The sickly woman slowly stirred from her sleep and looked up at her brother with hopeful eyes. “Good morning, Tetra! Did you get the medicine?”

“I sure did. I got all the medicine you’ll ever need,” said Tetra as he pulled a jar of hungry black maggots out of his coat. At first, Lilly’s face was covered in anxious fear. “Don’t worry, dear sister. This will help. I know it will. Trust me.” He opened the jar and poured the maggots all over her cancerous left breast.

The sensation of magical maggots digging into her flesh felt like a massage when it was first happening. And then it felt ticklish, which put giggles in Lilly’s throat. And then she started arching her back in agony. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t because blood was pouring out of her mouth.

Tetra grabbed his sister by the arms and shouted, “Lilly! Don’t die on me! What the hell is going on here?! Fight it! Fight!” It was too late. The maggots ate through her breast and chowed down on her lungs and heart. Her face was covered in the vomit and blood she spit out. She was dead.

Tears were forming in Tetra’s eyes as he backed away and slowly sat down against the wall. Mild tears turned to loud sobs. And loud sobs turned to shouts of “Fuck!” and “Shit!” Curse words turned to fists pounding against the ground and wall. Tetra was a thief, which meant tricking people was part of his job. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He fucked up big time and lost his sister because of it. All he wanted to do was die and meet his sister in the afterlife. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he bought into Jax Nightshade’s bullshit. “The Church of Darkness? What a crock!” he shouted to himself.

His suicidal thoughts were racing harder in his mind when he took a look inside the jar and saw there were still some maggots left. “What the hell?” he said. “I’ll probably taste better than piss-flavored beer.”

Saturday, March 5, 2016

"My Fight / Your Fight" by Ronda Rousey

BOOK TITLE: My Fight / Your Fight
AUTHOR: Ronda Rousey (with Maria Burns-Ortiz)
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Nonfiction

Ronda Rousey is world renowned for being an undefeated MMA fighter in her first twelve matches, a Women’s Bantamweight Champion, and the sole reason why women’s MMA is as respected as it is today. On an episode of TMZ in 2011, an interviewer asked UFC President Dana White when he was going to include a women’s division. His answer? “Never.” But the minute he saw Ronda Rousey generating buzz with her quick victories and trash talk, he never said never again. The rest is history. It’s a history that not just transformed a combat sport or women’s rights, but it changed the whole world. Anybody who says, “It’s impossible!” is a bold-faced liar. Just ask Ronda.

Getting to the top of the UFC’s mountain may seem like an open and shut case for Ronda given her fast victories in the cage. But make no mistake about it: the road to success was paved with blood, sweat, and tears. Lots and lots of tears. The obstacles thrown in front of her included the death of her father, dealing with losses at the Olympic Games, being broke and living in her car to, arguing with her strict judoka mother, and having rotten boyfriends who treated her like crap. This memoir is just one big David vs. Goliath battle where Ronda is David and the harshness of life itself is Goliath. Most people would allow Goliath to crush them underneath his leather sandals. Not Ronda. She fought back and threw Goliath on his big ass before wrenching his arm out of its socket. The toughness and passion of this woman is something that will inspire everybody who reads her memoir.

The other thing I thoroughly enjoyed about this book was the way Ronda described her opponents leading up to either a judo competition or an MMA fight. With the fiery, hateful, and often colorful language she uses to talk about people who stand in her way of success, you’d swear she was a mass murderer. Hell, there is even several occasions where she says in her head, “I’m going to fucking kill you, bitch!” This hellfire and brimstone attitude is actually an excellent motivator for her to win her matches in convincing fashion. Isn’t that right, Miesha Tate? In their second fight, Ronda beat the living shit out of Miesha for three straight rounds, not because Miesha was actually capable of outlasting her, but because Ronda wanted to tear her apart limb from limb and leave her a rotting corpse in the cage. All that fire, all of that venom, and all of that rage has lead Ronda to twelve victories in her MMA career, all but one of them ending in the first round. Yikes!

The final thing I would like to touch on is the amusing nicknames she gives her ex-boyfriends. It’s a creative way to avoid a slander lawsuit by avoiding their real names. Her first lover was named Dick Itty-Bitty and he was a lying, cheating son of a bitch. Another boyfriend she had was Creepy McSnappers, who took naked pictures of her and prompted her to kick the shit out of him. And then there was Norm, who was so average in every department and had a knack for being a control freak. The one flattering name she gave an ex-boyfriend was DPCG (Dog Park Cute Guy), an animal lover whose past with drugs and alcohol caught up to him one too many times. As of March 2016, the month I’m writing this review, she’s dating fellow UFC fighter Travis Browne. If she writes another memoir, what nickname will she give him? Big Ass Hawaiian? Sounds reasonable to me. Hehe!

Even if you’re not a fan of mixed-martial arts, the memoir stands alone as a tale of overcoming difficulties and being strong to keep going afterwards. Not only did Ronda Rousey rise from the ashes of a heartbreaking and nightmarish life, but she looks like goddess and smells like roses. Actually, there was one point where her Honda Accord smelled like dirty laundry and dog BO, but those things are badges of honor in a life where everything is earned through battle and blood. A passing grade for an A+ superstar like Ronda Rousey!

Fan Boy Noob Stalker

Fan boy noob stalker! X4

I never meant to hurt you the way I did
I was nothing more than a foolish kid
You deserve better than to be creeped out
I don’t blame you for wanting to shout
Flirting isn’t one of my strongest features
Touching is like acid to my delicate fingers
Shyness is protection for both me and you
Look to the future with a picturesque view

Fan boy noob stalker! X4

For two long years of higher education
I stayed in the shadows of desperation
Just one comment on a woman’s beauty
Could make someone want to sue me
Even when it came to platonic friends
I knew my social life was near its end
I carried my shame even further than that
I sit at home stewing like a caged up rat

Fan boy noob stalker! X4

The world is a safer place without my zeal
My single status continues to remain real
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a lonely life
You were all too willing to tell me goodbye
Are you happy now? You got what you wanted
My romantic dreams are nightmarishly haunted
I gave up on romance like I told you before
I gave you security, but it left me feeling sore

You don’t owe me anything
But I still have the right to sing
A hard rock song about isolation
In a world known for intimidation

Friday, March 4, 2016



This coming Monday (March 7th), I’m taking a trip over to Seattle to watch Nightwish play at the Showbox SoDo. The last time I saw them was in 2008 at the same venue, but with Anette Olzon as the lead singer. This time around eight years later, Floor Jansen will be their singer. Anybody who’s known me long enough knows how special a Nightwish concert is to me. Not to devalue every other band I’ve seen over the years, but this is Nightwish. This is the same band that filled the void for me when I was in college and lonely as hell. I even wrote a short story based on Nightwish fandom called “Wishes in the Night” (clever title) and it’s near the end of American Darkness. People seemed to think that Danielle Keyes (the main character of that story) came off as a creepy cultist, but that’s not a bad thing, because I laughed my ass off. I’m still smiling about that critique today.

Just like with every concert or vacation, the days that I’m gone will mean limited internet activity. But also just like with every concert or vacation, I’ll always return to see your guys’ smiling faces. You all will get hugs, kisses, hair fuzzles, shoulder rubs, whatever puts you at ease and sends the message that I’m here to stay. I’m obviously not going to take pictures of the Nightwish concert, because I don’t want my camera to get broken in the mosh pit (if there is one). Plus, I don’t own a smart phone, so I can’t take pictures that way either. But for all you Face Bookers out there, this concert will be added to my “life events” along with my other concerts and vacations…for whatever it’s worth.

Here’s to good times and badass rock and roll! We’ve got ears, say cheers!


Even though Marco Torres (my last subject) was a villain, I’ve recently acquired some new villains with the addition of the monthly contest at the WSS, so I’ve got a little bit of a surplus. The next villain I draw will be the lead villain of “Scarecrow Justice”, Edward Bell, the paramilitary hit man. For his design, I was thinking of doing a crossover between a SWAT team member and The Ultimate Warrior. I may even include the face paint. Although, plans can change at the drop of a hat, so you never know.


“Saying atheism is a religion is like saying abstinence is a sex position.”

-Bill Maher-

Wednesday, March 2, 2016


The forest road seemed to be dragging on forever, like traveling on an endless conveyor belt. With the trees on the side of the road flexing back and forth in this windy weather, this seemed like the wrong night to take such a route. Officers Kenny Ryder and Robin Cage seemed to agree on that point, but they weren’t going to complain…publicly. They had a much bigger concern on their minds than potentially falling trees. In the back of their paddy wagon was Derrick O’Brien, the nation’s most dangerous domestic terrorist.

Derrick didn’t prefer bombs. He didn’t need guns. All he needed to get his message across were the blades on the tips of his powerful fingers, the flesh and bone-chewing fangs in his mouth, and the vocal cords of a bloodthirsty monster. The brown fur all over his body reeked of death and decay, like somebody who hadn’t showered in months while slashing victims to chunky pieces. The man wolf slept peacefully in his steel chain cocoon, but not without snoring like an AK-47 every time he breathed in.

Kenny and Robin kept looking over their shoulders and out at the road in short bursts before the chocolate haired Officer Cage broke the ice. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my career, but a fucking werewolf? If I don’t see a big fat paycheck at the end of this assignment, I might turn into a werewolf and go ape shit myself.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said the baldheaded male with the scraggly beard Officer Ryder. “You should have seen all the manpower it took just to chain that bastard up. And now they’re sending you and me to transport his big ass to some goddamn lab.”

“Lab? You mean they’re going to put makeup on him and squirt shampoo in his eyes?” asked Robin jokingly as she drummed her fingers on the dashboard.

“Hey, if I ever find out they’re testing Head and Shoulders on that big furry thing, I’ll gladly do commercials for those guys.”

“You don’t even have hair, Kenny.”


The brief moment of comedy put weak smiles on Kenny and Robin’s faces. They hadn’t lost sight of how risky this assignment really was. One steel link snaps and Robin could lose her head. One pad lock breaks and Kenny could have his intestines spread all over the windshield. As quickly as the windstorm blew that night, the humorous mood faded.

“Oh, what the hell is this shit?” asked Kenny when he stepped on the brakes and slowly brought the paddy wagon to a halt. The halogen headlights did so little to make out the hooded and robed figure in the middle of the road. It was just standing there frozen in place when Kenny blasted the horn three times. He rolled down the window on his side and stuck his head out before shouting, “Hey! Move your ass! We’ve got a prisoner in tow and you’re holding us up!”

No response from the hooded figure, which prompted an even longer horn blast from Kenny followed by another shout. “Hey! I said move your ass off the road! Are you deaf or something?!”

“You want me to take care of this asshole?” asked Robin with her taser armed. Her partner gave a nod before she got out of the paddy wagon and slowly approached the hooded figure with her taser locked and loaded. “Sir? Ma’am? Whatever the hell you are, I suggest you get out of the road before I…”

“Before you what?” asked the feminine voice from behind the hood. She raised her bladed finger and continued her question with, “Shoot me with that little toy? Go ahead. See what happens, cupcake!”

Robin fired the electrical prongs, but not without the woman grabbing them and smiling at her with creepily seductive red lips. Officer Cage shivered and watched with wide eyes as the woman removed her hood and revealed herself to be a purple-haired vampire complete with bloody fangs. Before Officer Cage could let out a whispery swear word, the vampire rushed up to her and forearmed her in the cheek, knocking her to the ground and exposing her neck.

The vampire licked her lusty lips with anticipation as she knelt down to take a juicy bite. And then she heard, “Hey! Don’t even think about it, you circus freak!” Kenny stood at the opposite side of the paddy wagon with his shotgun pointed right at her. He even pumped it for intimidation, but instead got a voracious growl from the mysterious woman.

Officer Ryder squeezed off a shot, but hit nothing as the woman quickly ducked down and rushed toward the back of the vehicle. The shotgun wielder darted over to the fallen Robin Cage and put two fingers on her neck for a pulse. She had one, but it was fading. The entire right side of her face was swollen and purple.

Kenny watched his partner fade to black in front of him and said in a comforting voice, “Please, don’t die on me. I’ll find that bitch and put one in her chest for you.”

Robin painfully lifted her head off the ground and spoke in a raspy voice, “Kenny…forget about me…what about the prisoner?!”

The sounds of wet lips smacking together romantically could be heard from the back of the paddy wagon. “Oh no, no, not this!” shouted Kenny when he saw the back door swinging wide open. He patted Robin’s chocolate brown hair and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving your side. Those two are probably long gone by now. They’re someone else’s problem.”

“Such dedication to your craft, Officer,” said the lusty vampire, who stepped out from behind the opened door with her arm wrapped around a thin blond haired stud muffin in an orange jumpsuit, quite the contrast from the beast previously in lockup. She smiled at the man and said, “Derrick O’Brien, scourge of the werewolf clan.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ultra-sexy vampire queen, Sonya Demonic,” said Derrick, who was engaged in an intense lip lock with his blood sucking girlfriend, complete with ass grabbing and breast squeezing. Sonya took off her robes to reveal a stunning silk black dress underneath. “Excellent choice, my sweets!” They kissed some more.

“You two scumbags make me sick!” shouted Kenny as he pumped the handle on his shotgun and squeezed off another round into the couple’s vicinity. The blast hit Derrick in the chest, but the human-staged werewolf no-sold his pain with sarcastic clutches at his “wound”. Sonya Demonic held her mouth in mock horror and let out a few orgasmic screams.

The couple laughed off the “pain” together and hugged it out. Derrick wagged his finger at the shock-eyed Kenny and said, “Now, now, Officer. Didn’t I hear you say yourself that it took a lot of manpower to chain me up? What do you think happened to that manpower?” Derrick broke his embrace from Sonya and patted his tummy with both hands before snickering evilly.

“You sick bastard! You sick, sick bastard!” shouted Kenny.

“Sick? Sick? Who’s the sick one, Officer?” asked Sonya. “My beautiful werewolf boyfriend here, or the one person who keeps feeding able-bodied cops to the two of us for dinner? Did you two really think this was a transport mission to some god-awful laboratory? Come on, now. There’s nothing out here except for trees and windstorms. Go ahead. Call for help. I dare you!”

Kenny’s breathing was getting heavier and angrier with each passing second. He leaned down and picked up the wounded Robin baby style before sitting her in the passenger seat. She was still breathing, but shallowly. She sat upright, but with her neck at a forty-five degree angle. She let out a small cough to let Kenny know she was still alive.

Meanwhile, the shotgun-wielding cop was in the driver’s seat trying to work the radio buttons. He spoke into the microphone, “I need backup! Officer down! Repeat! Officer Robin Cage is down! I need extra units and an ambulance for her!”

There was a heavy crackling at the other end of the radio before an ominous voice said, “I’m sorry, Officer Ryder, but Miss Demonic and Mr. O’Brien are going to be full with just you two as their meal. It was the only way I could keep the creatures of the night from taking over this city. I’m sorry, Kenny. The sacrifice has to be made.”

Officer Ryder’s heavy breathing turned to silent weeping. The silence was broken when he pounded on the steering wheel and blew the horn while swearing his head off. The fit of rage ended when Sonya and Derrick were on opposite sides of the vehicle’s cab banging on the glass windows. The creatures smiled at them with bloodshot eyes, blood filled mouths, and plenty of hoarse laughs. Derrick had transformed back into his werewolf stage and was chewing on the door handle for special effects.

Kenny slammed his own head against the steering wheel until his forehead bled buckets. His vision was getting hazy and his body was relaxing. He didn’t even feel the storm of broken glass that nearly slashed his face up even more. His last vision before passing out from the pain of Sonya’s vampire bite was Robin Cage being dragged out of the vehicle with Derrick’s wolf teeth gnashing her skull.

The entire “dining experience” took little more than fifteen minutes of chewing, sucking, and chugging. Meaty morsels sliding down the creature’s throats while the bones were being cast aside. Blood oozing from their mouths like a waterfall of violence. They were full from their meals, but still had room for dessert, which they would eat in the privacy of the paddy wagon’s prisoner hold. Red velvet kisses with a few small drops of Pina Colata. Such a lovely meal for a lovely couple, who held hands afterwards and watched the night sky together. They had to do date night again sometime.