Tuesday, May 31, 2016

My 31st Birthday


This coming Friday (June 3rd), I’m going to be a 31-year-old man, but I’ll still be a big kid at heart. Age is all about mind over matter: if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. I may be too old for a lot of things, but playing with action figures, playing with Legos, snuggling with animals, and writing whacky stories are not among them. Action figures of Konnor, Viktor, and Sting from the WWE are just the beginning for me. June is going to be an eventful month for me in three different ways, my birthday on the third being one of them.

On June 8th, five days after I turn 31, I’m finally going to have my sleep study. I know this sounds boring to a lot of people, but to me, it’s the most important way I can take care of myself. Whenever I’ve refrained from doing creative activities, it was always because I was too mentally exhausted to carry on with my day. I would go to bed late and wake up late, still feeling sluggish and shitty. The sleep study will determine if I need an oxygen mask for my sleep apnea, which I probably will. Having that oxygen mask and continuing to eat healthy and exercise will be my saving grace when it comes to my lack of energy. More energy means more creativity. More creativity means a happier audience. A happier audience means a happier me.

Three days after I have my sleep study, I’m going to the White River Amphitheater in Auburn, Washington to see a concert headlined by Slipknot and Marilyn Manson with the opening act being Of Mice and Men. This means lots of scary masks, lots of scary makeup, lots of heavy ass metal, and lots of creative fuel for an author whose tank is overflowing. This will be just the first of many concerts I will attend in 2016. In July, it’s Rob Zombie X Korn with In This Moment as opening guests. In August, it’s the Pain in the Grass festival with Disturbed headlining the event. Finally, in November, I’m headed to the Tacoma Dome to see Five Finger Death Punch X Shinedown with Sixx AM and As Lions as the opening acts. Let’s get ready to rage, motherfuckers!

All in all, living on this earth for 31 years has been a great experience. I got to go on many vacations to both American and foreign places. I got to see many concerts of bands I love. I got to snuggle with many puppies and kitties over the years. I’ve written many stories and songs and had them self-published. I’ve met many wonderful people along the way. I got to do all of these things with my loving family on both sides of the marriage. The best part of all of this? I’ve got many more decades to go, many of which will be filled with even more magical moments. Never forget the power of love and happiness; it doesn’t just end after your birthday. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


The new week started a few days ago, but not to worry, because I still have a few more days left before the deadline. The prompt will be “Cracked Mirrors” and my story will be called “Subway Smackdown”. It goes like this:


Khan Shou, Monster Warrior
Venice Reyes, Human Model

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The damage to Venice’s car includes shattered mirrors.

SYNOPSIS: In a dystopian future where monsters roam the city freely, Venice’s car is vandalized as she leaves her apartment. The only way she can get to her first modeling gig without being late is to take the subway. Venice tries to find a comfortable place to sit, but the subway train is covered in filthy creatures, both in attitude and appearance. Khan Shou, a seven-foot tall piece of raw meat, takes special interest in her and tries to coax her into a romantic relationship. With no fighting skills and nobody to help her, Venice has to brave this subway ride as best as she can.

On a side note, I’m going to be featured in the WSS’s monthly magazine for submitting “Tiger Bullet Kick” in their June edition. I consider that to be an early birthday present!


It took me three attempts to get Christopher Brown right, so now I can set my sights on Andrew Bradley, the English mercenary from “Ninja”. For a reference picture, I think I’m going to use Freddie from the second Final Fight game. He’s got the size, the hairy body, and the military getup, so he’ll be perfect for drawing Andrew. Hopefully, it’ll only take one attempt this time. Hehe!


We have a daughter in public school who hasn’t been knocked up yet. We have a son in public school who hasn’t shot any of his classmates, but he does sell drugs to your honor student. Plus, he knocked up your daughter.

Saturday, May 28, 2016


Pills, pills, they’re good for your brain!
Keeping your ass from going insane!
Pills, pills, they’re good for your boner!
Keeping your ass from being a loner!
Pills, pills, they’re good for your heart!
Keeping it from being torn apart!
Pills, pills, come and get some!
The side effects are so much fun!

Ask your doctor if it’s right for you
Ask your lawyer if you should sue
Ask your banker if you need a loan
Ask your therapist if you’re all alone
Ask your family for a helping hand
Ask your shelter for food that’s canned
So many questions that need to be answered
Side effects include diarrhea and cancer

Pills, pills, they’re good for your soul!
So what if you feel empty and cold?!
Pills, pills, they’re good for your penis!
Make it so big, it’s seen from Venus!
Pills, pills, they’re good for your liver!
So what if they make you vomit and quiver?!
Pills, pills, come get a prescription!
Fighting yourself is a war of attrition!

Don’t take the pills if you want to live
Another prescription to write and give
Side effects may include a big ass stroke
This is all just a prank; it’s all just a joke
We love watching you shiver and fall
We don’t care which lawyer you call
We’ve got more power than a mighty king
With our kind of money, we can do anything

Pills, pills, take them for thrills!
Who cares about the pile of medical bills!
Pills, pills, to worsen your ills!
We are the ones who legally kill!
Pills, pills, come get your fill!
Whine all about it on Dr. Phil!
We’re the doctors, we own your ass!
A gallbladder stone is what you’ll pass!

They could be labeled with an E or V
Swallow them all with sadistic glee
Taste the rainbow like a bag of Skittles
Use your hard-on before it gets little


Ask your doctor if Bullshitlexia is right for you.

I Don't Have To

Just because I won’t join the fucking army
Doesn’t mean I wear the clothes of Barbie
There is no shame in staying right at home
It’s better than being dead and buried alone
The drill instructors are too damn loud
The abusive authority is too damn proud
I won’t die for some rightwing agenda
Or have visions of war burned into my retina

I don’t have to and I don’t want to
I don’t care if “Uncle Sam wants you!”
They can do just fine without me
The war machine will not devour me

Blaming a whole generation of people
Is just as bigoted and just as evil
Millennials figured out a long time ago
If you step on a land mine, it’s going to blow
Body parts are strewn across the desert
Staying at home sounds so much better
We’re not the cowards you make us out to be
We’re just like you; we were born to be free

I don’t have to and I don’t want to
I don’t care if “Uncle Sam wants you!”
They can do just fine without me
The war machine will not devour me

Coming home in a wooden casket
Flowers on your grave in a woven basket
Going insane with the trauma of war
Held prisoner behind padded cell doors
Financially crippled, forever homeless
Forever damaged, forever hopeless
This is far from being the American Dream
It’s the American Nightmare, time to scream

I don’t have to and I don’t want to
Death and blood will forever haunt you
I don’t belong in a body freezer

It’s not betrayal, I’m not stabbing Caesar

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Power Bomb

Power bomb your ass through a flaming table
Put that brutal ass shit on late night cable
Power bomb your ass on a pile of thumb tacks
Bleeding out of everywhere after the attack
Power bomb your ass from seven feet high
Better grow wings, because you’re going to fly
Welcome to the injured reserved list, buddy
That hospital bill is going to cost a lot of money

Power bomb!
Power bomb!
Jack your back!
Realign your spine!

Welcome to the match called Hell in a Cell
Your ass was dead from the opening bell
Welcome to the match called Elimination Chamber
It’s the perfect place for me to take out my anger
Welcome to the match called Tables, Ladders, and Chairs
Use them all as weapons, see if I fucking care
A power bomb will send you to your grave
So much for having more guts than brains

Power bomb!
Power bomb!
Jack your back!
Realign your spine!

How many years will you spend at home?
How many years will you spend all alone?
Don’t even think of getting back in the ring
If I see you again, death is what I’ll bring
I’ll crush all of your championship dreams
Power bomb you until you burst at the seams
A bloody mess for the one who’s second best
Off to the hospital for a wonderful stress test

Power bomb!
Power bomb!
Jack your back!

Realign your spine!

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

A Million Dollars

(A parody of rich people who sue for ridiculous reasons.)

To make money, you have to have money
I’m laughing to the bank, it’s so damn funny
I’ll take you to court for every fucking penny
Spend your money on hookers named Jenny
You don’t have much, but it’s mine anyways
It’s not my fault you work for minimal pay
The coffee you served me was too damn hot
Someone has to pay for my scarred up crotch

I am going to sue you!
I am going to screw you!
I’ll make you holler!
I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

Telling lies about me, that’s called slander
Choke on your bullshit, choke on your candor
Spreading misinformation, that’s defamation
Kidding yourself with mental masturbation
The judge has no sympathy for liars and cheaters
Even if you’re nothing more than a bottom feeder
You have a welfare check? Try to make it stretch
In your financial future, I’ll throw a monkey wrench

I am going to sue you!
I am going to screw you!
I’ll make you holler!
I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!

It’s not your fault that the system is crazy
It’s all your fault that you’re too damn lazy
Keep manning the grill while I crack the whip
Keep fairytale lies from coming out of your lips

I am going to sue you!
I am going to screw you!
I’ll make you holler!
I’m going to sue you for a million dollars!
I’ll show up to court in a suit and tie!
Watch as you curl up in a ball and die!
See you on the streets, your brand new home!

See me vacationing in the city of Rome!

Sunday, May 22, 2016

The Aeromancer

The eighty mile per hour winds blew through Dread City like an apocalyptic breeze, leaving trees knocked over, garbage cans flying through the air, and electricity short-circuited. Even Officer Ryan Elkins’s radio was silent after navigating his patrol car through the city. Driving around was hard enough with trees, mail boxes, and garbage cans blocking the streets. Several times his tires skidded across the rough pavement with an annoying squeal. He breathed a sigh and shook his head no, realizing how dangerous crime rates could be in the middle of a windstorm.

As he turned down Tenth Street and narrowly avoided a knocked over recycling bin, Ryan’s patrol car took him over the sidewalk and toward a scene he had a hard time believing. “What the hell?” he said to himself as he watched a beautiful woman with long black hair while wearing a ragged gray dress dancing ballet-style across the windy roads. “This fucking woman’s out of her mind,” said Ryan to himself. He shook his head and got out of the car to confront this “crazy lady”.

The officer pulled out his heavy flashlight and shined it in the woman’s eyes. She covered her face wit her sharp red nails sticking out and hissed at Ryan like a monstrous cat. The brown uniform-donning policeman cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, ma’am. You do know that you’re in the middle of a windstorm and it’s imperative that you stay indoors, right? Do you need to go to a shelter tonight?”

The woman smiled wickedly at Ryan Elkins and said, “I don’t need a shelter, Officer. I’m at home right here in these streets. These high winds make me feel quite happy at this moment.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to…” Ryan put a stop to his sentence when he saw a garbage can flying through the air about to nail the woman in the face. He dashed toward her in an attempt to tackle her to safety, but once the woman held out her hand, the garbage can blew right back to where it was supposed to be. Officer Elkins’ eyes were wide with horror. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I told you I was happy out here with the winds. They bring me the kind of joy that no youngster’s technology can. But with the power out, I don’t have to worry about such things. I can just dance up a storm,” said the witch, who was now floating comfortably in the air while lying on her back and sticking her bare feet up.

Ryan let out a flat tire noise and said, “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Some crazy bitch is the cause of all this bad weather. Well, I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining this one to the guys at the precinct. Place your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers. You’re under arrest for destruction of property.”

The aeromancer gently floated to her feet and did as she was told, but not without conjuring up a stream of wind that knocked Ryan off of his feet and rolled him like a bowling ball into a pile of pungent trash bags. The cop spit out pieces of rotten lasagna and stale spinach before rubbing his tongue vigorously with his fingertips.

“Alright, you crazy bitch, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve given me no other choice,” said Ryan as he pulled out his pistol. He squeezed off a shot, but only after his arms were blown upward by the wind magic. His bullet blasted a power line loose and rained sparks down upon Ryan, who danced around yelling “Ouch!” as each volt of electricity pierced his skin.

By the time his electric shower was over, Ryan hugged himself in pain and jiggled down to his knees, shivering hard as a cool breeze blew past him. The mysterious woman smiled as she approached the pain wracked officer. Placing a hand on his sensitive shoulder, she said, “You don’t look like you’re in any condition to drive. My winds can carry you to the hospital if you’d like. I’m sure they have a generator of some kind.”

“Get your hands off me!” shouted Ryan as he stumbled onto his back, shaking both in pain and coldness. He smiled insanely and said, “I don’t believe this shit. I’m getting my ass handed to me by a fucking witch! This is some fucked up fairytale shit right here!”

“I assure you, Officer, this is not a fairytale. Everything you see before you is real,” said the aeromancer when she leaned down beside Ryan and stroked his crispy hair. As the cop winced and gritted his teeth at each stroke, the woman continued her oratory with, “Surely you must have some kind of family to go home to. Maybe someone will come and visit you in the hospital. I don’t know who it is, but someone will. There’s always someone out there for everybody. And now that the electricity and internet signals are nearly gone, those folks will be closer than they’ve ever been. No looking down to text on their so called smart phones. No staring at their TVs and computers like zombies in the night. You can thank my aeromancy for that.”

Ryan brushed the witch’s hand away and looked at her with confusion. “So let me see if I have this straight: you knocked out the power in Dread City because you’re an ageist technophobe who has no life of her own? Okay, fine, lots of people feel that way. But do you know what else electricity is good for? Lights! Refrigeration! Cooking! Keeping time!” Ryan let out another flat tire noise and said, “Wow, you really didn’t think this through, did you, lady? We’re going to have a bunch of spoiled food and stubbed toes because of you and your so called aeromancy. Holy Christ, man!”

The witch stood up and stared blankly into the horizon like she’d just seen a ghost. Officer Elkins had been laughing at her this whole time and aggravating the sores on his body from the spark shower. The witch’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed and she raised her hands in the air, using her wind magic to elevate Ryan high into the night sky.

“What the?! Help! Get me down from here, you crazy woman!” shouted Ryan as his arms and legs flailed about in the air.

“First of all, you disgusting, laughing pig, my name is not crazy woman! By the time this is all over, you will know me as the aeromancer who set you straight! This isn’t some voodoo bitch magic! This is a message from Mother Nature herself! One day she will take everything back and none of your internet technology can save you! Until then…remember the name of Elizabeth Wilson, The Aeromancer!”

“No, no, no!” shouted Ryan when Elizabeth dropped her hands and sent the staunch cop plummeting toward the ground. During the rapid descent, Ryan’s life flashed before his eyes. He had only made it to forty years old and his life was going to end with the crunching of his bones and the splattering of his body. As death was ready to claim his very soul, Officer Elkins emptied his bowels and passed out into darkness before his body ever hit the ground.

It seemed like an entire century had passed since Ryan entered the darkness. No pearly gates of heaven, no fiery pits of hell, just darkness for the one who scoffed at the powers of aeromancy. His eyes felt like bank vault doors as he struggled to open them. All he could muster was a small glimpse into the white ceiling of a dimly lit hospital. Nothing new or exciting, it was just a stupid splash of white.

He could barely make out the feminine voice calling his name. Was it the crazy witch Elizabeth Wilson? Did she come to finish the job? No. The frightened face of Marilyn Elkins had come into view, messy brown hair, tearstained eyes, and all. “Oh, baby!” she said in a shaky voice. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!”

Ryan’s breathing was becoming heavier and his vision and hearing were both getting clearer. When he tried to sit up, his ribs sent a volcanic burst of pain through his system. “Damn, honey, I can’t even remember what the hell happened to me. I mean…I kind of remember this crazy woman and then…I don’t know. This is all bullshit to me.”

A vibrating noise buzzed in Ryan’s ears as Marilyn took out her cell phone to answer a text message. She didn’t look at it for two seconds before tossing it on a nearby table and staring deep into her husband’s eyes with the most loving expression imaginable. “Once you get out of this hospital,” she said, “We’re taking a trip to the mountains. No cell phones, no computers, it’ll be just you, me, and silence.”

Ryan managed a weak smile before he said, “Yeah, that’ll be lots of fun.” He tried to smile wider, but then winced in pain as he aggravated his injuries again. “Christ, what the hell happened to me out there?”

“Yeah, I’m wondering that myself,” said Marilyn. “What the hell is aeromancy, anyways? And who the hell is Elizabeth Wilson?”

“Good question, Marilyn. I’m trying to figure that one out myself. Wait a minute, what?!”

Saturday, May 21, 2016



When older people tell you to put away your smart phone and interact with your friends and family, listen to them. Yes, text messages and Face Booking can be tons of fun, but none of it compares to the warmth you feel when you’re having a good time in the real world. It sounds ironic considering I’m typing this on my computer, but I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t just have an awesome game night with my niece Reina, my brother James, and his girlfriend Shara. We all got together one night and played the 2013 version of Clue. Shara won the first game, I won the other two, but that’s not the important part of this journal. The important part is, we’re closer than we’ve ever been because of that night.

Playing the 2013 version of Clue is more than just moving Sorry-like pegs around a square board while trying to solve a mystery. You can actually communicate with the other players and joke about how ridiculous the murder suspects look. Imagine that! But seriously, the murder suspects don’t look like devious people. The worst crime they’ve ever committed was wearing goofy hipster clothing, to which the fashion police would immediately administer the death penalty. Colonel Mustard doesn’t look like a real army soldier. He looks like he’s getting ready to record his debut auto-tuned album.

There are new rooms in the latest version of Clue. There’s an office where all of the geeky millennial technology is kept. There’s a “game room” where you can shoot pool and tea-bag your opponents on Halo. There’s also a bathroom in case Mr. Green has to drop a nuclear deuce that’s the same color as his name. Colonel Mustard has been in that bathroom so many times that it became another crime scene; it smells like a slaughterhouse!

Professor Plum had been a naughty boy that evening, or at least that was the general consensus among all of us. Maybe it was racial profiling of some kind. Can you really file a prejudice claim if you’re a purple people eater and a detective holds you in custody for more than six hours? Hell, he would have been purple anyways after getting a confession beaten out of him with the lead pipe during an hour of interrogation.

Yes, our three games of Clue felt more like standup comedy than an actual board game. But none of those jokes compared to what Shara did to make James crack up with ridiculous laughter. James was the one to make the accusation. Because Reina was seated to his left, she was the first one who was supposed to show him a piece of evidence. But instead, Shara showed Reina a piece of evidence in a moment she liked to call a “brain fart”. James’ laughter was so infectious that we were all cracking up like animals after that moment. Shara even jokingly threw her pencil at James after making a “monkey face” at him. Hehe!

I don’t care how many experience points you get from playing Diablo III. I don’t care how many likes your videos get on Face Book. I don’t even care how many short stories you’ve written. None of those technological moments can compare to sitting around the living room and laughing like hyenas throughout the whole night while making insensitive police jokes and joking about how the murder suspects look like hipster millennials. That, my friends, is why human interaction is more important than being imprisoned by technology. Yes, we depend on technology to get shit done these days, I’m no different. But no Skype chat or Face Book message can bring you the intimacy of human interaction. That’s why I don’t own a smart phone to begin with. I just have a generic cell phone that I only use when I need to bum a ride somewhere.

It won’t end with just Clue on a random Friday night. There’s going to be Scrabble (where I once got 40 points off of the word “bitch”), Dungeons & Dragons (which I’ve been itching to play for a while now), and maybe some Hero Quest if I can find a set that doesn’t cost 400 bucks on Amazon. I may be an introvert who craves privacy, but even I need my family and friends to be with me from time to time. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


It’s a new week at the WSS and the theme they’ve got going on is “Sixth Sense”. I’m not sure if this synopsis fits the prompt, but I’m going to try anyways. It’s called “The Aeromancer” and it goes like this:


Ryan Elkins, Patrolling Cop
Elizabeth Wilson, Aeromancer

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Elizabeth’s sixth sense is aeromancy, the ability to control wind.

SYNOPSIS: A powerful windstorm has knocked out the power in all of Dread City. With trees, power lines, and debris being blown in his way, Ryan patrols the city looking for people who need to get off the streets for fear of being injured in this storm. He sees a beautiful witch in the streets dancing and flailing her arms like she’s casting some sort of spell. When Ryan tries to coax her off the streets, it’s revealed that Elizabeth (the witch) is the one causing this windstorm using the ancient magic of aeromancy. When asked why she’s doing this, Elizabeth gives a speech about how technology is ruining lives and short-circuiting the power would bring families back together. A part of Ryan wants to do his job and arrest this woman while another wants to agree with her.


Moments before writing this journal, I drew a picture of Mathias Jorgenson from “Forever Autumn” just like I promised I would. However, I can’t use my scanner right now because I’m currently out of ink. Why I would need ink in order to scan a picture to the computer, I’ll never know, but it is what it is. I promise to upload Mathias’s drawing once I buy new ink cartridges from Staples. Until then, know that the next Dark Fantasy Warrior to come off the production line will be Viktor the Warlord from “Tiger Bullet Kick”. It’s been a long time since I’ve drawn a mummy. I believe the exact amount of time has been nine years. Holy shit!


I edited the hell out of the three M stories just like I promised; now the next three to come will spell out the word “NOO!!” with the first letters of their titles. I think it’s appropriate that they do. The stories are “Nail Bomb”, “Oswald the Giant”, and “Ottie-Doo”. Two animal stories and one that could never be accused of cuteness no matter how squeaky the baby doll’s voice is. This is going to be fun.


“Never walk out of a movie theater with your girl and say, “That Sigourney Weaver is a sexy woman!” Because later that night, you’re going to be sitting at home eating meatloaf going, “Hon, this meatloaf is a little dry.” She’ll say, “Well, why don’t you have Sigourney Weaver make you a meatloaf then!””

-Jeff Foxworthy-

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Pussy Songs

Loving thy neighbor sounds so romantic
Keeping the Sabbath sounds necromantic
A choir teacher with the words of a preacher
Kept us all in line like fucking bottom feeders
The songs we sang brought up bile and vomit
Armageddon couldn’t come sooner, a fiery comet
Love is an emotion that comes with devotion
No wonder Romeo and Juliet drank the potion

We had to sing a bunch of pussy songs! X2

He thought heavy metal was the work of the devil
He thought rock and roll was on the same level
He thought hip-hop was simple gutter poetry
He made me sing without ever knowing me
Forget the choir; we should become a mosh pit
Destroy all the music that we all think is shit
Crowd surf the teacher to the back of the room
Lock him in the closet; leave him to his biblical doom

We had to sing a bunch of pussy songs! X2

A whole year has passed since we sang that trash
Where the fuck is our money? Where the fuck is our cash?
I know we were students, but we need compensation
For all of the nausea and the heart-burning sensations
The school janitor should get a triple salary bonus
For the vomit he cleans right after our magnum opus
If you can afford the rights to all of those fucking songs
You can afford to keep our families going long and strong

We had to sing a bunch of pussy songs!
We felt violated, we felt so damn wrong!
We ate shit for breakfast, turned it into lyrics!

No more should we ever have to hear this!

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Kink Floyd

“Cock-a-doodle-do, baby girl. Or as you like to say, any cock will do.”

Detective Tarja Hunter would have loved to smash the face of whoever said that to her, but the restraints on her arms and legs prevented her from doing so. Her sudden burst of energy after waking up saw her thrashing around in a standing spread eagle position. As her eyes adjusted to the studio light, she saw that she was wearing nothing more than a black leather thong with a skimpy bra to match. She also had a rubber ball gag obstructing her speech and causing her jaw to ache as badly as her pounding head.

She immediately recognized the two perverts standing in front of her. The one who made the rooster joke was Daniel “Kink Floyd” Alexander, a middle-aged man with long silver hair, tight black spandex pants, and a blue T-shirt with the screaming face from Pink Floyd the Wall with a ball gag in its mouth. The one standing next to him texting on his phone was straightedge gangster Johnny Filter, a puffy haired psychopath with a black leather vest and blue jeans.

Tarja continued to struggle in her chains and stare daggers into Daniel’s eyes, to which he said, “Sweetheart, don’t look at me like that, these pictures are going to be amazing. You’ve already got the body of a smoking hot supermodel, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” The bondage enthusiast turned to Johnny and said, “For Christ’s sake, put away your phone, man.”

“What? I was just texting the captain, that’s all. Somebody has to let him know how much damage these pictures could do to his precious little precinct. Why shouldn’t it be me?” asked Johnny.

“Smart as a whip, aren’t you, Johnny?” said Daniel as he retrieved his telephoto camera. “Oh, these pictures are going to look fantastic. Okay, baby girl, smile for the camera! Oh wait, you can’t smile, because you’ve got a gag in your mouth. Yeah, sorry about that. Sorry I had to stick my ball in your mouth.”

Daniel and Johnny had a good laugh at that one before the latter said, “Don’t worry, Kinks, this isn’t he first time she’s had something that hard to swallow in her mouth.” The two perverts laughed like hyenas again while Tarja raged around in her bindings and growled at them through her ball gag.

“Ooo, I love it when they squirm around like that. They make for better pictures,” said Daniel as he flashed a bunch of pictures of Tarja’s angry misery. The more pictures he snapped, the harder the detective struggled and the harder she roared. “Look at those pretty eyes, Johnny. You picked a good one tonight!” Daniel took one last picture of Tarja, this time a close-up of her vicious, fiery face.

Daniel and Johnny both scanned through the pictures and grinned creepily. Kink Floyd said, “Okay, Johnny cakes, be a good little millennial and upload those pictures onto my computer. You know where my office is. I’ll be out here playing with my new toy while you’re doing that.”

Johnny took the camera and said as he was making his way to the back office, “Don’t have too much fun out here, Kinks! Territoriality; she was mine first!”

As soon as Johnny Filter shut the door behind him, it was just Kink Floyd and the helpless Detective Hunter, whose face was beet red with both embarrassment and anger. A little stream of spittle splashed from her bottom lip. She bit down hard on her gag as if she suddenly had lion fangs that could chew through flesh and bone. Daniel slowly approached her with a sadistic grin and gently rubbed the back of his leathery hand against her soft face.

“You know, Miss Hunter,” he said. “You may not realize it right now, but you’re doing a great thing for your community. Johnny Filter isn’t just any gangster. He’s a straightedge gangster, which means he only beats up drug dealers and neo-Nazis, the scum of our society. If your boss laid off of us like he’s supposed to, we could do his job better than any cop ever could, yourself included. Don’t get me wrong, honey, you’re a damn good cop. But Johnny’s brand of street justice is that much better. You should have been a model instead. Police work is so dangerous for someone as sweet and…” Daniel took a huge sniff of her neck. “…sexy as you!”

Tarja’s veins were ready to explode like dynamite as she thrashed and struggled some more in her chains. Daniel chuckled at her and said, “Sweetheart, what are you doing? I mean, really, what do you think you’re going to accomplish by squirming around like that? We’ve already got your best pictures. And now all that’s left…is to have dessert!”

The instant Kink Floyd grabbed a hold of Tarja’s g-stringed butt, the volcanic detective snapped the chains on her legs and wrapped them around her attacker’s neck, squeezing his airways in an MMA move known as the Triangle Choke. Now Daniel was the one struggling as he tried to pry Tarja’s legs loose and get some air into his lungs. His face turned purple, his eyes rolled backwards, and his body became limp.

Tarja let Daniel’s corpse drop to the ground while she struggled with her arm bindings. She let out powerful moans through her gag which prompted Johnny to say, “Kinks, what did I tell you about having too much fun?” from the back office. This fueled Tarja’s lava hot adrenaline even further and she eventually snapped the chains on her arms. As she was on her knees, she pulled the ball out of her mouth and took deep breaths while rubbing her jaw.

The detective slowly stood up and tiptoed across the hardwood floor into Daniel’s office, where, with his back turned to her, Johnny Filter was frantically typing and uploading the pictures onto the computer. “You need something, Danny boy?” said Johnny as he swiveled his computer chair around. The look on his face changed from arrogant sadism to horrified shock when he saw Tarja standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Uh-oh, Spaghetti-O’s” he said to himself.

“You’re damn right, you fucking pervert!” said Tarja as she charged at Johnny with a flying knee attack, catching him right on the bridge of the nose and busting him wide open. Johnny screamed and cried for help while Tarja kicked him repeatedly in the ribs and head. As soon as she felt he was subdued, the detective ripped the computer tower from underneath the desk and threw it roughly to the ground, shattering the hard drive into little chips and wires. Johnny laughed at her with blood in his nose and mouth before Tarja asked, “What’s so funny, you little shit?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. It’s just that…you’re too late! I already sent those pictures to your boss. As soon as he’s done creaming in his pants, he’ll start to understand just how important I am to cleaning these streets up.”

The realization hit Tarja like a super heavyweight boxer’s punch to the stomach. Her most embarrassing photos were now on the internet and everyone was going to ridicule and sexually harass her for the rest of her life. They would see her as nothing more than a “whore” and a “slut”, two words that got her eyes wet in a hurry.

“Now, back to business,” said Johnny. “Are you going to arrest me or what? I mean, you did beat my ass just now and that won’t look good as far as police brutality goes. Then again, your career’s already over, bitch, so you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Now it was Tarja’s turn to have a sick, sadistic smile on her face. “You know what? If I’m going to go out, I’m going out in a blaze of glory. And it’s going to be the biggest goddamn blaze of fire this city has ever seen.”

The disgraced detective grabbed a hold of Johnny’s vest and dragged him kicking and screaming out to the studio. He begged, pleaded, and whined for forgiveness, something he expected Tarja to do from the start while she was in kinky bondage. Instead, the cop shoved the ball gag in Johnny’s mouth, dragged him by the hair to a nearby window, and threw him through the glass. His muffled screams sounded off throughout the neighborhood as he fell to his doom, caving in a car that was parked on the sidewalk.

About this time, Kink Floyd was waking up and shaking the cobwebs off. Tarja scowled at him and said, “You’ve been found guilty of kidnapping an officer, extortion, and murder. The victim? Pink Floyd’s music! I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon, asshole!”

Tarja grabbed Daniel by his hair and dragged him over to a different window before chucking him through the glass and watching him crash to the concrete below. With both of her attackers smashed into pieces and dead as doornails, it didn’t change the fact that her career as a cop was over. She sat down in the fetal position and sobbed silently over her knees. The satisfaction of killing Daniel and Johnny only lasted for a few seconds. Now it was replaced with pants-pissing fear and stomach-burning anxiety. If she could throw two sociopaths out of a window, imagine what she could do to a sexual harasser. She wasn’t afraid of jail at this point. In her mind, she was already a prisoner of a cruel and sexist world.

Fighting Game Neighborhoods


I’m sure most of my reading audience is old enough to remember videogames from the Nintendo and Super Nintendo gaming consoles. What I don’t know is if any of you have played beat ‘em up fighting games like Double Dragon or Final Fight. If you haven’t, then you probably won’t understand just what the hell I’m talking about. In which case, feel free to skip past this portion of my journal and go straight to the creative project updates and the quote of the day.

For those of you who did play those kinds of videogames as a child, congratulations, your childhood was fucking awesome. There’s no violence quite like senseless violence as you move your ass-kicking character from one side of the screen to the other. No talking, no nonsense, just straight up ass-beatings and maybe some kya noises. What this journal deals with in particular is how most of those games take place in poor, dilapidated neighborhoods.

You know the kinds of neighborhoods I’m talking about. The buildings are so broken down that they look like they’re about to collapse. Cars parked on the side of the road live up to their moniker of Fixed or Repaired Daily. The roads and sidewalks have so many potholes that it’s amazing your character doesn’t trip over them constantly. There’s trash everywhere, and I mean everywhere. In the second stage of the first Final Fight game, the subway train’s windows are bashed in and there’s graffiti all over the walls.

If you’ve ever lived in a small town or inner city district before, then you’ve probably made the connection between your own life and a fighting videogame. You would often pretend to be Billy Lee or Cody Travers as you punch and kick at invisible enemies. You couldn’t do that to real people walking by or else that would be considered assault and battery. There are places in Port Orchard and Chehalis, WA that look like they could be backdrops for a fighting game based on their depressing appearances alone. I haven’t met anybody in Port Orchard who was worthy of a Mike Haggar piledriver. Chehalis? Oh, that was quite the different story.

But why is this trope so relevant to fighting games? Why do they always take place in shitty neighborhoods? You never see fighting games that take place in friendly or rich neighborhoods. Even Belger’s penthouse from the first Final Fight game looked like shit. But what if there was an installment of Double Dragon that took place in a gated community? Would it have the same feel? Would it make less sense? Are people in rich neighborhoods suddenly better than people in poor ones?

And that’s how you can tell if class warfare exists. You won’t see Guy slinging a katana at some Wall Street motherfuckers. If Mike Hagger ever got elected president, you wouldn’t see him clotheslining Andore out of his boots at the white house. You won’t see Shadow Master drinking a glass of Chablis while eating caviar with Liberace playing in the background. The poor neighborhood trope in fighting games is stereotypical of how Americans see their economic inferiors. Then again, nobody played those games because of they were models for progressive values. They played them for the same reason I’d love to play them again someday: because kicking ass is a lot of goddamn fun!


Speaking of kicking ass and taking names, this week’s story will be called “Kink Floyd” and will conform to the Captive prompt. It goes like this:


Tarja Hunter, Cop
Daniel “Kink Floyd” Alexander, Bondage Enthusiast
Johnny Filter, Straightedge Gangster

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Tarja is the captive of Daniel and Johnny.

SYNOPSIS: In order to gain leverage over the Paulson City Police Department, Johnny kidnaps Tarja (their best detective) and takes her to Daniel’s studio. “Kink Floyd” as he’s nicknamed poses her in humiliating sexual bondage positions while Johnny takes pictures on his iPhone. Distributing these pictures could do serious damage to the Police Department’s reputation, which is why Johnny wants to use the photos to blackmail them into allowing him and his gang to do whatever they want. But even in kinky bondage, Tarja won’t give up without a fight to the death.

FUN FACT: If Tarja ever arrests her two captives, not only will they be charged with assaulting an officer and attempted conspiracy, but they’ll also be charged with murder. The victim? Pink Floyd’s music.


If Stinger Crushwar’s head looks like it’s a little too far on his left shoulder, I apologize. That was a goof on my part and hopefully there will be fewer of them in the future. No sense in crying over spilled milk, though, because the next one to appear on the list is Mathias Jorgenson, the elf sorcerer from “Forever Autumn”. I already drew a picture of Autumn the parrot wizard, so Mathias was naturally next on the list. “Forever Autumn” was described by my audience as “cute” and “cartoon-like”, so hopefully I’ll capture those essences when I draw Mathias.


Only my Deviant Art members will understand why this section of the journal is significant since they’re the only ones who see my editing work. The next three stories that will undergo literary surgery are the three M’s of Poison Tongue Tales: “Mastodon”, “Minnie-Moo”, and “Molly-Dolly”. All three of these stories deal with animals and they all start with the letter M, which spells out MMM!! Tarja Hunter’s going to be saying that a lot when I eventually write “Kink Floyd” for the WSS contest. Hehe!


Q: What do you call a mean Canadian?

A: Eh-Hole.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Blood Candy

Orgasmic flavor, better than Life Savers
Better than Reese’s chocolate-covered greases
Better than Snickers, blood candy for dinner
The delicacy of choice for the natural born sinner
Just one bite and you’ll be hooked forever
Violence and lust both blended together
A romantic marriage never felt so tender
Get ready for a motherfucking acid-trip bender

Blood candy! Yum, yum, yum! X4

Swallow it down like a bottle of Coca-Cola
Let it wash over your nerves like ice cold lust
Imagine a world where you’re always relaxed
Never have to worry about being dead or taxed
This is called nirvana, this is called a trance
This is called a red hot fire-belly soul dance
Forget the bills, come and get your thrills
Forget the outside world and all that it kills

Blood candy! Yum, yum, yum! X4

Halloween can’t come soon enough
Some like their lust a little bit rough
Munch on the candy, slap on the cuffs
Show them you’re bold and you’re hot stuff

Your wildest dreams are rolling the credits
The cinematography will see no final edits
Wake up in the morning with the heaviest eyes
Come down from your Rocky Mountain highs
Your wettest dreams were nothing but lies
Blood is dripping between your aching thighs
Until next time, my friend with special benefits
Try to enjoy the daylight’s loving sentiments

Blood candy! Yum, yum, yum!
March to the beat of your own drum!
Blood candy! Tasty and sweet!
It’s what you want and what you need!
Round two is coming, you wait and see!
You can’t get enough, it’s a demon called greed!
The final round is kicking down your door!

You’re forever a slave, a blood candy whore!

Tiger Bullet Kick

Bob Rua had been through every kind of battle and shed tons of blood in his day, but even he admitted that he hadn’t seen anything yet. There would always be stronger challengers and they would always come in greater numbers. The anthropomorphic tiger wore his battle scars as badges of honor. He purposefully walked around in baggy shorts with no shirt to remind himself of the many hits he had taken. His thick striped orange fur could barely contain the bloody slashes he had endured. Most of his fur was getting grayer with every passing generation. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he would often say to himself.

Old he may be, his job of guarding the Moon Temple Mausoleum was no less important. He patrolled the inside of the stone sanctuary and marveled at the golden treasures buried in caskets with their dead owners. Taking these jewels to the afterlife would make the “clients’” journey into heaven that much richer. Any lowlife bandit who dared rob these caskets would be met with a swift kick to the gut, a punch to the jaw, knees and elbows to wherever Bob felt like throwing them, or he could employ the infamous martial arts technique, the Tiger Bullet Kick.

Bob reflected on all of the times he was forced to use such a brutal maneuver. It not only obliterated anybody who stood in its path, but it took a lot of energy out of the user. Sometimes Bob would be bedridden for three weeks straight after executing the Tiger Bullet Kick. Sometimes he would cough up blood and vomit bile. It was amazing he lived as long as he did. The thought of having to perform such a technique again made him quiver with anticipated sickness and anxiety.

Elderly age afforded him the wisdom to show restraint when it came to the technique. It also caused him to be lost in thought whenever his alertness was needed. It wasn’t until he heard feint whispering that he was snapped out of his old man gaze. With his lantern guiding his way in the dark, Bob shouted out, “Who’s there? Show yourself! Family visitations ended much earlier in the day!”

Bob was getting closer to the source of the whisper and was able to hear that the speaker was using mystical tongues. “Necromancy? Is that why you’re here? Not on my watch, you scoundrel!” The tiger monk’s sandaled feet slapped against the stone floor as hard as they could when he approached the voice further. The whispers grew louder and faster until Bob’s lantern shone on the source.

Standing over a nearby coffin was a woman in red samurai robes with her orange hair pinned in a bun and her arms extended as she was casting her spell. She slowly turned her head around to reveal her monstrous, creepy clown smile complete with sharp teeth, a bloody nose, and bloodshot eyes. Bob let out a small shiver, but at the same time maintained his fighting stance.

“So you’ve come to my temple looking for your own personal minion? You necromancers disgust me! Being dead is hard enough without freaks like you trying to make puppets out of their corpses! I could vomit all over this floor right now!” said Bob.

The clown lady laughed like a horse and arched backwards like Bob’s warning was the greatest comedy in the world. She unsheathed her katana and spoke to him in a raspy voice. “Trust me, tiger man, Viktor the Warlord is hardly the man I came here for! I’ve got much more work to do on these sacred grounds!”

The necromancer samurai licked her blade seductively before leaping into battle with the martial arts tiger. The two warriors threw kicks, punches, and slashes at each other with whooshing sound effects behind them as they dodged like athletes. They continued to fight even faster than before, causing their dodges to resemble acrobatic flips and slides. During one of the slides, Bob Rua slipped on his ass and was vulnerable for a rushing stab from the samurai clown. But as the bladed warrior bolted towards him, he shot right back up and delivered an oxygen-draining spin kick to her stomach, causing her to double over and gasp for air.

 Bob shook out his shoulders and said to his victim, “Is that all you’ve got? Are you going to finish this fight or are you just going to lie down and moan?” The clown’s answer came in the form of mocking laughter, to which the tiger monk marched over to her and lifted her head by her hair. “You think disrespecting the dead is funny? I should snap that skinny neck of yours right fucking now!”

The coffin the necromancer was working on exploded into green fire, knocking pebbles into Bob’s chest and stinging him slightly. Out of the fire came his worst nightmare, Viktor the Warlord, a seven-foot tall mummy wrapped up in filthy tape with maggots crawling all over his rotting purple skin. Viktor’s moans at first sounded like someone getting out of bed on a Monday. The moans then started to become animalistic, like a pack of wolves hungry for meat.

Bob tossed the samurai to the ground and rushed up to Viktor to deliver a furious beat down. His punches were like wrecking balls, his kicks were like sledgehammers, his elbows and knees were like battering rams, but all they did was stagger Viktor a few inches backwards.

The mummy wrapped both of his worm-infested meat hooks around Bob’s neck and hoisted him in the air while squeezing the life out of him. As the tiger man struggled to pry Viktor’s hands off, he threw even more jackhammer-like kicks to the midsection and groin area, but all he did was expend energy and darken his vision even more. Before he could completely fade away, Viktor released his grip and dropped Bob’s nearly limp body to the stone floor, causing him to nearly lose his lunch and his lungs as he coughed violently.

“Come on, tiger man,” taunted the necromancer. “Why don’t you use that Tiger Bullet Kick you’re so proud of. I know exactly who you are. You’re a dying breed of the Rua clan. You’ll probably be dead if you use that Tiger Bullet Kick one more time. Go ahead. Try it. You’re all alone in this temple. Nobody’s coming to help you. It’s do or die, my friend. Mostly just die, but you get what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you sneak out of here with the treasure once I’m dead and gone. Get lost, punk!” said Bob in a raspy voice as he staggered to his feet. This time Viktor grabbed him by the fur on his head and hoisted him high off the floor.

“It’s kill or be killed, Bob! What’s it going to be? You know you want to do it!” taunted the samurai as she did cheerleader-like hops and flips in evil happiness.

Viktor smiled at Bob with worms swirling around his teeth and tongue. His breath smelled like cow shit, almost bad enough to earn himself a KO victory. But then a bright yellow aura glowed around Bob Rua. The light radius grew beyond his prone body and the samurai clown was cheering him on. She knew what was coming and danced around like a madwoman. Viktor challenged him with an even nastier smile and said, “Do it!”

“It could kill me, but I don’t fucking care anymore! Tiger Bullet Kick!” shouted Bob. With fire and light surrounding his legs, he threw one powerful flying kick to Viktor’s chest, sending a heavenly show of golden aura throughout the temple, turning night into day and turning the moon into sunshine. The mummy warlord laughed like the monster he was before turning into a heap of dust and leaving Bob on the ground taking short and weak breaths.

The samurai spun around and tiptoed up to Bob’s lifeless body, to which she saw blood pouring from his mouth and nose. She clapped her hands happily and extended her arms to cast another necromancy spell. After her obligatory haunting whispers, she explained, “Truth is, Bob, I didn’t come here for Viktor the Warlord’s services. He was just a byproduct of a much bigger plot. I came here for you, tiger man. Forever more, you will be my undead minion. You will know your master as the great and powerful Makoto Lionheart, Gatekeeper of Souls. Now rise, you worthless scum! Rise from your slumber so that you may do that lovely Tiger Bullet Kick over and over again! Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you!”

Bob started moaning like he had sleep apnea as he got on his hands and knees and slowly stood up to face his new master. In a zombie-like drone, he said, “I shall do whatever you wish, my lord.” Makoto spun around and cheered to herself while smiling like an innocent child. “There’s just one catch,” Bob said before reaching out and grabbing Makoto by both sides of her head. “I said that the Tiger Bullet Kick could kill me, not that it would.” Makoto trembled in his vice-like grip. “I’m ready for the world’s longest nap. Would you care to join me?”

With his tiger claws buried deep into the sides of Makoto’s head, he spun her skull around multiple times before her neck muscles loosened and her neck bone snapped in two, leaving her a lifeless heap on the floor as soon as Bob released her. The tiger warrior smiled at his handiwork, but not without coughing up chunks of blood and sprawling over the corpse of his victim. As his body relaxed on what might be his last night on earth, he softly said to himself, “Man, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Friday, May 6, 2016

Vex Ed

Jennifer McHenry couldn’t get the images out of her mind: her own burly step-father pushing into her as hard as he could every night for god knows how many nights. Then there was the judge who only gave him a ninety-day jail sentence because of his “service to the community”? Ninety days could only last so long, but the psychological trauma was forever. Jennifer’s eyes were lifeless, her frown was saggy, her posture was hunched, and her emotions were dulled. She might as well have walked through this life as a zombie.

She paid no mind to the other high school students around her nor did she immediately wake up from her robotic trance when Martin Hitch, the sex ed teacher, entered the room with a handful of books. Everything around Jennifer was a blurry haze in her numbed out mind. Not even Mr. Hitch’s booming voice saying, “Alright, class, listen up!” could startle her like it did the other students.

The tall, middle-aged, crew-cut having teacher placed his palms on his desk and drummed his fingertips while everyone in the class was slowly quieting down. The fire in his eyes made him look like a hellfire and brimstone preacher. Just one word could send electricity through the bodies of those who disobeyed him.

“Now that I have your attention,” said Mr. Hitch. “I’d like to begin by welcoming you all to sex education. You may think this is going to be a fun-filled ride with plenty of pornographic thrills. But trust me when I say this, there’s nothing fun about STD’s and pregnancies. Genital warts, gonorrhea, HIV, there are so many nasty things that can come from sexual contact. And don’t give me that unholy garbage about how condoms will save you. They won’t. There’s only one thing that will save you in the end: just saying no.”

Jennifer’s droning haze turned into a sniper sight of anger. Her breathing sounded like soft growling and her eyebrows were tightly furrowed. Oh, how many times she wished she could have said no to her disgusting step-father. Two letters, one word, one syllable: no. Who was this teacher to say that a simple word solves everything? Her fists clinched as she heard his offensive oratory.

“That’s right, children,” said Mr. Hitch as he stood up and started pacing sternly back and forth. “All you have to do is say no and it’ll all be over. For those of you who say no, you can spare yourself from green paste and a fishy discharge coming out of your genitals. Those who continually give in? You’re just a piece of chewed up gum. And the more you chew gum, the less flavor it has.”

The fist clinching became even tighter than before and Jennifer’s head felt like it was going to burst like a bomb. Her heartbeat sounded like someone smashing a bass drum. The fiery sensation running through her body could turn this whole school into a matchstick, which lost its color after one strike.

“You don’t want to be a chewed up piece of bubblegum, right? You don’t want to be one of these fools who think that condoms and contraceptives are the panacea of sexual diseases, right? All you have to do is say no! Keep your pants on and never remove them!”

As the images of her step-father assaulted her mind like kicks to the skull, Jennifer let out a thunderous scream before jumping on her desk, running across the other students’ desks, and landing a flying knee right against Martin Hitch’s temple. While the teacher fell to the ground and tried to gain his wits about him, other students flocked to restrain Jennifer’s arms and legs while she screamed every obscenity in the book. Those who dared get in her way were met with vampire bites, soccer kicks, and boxer punches.

The other students began to back away when Martin stood back up and yelled, “Quiet! Shut up!” The frightened pupils backed away even further while Jennifer McHenry’s breathing intensified. Martin pointed an accusatory finger at her and yelled, “You are out of control, young lady! Do you realize what you just did?! You assaulted a teacher and now you’re in huge trouble, my friend!”

“Trouble? Trouble?” said Jennifer in a trembling whisper.

“Yeah, that’s right! Trouble! Big trouble, at that! You’re going to the Principal’s Office right now! You’re lucky I’m not calling the cops on you!” shouted Mr. Hitch.

“Who’s going to call the cops on my rapist?!” screamed Jennifer, turning her teacher’s authoritative anger into a somber frown. “I never wanted that secret to get out. I know how the kids at this school treat rape victims. You like to call us sluts and whores. You like to say we deserved what we got. You blame us for the crime because of what we wore that day. Does saying no solve everything, Mr. Hitch? I don’t think so! So I guess that makes me a chewed up piece of gum!”

The suddenly defensive Mr. Hitch held his arms out to control the distance between him and Jennifer. “Take it easy, Miss McHenry. It’ll be okay. I seriously didn’t know you were the victim of sexual assault.”

“It’s not the kind of thing I go around advertising on a daily basis, you sick bastard!” shouted Jennifer.

“Hey, hey,” said Mr. Hitch in a calm voice. “You’re going to be alright. You obviously need to see a counselor. We can hook you up with one after class is over.”

“I’m already seeing one,” said Jennifer with tears cascading from her eyes. “No matter how many times I talk about it, no matter how many treatments we do, no matter how many pills I take, it’s not going to make it all go away! I still see his face every night! I’m going to see him a lot more once he gets out of prison!”

A depressing hush fell over the classroom with neither Jennifer nor Martin knowing what to do. The two of them just stared at each other with bloodshot eyes. And then one by one, students quietly shuffled toward the door and exited the classroom. In a matter of seconds, the only two left in the room were Jennifer and Martin, still staring each other down, still at a Mexican standoff.

The tension was cut when Martin inched closer to his pupil and said in his softest voice, “Truth be told, I didn’t choose this curriculum. You see those books over there? They were given to me by the board of education. They were the ones who thought teaching abstinence was a good idea. As far as what I said goes…” Martin drew a deep breath. “I, uh….I was told to do that. I’m following orders. If I don’t follow them, I could lose my job and then I’d have no way to feed my family.”

“Bullshit! You’re a liar!” sobbed Jennifer.

“Jennifer, you need to trust me on this one. I’m being honest with you. If you don’t believe me, you can look in the text book on the top of that pile.”

The shaken student dragged her feet to her teacher’s desk and picked up said book. It was a hardcover book. It was heavy. It felt natural in her hands. She turned around and smacked Martin over the head with it, knocking him unconscious. She then assaulted her teacher’s desk by slamming the text book against it.

Only then did campus security storm into the classroom and try to hold her still. No matter how big and strong they were, Jennifer still bit down hard, she still kicked like a warrior, and she still punched like her fists were made with granite. All of the rage and all of the pain was accompanied by images of her step-father pushing inside her over and over again. The wet ending made her feel like butcher’s meat. And then her vision blackened as the last of her violent energy surged out of her body.

She could have stayed asleep forever if she wanted to. A dreamless state of mind was better than the fucked up nightmare she lived every day, now made worse by Martin Hitch’s speech about chewed bubblegum. Jennifer purposely kept her eyes closed for as long as she could before slowly opening them to a world of whiteness.

She awakened to find herself in beige pajamas while laying on a comfy bed surrounded by white walls. “Excellent. You’re awake,” said an elderly Indian woman in a white lab coat.

“Where…where am I?” asked a weary Jennifer McHenry.

“You’re in a safe place, Miss McHenry. The Principal was adamant about taking you to juvenile hall, but your sex ed teacher waved him off. He told me everything that happened today. You caused a lot of injuries in your rage. But there’s something more to this than a simple attack. You have something on your mind that won’t let go of you.”

Tears welled in the teenager’s eyes as she said, “What the hell’s going on with my brain, Doctor? I can’t do my homework, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t pay attention in class…I can’t do anything!”

The doctor placed a sympathetic hand on her patient’s and said in the softest tone, “I know how hard it is for you. But unless you allow us to help you, we can’t find out what’s going on aside from the rape story. It may not be as simple as Post-Traumatic Stress. It could very well be schizophrenia you’re experiencing. If that’s the case, then managing your symptoms will be much harder than anticipated. But the most important thing you remember is…it’s not impossible. It’ll take time, but we have all the time in the world. Get some rest, dear. Treatment starts tomorrow morning.”

Once the doctor stood up and left, the door was closed behind her and Jennifer was alone with her thoughts. Actually, she wasn’t completely alone since there were nurses standing guard in case she had a mental health emergency. But for the first time in a long time, she welcomed her aloneness. She used this opportunity to have conversations with herself. They appeared to be quick whispers to the nurse’s outside, but in her world, every word meant building towards the big day tomorrow. And the big day after that, and the big day after that, and the big day after that. The road to recovery would be long an exhausting, but it would be traveled nonetheless, even if she had to walk her way to the light at the end of the tunnel with blisters on her feet.

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Dance Like You're Dumb


This journal shouldn’t be confused with the short story I wrote a few weeks ago called “Laugh Like You’re Dumb”, which was about a college student laughing at a rape joke from a movie. I stole that title from an Incubus song and paraphrased it to fit the content. “Dance Like You’re Dumb” is much different and much more lighthearted. In fact, it’s a song WWE COO Triple H can probably relate to if he saw the lyrics. Hehe! Oh, those nepotism jokes never get old. Here are the lyrics to my new favorite Incubus song:

Nobody gets whatcha got without gettin all hot
With the boss' daughter
Taking her out on the town, dizzy up, spin her round
Makin out with her dress turned upside down
Have a drink! Whatcha think? She's all heels and kink
Betcha thought you'd landed
Then like a pink Boba Fett, she calls you on your bet
And your hat is the least of... what you're handed

You're young
And you don’t need a reason
Just like
You got
Your legs from a cartoon
Just like
You're dumb
Like you don't need the money
The moon
Cause you never know, never know

You were kissed with a fist, now you're tied at the wrist
To the boss-man's daughter
You thought singing her praises would get you a raise
Now you're just like a horse being led to the water
Is fine, come on in! Takin one on the chin
Is a price worth payin
For a glimpse, just a look. Let's have one off the books!
She's a pink Boba Fett
And that's all I'm sayin

You're young
And you don't need a reason
Just like
You got
Your legs from a cartoon
Just like
You're dumb
Like you don't need the money
The moon
Cause you never never never know

(Never know, never know)
(Never know, never know)

Like you don't need a reason
Yeah, you don't need the money
Yeah, you don't need a reason
Yeah, you don't need the money
Like you don't need a reason
Like you don't need the money
Like you don't need a reason
Like you don't need a money

Just when you thought you were done, catch ya breath
Too much fun, now the red lights flashin
She kept a rainbow of pills, she was up on her thrills
Both her brains and her body liked
A good bashin
Of course, they're not mine! Officer, I'm not tryin to put it all on her
Put it on who? City boy, take a look, it's just you
Now I'm just like a lamb headed to the slaughter

You're young
And you don't need a reason
Just like
You got
Your legs from a cartoon
Just like
You're dumb
Like you don't need the money
The moon
Cause you never never never know
Yeah, you never never never know

Look it up on You Tube if you get the chance. It’s worth it! We’ve got ears, say cheers!


It’s a new month, which means I’m on double duty when it comes to short stories, one for the month of June and one for the week of May 4th, 2016 (May the fourth be with you, Star Wars nerds; this is a good day to Google pictures of chicks in Leia’s metal bikini). For the monthly contest, we’ve got a picture prompt given to us by the wonderful photographer and WSS admin Alex-Pie. It’s basically a picture of roman pillars protecting what could be the entrance to a sacred building. Therefore, my story for the June issue of WSS’s online magazine is called “Tiger Bullet Kick”. It goes like this:


Bob Rua, Tiger Monk
Makoto Lionheart, Clown Samurai
Viktor, Mummy Warlord

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The entrance of the mausoleum is marked with the pillars in the photograph.

SYNOPSIS: Bob is the loyal watchman of a mausoleum containing mummified bodies and ancient treasure. Makoto sneaks into the building and uses necromancy to raise Viktor from the dead. It is revealed that Bob was the one who put Viktor in his grave using a martial arts attack called the “Tiger Bullet Kick”. In his old age, Mr. Rua can’t afford to use such a powerful move again lest it completely drains his spiritual energy and kills him. Sacrificing himself to put Viktor back in his tomb would leave the treasure and other mummies readily available to Makoto. Being an elderly martial arts master affords Bob a lot of wisdom, but even he can’t wrap his head around this one in a matter of crucial seconds.


You can’t have double duty without two stories. The weekly prompt is “Force” (again, Happy Star Wars Day), though I’m going to interpret it to be something much darker than a light saber fight with Kylo Ren. It’s called “Vex Ed” and it goes like this:


Martin Hitch, Sex Ed Teacher
Jennifer McHenry, Sexual Assault Victim

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Jennifer’s sexual experience was forced upon her.

SYNOPSIS: When Martin teaches sex education at Ocean View High School, he takes the abstinence only approach by putting emphasis on sexual diseases, pregnancies, and low social status. In his booming voice, he compares teenagers who have had sex multiple times to chewed up pieces of gum that lost their flavor. Jennifer, a victim of sexual assault, takes offense Martin’s oratory and bursts out of her seat to attack him. It takes multiple students to pull her off, but they won’t go unscathed either since the act of restraining reminds her of the rape she experienced.

Damn, I sure have a lot of American Darkness 2 characters named Jennifer!


These drawings are pretty much my go-to creative task whenever an exhausting day takes over. You all saw drawings I did of Clint Magnus, Tetra Engel, and Gargoth Trencher. The next one will be Stinger Crushwar, the obnoxious rhino barbarian from “Unleash the Animal”. Although, his name should be Stinker Crushwar seeing as how he took a shit in Rosie Moonbender’s magic pool. Either way, it’s another barbarian on my long list of them.

Speaking of toilet humor…


“There’s a diet pill on the market where one of the side effects is anal seepage. If you’re taking this pill, I don’t care how much weight you’ve lost, ‘cause you’re not looking good in those jeans.”

-Jeff Foxworthy-