Silent Warrior, Chapter 15

The fact that Mr. Simpson didn’t get a speeding ticket or a smashed up car on the drive to his daughter’s house was nothing short of miraculous. His hands squeezed the steering wheel like it was the throat of Scott George. His eyes burned brightly like a fiery orphanage. His veins bulged and pulsated while his teeth were so tightly clamped that he could easily max out his dental insurance. When he finally pulled up to Adrienne’s house, he slammed on the brakes and nearly smashed his forehead against the windshield (another miracle that he didn’t).

The history teacher huffed and wheezed in an attempt to reason with himself. He didn’t want to go in there guns blazing (because he still loved his daughter), but that message scrawled across his blackboard did no favors for his boiling rage. It played over and over in his head like a scratchy record of cacophonic screaming. He got out of the car and slammed the driver’s door shut before marching with authority to the front door of Adrienne’s house.

Taking a few more deep breaths to steady his pulsating nerves, he noticed his ex-wife’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Adrienne must have been home alone. Or maybe not. Maybe he was with someone a little more familiar to her. Mr. Simpson clutched his agonized face and scraped his fingernails across his cheeks in a raw attempt to push that thought to the back of his mind. He opened the door without knocking and bolted straight for Adrienne’s room. A few more whirlwinds of anxiety-crushing breaths later, he barged into his daughter’s room and caught her painting her toenails bright pink.

Adrienne crab walked across her bed and allowed her nail polish to spill all over her carpeted floor. “D…Dad? What are you doing here? Don’t you know how to knock?” she stuttered.

With a sinister visage and clenched fists, Mr. Simpson took a few more hard breaths before stating his business in the house that was once his. “Your mother and I may be divorced. It may have been one of the worst experiences in the Simpson family history. But I am still your father, Adrienne. I still love you very much. That’s why I must insist that you stay away from Scott George.”

Her jaw quivering, Adrienne said, “W…why? I love him, Dad. He loves me too.”

“That’s not love!” belted Mr. Simpson, causing his daughter to jump out of her skin. “Scott George doesn’t give a damn about anybody but himself. He’s dating you to get back at me. I may be a rotten bastard at times, but at least I’d never hurt you the way he’s going to.”

Sobbing and breathing heavily at the same time, Adrienne said, “Bullshit! You’ve done nothing but hurt me and my mom ever since you married her! All the yelling, all the rules, all the arguments…I remember everything, Dad. I’ll always remember those no matter how many times I see my therapist. Yeah, Dad: you put me in therapy. That must be a proud moment in your life. So much yelling. I can still hear it in my head!”

Crossing his arms, Mr. Simpson said, “I didn’t yell at you and your mom because I wanted to cause you pain. I did it because I wanted order. That was something this household was lacking for a long time. Your grades weren’t always the best and your mother was complacent at her job. Sometimes yelling is the best way to get through to someone. You’ll understand one day when you’re a mother, hopefully not with Scott’s child.”

“Order?” cried Adrienne as she shot up from her bed and shoved her father. “I call bullshit! I had you figured out a long time ago, Dad! In fact, I want to show you something that you’ll never be able to deny.” She reached in her underwear drawer and pulled out a stack of magazines before slamming them on her computer desk for Mr. Simpson’s perusal.

The teacher’s heart thumped deafeningly in his chest as he thumbed through the magazines and saw pictures of athletically gifted men with chiseled frames. “Heh…your porn collection? Does your mom know you have this?”

“They’re not my magazines, Dad. They’re yours.”

Mr. Simpson’s blood froze into a solid block of anxiety. His nerves tingled as he took one more look at these “beautiful” men. “Where did you find these?”

“Under your bed, Dad. I’ve known about them for a long time now, but I didn’t want to say anything because I was too interested in keeping this family together,” confessed Adrienne, who held her father’s hands in hers with a tender loving touch. “Dad…” she sobbed. “I don’t care that you’re gay. I would have loved you anyways. You didn’t have to keep it locked inside you this whole time. Hell, I would have helped you find a nice boyfriend. You’re angry at everyone because you don’t feel accepted. You didn’t have to take it out on your own family. You don’t have to take it out on your students either. Dad…let me help you! Please!”

Mr. Simpson pulled his hands out of his daughter’s loving grasp and angrily whispered, “I’m beyond help, Adrienne. There’s no turning back for me or this family. And there’s certainly no turning back for Scott George. It’s like I said to him in detention this morning: I’m definitely going to hell for all of the disgusting things I’ve done. But if I’m going to hell, I’m taking the whole world with me. Every homophobe, every bigot, and everybody in between…they’re all going down in flames. I don’t know how I’m going to get back at Scott, but it’s going to happen. Detention isn’t good enough for him. I need something a little extra!”

Adrienne dropped to her knees and begged her father, “Please! Don’t hurt my boyfriend! I love him!”

Petting his daughter’s hair with fake comfort, Mr. Simpson said, “Don’t worry, my darling. I’m not going to get physical with him. I can’t even afford a pistol on my teacher’s salary. Like I said, I don’t know what I’m going to do to him yet, but when I do…I’m going to make it hurt!”

“No…no…NO!” wept Adrienne while pounding her father’s chest with clenched fists. “Don’t do it! Leave him alone! He’s mine, goddamn it! He’s mine!”

To end the assault, Mr. Simpson shoved Adrienne on her ass and caused her to bawl even louder than before. Realizing what he just did, he clutched his scalp and sighed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Adrienne. I didn’t mean to do that. Here, let me help you up.”

He offered his hand for Adrienne to grab, but instead of accepting it, she screamed, “Get out! Get out of my house and don’t come back! You’re not a father! You’re a glorified sperm donor! I hate you, Dad! I fucking hate you! Get out of my house before I call the police! Move it!”

Holding up his hands defensively, Mr. Simpson backed off and silently said, “Okay, I’m leaving. It’s okay, dear. It’s okay.”

As the teacher turned around to leave, he overheard Adrienne screaming at him some more. “No! It’s not okay! It’ll never be okay again! Get the fuck out of my house, you pig! You wanted this divorce! Now you’ve got it!” That last sentence was punctuated by Adrienne throwing a hardcover book at her dad and nailing him in the back of the neck, to which the teacher just flinched and shrugged it off. He ran out of the house and back into the driver’s seat of his car.

Mr. Simpson clutched the steering wheel tightly while tears poured from his eyes. Adrienne’s words stung him like a thousand scorpion tails. He almost considered backing off from Scott just out of respect for her. He still wanted to love his daughter. He still wanted to make things right. But she wouldn’t let him. Nobody would. He even damned his own sexual chemistry for getting in the way of what could have been a beautiful family love.

He screamed like a gorilla and wailed on the steering wheel with closed fists. His assault could have easily disabled his own vehicle if it hadn’t been for one lingering thought interrupting his moment of rage. He still had one more person to talk to that morning. There was somebody out there who could make things right even though they were on less agreeable terms than him and Adrienne.

Mr. Simpson smiled maniacally and breathed heavily as he said to himself, “Miss Williams…guess who’s coming to breakfast!” He laughed like a loony toon as he started his car and peeled out onto the empty suburban street, once again evading a speeding ticket through the kindness and mercy of the universe.

Thanks For the Creative Fuel, Asshole

CHORUS 1

While you’re ruling everything in your castle

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!

VERSE 1

Every time you lay hands on me

Every time you haunt my TV

Every time my broken heart bleeds

You’re planting another artistic seed

I’m not in the business of staying down

I’m in the business of running the town

If it’s pen to paper or fist to chin

I’m already the favorite to win

CHORUS 2

While you’re making the whole world sick

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, dick!

VERSE 2

Art is a weapon and I’m the warrior, bitch

My words will leave you dead in the ditch

A traumatized mind and a body of bruises?

They mean nothing if my enemy loses

CHORUS 3

While you’re shopping for discount caskets

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, jackass!

VERSE 3

I don’t need a sword or automatic rifle

To leave my enemies in the highest pile

You do the work for me by being a clown

Lower than bathroom stains so brown

Lower than a sewer rat guzzling piss

Lower than the target you’re sure to miss

Lower than the ball bag of a venomous snake

I celebrate your doom with ice cream and cake

CHORUS 4

While you’re gifting me a number one hit

For every time you throw a fucking fit

For every throat that I want to slit

I’ve got to say

Thanks for the creative fuel, you little shit!

I’ve got to say one more time

Thanks for the creative fuel, asshole!

Run Like Hell

CHORUS

Run like hell from the perfume smell

Run like hell from the wedding bells

Get your ass home before you turn to stone

Find another place to bury your bone

VERSE 1

Locked in a contract like Christian Grey

This newfound prison is your wedding day

Shotgun loaded and pressed to your head

Say the words “I do” lest you end up dead

Run like the wind, it’s your only chance

To get your ass out of this toxic romance

A hellish honeymoon in a seaside resort?

Time to cut that shit so fucking short

CHORUS

Run like hell from the perfume smell

Run like hell from the wedding bells

Get your ass home before you turn to stone

Find another place to bury your bone

VERSE 2

She screams like a demon, bites like a vampire

A virgin sacrifice is what she will require

You’re strapped to a cross naked as a baby

Gagged with a sex toy, screaming like a lady

Your heart beats fast as the seconds pass

Sweat pours down, you start to drown

Here comes the blade, the pact is made

I now pronounce you lonely and afraid

CHORUS

Run like hell from the perfume smell

Run like hell from the wedding bells

Get your ass home before you turn to stone

Find another place to bury your bone

VERSE 3

Get the fuck out like a scared little mouse

Get your ass free and run like the breeze

Never turn back for a heart so black

Suck down air to calm your standing hairs

Take your ring off and give it a toss

An instant divorce is what you get of course

I know you’re tired, I know you’re scared

I know the trauma will never be fair

FINAL LINES

Run, motherfucker, run, motherfucker, run! X3

Run! Like! Hell!

Pop Evil and Starset

***POP EVIL AND STARSET***

Tomorrow night I’m headed over to Seattle to see a Pop Evil concert at El Corazon and the following Wednesday I’m going back to that same venue to see Starset. With only two days of recuperation in between the two shows, I’m glad I got all of my creative work done today and the night before. Chapter fourteen of Silent Warrior is live and in color while my reading commitments are all caught up. I’m definitely ready to rock out in Seattle with two of my favorite rock bands.

The first time I heard Pop Evil’s music was when they opened for Papa Roach in 2013. The second time I saw them was at the Pain in the Grass festival in 2016. If you like explosive hard rock that can occasionally dip into sensitive territory, you’ll like Pop Evil. They have five albums to their name and their most recent self-titled project came out just a week ago. I bought “War of Angels” and “Lipstick On the Mirror” for my niece Reina on her fourteenth birthday back in January and she was grateful to say the least. I’m anticipating an awesome fucking show tomorrow night!

The first time I heard Starset was in 2014 on one of the Music Choice radio stations and it was their single “My Demons”. By the time they unleashed their next single “Carnivore”, I knew I had to have their Transmissions album, which is their first CD as a band. A year ago they came out with their sophomore effort Vessels and they’ve been going strong ever since. Starset has the gimmick of being space explorers warning humanity about the demise of mankind. It’s not meant to be cute or funny; the music and gimmick are actually quite emotional and can draw in a huge crowd on any given night.

I like to jokingly refer to rock concerts as one-day vacations, which is why I list them as life events on my Face Book page. It seems like I’m stroking myself when I do that, but I really do consider these concerts to be that important to me since the bands rarely visit my home state. I don’t do this with movies or books, because I can get that kind of experience at home without making any kind of pilgrimage to a stadium. Concerts? You have to get your ass out in public for those.

But just like with any pilgrimage to the city of rock, I will return safe, sound, and in perfect condition to continue my creative endeavors. I’m not fond of memes that say writers never take vacations. While it is true that not writing for a while makes us feel homesick, getting out and experiencing life is paramount to our creativity. You can’t have one without the other. That’s what makes Silent Warrior so special to me: because some of it (not all of it) is based on true experiences I’ve had as a teenager in high school. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***SILENT WARRIOR, CHAPTER 15***

I know one audience member in particular has been waiting patiently for a chapter told from the point of view of Mr. Simpson. Ask and you shall receive. In this chapter, the aloof history teacher barges into his daughter’s bedroom and confronts her about having sex with Scott. During this heated exchange, Adrienne (the daughter in question) exposes a secret to the reader that will give some insight into why Mr. Simpson is as insufferable as he is. What’s that secret? You’ll figure it out when the rest of the world does! No spoilers for you!

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There are a lot of fine-looking women all over the world today. They don’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”

-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-

Silent Warrior, Chapter 14

“Trust me, Mr. George, there’s a variety of other places I’d rather be than here in my classroom: an Afghan war zone, a rape dungeon, a slaughterhouse, or maybe even hell itself,” joked Mr. Simpson as he sipped his hot coffee. “I’m sure scrubbing boogers and leftover food isn’t your idea of a fun Saturday morning either. We have all of these janitors in our school, yet they never seem to want to scrub down desks. So basically, you’re taking the job that nobody else wants to do, Mr. George. For that, you should be proud.”

Scott’s gag reflex worked overtime for a slave’s wages as he scrubbed the underside of the desks with a damp sponge. Mr. Simpson seemed sure that his pupil was going to unload landslide of stomach acids into the soapy bucket. “Yes, I know it’s not the most pleasant work I can find for you, but it needs to get done. I’m sure your fellow students will appreciate having a clean place to sit. Of course, they’re just going to stick disgusting crap under there again, but at least it’ll be good in the short term.”

After wringing out the sponge in the bucket and gagging again, Scott looked up at his teacher with bloodshot eyes and said, “This will probably earn me more detention, but you’re a monster Mr. Simpson.”

The history teacher chuckled, shook his head, and held his hands up defensively while saying, “Nah, I won’t penalize you for that. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Plus, you make a strong argument. I’m definitely going to hell for what I’m making you do today. But I have to ask…is it really that disgusting underneath there? Who knows? Maybe you’re trying to make yourself sick so that you can get out early.” He leaned to the side to get a better view of the underbelly and said, “Please do me a solid and tell me I’m wrong.”

Scott wrung out the sponge again and said, “I’ve been doing that for the past semester, Mr. Simpson. I’ve called you out on your BS and you laughed in my face every single time. For a guy who’s supposed to instill knowledge and wisdom to the next generation, you seem to not give a damn about the kids in your class.”

Mr. Simpson took a sip of his coffee and said, “Well, I guess there’s no fooling you, is there. I try hard every day to give a hoot about my students, but let’s be honest, they’re not making it easy for me. You’re hardly the worst offender when it comes to this, Scott. I’ve been hit in the face with spitballs, I’ve been called homophobic slurs even though I’m not gay, and I even had one student tell me that he was going to stab me in the chest with a butcher knife. Great stuff, huh? But through it all, I keep soldiering on.”

“But why?” asked Scott as he continued scrubbing. “If you don’t like what you do for a living, why don’t you just do something else?”

With a wag of his index finger and a blunt smile, Mr. Simpson said, “You see? That’s what everybody tells me these days. I’m sure you’d love to see me hand in my resignation and walk out those front doors to a life of rainbows and unicorns.” The teacher took off his glasses and stunned Scott with a look of hard seriousness, “But the truth is, there are no rainbows and unicorns. This is the real world, kid. And in the real world, sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do. I happen to be knowledgeable in history, so I teach history for a living. Is it everything I thought it was going to be? Not even close. But then again, nothing really is. You’ve got depressed rock stars and starving painters all around the world who thought they were going to waltz into happyville the day that they graduated.”

Though taken aback by his teacher’s steel eyes, Scott threw his sponge in the soapy bucket and stood up to meet them with a vengeful scowl. “So basically what you’re trying to tell me is that because you’re a miserable sack of shit, everybody else has to be too? I don’t buy that crap for one minute.”

“Speaking of being miserable,” said Mr. Simpson as he set his coffee mug on one of the now cleaned desks. “Never forget why you’re here today in the first place. Trash can violence aside, you swore in a place where it isn’t allowed. Whether you agree with that rule or not, it is the law of the land. We encourage a professional environment between these walls. That way, when you take your so-called dream job, you’ll be better equipped to thrive in it.”

“Really?” said Scott with a cocked head and raised eyebrow. “You’re taking away my self-esteem so that I can blindly follow orders and embrace my misery? This sounds like the plot of a Pink Floyd music video, if you ask me.”

Mr. Simpson slammed his fist against one of the desks and caused Scott to jump out of his skin. “No, young man. That’s not classic rock. That’s real life. You think your employers are going to care about your precious little self-esteem? That’s if you have any employers at all! This world wasn’t built on cutesy-wutesy feelings. It was built on toughness. It was built on efficiency. History’s legends didn’t build entire nations out of precious and pretty dreams.”

“No! They built entire nations on slavery and genocide!” shouted Scott, bringing the heated debate to a dead silence. These fiery seconds were spent gazing into each other’s eyes to see who would flinch first. Scott broke the stalemate by angrily whispering, “But you’re right about one thing: those conquerors don’t care about self-esteem and personal ambitions…just like you don’t care about mine! I guess you’re fit to be a history teacher after all. You relate so well to those European settlers.”

With his sour expression trembling, Mr. Simpson said, “Ouch, Scott. That hurt. That hurt badly. You know what? Forget the desks. Forget the sponge, forget the bucket, forget the boogers, forget everything! I’ve got a new assignment for you, my friend.” He approached the blackboard and pointed at it with a piece of chalk. “What was I thinking? Cleaning desks isn’t going to make the message sink in. But saying it often enough will. I want you to take this piece of chalk and write a single sentence so many times that it fills the blackboard. And no taking shortcuts by writing in huge letters!”

Arms folded and stone faced, Scott asked, “And what exactly is it you want me to write?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Mr. Simpson. “My job as a teacher is to impart wisdom on the next generation. You seem to believe that once you graduate the world is going to welcome you with open arms and a bowl of rainbow ice cream with sprinkles. You need to learn that things don’t work out that way. You need to learn…to ‘Embrace the suck’. It’s the mantra military personnel live by on a day-to-day basis. It’s the iron that sharpens their iron. It’s the basic building blocks for toughness. Conquering bad situations that keep getting worse will build your character, not living in a jobless fantasy.”

Scott maintained his death stare as he yanked the piece of chalk out of Mr. Simpson’s hand and placed it to the top edge of the blackboard. The teacher grabbed his mug and told him, “I’m going to get more coffee. It’s 8:45 right now, so that means you have fifteen minutes to complete your new assignment. If you try to leave early, you’ll get another hour of detention, this time tomorrow morning. Remember, Scott…’Embrace the suck!’”

As soon as Mr. Simpson exited the classroom, Scott slowly scraped the chalk across the board, little squeaking sounds piercing his eardrums. He took a deep breath and tried again, but the squeaks pounded his tired brain even more. He wanted to just throw the piece of chalk across the room and bail, but that would have been yet another victory for Tom Simpson. “If the guy has any more victories, his head will be bigger than Alan Young’s ass,” Scott said to himself in a low voice.

The very mention of the A word brought a piece of sagely advice from a beautiful fifteen year old girl to mind. For the first time since he got here, Scott had a shit-eating grin on his face. He erased the original text on the board and wrote something entirely different from embracing the suck. As the poetic words danced across the canvas, Scott’s smile became more obvious than the annoying squeaks. He even gave a goofy giggle every now and then.

Nine o’clock reared its supermodel head and Mr. Simpson finally found a bag of coffee he really liked: stronger than his own authority. He even whistled as he moseyed back to his classroom. Before he could cross the threshold, Scott beat him to it and threw his piece of chalk in the air, which landed in Mr. Simpson’s coffee mug. “Hey!” the teacher shouted as Scott strolled out into the hallway. He ultimately thought nothing of it and shook his head.

Upon seeing Scott’s tapestry of nonconformity on the blackboard, Mr. Simpson’s eyes widened and he dropped his coffee on the ground. “No…no…no…!” he whimpered over and over again while rushing up to get a better look. Sure enough, the chalkboard was filled from top to bottom, left to right with, “Scott and Adrienne sitting in a tree / F-U-C-K-I-N-G!” The teacher’s heart and mind raced at the speed of light as he slowly dropped to his knees. He then let out a primal war cry and pounded the blackboard with his fists. He even raked his nails across the board for extra ear punishment. “I’m going to…I’m going to…I’m going to kill that little bastard!”

In this nonstop assault on his own wall, Mr. Simpson could empathize with the swear-word laced rage of his own students now, but not in the way he wanted and certainly not in a way that made him rethink his conformist edge. He was a hypocrite alright, but even history’s most dangerous warriors couldn’t keep a straight story from time to time. The teacher bathed in his white hot rage. His pounds became so powerful that cracks formed on the chalkboard. Upon seeing the damage he did, he slammed his back against the wall and sat there breathing throatily while holding his sweaty head in his hands. “This war’s not over…it’s not going to fly away like a little birdie…this war…is just getting started, you little piece of shit!”

Loser

VERSE 1

You can’t use your past as an excuse

To put everybody through verbal abuse

To blow like dynamite with a short fuse

To cry like a bitch for every time you lose

I don’t care how much money you make

It doesn’t give you the right to forsake

The ones who look up to you for guidance

You bullied them right into dead silence

CHORUS

You’re a loser

Acting so tough like a bruiser

You’re a loser

Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer

You’re a loser

Drunk off your power like a boozer

You’re a loser

You’re a loser!

VERSE 2

The day you left, I partied like a rock star

Cranked up the music, fucking rocked hard

Ate the biggest slice of cake I could find

So glad to leave your monster ass behind

CHORUS

You’re a loser

Acting so tough like a bruiser

You’re a loser

Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer

You’re a loser

Drunk off your power like a boozer

You’re a loser

You’re a loser!

BRIDGE

I tried to help, but you’re beyond redemption

I tried to talk, but you’re not worth the mention

I tried to love, but you could still cut the tension

I tried to leave, but you locked me in detention

VERSE 3

The memory remains even if it’s so distant

Exorcising you has been my adulthood mission

If it was really that easy, I’d have done it already

Ripped up your pictures into party confetti

Deleted your words from my darkest places

Put some paper bags over your angriest faces

Your history is mine to permanently erase

So why are you still getting on my fucking case?

CHORUS

You’re a loser

Acting so tough like a bruiser

You’re a loser

Lecturing me until I’m a snoozer

You’re a loser

Drunk off your power like a boozer

You’re a loser

You’re a loser!

Not My God

VERSE 1

What kind of god would tell me to kill?

And send their families the funeral bill?

What kind of god would tell me to hate?

Believe every sinner gets a hellish fate?

What kind of god would promise me heaven?

Use fear as a conqueror, the ultimate weapon?

Never will I kneel down and pray to the skies

You’d never save me, not even if you tried

CHORUS

You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!

You’re not the answer that I have to find!

You’re not my king! You’re not my master!

You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!

You’re! Not! My! God!

VERSE 2

A prophet’s word is a false prediction

A prophet’s book is science fiction

A prophet’s orders fall on deaf ears

A prophet’s stuck in medieval years

CHORUS

You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!

You’re not the answer that I have to find!

You’re not my king! You’re not my master!

You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!

You’re! Not! My! God!

VERSE 3

A theomancer is a free man’s cancer

A theocrat lives off stolen cash

A theocosm has nothing in common

With our three worlds and our problems

The bottom level is home to the devil

I call bullshit so you should just quit

I don’t need your thoughts or prayers

In the fucking end, you just don’t care

EXTENDED CHORUS

You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!

You’re not the answer that I have to find!

You’re not my king! You’re not my master!

You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!

You’re not my savior! You’re not my flavor!

You won’t punish my sinful behavior!

I’m not your slave! I’m not your zealot!

My soul is not yours, you cannot sell it!

You’re! Not! My! God!

Don't Wake the Baby

VERSE 1

Dreaming of scratches behind her ears

Sleeping on my bed for the rest of her years

Such a sweet little fuzzy lady

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

VERSE 2

Dreaming of a buffet table of tuna fish

A quart of milk in her favorite dish

Is this reality? Well, just maybe

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

VERSE 3

Dreaming of gentle warmth from the heater

Drooling like a fountain, her dreams get sweeter

A kitty kiss on the cheek is what she gave me

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

FINAL VERSE

Waking up to a brand new day

Only to fall asleep again anyways

She needs every hour of beauty rest

Her forever home is truly the best

She gives me the biggest goofy grin

Every time I scratch her under the chin

She purrs like the sweetest kitty lady

Shh! Don’t wake the baby!

The Thunder Eagles

***THE THUNDER EAGLES***

How about we take a break from the high school drama known as Silent Warrior so that I can tell you a little story about my childhood. I promise you we’ll get back to our regularly scheduled program after these messages. Although, chapter thirteen will contain graphic sexual content, so if you want to look for it when it’s up, go to Wattpad. Until the day I write that chapter, you’re getting a story from my past.

In spite of the fact that I was raised on WWF, WCW, and ECW, I didn’t have much love for sports or exercise of any kind growing up. I’m paying for it now that I’m north of three hundred pounds, but even back when I was a skinny little string bean, athletic competition was hard for me. I’d gas out after the first few minutes. Imagine this kind of negative attitude applied to elementary school-level soccer.

In the early to mid-90’s, I lived in Elk Grove, California and achieved success in my third, fourth, and fifth grade academics. Athletic achievements? Not so much. My parents signed me and my brother James up for soccer, albeit different teams. James’s team, the Laguna Lasers, was successful and happy to be so. My team, The Thunder Eagles (not to be confused with the Thunderbirds), were an intergalactic disaster. We only won two games out of god knows how many and one of those two games was against a team of children who were much younger and smaller than us. For all of you wrestling nerds out there, it’s basically Bone Soldier beating the shit out of James Ellsworth.

As a child, I’ve always been a sore loser no matter what the game was. When I brother beat me at Connect Four, I threw a hissyfit like no other. When I played Hero Quest and my barbarian was killed, I threw game pieces across the living room in frustration. When the Thunder Eagles lost over and over again, I wanted to beat something up. It didn’t help matters that I was always getting knocked down (accidentally) or hit with the ball (accidentally) by the other players. Whenever one of them would hit me, I’d chase after them and throw hammer fists until I was benched for the rest of the game. And then when both of our teams formed lines to high five each other, I withdrew my hand. Hell, as angry as I was, I might as well have flipped them off instead. Vinny Jones would be so proud of me.

It also didn’t help matters that my own teammates were conspiring against me most of the time. I remember during practice how they would play keep away with a soccer ball I brought myself. I never could get the ball back from them, but every time someone kicked it away, I’d either shove them to the ground or kick them in the legs. I also remember a time when a fellow teammate named Jorge kept bouncing the ball off my legs, so I ran up to him, kicked him in the asshole, and made him cry. I’d later recall these stories as an adult to James, who kept asking me why I took everything so personally back then. I’d jokingly respond with, “They tried to kill me!”

If I had been an adult and committed these violent and vengeful acts against other players, I’d probably be in jail right now. But as a kid, you can get away with pretty much anything and the worst you’ll get is detention or a suspension (which is really just a nice vacation away from the stresses of school). In the case of soccer, my mom bribed me with a trip to McDonald’s after each game on the condition that I didn’t clobber anybody who accidentally bumped me down. One particular game, I got smacked in the thigh with the ball and it stung like hell. But instead of beating the shit out of another kid, I cried my eyes out. Needless to say, I earned my Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese that day.

The lesson I learned from all of this soccer immersion was that if at first you don’t succeed, cry and cry again. As I said before, the Thunder Eagles lost every game except for two. Plus, I was getting sick and tired of being smashed around and gassing out after only a few seconds of activity. While my brother James continues to enjoy an athletic lifestyle, I’ve resigned myself to a life of videogames and have remained injury free since then. That reminds me of another lesson I learned from soccer: if you get hit in what’s supposed to be a no-contact sport, the admins might as well make it as violent as possible. I would have loved to bring steel chairs and kendo sticks onto the soccer field with me, maybe even a barbed wire bat. Extreme Championship Soccer! ECS! ECS! ECS! ECS!

I’d like to think that this is why I continue to watch wrestling and MMA as an adult: because violent sports don’t try to hide behind the façade of being safe and conscientious about self-esteem. I guess football could be considered violent because of all the concussions the players get, but I have yet to see any of them whip out some martial arts moves on the gridiron, so football doesn’t count in the end. And now that we’re on the topic of violent sports, when, oh when are the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards going to come out already?! That Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award is ripe for the picking this year! Come on, Meltzer! I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’ll hypnotize you like a vampire. Bite your neck and set your head on fire. Shoot me with silver bullets, okay. I’ll pull ‘em out, pawn ‘em, and get paid!”

-Violent J from Insane Clown Posse rapping “Bring It On”-

"Dog Man: A Tale of Two Kitties" by Dav Pilkey

BOOK TITLE: Dog Man: A Tale of Two Kitties

AUTHOR: Dav Pilkey

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Children’s Adventure

GRADE: Pass

An anthropomorphic dog cop aptly named Dog Man has been assigned to protect a laboratory housing a psychomantic fish, who was rebuilt using mechanical parts so that the scientists could sufficiently study his brain. Elsewhere in the city, another scientific experiment takes place as escaped convict Petey the Kitty creates a miniature clone of himself and struggles to raise it like a real kid. Soon the two stories hit a crossroads in a cutely written adventure involving buildings coming to life, a mechanical cat suit capable of superhuman feats, and a gigantic truck full of French salad dressing. It’s a silly story, but one worth enjoying.

While it is true that this graphic novel was intended for small children, you can also enjoy it if you’re an avid pet lover like me. The Petey clone’s innocent antics, Dog Man’s cheerful nature, and even the minor role characters bring out the warm and fuzzy feelings you’d expect from animal literature. My favorite cute moments from the book include putting Lil’ Petey to bed, giving him a bath, and Dog Man bouncing all over the police chief like a real dog. You know what? Why don’t we just give the entire cast of this graphic novel one big cuddle-huggle. Good or evil, they’ve all earned a special place in my heart for the sweetness they bring!

As happy-go-lucky as this book is, it’s not without the occasional sad moment. I can pinpoint three different parts of this book that strike me as heartbreaking: Dog Man’s sad expressions when the police chief tells him he’s a “bad dog”, Petey becoming frustrated with his “kid” and leaving him in a box alone on the streets, and Lil’ Petey drawing picture books for his special friends. Don’t be too turned off by these tear-jerking scenes, because they’ll easily renew your love for animals everywhere. If you’ve got a little kitty or puppy at home, give him or her extra cuddles and pettings to show them how much you care.

Enough with the tears of sadness. How about some tears of happiness for a change? The mechanical cat suit Petey builds for his son is called the 80 Hexatron Droid. If you shorten that name to an acronym, it’s called 80-HD. Say that ten times fast and clap your hands like an audience at a golf tournament. Oh, and one of the buildings that comes to life? It’s an oatmeal factory called Holland Oats. Kids today might not understand that reference, but an older member of their family will. The jokes and puns in this story won’t make you hee-haw with laughter, but they’ll bring the world’s goofiest grin to your face.

If you like cute and cuddly stories with happy endings and golf clap humor, buy a copy of this graphic novel. Whether you have children of your own, you are a child, or you’re just a guy who loves sweetness, you’ll love what the pages have to offer. Don’t let anybody tell you you’re too old for this kind of material. What matters most is what you love, not what anybody else’s standards dictate. I love this story and that’s why it deserves a passing grade.

"The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" by Max Allan Collins

BOOK TITLE: The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor

AUTHOR: Max Allan Collins

YEAR: 2008

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy

GRADE: Pass

In the year 200 BC, China’s Dragon Emperor conquered his country with an iron fist and compassion for nobody. Karma would take the form of a sorceress’s curse, which covered him and his army in terra-cotta and banished them in suspended animation for eternity. Fast forward two millenniums and the Dragon Emperor is awakened from his curse by the greedy and zealous General Yang. The globetrotting O’Connell family must now put the mummy back into the ground by stabbing him in the heart with a mystical blade that was guarded for many generations. With an endless supply of firepower and unmatched martial arts skills, the O’Connells truly are the world’s last hope.

Even though this book earned its passing grade (four out of five stars), it’s not without its glaring flaws, particularly in the cheese department. The narrator constantly complimenting the female characters’ beauty, the gratuitous explosions, the sometimes off-color use of similes and metaphors, the instant chemistry between Alex O’Connell (the son) and Lin (Chinese tomb guardian), and the most obvious cheese of all, Alex and his father Rick using penis analogies to describe their submachine guns and pistols. Considering this was once a poorly received movie, I don’t doubt that these cheesy elements turned off plenty of viewers.

But that’s not to say that this book doesn’t deserve the praise it gets. All in all, it’s a fun little book filled with action, adventure, and opportunities for young authors to learn how to write in a fast-paced manner. It turns out that describing every punch and kick within a Jackie Chan-style fight isn’t one hundred percent necessary. In fact, that would take forever and impatient readers like me don’t have forever. We like hard-hitting action. We like hailstorms of bullets. We like tooth and nail struggles that bring the warriors to the edge of death and back again. Although the O’Connell family is blessed with martial arts skills and expensive firearms, they’re no doubt going to earn whatever victories they get. To put it in Rick’s terms, this struggle is going to make them HATE mummies!

The wild imagination of this story is something I also want to praise. Magical elements, bloodthirsty three-headed dragons, barbaric yetis, immortal Chinese warriors, a pool of eternal life, mystical artifacts, this urban fantasy has everything you need in order to get those inner wheels turning. While some of the magical occurrences come off as random at times, they don’t take away from the action or drama of the book and actually make sense in hindsight. Look at it this way: how else is a mere mortal named Rick O’Connell going to beat the crap out of a warrior mummy who won’t stay down? Anybody? Hello? Yes, the dragon dagger comes off as a McGuffin and McGuffins are considered literary sins, but if you’ve got a better way to kill off this seemingly immortal Dragon Emperor, I’d like to hear it.

Sometimes all a reader wants to do is have some fun and you’ll get that with this third installment of The Mummy series. You could also consider seeing the movie this book was adapted from, but diehard readers will want to choose the book instead. The writing style is cinematic in and of itself, so what are you waiting for? Pick up a copy of this four-star book today! Don’t be too turned off by the fact that this story has more cheese than a Domino’s pizza. After all, this kind of cheese would make even a vegan hungry.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 12

If there was ever a time for the genre of robot-zombie apocalypse, it was right after lunch period. Everybody’s faces blended together. Scott George’s brain numbed out to where he couldn’t think straight. And the apocalypse part? That was an easy one: his world crashed all around him. Every once and a while, he would look up at the digital clocks of his respective classrooms waiting impatiently for the day to be over. His incessant foot tapping and jittery fingers made him easier to read than a baby’s first book.

After hours and hours of having Novocain rubbed on his brain, the final buzzer sounded and Scott’s wobbly legs brought him to an upright position and out the front door in a slow death march. He couldn’t even remember what day it was, but even his explosive mind could tell that Saturday was just around the corner. Saturday was supposed to be an exciting time in an overworked student’s life. A time to party. A time to play videogames. A time to hang out with friends. Scott might as well have walked straight to the gallows instead of home that day.

He needed a new song on his MP3 player. “After the Rain” by Nickelback? Nah, too positive. How about “Lullaby” from that same group? Nope, hits too close to home with its themes of suicide. Considering Scott’s brain was a scarier place to be than a battlefield full of dead bodies, maybe music wasn’t what he needed at the moment. Not even the hard rock guitars and golden voice of Chad Kroeger would be enough to wake up the corpses in his mind.

“Scott!” called out a familiar feminine voice. “Scott! Over here!” Still no response from the creature whose diet consisted only of brains healthier than his own. And then his world went black with a pair of soft, silky hands covering his eyes. “Guess who, sweetie pie!” Not even the perky voice of his own girlfriend could snap Scott out of his depressive slouch. “Come on, Scott! Rise and shine!”

With the energy of someone who just got out of an apnea-induced slumber, Scott wrapped Adrienne’s arm around his own neck and absentmindedly kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, babe. Today’s been a massive bucket of suck. I just want to go home.”

“Every day is a massive bucket of suck for you,” said Adrienne as the two lovers walked down the street together. “But something’s really getting to you, isn’t it? You can tell me what it is. I won’t judge you.”

“It’s…it’s your goddamn father again.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Adrienne flatly. “He has that kind of effect on people. What did he do this time?”

Scott sighed deeply as a way of clearing the clutter in his head. “He gave me an hour detention to serve on Saturday morning. I guess that’s his way of getting back at me for bailing on him.”

“Saturday morning? That’s tomorrow!”

The realization hit Scott like a cannonball to the gut. He crouched down on the ground and coughed violently while Adrienne comforted him with pats and rubs on the shoulders. “Sorry,” he said while breathing heavily. “I completely forgot today was Friday. Holy shit…I’m dead…I’m fucking dead! He wants me to clean the desks in his classroom for him. All that nasty shit that’s under there…just thinking about it killed my appetite…I’m so hungry, damn it!”

Adrienne hugged him around his upper arms and said, “It’ll be alright, Scott. It’s just an hour of your life. After that, you’ll have a fresh start. My dad may be the world’s biggest asshole, but he’s not going to do anything to you that you can’t handle.”

“Where were you, Adrienne?” asked Scott in a raspy voice. “I looked everywhere for you and you didn’t show up to school today.”

“I would have been there to walk with you, but I had a panic attack this morning. I don’t know what triggered it, but it probably means I’m going to be spending longer than usual in my therapist’s office on Sunday. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, Scott. I really am. Come on, let’s walk you home.” The two of them stood up and proceeded to do just that.

Upon standing up, a piece of paper fell out of Scott’s backpack and Adrienne bent over to pick it up. She stared at it with wide-eyed amazement and an angelic smile. “Scott, did you draw this? It’s beautiful! Gee, I wonder who that lovely girl in the middle could be!” She kissed him on the cheek and his face lit up like a neon sign. Then Adrienne’s smile turned to a confused frown when she saw the oral stain on the bottom of the picture. “Scott, did you…?”

“I puked up my breakfast and lunch when your dad brought up the fact that there were gummy worms stuck to the bottom of the desks….among other disgusting things. That’s why I said I was hungry earlier.” He lifted up his shirt and ran his own fingers across his visible ribcage. “This isn’t working, Adrienne. This needs to change.”

“I think I might have a package of Oreos in my backpack, hang on,” said Adrienne as she rifled through her belongings. Sure enough, there was a small bag of double-stuffed Oreo cookies, which she licked her lips over. “Go ahead, Scott. Eat up!”

His fingers convulsed as he struggled to open the package. He almost dropped one of the cookies, but caught it just in time. As he stared at the frosty treat, he wondered if the cream filling had been stuck under those desks too. He stuck his tongue out in disgust and shivered violently before Adrienne patted him on the back to assure him it was okay.

Scott breathed deeply and settled down some knowing his girlfriend loved him despite his obvious flaws. She cared enough about him that she wanted him to eat everyday. She cared about his pain. She wanted to protect him from the evils of her own bloodline. Scott’s inside warmed up at these positive thoughts as he took a smile bite of the Oreo cookie.

The sweetness of the treat and the sweetness of Adrienne’s love were powerful enough to counteract the visions of boogers and chewed bubblegum underneath the desks. Scott took another bite. And another. And another. His stomach didn’t care about his psychological traumas; it wanted food and it wanted it now. Scott devoured the entire bag and licked his fingers afterwards.

“Not the most nutritious thing you could be eating, but it’s a damn good start,” said Adrienne with a cute grin. Scott couldn’t help but get a goofy grin on his own face as well, that was until his girlfriend looked down at his trousers and…it happened again. “Uh, Scott? You’ve got a…little problem…down there.”

Scott snapped out of his romanticized trance long enough to see that little Scotty was standing at attention once more. With both hands covering his groin, he profusely apologized to his girlfriend and tried to run away in shame. But then she grabbed hold of his arm and said, “It’s okay, honey-bunny! There’s nobody here to see you.”

“You mean…you’re not offended? You don’t want to get a restraining order against me or some shit like that?”

Adrienne sighed and shook her head with a smile, “No, Scott, I’m not going to file a sexual harassment claim just because you got a little…overzealous. As a matter of fact, I think the two of us should go somewhere a little more intimate and…do something about your little problem.”

Scott swallowed hard as he figured out what his girlfriend meant by that. They’d only known each other for a few days at best and she already wanted to have sex with him. It came with the territory of being a hormone-driven teenager, sure, but something about all of this didn’t feel right to him. “I don’t know, babe, I just…”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Adrienne while resting her chin on his shoulder and hugging him around his waist. “I just thought maybe you’d like to…you know…Heh! Sorry, I’m not the best at this kind of thing. It’s just that, if we did do…well, that…it would be my first time. Have you ever made love before, Scott?”

“Um…yeah, sure…I guess…if you want to call it that…”

Adrienne giggled, “Wow, this is awkward as fuck. Looks like we’re both going to have to go easy on each other. Do you still want to?”

“Well…uh…where would we go? I can’t go back to my place because my mom’s a fucking bitch. We can’t go to your place either, though I don’t know your mom very well. She probably wouldn’t like it if we…did that in her house.”

Adrienne held Scott’s hand and skipped away with him. “I know of a place where we can get some privacy.” Scott’s eyes widened with horror when he realized that they were heading into the forest. Adrienne giggled some more and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you to my Cabin in the Woods. And I’m not going to take you to my cottage in the forest, either, though that sounds more cozy and less creepy, oddly enough. It’s all about context, right?”

“So…where are we going exactly?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Hell, I’ll even make it a nice surprise for you,” she said while covering Scott’s eyes with her hands like she did before. “You trust me, right? Well, don’t worry, we’re not going to bump into any trees. I’ll take you to where we’re going in just a minute.”

Though he didn’t have to worry about other people despite his covered eyes, Scott still felt the need to hide his erection during this trek into the forest. No matter how hard he pushed down on it, it wouldn’t go away. Adrienne slapped his hands and said, “Don’t do that; that’s a good way to break it.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Don’t call me mother. That’s creepy as hell.”

“Yes, dear.”

Silent Warrior, Chapter 11

A clear mind was all Scott George ever wanted. Clear of Mr. Simpson’s condescension. Clear of Alan Young’s brand of “humor”. Clear of worms that had no business being there in the first place. While his brainwaves weren’t a complete heavenly paradise, he was able to dry his eyes long enough to get through art class in one piece. The whispers of his classmates weren’t obtrusive enough to hold his attention. Instead his focus was pinpointed on a drawing he had been working on since the opening buzzer.

Rainbow colored flowers decorated the borders of Scott’s drawing. Pink clouds filled the negative spaces in between with a crisp golden sunshine lingering in the background. In the center of this latest masterpiece was heaven’s most beautiful angel. Instead of a radiating golden light, she brightened the picture with green flames and a purple haze. Rather than looking at the subject, her face turned slightly away with shyness, her hair down to her chest and her face a brilliant shade of red.

Unfortunately for the cloud nine-residing Scott, his one true love wouldn’t be in English class to see this marvelous masterpiece he created. Her desk remained empty throughout the entire hour and that brought a disappointed frown to his face. Where could she be? Did somebody figure out that she and Scott were dating? He hid his face as much as he could that day, fearing the absolute worst. It could have been a simple case of her coming down with a fever, but Scott’s mind wasn’t a place where rational adult thinking took place.

By the time lunch period rolled around, Scott still tried looking for Adrienne, even going back to the spot they sat at yesterday. He even visited the salad bar, which was slightly better than the spongy chicken nuggets, but not by much. He wanted to follow her advice as much as humanly possible and not worry about some stupid worms crawling in his meal. He took his Caesar dressing-covered greenery and sat at the same empty spot he took yesterday, hoping Adrienne would miraculously show up.

A few nibbles of spinach later, nothing. A few more nibbles, still nothing. A half hour of rabbit bites and Adrienne still hadn’t shown up. With nobody coming to save him this time, Scott’s stomach began to ache and flare up as he felt funny little creatures crawling around in his intestines. He felt as though an alien was going to pop out of his body and latch onto his face at any moment. And then an oddly comforting hand touched his shoulders and he was back to reality. When he saw who the hand belonged to, Scott’s comfort died down like a wounded animal.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

“Long enough to see you writhe around in pain for whatever reason. My history class isn’t that bad, you know,” said Mr. Simpson with an unfunny smirk. “Mind if I sit here? Of course you don’t. We have much to discuss.” The history teacher took a seat across from Scott and folded his hands across the table. “I’m assuming that the reason you didn’t show up to my class today was because Miss Williams had a little chat with you.”

“Where’s Adrienne?” asked Scott pointblank before covering his mouth quickly.

“That’s none of your business,” said Mr. Simpson. “Besides, I wouldn’t know her whereabouts anyways. We haven’t talked in such a long time. Kind of like the way you and I never talk anymore except to breathe fire down each other’s necks. Actually, you’re the one who insists on not talking, which is why your grade is currently standing at a C- when it could be much higher.”

“if you came here to make fun of my introversion, then I’m going to go sit somewhere else,” said Scott, who tried to stand up only to have Mr. Simpson grab him by the wrist and sit him down again.

“Trust me, Scott, I didn’t come here for amateur comedy night. We really do have a lot to talk about, especially as it pertains to your punishment for not showing up to after-school detention. You didn’t think there’d be an easy way out, did you? There never is, my little silent warrior. But you should at least be thankful that this wasn’t a court appearance instead. If it had been, you’d be in jail. At least with school, some of the harsh punishment is easy to serve.”

Scott leaned his face closer to his teacher’s as a way to suppress his deepest fears. “Principal Williams basically told me that my fate was in your hands. If that’s the case, then stop wasting my goddamn time and tell me what’s going on.”

“I had no idea your ‘goddamn’ time was so valuable to you, Mr. George. You certainly didn’t feel that way about me when you left me hanging for thirty minutes straight. Isn’t my time valuable as well? Considering I’m several decades older than you, I’d say that’s the case. Well, you’re not going to waste my time anymore, buddy-boy. You want to learn your fate? Here it is. If you have any plans this weekend, cancel them. You’re going to serve an hour of detention bright and early Saturday morning.”

“What?!”

Cleaning his glasses with the waist of his shirt, Mr. Simpson said, “I believe I made myself abundantly clear. Since we’re spending an hour of quality time together, I’ll have to think of something for you to do other than clean off the desks, thought that can be pretty time consuming. Students love to leave unspeakable objects underneath the desks whether it’s chewed bubblegum, nose goblins, graffiti, god knows what else. One time I caught a student sticking gummy worms underneath the desk.”

The gummy worm trigger caused Scott to gag and lurch as he fought desperately to hold his salad down. He could feel the adrenaline sewage bubble up in his stomach…then to his chest…then to the back of his throat where he could taste it. He swallowed a massive tidal wave of saliva to keep the burst of bile down. He breathed heavily with his tongue hanging out, like a dog locked in a hot car.

“Listen,” said Mr. Simpson while holding his hands up in mock defense. “I know cleaning off dirty desks isn’t the most pleasant way to spend an hour of detention, but for the first time in your young life, it isn’t your fault, Scott. Kids today have no respect for public property. They think a desk is their own personal toilet.”

Scott’s violent breathing muffled most of his words when he said, “F…fuck this shit…I’m not coming.”

Mr. Simpson let out a sarcastic laugh and leaned in closer so that his diabolic eyes could shoot straight fire into Scott’s already burning pupils. “Oh, you’re going to show up alright. You’re not getting away with anything this time around. Eight o’clock in the morning sharp, not a second late. If you even think about bailing on me again, you might as well stay at home for the rest of your life, because you won’t be allowed back on school grounds. I’ll have you expelled from this place so fast your head will spin. And then what’ll you do with your life? Treat sewage? Clean toilets? Dig ditches? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be a lot more fun than taking another history class from me. Compared to those disgusting jobs, cleaning off desks doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”

The teacher stood up and allowed Scott to keep choking down whatever was boiling in his throat. Mr. Simpson pointed a finger at his student and said, “Remember: eight o’clock on the dot. I’ll be waiting with a fresh cup of coffee, though you’ll probably won’t want to put anything in your mouth after the grungy work you’ll have to do. See you soon!” He gave a two finger salute and walked out of sight.

Scott’s mind raced with schizophrenic banter and a crippling headache. His stomach felt as though he had endured gyroscopic torture. His throat, eyes, and face burned worse than if he stuck his head in the same deep fryer the kitchen used to make those awful nuggets. Not being able to fight the good fight against his own body much longer, he rushed towards a garbage can and unleashed a waterfall of vomit that stunk to high hell. He could hear the other students backing away in a hurry. Some of them laughed. Some of them made disgusted “eww” sounds. A few of the girls gave off a shriek of horror. Scott didn’t care. He unloaded his weapon of mass disgust all over the inside of the garbage can.

He then slid down on the floor on his ass and breathed so heavily that the remaining students held their noses at his oral stench. If he had taken a diarrhea dump in that garbage can, it would have smelled like a bed of roses compared to this mess. Speaking of roses…

“Are you done, Mr. George?” asked Mr. Simpson while holding a piece of paper. “I wanted to give this to you before you forgot it. Nice work, if I do say so myself. It’s no history essay, but it’s still pretty good. You should be proud of yourself.” He handed Scott the drawing he made from art class and patted him on the shoulder before attempting once more to walk out of sight.

Scott gazed deeply into the drawing and wiped off a stream of chunky spittle that hit the page. He banged his own head backwards into the soft garbage can repeatedly while the buzzer for the next class echoed throughout his agonizing head. It might as well have been a room full of babies crying instead of a buzzer. He felt like he could be one of those babies right now. How simple life would have been at that moment.

Shipping Meme

***SHIPPING MEME***

During the past few days, I’ve been having conversations with my friends Zero Urrea and Marie Krepps about how much fun it is to link two things together with the letter X (a practice commonly found in Japanese anime). Would you go to a concert that was featured as Korn X Starset? You’re damn right you would! Would you ever play a videogame that featured the team of Super Mario X M. Bison? Sure, why not? And of course, the X link is used to signify collaboration between two romantic partners. Cloud X Tifa, Mario X Peach, and Squall X Rinoa are all mainstream examples of this. You could also mix and match between genres and canons…and genders. Would you ever read an erotic fan fiction that featured Tifa Lockhart X Stephanie McMahon? You bet your sweet ass!

Which brings me to something authors might have to deal with if their work becomes famous enough: shipping. If you write a novel that’s highly enjoyable, your readers are definitely going to want to tinker with various combinations of characters as romantic couples, for better or worse. You know who’s not okay with this? Anne Rice, who went to great legal lengths to make sure her fans don’t do that to her books. Some people are okay with this, others are not. More important is how you feel about your own fans doing this to your books. Me personally? I think it’d be flattering no matter what the combinations ended up being.

Unfortunately, I only have one edited and published novel to my name and it’s not even a full length book, so I don’t have a wide roster of characters to work with. Then again, if I include minor characters, this meme could actually be lots of fun. So here’s how this works: I’m going to make a list of Occupy Wrestling characters, use a number generator to randomly pick two of them from that list, and discuss how they’d work as a couple. I won’t use the same character twice and I’ll only generate five different couples. Are you ready? I know I am!

1. Debra Winter, Human Valet
2. Desilu McCourt, Amazonian Knight
3. Dovald, Superhuman Knight
4. Garra, Superhuman Knight
5. Hall Markata, Undead Necromancer
6. Jason Finnegan, Human Wrestler
7. Keegan Day, Human CEO
8. Mitch McLeod, Human Wrestler
9. Monzo Bleeder, Orc Wrestler
10. Nina Jordan, Human Cop
11. Riley Warpthroat, Skeleton Knight
12. Rosie Rogers, Human Referee
13. Snake of Jehovah, Skeleton Monk
14. Stephanie McMillan, Human Wrestler
15. Teiji Roughhouse, Rat Wrestler

FIRST COUPLE: Riley X Keegan

THOUGHTS: Keegan’s blatant bigotry aside, these two would be perfect for each other. They’re both hell-bent on dominating the wrestling scene. They’re both sadistic. They can intimidate the hell out of anyone. And lastly (and this is the most important part), they both look like they were just brought to life by a necromancer. Maybe when these two are in the bedroom, Keegan can use the Day Family Gem as a ball gag for Riley. Keegan does control his minions with that magical MacGuffin, after all.

SECOND COUPLE: Snake of Jehovah X Dovald

THOUGHTS: Another pair of viciously monstrous villains? Sure, why not? Though considering the fact that all Snakes of Jehovah look the same covered up with monk robes and snake masks, Dovald could end up accidentally cheating with another minion. But if that were to happen, how exactly would they initiate the cheating? Snakes of Jehovah are skeletal minions, with no sexual orifices or genitalia, so the closest Dovald could get to achieving sexual pleasure is to take the snake mask off and go through the eye sockets.

THIRD COUPLE: Jason X Stephanie

THOUGHTS: At least we’re back into normal territory since they’re both humans. Plus, they actually have things in common that they could bond over. They’re wrestlers. They’re despicable heels. They’re both championship material. Ship them, damn it! There’s just one curiosity I have: if Jason is a three hundred pounder who suffers a heart attack in the first chapter, even if he lived through it, would he be healthy enough for sexual activity? Would he have to be on bottom while Stephanie was on top? Would he fall asleep halfway through and lose his erection? So many burning questions.

FOURTH COUPLE: Hall X Nina

THOUGHTS: Spoiler alert: Hall ends up using his necromantic powers to raise Nina from the dead as an ash-covered zombie. I’m more curious about what you, the readers, didn’t get to see when all that happened. You think Hall is into that kinky shit? Does he forgo apps like Tinder and Grinder and just settle for a trip to the cemetery? Well, he doesn’t have to anymore if he’s got Nina as his minion. While Nina isn’t the most attractive woman in my book, there’s something sexy about a woman in uniform.

FINAL COUPLE: Desilu X Debra

THOUGHTS: If it wasn’t for the fact that Desilu tried to snap Debra’s spine in two with a camel clutch, this could actually be somewhat normal. Debra is a bisexual who appreciates both masculine and feminine features in both genders. Desilu is a big fucking Amazonian who knows how to wrestle (not just in the ring). Hell, she could probably do a better job of protecting her than Mitch ever could. That, and Desilu is happy to train Debra in wrestling herself since that’s all Miss Winter really wants: to be self-reliant. Of course, if Debra is that desperate for wrestling lessons, she might have to take a serious beating at the hand of Keegan’s minions. Oh wait, that already happened.

Okay, I must admit that I had fun doing this. Maybe I can do it again when I publish another novel. Hell, even my unpublished first drafts could use some love and war. What if I took Mario Bryan from Watch You Burn and paired him up with Daniel Mercer from Demon Axe? Or as the Japanese would say, Mario X Daniel. They’re both mentally ill, so they could help each other through their toughest episodes. Mario is schizophrenic and Daniel has PTSD. The two illnesses are similar to each other, but schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder and PTSD is an anxious disorder. This could actually work! But that’s a story for another day. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Fifty Shades of Grey is to literature what candy corn is to vegetables.”

-Bill Maher-

The Fun Police

VERSE 1

They’re coming for your offensive jokes

Every guitar riff, every musical note

Every novel with the blackest of magic

Every love story with an ending so tragic

Keeping it clean like an overworked janitor

Keeping it lawful like an overpowered senator

The fun police are coming for your ass

They’ve got you cuffed, face down in the grass

CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

VERSE 2

Don’t say those words; they’re bad for the ears

It’s been that way since the medieval years

Don’t play with yourself; it’s a mortal sin

Even though you’re the owner of your skin

Don’t question authority; it’s against the law

Listen only to your bible-thumping grandpa

The fun police? More like the fun SWAT Team

Invading your deep desires and sweet dreams

CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

VERSE 3

A squeaky clean world is boring as shit

All because you couldn’t help throwing a fit

All because you got offended by one little tit

All because you can’t handle the mosh pit

Keep your hands off of my fucking fun

Stop whining about everything under the sun

Being miserable is not really an excuse

For all of the power you’ve come to abuse

EXTENDED CHORUS

Sound the sirens! It’s the fun police!

Censoring anything they damn well please!

Stripping you naked of your individuality!

Conformity enforced with wicked brutality!

Sound the alarm! It’s the fun militia!

They’re going berserk and fucking ballistic!

They claim to want a smaller government!

No obstacles for their forced covenant!

Twitter Tough Guy

VERSE 1

Seven feet tall, built like a brick wall

Tougher opponents can’t be found at all

A black belt or higher in every martial art

Military training so you can do your part

But your greatest weapon isn’t a pistol

Or a flamethrower to make me sizzle

You pack a punch with a Twitter account

Talk in all caps just to make shit loud

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 2

Lift five hundred pounds at the gym

Flirt with a chick in shorts named Kim

Eat protein bars, drive gas-guzzling cars

Take your selfies like a Twitter rock star

Send your dick pics to random women

Show them the erection you’ve been given

You talk so much, yet have nothing to say

The schedule of your meaningless days

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 3

Shoot your favorite gun just for fucking fun

Mounted on a jeep that weighs a hundred tons

Take a picture that will last until forever

Dare the Twitterverse to find something better

How about buckwheat pancakes with agave nectar?

Especially when they shoot right out of my rectum?

Rebecca Black songs are more exciting than you

You face your victims and don’t know what to do

EXTENDED CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

Twitter boy toy! Who shall you annoy?!

Twitter Romeo! Why don’t you blow me-o!

Twitter Casanova! This is your magnum opus!

Twitter tough guy! Your whole life is a lie!

Silent Warrior, Chapter 10

Scott George could have stayed locked up in his own imagination for a thousand years and he would’ve been happy. Even in a fictional dream, holding Adrienne Simpson in his arms was a warm experience that made him tingle all over his body. But eventually the real world caught up to him and it was time once again to go to Perkins High School a.k.a. hell on earth. Not even fictional escapism could free him from his responsibilities. At eighteen years old, he wasn’t a kid anymore. This shit had to be done.

But instead of catching the school bus and surrounding himself with laughing troglodytes, Scott woke up just before dawn and walked the whole way in solitude. Instead of starving his already pencil-thin body even further, he grabbed two unheated Pop Tarts and nibbled on them gently like a hamster. And instead of looking like a homeless Power Ranger with a rat’s nest for hair, he combed his hair backwards and wore blue jeans and combat boots with his obligatory black shirt.

He toed the line between love and war with his new dress code and eating habits. If he wanted to make his dream a reality, he had to fight for what he wanted. “Heart Shaped Box” by Nirvana wasn’t exactly war music, but the MP3 soundtrack powered Scott through his early morning walk to school. Not one shitty human being bumped his shoulders or cursed him out the whole way. Either that was a good sign or the calm before the storm.

Scott had taken his last hamster bite of breakfast by the time the sun bloomed in the sky and he arrived at school. To his surprise, not one student locked eyes with him or even gave off a hint of a mocking smile. Still, he had a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t stop pounding. He had to swallow hard to keep his Pop Tarts in his stomach, but he finally trudged up the stone stairs and past the front door. So far, so good. A sigh of relief escaped his frosting-covered lips.

“Mr. George. Can I have a word with you in my office,” said Principal Williams, who stood at the entrance with her arms folded, probably expecting Scott this whole time.

“Uh…,” stammered Scott as he looked like a deer in the headlights. “Can it wait until after history class?”

“Are you really that eager to put up with Mr. Simpson for another day? You didn’t seem to mind bailing out on him yesterday when you crept out of detention. What makes you so happy to see him this time around?” Lingering students let out their “ooo’s” and Miss Williams barked at them to shut up and keep walking. She then motioned for Scott to join her in her office before shutting the door behind her and instructing him to have a seat.

Scott’s face was aimed low at his boot laces, studying the various patterns as some kind of excuse to avoid eye contact with yet another authority figure. “Listen, Miss Williams, if you’re going to punish me, do it already and spare me the lecture. I know what I did was wrong and the sooner I get this crap over with, the better.”

Miss Williams lifted Scott’s head with a singular finger underneath his chin and said, “There’s more to it than that, my friend. Skipping detention is a serious offense on its own, but I’m more interested in the whys than the whats. I know about your lack of love with Mr. Simpson. I know this because pretty much every student he has says the same thing about him: that he’s senselessly cruel and doesn’t care one way or another about their fates.”

As soon as the Principal removed her finger from Scott’s chin, he asked, “If he’s really that much of a pain in the ass, why don’t you just fire him already? I don’t think there’s a single person in this building who would miss his sorry ass.”

“Duly noted, Mr. George,” said Miss Williams as she folded her hands across her chest. “Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to tell him not to let the door hit him on the ass on his way out. But it’s not that easy. It never has been. Teachers and other authority figures can’t just get fired over disagreements with the students. In other words, you don’t have to be a friendly person in order to qualify for the job. It’s screwed up, but that’s the way things go sometimes.”

A frustrated Scott slapped his own thighs and said, “It’s beyond screwed up, Miss Williams. School is supposed to be a place where kids can grow and learn things. What are they supposed to learn from having a bad teacher? That’s not a rhetorical question. I’d actually like to know the answer to that. Sure, there are bosses out there who never get their comeuppance, but that’s the very thing we should be avoiding when we have the chance.”

“I’m sorry, Scott. It’s out of my hands. What happens to you from this point on is up to Mr. Simpson since he’s the one who assigned you to detention in the first place. If you stiff him again, I’ll have no choice but to expel you.”

Scott folded his arms and said, “That’s right, Miss Williams. Punish the victim. Punish the guy who’s been laughed at for his whole high school career. Punish the guy who has few opportunities to stand up for himself. Punish the guy who actually knows what justice is supposed to mean. I knew it. I have no fucking allies in this school. Nobody really does. That’s why they’re acting out the way they do.”

“There’s no joy in this for me, Scott,” said Miss Williams as she leaned forward in her chair. “Even with students who deserve punishment the most, there’s no happiness in dishing it out to them. I also know what justice is, but I’m also wise enough to know that justice doesn’t always get served. Whatever Mr. Simpson has planned for you as punishment for ditching him yesterday, you’d better follow through with it.”

“Got it,” said Scott while sarcastically nodding his head. “Any other dreams of mine you want to crush while you have me here?”

“No, not particularly. But in order to make one of them come true, you have to endure a little bit of the suck for just a few minutes.” When Scott formed a confused look on his face, the Principal explained, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but there’s a video of you being circulated on You Tube. It has thousands of hits already and the comments are cringe-worthy at best.”

Reality smashed Scott in the stomach with a sack of bricks. He bent over in his seat and fought like hell to suppress vomit. Principal Williams rushed to get a trash bucket underneath his face, but after moments of intense breathing and body pulsations, it turned out Scott didn’t need it. He leaned back in his chair with pinprick feelings in his face and chest. He swallowed more saliva and it tasted like warm, bitter tea. Tears barbecued his stinging eyes as he struggled even harder to keep himself together.

“You already know about it, don’t you, Scott,” said Principal Williams with a hand on her student’s shoulder. The two of them hugged it out while Scott’s fiery tears bathed the Principal’s suit jacket. “You don’t have to tell us any more about it. We know who filmed that video.”

Scott broke the embrace and shouted, “So what?! You said yourself justice doesn’t always get served! So what the fuck are you going to do to that bitch-ass Alan Young?! Does he get to slip through the cracks or do only teachers get preferential treatment?!”

“If you’d stop bawling for a moment and see for yourself, you’d have the answer!” Miss Williams retorted while pointing her finger towards her office window.

Scott’s waterworks were cut short as confusion took over. Miss Williams pointed again and again until he pulled himself together and humored her this one time. His eyes widened as he watched two police officers talking to Alan Young. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but whatever it was, it couldn’t have been friendly. The two cops spun Alan around and slammed him against the wall while cuffing his thick wrists behind his back. Straggling students screamed in horror at what they were witnessing. Even Alan himself couldn’t help but shed a few tears as he was being hauled away.

“Invasion of privacy, cyber harassment, you name it, this kid has done it all in that one video,” said Miss Williams. “If the other kids can pay attention to a stupid video, then they’ll damn sure pay attention to Alan’s arrest. He needed to be made an example of, Scott. Sooner or later, Mr. Simpson will get his. I can’t tell you when or how, but the domino effect is already in place.”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Scott’s tearful smile seemed genuine instead of looking like a psychotic killer. He spun around and embraced Principal Williams once more while thanking her over and over again in a high pitched squeal. Feeling awkward, the authority figure returned the hug ever so slowly and noncommittally. “You’re welcome, Scott,” she said. “Please let go of me and get back to your classes. I believe second period is about to begin anytime soon.”